Hurricane Gold (29 page)

Without another word, he jumped down, bracing himself for a solid landing. Instead he hit the gold floor with a splat and sunk in up to his chest.

‘It’s honey!’ he said, laughing. ‘A whole tank full of honey. I’ve often dreamt of swimming in honey.’

As he tried to swim, however, he found that it required all his effort just to move one arm. His clothing, already clogged with honey, felt heavy as armour, and was dragging him under. He pulled his shirt open and managed to peel it off.

‘Take off any loose clothing you can,’ he shouted up to Precious and she stripped off her outer layers.

Even without his shirt, it was nearly impossible to make any headway in the thick honey. It was like swimming in glue, and the harder he tried, the deeper James sank.

‘Lower yourself in,’ he said. ‘Try to stay flat on the surface.’

James pushed forward, struggling to keep his face above the sticky liquid. He could see now that the black spots covering the surface were dead insects. If he slipped below the surface he would end up the same way. He fought to keep his mouth and nose clear, but although the honey was more buoyant than water, to move took an immense effort, and if you stayed still you slowly sank.

He thought of Whatzat, drowning in the mud hole in the oilfield. It would be horrible to drown in honey, feeling the sweet, sticky stuff seep down his throat into his lungs.

Precious had lowered herself in and was trying to crawl along the surface, clawing at the stuff with her hands. She soon found how difficult it was, and how, as she kicked with her feet they simply sank deeper.

They were creeping along, though, a few inches at a time, fighting the honey with every move, feeling it try to suck them down. It was incredibly tiring. They were using up all their reserves of strength. Precious’s hair was matted and sticking to her face. She blinked her eyes, trying to keep the gummy liquid out of them. She couldn’t wipe them, though, as her hands were covered in the stuff.

From above the men watched the weird spectacle in silent fascination. It was as if the children were swimming in slow motion, or through something solid. There were no ripples or waves, the only thing that told you it was a liquid were the football-sized bubbles that now and then burped and plopped to the surface. It was agonising watching their slow progress. Most of the men had forgotten about their bets and were rooting for the kids to go all the way. They were fighters, they wouldn’t give up. It would take more than this to stop them.

They were halfway, two-thirds, three-quarters. Going slower and slower. Then the boy slipped under and the girl fished him out, coughing, spitting and choking. They didn’t look human any more; they were covered with gloop, like two flies trapped in a giant honey pot.

James and Precious were almost out of energy, completely exhausted and half-blind. Doggedly, James flung an arm out and felt it hit something solid. He groped with his fingers. It was a ladder, leading up out of the pit. They’d reached the end. He clung on and took hold of Precious’s hand, dragging her through the honey.

They climbed the ladder, dripping great gelatinous gobbets of honey as they went, and flopped on to the paving stones.

It was almost worse being out of the pit. The honey had got everywhere, into every nook and cranny and fold. It was in their noses, their ears, between their toes, inside their clothing. They tried to scrape it off their bodies with their fingernails, but it stuck fast and was drying in the sun.

James would have given his right arm for a shower. Never had the thought of soap and warm water been so appealing. What would he give now for some Pinaud Elixir!

Precious groaned, trying to unstick her hair where it was plastered to her face. She swore, her voice cracking with misery.

James gripped her by her upper arms, blinking the honey from his eyes.

‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘We’ve faced worse, and we’re through it, now. We’ve just got to press on. There are only two trials left.’

‘I’m so tired,’ said Precious. ‘I just want to lay down and sleep.’

‘There’ll be plenty of time to sleep later,’ said James. ‘When this is all over, we can sleep for a hundred years.’

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

They waddled onward, leaving tacky yellow footprints on the stones. Wasps buzzed around them and they tried to wave them away.

They had seen the plans for the next obstacle, and they had practised hard for it. The drawing had shown a large log suspended over a pit and held in place by iron struts going off to the sides.

All they had to do was get across without falling into the pit.

