Authors: Andy McDermott
Empire of Gold (64 page)
All four of the Ford’s wheels left the ground as it hit the blockage, then crashed back down with a squeal of poorly maintained suspension. It veered towards the drop, Eddie struggling to bring it back into the ruts. Rocks pounded at the tyres, throwing him about in his seat. Despite his best efforts, he was losing speed. The Land Cruiser grew in the mirror, the gunman firing again.
He had almost reached the waterfall—
No. The waterfall had almost reached him.
It grew wider even as he watched, its edge sweeping along the defoliated swathe of the cliff above. Stones tumbled down the mountainside.
The river was about to burst its banks—
The F-150 plunged into the waterfall. The torrent exploded into the cab through the missing door, the force of the water throwing the truck sideways. Eddie frantically spun the steering wheel, trying to turn back towards the cliff-face. He couldn’t see anything, froth obliterating all vision. All he had left was his sense of balance, which told him the truck was tipping over as it slid closer to the edge of the road . . .
The sickening feeling of being about to fall suddenly faded. He had somehow found traction in the mud. He didn’t know why, but took advantage of his apparent luck, applying more power. The truck levelled out.
The deluge eased, giving him a rippling, distorted view through the windscreen. The Hummer was a yellow shimmer ahead. He looked back – and saw where the extra grip had come from. The pickup bed was full of water, putting well over a ton of extra road-hugging weight on to the rear wheels.
Water sloshed around his feet. He opened the door to let it gush out. The truck was struggling, but continued its lumbering journey.
He emerged from the falls. The Hummer was still negotiating the remains of the landslide. A loud bang from behind, and the F-150 shook violently – he thought a tyre had exploded, until he saw that the tailgate had burst open, the trapped water sluicing out of the back.
A dark shape emerged from the downpour in the mirror. The Land Cruiser was right behind him. The gunman leaned from the window again, AK raised—
A new noise from above, a colossal ground-shaking boom as the weight of millions of gallons of trapped water finally overwhelmed the earth containing it.
The waterfall Eddie had just passed through was barely a trickle compared to the wave that surged over the hilltop. Thousands of tons of soil and boulders were swept down the cliff into the valley below.
Eddie floored the accelerator, aiming the Ford at the Hummer. Shadows swelled around him as the great mass of muddy water descended like a shroud.
It hit the road, blasting away the debris of the landslide as if jet-washing the mountain. A massive rock flattened the Land Cruiser and the two rebels inside it, what little was left of the vehicle whirling away into the maelstrom. More stones hit the pickup like meteorites. The windscreen shattered as the roof buckled under the impacts.
A swelling, churning wave snatched up the F-150. Fear froze Eddie’s heart as he thought he was being flung to his death into the void – then he realised he was being carried
along
the road, not off it, the water finding a ready-made channel down which to run. But he was out of control, the truck tossed like a cork on the wavecrest . . .
along
the road, not off it, the water finding a ready-made channel down which to run. But he was out of control, the truck tossed like a cork on the wavecrest . . .
A flash of yellow—
The pickup hit the Hummer. Both vehicles slewed round, wheels scraping sidelong over the road as the water swept them along. For an instant, Eddie found himself looking straight at Pachac, the Maoist leader staring back at him wide-eyed through the H3’s window.
Then the Hummer slipped away – and went over the edge.
Eddie had no time to rejoice, or think about anything but his own survival. The steering wheel jerked in his hands as the pickup was carried down the track. If the tyres could find enough grip for him to steer, just for a second, he could try to wedge the F-150 against the hillside—
He didn’t get the second he needed, or even close. The current whirled the truck round. The front wheels dropped sharply, the pickup hanging briefly on the brink . . . then the sodden soil collapsed beneath it and pitched it over the cliff.
38
N
ina skidded the Patrol to a desperate emergency stop as the seething wave crashed down the hillside ahead. ‘Holy
shit
!’
ina skidded the Patrol to a desperate emergency stop as the seething wave crashed down the hillside ahead. ‘Holy
shit
!’
