Hurricane Gold (9 page)

‘Well,’ said Precious. ‘I think you have shown us your true colours, James Bond. You go off, if you like, but I can tell you now, we will
not
be here when you get back.’

‘Good,’ said James and he strode off angrily and squeezed past the bus.

The street opened out into a small, busy square. On the far side was a bridge that was choked with traffic. James realised that it must be the only way across the river, which was why everything had slowed down last night as people approached the town.

Garcia had said that they’d find the nurses in the mission house on the other side of the river. It looked like it would be some time before they could make it over. He wondered if there was anywhere he could buy some fresh food while they were waiting, but could see no shops or stalls.

There was a gaggle of excited villagers along the riverbank, and he now saw that some of them were carrying sandbags and rocks and bits of masonry. He went over to see what they were doing and his heart sank.

The level of the river was dangerously high, and the locals were trying to shore up the bank.

He looked back towards the bridge. The people making their way over looked nervous. The people waiting to cross looked even more nervous.

If the river burst its banks there would be chaos.

A thin trickle of water had already started to snake across the flagstones near the water’s edge. Four men rushed over with shovels and a wheelbarrow. They frantically started shovelling sand and grit into the breach.

It was hopeless – just as they stopped up one gap another one would open up, until soon there were three or four small streams flowing into the square.

James had spent many happy hours on the beach when he was younger, building dams across streams. Half the fun of it was watching the dams give way when the pressure of water behind got too great. He remembered just how quickly a tiny dribble coming over the top could soon turn into a raging torrent and wash away everything in its path.

He turned and ran back towards the street where the Duesenberg was parked, then dodged in and out of the line of cars until he saw Precious and JJ waiting for him.

‘I wanted to leave but JJ insisted we stay,’ said Precious.

‘We’re not out of danger yet,’ said James, vaulting over the side into the driver’s seat.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Precious.

‘We’ve got to get out of here, fast,’ said James, putting the car into reverse. Luckily there was no one behind them. ‘The river’s about to flood,’ he explained. ‘That must be what those nuns were trying to tell us.’

He twisted round in his seat and started to move the car slowly backwards.

‘Look,’ said JJ.

James faced the front. Water was beginning to stream down the road. A young girl and a woman carrying a baby squeezed past them, shouting.

‘Hell,’ said James. ‘It’s coming faster than I feared.’

He stepped on the accelerator and reversed as quickly as he dared, bumping and scraping the car on both sides as he went. Precious shouted at him to be careful, but in a moment there was a great roaring, rushing sound and her shouts turned to screams of terror.

James risked looking back the way they had come.

A wall of water was surging down the street, pushing everything in front of it.

He was going to have to try to outrun it.

9

The Return of Angel Corona

Swollen by the abnormal amount of rain that had been dumped on the countryside, the river was carrying twice as much water as it would normally hold. There were breaks all along its length that were harmlessly spilling water on to the land, but here in Puente Nuevo, where it squeezed through the town, its pent-up force was potentially lethal.

And now that force had been released, and it rushed free, like a genie from a lamp. Water surged through the narrow streets, searching for a way out. Anything in its path was picked up and bowled along.

There was nowhere to turn the car around and James could do nothing except drive backwards down the street, the Duesenberg’s meaty engine howling in complaint.

He was just managing to keep ahead of the racing flood, but a car can only go so fast in reverse, and the water was gaining on them.

‘Faster,’ Precious shouted.

‘I can’t go any faster,’ James protested.

They came to the archway the car had clipped earlier. James swore. It had been hard enough getting through forward, going through backwards at speed was going to be nigh on impossible.

Just as he feared, they hit the opening at the wrong angle and the car crunched to a halt, throwing the children back against their seats.

They were wedged in the arch, unable to go either forward or backwards. They had lost the race. Before they had a chance to recover from the crash, the water hit them, smashing into the front of the car and foaming up over the bonnet.

Unable to flow through the archway, the water rose steadily. Soon it was pouring over the top of the doors.

‘We can’t stay here,’ said James. ‘We’ll have to get out.’

‘My things,’ wailed Precious.

‘Leave them,’ said James. ‘You’ll be drowned.’

It was a mad scramble but the three of them just made it out of the rear of the car, which was acting like a giant cork stuck in the archway. Some of the water was getting past, but the bulk of it was being held back.

James, Precious and JJ hurried down the street, ankle deep in filthy water. JJ was limping badly.

‘The car should stop it for a while,’ said James. ‘We might be in luck.’