What made it so frightening, and so deadly, was the fact that the pit was filled with sharpened wooden stakes. They could not risk walking along the log, they had decided they would crawl.

‘We stick with our plan,’ said James when they spotted the log. ‘We crawl. Especially as we’re covered in honey. And, I don’t know about you, but I can’t see a thing.’

‘My eyes won’t stop watering,’ said Precious. ‘I’m half-blind.’

They peered down into the pit. It was a long drop and the stakes looked even more lethal than they had done in the drawing. If either of them slipped they would be impaled. They would have no second chance.

James now turned his attention to the log. To his surprise it appeared to be covered in some kind of furry, red material. But as he looked closer, he saw that it was moving.

‘What is it?’ said Precious, trying to make sense of it.

James’s heart sank. This was the worst moment so far.

‘Ants,’ he said. ‘Army ants.’

30

One Death

‘Oh no,’ said Precious. ‘Not that.’

She had not seen Strabo lying in the ant column in the jungle. James had, though, and the memory of it would be with him forever. These ants were smaller, but their jaws were bigger. They swarmed all over the log, scurrying madly in all directions. There was a gentle shower of them falling off the bottom and as James looked more closely into the stake-filled pit, he saw that it was teeming with even more of the little red devils.

What made it worse was the fact that James and Precious were covered with honey. El Huracán had designed these two trials carefully and cruelly.

‘I’ll go first,’ said James. ‘Maybe I can clear some of them out of the way.’

‘No,’ said Precious, hopelessly. ‘How can you? There are too many of them. Look, they’re coming along the struts from the sides. They must have only just been released.’

‘I can try, can’t I?’ said James with a hint of anger. ‘We’re not just going to give up here.’

Once again El Huracán taunted them.

‘You can make it quick,’ he shouted. ‘Throw yourselves on the spikes and it will all be over. You can offer yourselves up to the goddess who watches over this trial, Ixtab, the goddess of suicides. The Mayans believed that suicide was the quickest path to heaven!’

James swore at him.

The log was hanging just below head height. He reached out, took a deep breath and gripped it, feeling scores of ants being crushed beneath his hands. Immediately the others started biting. He jerked his hands away automatically. They were throbbing. He shook them hard, scattering honey and dead ants everywhere.

‘I told you,’ said Precious. ‘It’s no use.’

‘Shut up,’ said James, and without thinking, he took hold again and hauled himself up until his chest was on the log.

He wriggled further on until he could get a grip with his elbows and knees. The pain was incredible. It was like being stabbed by a hundred red-hot pins, in his arm, his thighs, his chest, his crotch. Every moment there was a fresh little jolt of agony as one of them bit him and injected formic acid into his flesh.

His face was an inch away from the surface of the log, which was alive with angry, red ants. They were confused about where to go and lashed out at everything around them. The honey at least prevented them from swarming over him, but wherever they touched they got stuck. In no time at all he had a dozen of them glued to his face, their jaws slashing at him, their acid burning all down one cheek. He went to scrape them away without thinking. His hand was covered with a red fur of wounded ants and made things ten times worse.

He grunted and in his fury tried brushing his arms across the log, but no matter how many ants were knocked into the stake pit, more surged in to fill the gap, and the more he brushed, the more of them got stuck to his arm.

The only thing he could do was slide along the log and try to get to the end as quickly as possible. He shunted forward, feeling ants beneath his belly, watching them pile up into undulating drifts as he swept his arms out in front of him.

‘Don’t think about it,’ he yelled back to Precious. ‘Just follow me, hold on tight and ignore the pain. They won’t kill you. Think of tomorrow. Think of next year. You won’t remember the pain. As long as you stay on and keep moving.’

The log moved and he heard Precious gasp and then shout as she climbed on behind him.

He started to move faster.

‘Are you all right?’ he called out.

‘I’m right behind you,’ said Precious. ‘Don’t stop.’

‘I don’t intend to,’ said James hoarsely.

