Hurricane Gold Page 13

  ‘How long will that take to get ready?’ said James.

  ‘About an hour to set up so’s it safe, then about a second to blow the lock.’

  At lunchtime James sat apart from the others with Garcia. ‘Once they get that safe open, who knows what they’ll do,’ he said. ‘If they find what they’re after, they might not have any more use for us.’

  Garcia nodded. ‘We cannot wait any longer,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll have to make our move while they’re inside, working on the safe,’ said James. ‘We just need to get Precious and JJ up to the car by the entrance.’

  ‘Is a long walk,’ said Garcia. ‘JJ will not make it.’

  ‘We can carry him,’ said James. ‘The two guards can help. Between us we can do it.’

  ‘It hurts me to see how sick he is,’ said Garcia. ‘There is a hospital in Vera Cruz. In the car we can be there soon.’

  When they got the opportunity, James explained the plan to Precious, and Garcia spoke to the guards, who visibly cheered up when they discovered that they were going to be freed.

  After lunch, Mrs Glass and the others went over to the shed to get the safe ready. James and Garcia were just about to put their plan into action when Strabo returned.

  ‘We need your help, Garcia,’ he said in his harsh rasping way. ‘We got to move the safe.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Garcia. ‘I just finish my coffee and I will come.’

  ‘Yeah, well be quick about it. I know what lazy slobs you beaners are.’

  Strabo went back and James joined Garcia.

  ‘Now what?’ he said.

  ‘Maybe it is better this way,’ said Garcia. ‘I can try to make sure they stay here and don’t come after you.’

  ‘We can’t do this without you,’ said James.

  ‘Sure you can,’ said Garcia. ‘You can do it, James. You are a brave kid. The guards can get you to Vera Cruz. I will see you there when this is all over.’

  James gripped Garcia’s hand briefly.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘No problem,’ said Garcia and he strolled over to the other hut.

  James was moving fast. He used Strabo’s knife to cut the wire holding the guards.

  They hugged him and thanked him, babbling away in Mexican and James told them to keep quiet.

  Precious was shaking but she had a determined look about her. She would fight her fear to help her little bother. JJ was sweating and very feverish. He didn’t really seem to know what was going on. James helped him on to the back of the younger guard. JJ cried out feebly as the wound in his leg was knocked, but Precious soothed him and he calmed down, his eyelids drooping closed.

  All set, James went outside to see that the coast was clear.

  There was Whatzat. Striding towards the truck. James hastily signalled to the others to stay back and walked over to him.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he said.

  ‘Whatzat?’

  ‘How’s the work going?’

  ‘Slowly. You can’t rush nitro… Hey, whatzat?’

  ‘What?’ James turned and, to his horror, saw the elderly guard poking his head out of the doorway.

  He quickly ducked back inside, but not before Whatzat had spotted him.

  ‘You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on those guys,’ he snarled and pushed James out of the way before hurrying over the muddy ground towards the shed.

  James picked up a rock and ran after him. He hated to do it, but he swung as hard as he could and took Whatzat in the base of his skull. He went down like a felled tree and James ran past him into the shed.

  The Mexican was gabbling an apology. James told him to shut up and get going, but the next thing they knew Whatzat was in the doorway brandishing his gun.

  James hadn’t knocked him cold, only stunned him.

  He looked furious.

  ‘You shouldn’ta done that, Corona,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what your game is, but I aim to put a stop to it – permanently.’

  14

  A Hope in Hell

  There was no time to worry. No time to think. James had to act.

  He picked up a handful of lime and, before Whatzat could fire his gun, he threw it hard into his face. Whatzat yelled and clutched at his eyes, the powder burning into the soft flesh.

  ‘Run,’ James shouted as Whatzat started firing blindly.

  The bullets punched through the flimsy wood of the shed creating bright spots in the walls.

  James and Precious threw themselves to the ground while the two guards darted outside carrying JJ.

  There were tears streaming down Whatzat’s face and his eyes were a livid red. He was roaring in pain and anger. As James scrambled to his feet he pulled the frightened Precious after him. They barged into Whatzat and ran out into the light.

  Whatzat was on their tail, though, still wildly firing his pistol.

  Hand in hand, James and Precious zigzagged to avoid the bullets as well as the pools of oily water. Whatzat stumbled after them.