‘Over there!’ said Macy, pointing down the steep slope on the far side of the deluge. Nina saw the yellow Hummer skittering down the hill – and the pickup truck following it over the edge of the road.
The truck Eddie was driving.
She wanted to look away, but couldn’t.
Pachac and his driver screamed as the H3 picked up speed down the steepening slope. The only thing between them and the clouds filling the valley below was a rocky outcrop, a gnarled tree jutting sidelong from it—
The Hummer hit the protruding rock nose-first. The airbags fired, but with neither man wearing a seatbelt they were still slammed brutally forward. Another impact followed as the H3 tipped back and hit the cliff, ending up wedged against the rockface.
Even through his pain and disorientation, Pachac knew he had to get clear as quickly as possible. He swatted away the airbag’s flaccid remains and opened the door. The thin build-up of dirt in which the tree had taken root was already being washed away by the water flowing down the cliff – and with over two tons of automobile on top of it, the rock would probably soon go the same way.
He dragged himself out. ‘Come on,’ he rasped. ‘We’ve got—’
Noise above. Not water, not rock. Metal. He looked up.
Something rushed down the hillside towards him—
Even as the F-150 went over the edge, Eddie was turning the wheel, trying to aim the truck at a tree he had glimpsed below. His chances of reaching it were almost zero, but a minuscule hope of survival was better than no hope at all. He leaned out of the open door as the abused vehicle rushed down the slope—
The Hummer was perched on the rock supporting the tree - off to the side.
He wasn’t going to make it.
Not in the truck—
Eddie dived out, twisting in freefall to land on his back . . .
He hit the Hummer’s roof with such force that all its windows exploded, the expanse of sheet metal crumpling beneath him as the F-150 shot past, missing the rock by inches. The pain was so intense it overwhelmed his senses.
Taste returned first, the metallic sting of blood in his mouth. Other pains reported in throughout his body as he tried to move. His spine was ablaze – broken? No, he realised as his limbs achingly responded, but it could hardly hurt much more.
He forced his eyes open. The tree was a wavering blur, the light from the sky beyond its branches almost painful. All his body wanted to do was lie still and fade away . . .
Pachac.
The thought of the Peruvian pulled him back. Where was Pachac? He had been in the Hummer, and Eddie was now
on
the Hummer. He had a mission. Make him pay for what he had done to Mac. Catch him. Kill him.
on
the Hummer. He had a mission. Make him pay for what he had done to Mac. Catch him. Kill him.
The pain made the cold, ruthless detachment of his pursuit impossible to maintain, animal rage sawing at the clinical parts of his mind. He channelled it, controlled it, used it as fuel as he slowly rolled on his side.
Pachac lay on the rock below.
Their gazes locked on to each other. Disbelief filled the rebel’s eyes, fury Eddie’s. The pain vanished as the Englishman threw himself at the revolutionary leader—
The mangled Hummer tipped into the abyss behind him with a grind of metal and the driver’s petrified scream, but Eddie didn’t even notice, fixated on Pachac. The Peruvian managed to scramble aside as he landed, the desperation of self-preservation overcoming his own pain. He jumped up and backed towards the tree, fumbling in his wet clothing as Eddie advanced. ‘The rock is going to fall!’ Pachac cried as stones clattered down around him, dislodged from their homes by the muddy deluge. The waterfall’s full force was already fading, the bulk of the flood released in a single great burst, but it would be some time before all the escaped water found its way down to the bottom of the valley. ‘If we fight here, we both die!’
‘So long as you go first,’ Eddie growled.
Pachac flinched as he backed against the tree. His search became more panicked as Eddie drew closer – then he found what he wanted.
His knife.
The savage blade snapped out. Eddie stopped, eyes fixed on the weapon, waiting for Pachac to make his move.