He could see a handful of ants hanging off his eyebrow. They were waving their legs and antennae right in front of his eye, and others were biting his eyelid. Still more had sunk their mandibles into his lower lip. He raked them off with his teeth and bit down on them. Feeling them crunch. He spat them out and cursed. He was angry now, his blood was hot, the pain was making him delirious.

He lashed out in front of him and lost his grip, lurching sideways off the log. He scrabbled at it with his fingernails and tried to cling on with his knees, but it was no use. The honey made it impossible to hold on.

He went down, and knew that this was the end. In a second he would be dead. Then he felt Precious’s hand close about his ankle. She was holding so tightly it was like a metal vice around him.

He was dangling face first over the sharpened stakes. If Precious let go he would be impaled. At least it would be quick. The ordeal would be over. He could offer himself up to Ixtab. Maybe she would get him into heaven by the back door.

No. That wasn’t going to happen.

He looked up to see Precious’s face, contorted in pain. Every muscle and sinew in her body was taught and strained; her teeth were bared in an animal grimace. He owed it to her not to give up.

‘I’ll get you to that strut,’ she said, and with a grunt she swung him through the air, first back, then forward. James arced his body and reached out and managed to grab hold of the metal strut.

Precious let go and he pulled himself up to safety.

It was extraordinary. He would never have thought that Precious would have had the strength to hold him like that. But under stress and in fear of its life the human body can do incredible things.

James got back on to the log and carried on, ploughing through the waves of red insects. If Precious could hold his weight with one hand, then he could put up with a few ant bites.

Screaming with every move, he forced himself on, praying that Precious was right behind him. To lose her now would be unbearable.

And then he had reached the end of the log. He slithered off and landed in an ungainly heap in a bed of chicken feathers.

A second later Precious dropped down beside him and sent up an explosion of dancing, white feathers.

James felt like he could never move again. He wanted to lie in the bed of feathers and sleep. His body was still covered in ants, wriggling in their death throes, and biting him mechanically. He barely noticed them, though. His body was almost numb to the pain and the relief of being alive was washing over him like a soothing ointment.

He closed his eyes and a small, quiet voice in the back of his mind told him to get up, to carry on, to keep fighting. Wearily he stood up and looked around.

There weren’t just feathers here, there were chickens as well. They strutted about, pecking corn from the ground, squawking and squabbling with each other. This part of the rat run was filthy with their mess. James trudged along, not caring what he was treading in in his bare feet.

He stopped and waited for Precious to join him. She was a sorry sight, with the feathers and the ants and the honey stuck all over her. There were streaks of birdlime up her naked legs. In different circumstances it would have been funny. He remembered a time when he had first met her that he would have paid anything to see her like this. But this was too cruel.

He recalled the carvings that El Huracán had shown him: how specially honoured Mayan sacrificial victims had been dressed in elaborate outfits, with beautiful capes made from brightly coloured feathers. This was a ghastly pantomime version. A mockery. Not only was El Huracán going to kill them, he was going to humiliate them first.

James wiped some muck off Precious’s face. She was crying, the tears were mingling with the honey on her cheeks.

‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Xibalba. We’ve come to the last challenge.’

‘It’s going to be terrible,’ she said. ‘I know it is.’

James saw the glyphs on the wall, but couldn’t read them. They were a jumble of skeletons and monsters.

‘Hun Came,’ he said, remembering the name that Moises had told him in the tunnels beneath the run.

‘What does it mean?’ said Precious.

‘One Death,’ came a shout from above. It was El Huracán, standing with his hands on his hips. ‘The Mayans gave some of their gods numbers. Hun Came was the number one god of Xibalba, the place of fear, the Mayan underworld. The road to Xibalba was filled with many obstacles: vicious spiked thorns, a river of scorpions, a river of blood, even a river of pus. And once you were there you would have to face even more deadly challenges from the lords of the underworld. For you, however, there is only one more challenge. To meet One Death himself.’

El Huracán laughed. ‘Look at you,’ he said. ‘You are not so cocky, now, eh, James Bond?’

One by one the other men joined in with the laughter, anxious to show that they were on his side.