  A bullet hit the ground at their feet with a wet smack. James let go of Precious’s hand and they separated.

  James had only run on a few paces when another bullet whined past his ear, dangerously close, and he dropped to his knees in a sticky patch of wet clay, losing sight of Precious.

  Whatzat’s shooting had alerted the rest of the gang and Strabo burst out of the other shed, closely followed by Sakata. ‘Watch where you’re going, Whatzat!’ Strabo yelled.

  ‘Whatzat! Who’s shouting?’

  Half-crazed, unable to see or hear properly, Whatzat turned and fired towards the sound of Strabo’s voice.

  It was Strabo’s turn to drop to the ground now, and Sakata ducked behind a pile of rubble.

  ‘It’s me, you idiot!’ Strabo shouted. ‘Strabo! It’s Strabo. Stand still and stop shooting. Let me deal with them.’

  ‘Whatzat? Whatzat?’

  James tried to stand, slipping and slithering in the wet clay. Whatzat was slowly emptying the magazine in his automatic. A steady stream of bullets were whacking and zinging all around as he marched in a big, clumsy circle.

  At last the shooting stopped – he had emptied the gun. He fumbled in his pocket for a fresh ammunition clip and kept on walking.

  Strabo jumped to his feet and ran over to him.

  ‘Don’t move, Whatzat,’ he shouted. ‘Just stay put –’

  It was too late, though. Just as Whatzat snapped the clip into his gun, he blundered straight into a pool. He toppled forward with a splash, his arms waving uselessly. He brought his head up, spitting and swearing, but found that he couldn’t lift his body out of the sucking embrace of the thick mud that lay just beneath the surface of the oily water.

  ‘Whatzat?’ he shouted. ‘What’s happening?’ He wiped his eyes but only succeeded in smearing them with filth.

  ‘Hold still,’ shouted Strabo. ‘Don’t struggle, you’ll make it worse.

  But Whatzat couldn’t hear him. He was in a blind panic and the more he twisted and turned, the further he sank into the foul mud.

  ‘Hold still, goddammit!’

  Mrs Glass had come out of the shed and was hurrying over with Sakata.

  James was stuck fast himself now, half-buried in the boggy patch of ground he’d blundered into. He lay there, unable to tear his eyes away from the grisly spectacle.

  ‘Fetch a rope,’ Strabo shouted. ‘Anything.’

  Sakata found a plank and picked his way carefully to the edge of the pool.

  Whatzat’s head and shoulders were the only part of him above the surface now. His hands were scrabbling at the sloppy muck.

  ‘Grab hold of this,’ said Sakata.

  ‘Whatzat?’

  Sakata just managed to get the tip of the plank to Whatzat, who batted it away in fear.

  ‘Help me, oh God, help me,’ he screamed. ‘Get me out of here.’

  ‘I am trying,’ said Sakata. ‘You must hold on.’

  ‘Whatzat? Speak up, I can’t hear y
ou. I can’t see you.’

  Whatzat fired his gun, whether it was on purpose or not, it was impossible to tell. But Sakata backed off for fear of getting shot. He turned to his companions with a despairing look on his face.

  James saw that Mrs Glass was completely impassive, watching Whatzat sink almost with fascination.

  Whatzat’s chin was under now, and then his lips. He coughed and spluttered and tried to scream, but the mud was filling his mouth and no sound came out, just a huge bubble, then a smaller one, then a long stream of tiny ones as his nose slipped under. For a moment only his eyes showed, red and wide, staring into hell.

  Then they were gone too.

  Soon all that was left was his right hand, still clutching the gun. The gun that had killed so many people. The gun that could end lives so easily, but was useless when it came to saving one.

  Whatzat started firing, straight up into the sky. Bang, bang, bang…

  Then the gun slipped under.

  There was silence. Nothing moved.

  Strabo and Sakata went over to the side of the pool and peered down. There was no sign of their friend. Then one last bullet shot out from underwater and it was over.

  ‘Poor devil,’ said Strabo. ‘What a way to go.’

  ‘What happened here?’ said Mrs Glass, staring at James, and then she realised something.

  ‘They’re gone,’ she said. ‘The kids are gone.’