Even as he said it, though, there was a groan and a crack behind them and James looked round to see part of the arch give way and fall into the street. He took hold of JJ’s hand and pulled him faster.

The next moment the rest of the arch collapsed and the car sailed out, like a great steel gondola.

It barrelled down the street towards them, carried along by the sheer force of water behind it.

Precious screamed.

James tried to speed up, but it was difficult running through the rising water, which tugged at his legs. It was clear they would never make it as far as the next side street. James desperately looked for an open window or door, but the houses were all still closed up after the storm. Then he spotted, about 15 feet ahead, a stairway leading up on to the roof of a building.

‘If we can just make it to those steps we’ll be all right,’ he said, picking up JJ. With nothing to weigh her down, Precious overtook him, running surprisingly fast in her dress.

Behind them they could hear the rushing, roaring sound of the water and the car grinding nearer and nearer, banging and crunching into the walls on either side.

‘Hold on,’ James gasped to JJ. His legs were giving out and he hoped he would have the strength to reach the steps.

Precious got there safely and raced up to the roof. James was right behind her, but so was the car. It knocked into him and he lost his footing, then something else bashed into him and JJ was torn from his arms.

James was thrown forward on to the steps, the water washed over him like a wave, then, coughing and spluttering, he got to his feet and dragged himself to the roof.

‘Where’s JJ?’ he gasped, sick that he had lost the boy when he had been so close to safety. ‘Can you see him?’

Precious pointed into the street, too terrified to speak.

There was JJ, being carried off by the water, clinging to the bonnet of the car.

‘We’ve got to help him,’ Precious yelled and James quickly looked out across the flat roofs to get his bearings. There was a clear view of the town from here, and he could see water flowing down all the streets on this side of the river. He saw the route that the car would take and he plotted his own route across the rooftops.

‘What can we do?’ Precious shouted.

James sprinted along the roof and jumped across to the next house, and then the next, keeping pace with JJ. He thought that he could take a short cut and maybe get ahead of the car and, as he raced along, he checked the way ahead. Luckily the buildings were tightly packed, but there were still a couple of hair-raising gaps that he had to get across.

He didn’t stop to think twice. He was used to this sort of thing and he ran as fast as he could, timing his jumps perfectly. The first wide gap he took in one clean jump, and on the second one he landed on his belly on the edge of the next building and, despite being badly winded, he scrabbled up and carried on.

His calculations were right. Soon he had overtaken the flood. He ran on until he found the perfect spot and threw himself off the roof just as the car passed beneath him.

He landed in the front seat. The car rocked from side to side. He held on. The Duesenberg was half full of water, but it was still afloat. And JJ was still clamped to the bonnet and holding on for dear life.

James stretched a hand out over the windscreen towards the little boy.

‘Don’t panic,’ he said. ‘You’ll be all right. Just stay calm.’

JJ looked at him and nodded.

‘Can you reach me?’ said James.

JJ said nothing. He steeled himself, then let go with one hand and held it, shaking, in the air. James grabbed hold and hauled him into the car.

‘That was kind of fun,’ said JJ, but James could feel his whole body trembling.

‘It’s not over yet,’ said James.

‘You’ll look after me, won’t you?’ said JJ.

‘Of course.’

‘You won’t leave us, will you? Whatever Precious says.’

‘No. Everything’s going to be all right now.’

But what James hadn’t seen was that just ahead of them three streets came together. Water was pouring down all of them and meeting in a great churning, foaming, turbulent mess of scummy yellow floodwater at the junction.

The car steamed into the middle of it and its nose went under, throwing James and JJ out. James was spun over and over, round and round, with no idea which way was up and which was down.

He was smashed into the wall of a building, then dragged along the ground, then somehow he was thrown clear and found himself washed up on someone’s window ledge.

He vomited up a bellyful of water and looked for any sign of JJ.

Two dead bodies washed past, but neither of them was JJ, thank God. And then he saw a tiny dark shape bobbing in the waves. It was JJ’s head. There was no way James could get to him, though. To go back into the water would be suicide.

Maybe the boy would stay afloat. The escaping floodwater couldn’t go on like this forever. Sooner or later it would peter out.

But the boy was only seven, and James didn’t even know if he could swim.

‘Don’t give up, JJ,’ he said bitterly, choking back hot tears. ‘Don’t give up…’

James felt utterly useless. Twice he had lost the boy now. He had let him down badly. He made a promise that if JJ lived he wouldn’t sleep or eat or think about himself for one moment until he and his sister were safe and well.