‘What’s with the feathers?’ said a beefy gangster at his side. ‘Is it just a gag?’

‘No,’ said El Huracán. ‘One Death’s favourite food is chicken, but he also has a sweet tooth. He will smell the chickens and taste the honey, and he will attack. He has not been fed for weeks. He will be hungry. You will hear him make his kills and feed. You will hear their death screams, but you will not see them die. One Death deserves his privacy. He is a god after all.’

‘What is he really?’ said the man.

‘He is Hun Came,’ said El Huracán, and that was all he would say.

James and Precious walked on and came to Xibalba, the end of the rat run.
La Avenida de la Muerte
went no further. The passageway opened out into a square, and in the centre of the square stood a squat pyramid. It was a modern construction, based on a Mayan design, and they knew from the plans that it was hollow and built over a huge water tank.

There were steps up each of the pyramid’s four sides and at the top was a wide stone platform.

‘Let’s go,’ said James, and he took hold of Precious’s hand.

He knew exactly how the Mayan prisoners of war must have felt as they climbed the pyramid temples to their certain deaths. Ever since he had got up from the bed of feathers, he had felt weirdly detached and light, as if this were all happening to somebody else. It felt unreal. The ants were biting somebody else, the tight suit of pain was being worn by somebody else, the smell of honey and chickens was coming from some other place.

When they reached the top of the pyramid, they discovered a circular opening cut into the floor. There was a long drop into water below, and a familiar, fishy stink.

‘Listen to me,’ said James quietly and urgently, ‘I didn’t want to tell you this before, because I knew you’d be too frightened to go through with it, but now there’s no going back.’

‘What are you talking about?’ said Precious.

‘There’s a way out,’ said James.

Precious smiled through her tears.

‘Is there? How do you know?’

‘Remember I told you about the iron door I saw in the tunnels,’ said James. ‘And the sluice they use to empty the tank.’

‘But you said we couldn’t open the door from this side,’ said Precious.

‘We can,’ said James. ‘I got the idea from Whatzat.’

‘What idea?’ said Precious.

‘With the right amount of explosives you can open any door you want.’

‘That would be fine if we only had some explosives,’ said Precious.

‘Last night,’ said James, ‘before I met you in the plaza, I took some dynamite from the store shed and I went down into the tunnels. I rigged three sticks to the wheel that opens the door and threaded a fuse into a small hole above the tank. I left some matches too. We won’t have long. Whatever’s in there is going to come after us. But if I can get to the hole and light the fuse, we’ll have about three seconds and then – boom!’

‘We’ll be blown to pieces,’ said Precious.

‘It’s always possible,’ said James. ‘But the water should cushion the explosion. At least that’s what I hope. Then we get out down the sluice.’

‘Are all English boys as crazy as you?’ said Precious.

‘Most of them,’ said James. ‘So what do you say? Do you trust me?’

‘No,’ said Precious, ‘but I’d follow you to hell and back.’

‘Then, let’s go,’ said James. ‘Satan’s waiting for us.’

The top of the pyramid was higher than where the spectators were standing. El Huracán was staring up and shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun with one hand.

‘Will you keep your word?’ James shouted down to him.

‘Of course,’ El Huracán called back. ‘I do not break my own rules.’

‘If we make it out of the final chamber alive, we’re free to leave the island?’

‘Completely free,’ shouted El Huracán. ‘I will even give a feast in your honour before you go.’

‘There are no other rules?’ James yelled.

‘No.’

‘However we get out of there, it’s fair?’

‘You have my word, James. These men are witnesses to it. If you emerge alive from One Death’s lair, you and the girl are free to leave.’

Precious squeezed James’s arm.

‘I’ll go first this time,’ she said.

‘We’ll go together,’ said James.

They sat down on the edge of the opening and held hands.

‘Whatever it is in there,’ said James, ‘it won’t attack straight away. It’ll try to find out what we are first. But once it’s made up its mind, it won’t hesitate. Are you ready?’