The Peruvian misinterpreted his hesitation as fear, a sneering smile creeping on to his face. ‘Yeah, you should be scared,’ he hissed, stepping forward. ‘You know how many I have gutted with this knife?’ The smile widened into a twisted, demonic grin. ‘I don’t know myself. I stopped counting at twenty.’ Another step, the knife sweeping from side to side like a cobra assessing its prey.
Eddie held his ground, still watching the weapon. The blade kept moving, left, to right, to left . . .
Forward—
The knife jerked at his stomach, but Eddie’s hands were already in motion, grabbing Pachac’s wrist and deflecting the attack. Even so, the Peruvian’s brute strength almost caught him, the blade stabbing through the sodden lining of his jacket.
Still clutching the rebel’s arm with his left hand, he lashed out with his right to chop at Pachac’s throat. Pachac jerked back, but still took the edge of Eddie’s palm to his larynx. He gasped, choking.
Eddie smashed Pachac’s knife hand down against his knee, trying to force him to drop the blade. Another hit, but the Peruvian’s fingers were still clenched tightly round the hilt. A third blow, and it slipped—
The knife clattered on to the rock just as Pachac recovered his breath and lashed out with his other arm, the muscular limb thudding against the base of Eddie’s neck like a club. Eddie struck back, trying to crush Pachac’s nose, but only hit his chin. Another blow dropped the Englishman to his knees. Pachac’s own knee crashed against his head. Eddie fell on his back, struggling to get up—
Pachac’s hands locked around Eddie’s throat and squeezed.
The strength of the Peruvian’s fingers was incredible. Eddie clawed at them, but they were as unyielding as steel.
‘Capacocha,’
the revolutionary leader snarled. ‘This is what happens to all enemies of the Inkarrí!’
‘Capacocha,’
the revolutionary leader snarled. ‘This is what happens to all enemies of the Inkarrí!’
Eddie tried to bend back and snap one of his little fingers, but even that was too strong for him to move. He shifted his hands to the rock, groping for a weapon – afallen stone, a piece of wood . . .
But his fingers found nothing. He flailed, writhing along the outcrop in a last desperate attempt to break free. Pachac moved with him, mouth widening into a triumphant grin—
Eddie felt a spike of pain in his hand. Something very sharp.
He grabbed it, striking with the last of his strength—
The knife stabbed into Pachac’s arm, tearing between the bones to burst out from the inside of his wrist in a spray of blood. He screamed, releasing his hold and stumbling away.
Still clutching the bloodied knife, Eddie sat up, straining to draw air through his bruised throat—
The rock jolted.
A split opened up where it jutted from the cliff, flowing water eagerly rushing into the new space and washing out the earth acting as natural mortar. The outcrop dropped a couple of inches, halting with a crunch. The rebel fell on his back.
Eddie jumped up and hurdled Pachac, making a flying leap at the tree—
The rock dropped away from under him, ripping out of the cliff like a tooth from a diseased gum. He hit the tree, grabbed it – and slipped.
Falling—
He caught a protruding root with one hand – and slammed the knife into the wood with the other, arresting his fall.
Then was almost torn loose.
Pachac’s hand was locked round his ankle.
Some of the roots had wound their way into the cliff’s cracks, holding the tree in place, but the men’s combined weight was pulling them out. Eddie kicked at the Peruvian’s fingers, hearing a cry from below, but before he could strike again Pachac managed to grab his boot with his other hand. Even with an injured wrist, his grip was still fiercely strong.
Another snap of roots. ‘Pull us up!’ Pachac cried. ‘The tree is going to fall – pull us up!’
Eddie looked down at him . . . and the anger returned. Not taking his eyes off the revolutionary, he jerked his hand from side to side, working the knife out of the root.
Pachac saw the movement. ‘What – what are you doing? No! You’ll kill us both!’
Eddie said nothing, still tugging at the knife. The wood creaked, splintering – then the blade pulled free.
Both men swung away from the cliff, Eddie supporting them with only one hand. The tree swayed sharply. Pachac stifled a shriek, toes scrabbling at the rock. He knew that if he risked finding a handhold, his other hand would be kicked until his fingers broke.
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