But would JJ live? He watched the little boy’s head being carried away down the street. Every so often it would sink from view and James would hold his breath until it appeared again, but each time it stayed under longer.

Then he saw someone step out into the raging flood, which was almost up to his chest.

It was Garcia.

He stood there, battling the water that was trying to push him away, and snatched JJ from the torrent. James saw that he had a rope tied around his waist and he used it to get them back to safety.

James wept with relief.

James stayed on the window ledge for half an hour while the flow of water gradually died down. Then he heard someone sloshing along the alleyway, and there was a very miserable-looking Precious.

He jumped down from his perch. There was still a sizeable stream flowing, but he could stand up safely without fear of being washed away.

‘Where is he?’ said Precious, fear cracking her voice.

‘He’s all right,’ said James.

‘Oh, thank God.’ Precious collapsed into tears and James took hold of her.

‘He’s all right,’ James repeated. ‘We’ll find him.’

Precious seemed numb. James told her what had happened and took her to the spot where he had seen Garcia pull JJ from the water.

They found the two of them on a balcony. Garcia was wiping the boy’s forehead and drying him in the sun. JJ was awake but very feeble. Precious hugged him and kissed him, and babbled about how worried she had been. JJ responded well to this mothering. He sat up and smiled and started talking feverishly about his adventures ‘on the boat’.

The strip of dress he had been wearing as a bandage had been torn off in the water and his cut leg was exposed.

The wound looked red, raw and ugly. The two sides were not healing. Garcia inspected it, a frown on his dark, handsome features.

‘Be brave,’ he said. ‘You must hold on. Everything is going to be all right. I fixed up my radio. I was coming here to find you and tell you the good news.’

‘What good news?’ said Precious.

‘Your father is all right,’ said Garcia with a reassuring smile. ‘He landed safely in the jungle near Palenque, but his plane is damaged. He is stuck there.’

‘Did you speak to him?’ said Precious.

Garcia shook his head. ‘He made contact with the port authority in Vera Cruz. I spoke to them, and passed on a message telling him that you had come to Puente Nuevo.’ Garcia stood up. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we will need to find something to clean the wound. James, you come with me, we will see what we can find.’

James followed Garcia down a flight of steps to the street.

Garcia put a hand on his arm. He looked serious.

‘The boy IS not well,’ he said. ‘His leg is becoming infected and he swallowed a lot of dirty water. We cannot get to the mission now. The flood will have taken the bridge. We must find medicine and clean water on this side.’

‘I’ll go and see if I can find what happened to the car,’ said James. ‘I might be able to salvage something.’

‘Good,’ said Garcia. ‘I will meet you back here.’

James found the car about 100 yards down the street, on the outskirts of town, lying on its side, wrecked. He felt sorry that such a beautiful thing had been spoilt. There was no sign of the suitcases. They had been ripped from the sides. The food was ruined, but one of the water canisters was still in the luggage box on the back. He unscrewed the cap and drank some water. It was warm and tasted horrible, but he knew that it would do him some good.

He looked in the glovebox and found a pair of sunglasses and a soggy map. He stuffed the map into his pocket and put the sunglasses on. The sun was harsh and bright this morning and he had the beginnings of a headache.

He lugged the water back up the road to the house, but when he got to the balcony, Precious and JJ had disappeared. He called out their names and looked around, but there was no sign of them. He wondered whether Garcia had got back before him and taken them to safety, but when, a few moments later, the Mexican showed up, carrying a bottle of neat alcohol and a roll of clean bandages, he said that he had no idea where they were.

Then Garcia spotted a cigarette butt, still smouldering on the floor of the balcony.

‘That was not here before,’ he said. ‘Someone has come.’

‘Maybe someone’s helping them,’ said James, hopefully, though there was a cold feeling of unease in his guts.

‘Would the girl go without saying anything?’ said Garcia.

‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ said James. ‘I’m not her favourite person in the world.’

‘We must find them,’ said Garcia.

‘They can’t be long gone,’ said James. ‘Maybe if we split up. They didn’t go down the main road away from town because I would have seen them.’

‘And they did not come up towards the main square either,’ said Garcia. ‘They must have gone down one of the other streets.’

They walked back up to where the three streets joined and James and Garcia took one each.

James hurried along, glancing into side streets as he went. A few people were beginning to emerge from their houses and survey the damage. James stopped and asked a couple in a mixture of pidgin Spanish and dumb show if they had seen an American girl and boy. On the third time of asking, an old peasant pointed James in the direction he was already headed.