  There was a brief explosion of noise and movement. Mrs Glass shouted some orders, then jumped into the truck with Strabo and they thundered off up the track. The truck rattled and banged across the uneven ground and took the old wooden bridge at such a speed that James felt sure it would collapse.

  They disappeared from view and an unbearable stillness settled across the camp. Garcia pulled James to his feet and they stood alongside Sakata, staring fixedly ahead. James didn’t want to catch Garcia’s eye for fear of what he might see. Hopelessness? Despair?

  They waited in frozen silence, on the grey landscape under a grey sky. The only movement was from the flies. James barely noticed them buzzing around his face and crawling across his skin. He was holding his breath, his ears straining for any sound. His entire attention was focused on what was going on past the mounds of earth and stone that blocked the view of the entrance.

  Did Precious, JJ and the two guards have a hope in hell of getting away?

  How much of a head start had they had? Would they make it to the car before the truck caught up with them?

  Like the others, James had been so caught up in the death of Whatzat that he hadn’t been paying attention to what Precious was doing. If only he could have given one of the guards the gun he still had hidden in the waistband of his trousers, they might have had a chance.

  Finally they heard it. A distant crack, and then another. Two shots and no more. The guards were unarmed. It could only mean one thing.

  Unless…

  Unless they had guns hidden in the entrance hut? Or in the car? Perhaps they had lain in ambush? Waited for the truck to drive up…

  James turned and looked at Sakata. He avoided James’s eyes, ashamed.

  Presently there came the growl of an engine and the truck trundled slowly into view. It seemed to take forever, crawling towards them along the track.

  James wanted it never to arrive and he wanted it to be here now, both at the same time.

  When at last it stopped, he could see Strabo sitting on the back, and Mrs Glass sitting up front in the driver’s seat next to Precious.

  There was no sign of either JJ or the guards.

  Mrs Glass got out of the cab and strode over to James and Garcia.

  ‘What the hell happened here?’ she said.

  ‘One of the guards had a hidden knife,’ said James. ‘He must have cut through the wire in the night. They overpowered me.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, that was their mistake. We should have shot them straight away instead of keeping them prisoner. Well, they’re shot now.’

  James tried not to show any emotion. He looked over at Precious, who was getting out of the cab. She looked defeated, but she wasn’t crying. Maybe there were no more tears inside her.

  Mrs Glass gripped James by the bicep.

  ‘You screwed up, Corona,’ she said. ‘Screw up again and I’ll cut your guts out.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said James.

  ‘Yeah? Well, being sorry won’t bring Charlie back.’

  ‘Charlie?’ said James, momentarily confused.

  ‘That was his name,’ said Mrs Glass glancing over at the mud hole. ‘Charlie Moore.’

  Strabo picked up something from the floor of the truck and hopped down. It was JJ. He looked unconscious. Strabo brought him over to Precious and dropped him at her feet.

  ‘He’s all yours, darling,’ he rasped. ‘Next time we won’t go so easy on you two.’

  ‘Next time?’ shouted Garcia angrily. ‘There won’t be a next time. The boy is nearly dead.’

  ‘That’s not my problem, muchacho,’ said Strabo, turning away, chuckling to himself.

  Garcia stepped forward, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round.

  ‘You scum,’ he said. ‘You filthy, crawling pig. Don’t ever touch the boy again.’

  ‘Watch who you’re talking to, greaser,’ said Strabo, half-laughing.

  Garcia didn’t hesitate. He slapped Strabo across the face with the back of one hand. The blow was so hard it knocked Strabo off his feet. He fell on his side and lay there stunned, his eyes wide, not quite believing what had happened.

  Garcia spat on him, hitting him full in the face. This brought Strabo back to life. He got to his feet and pulled his Colt from his belt. But Garcia was ready for him. He swatted Strabo’s wrist and the gun flew off, skittered across the ground and sank into a mud hole.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Garcia. ‘Pull your gun. That is all you know. Guns and killing. You are not a man. You are a piece of worthless dirt.’

  As he said this, Garcia hit Strabo repeatedly with the back of first one hand and then the other, whipping Strabo’s huge square head from left to right.

  Garcia had worked hard all his life, hauling in nets and lifting heavy crates of fish. His arms were immensely strong. Strabo could do nothing to resist. He staggered backwards under the relentless hail of blows.

  James looked at Mrs Glass to see what she would do. She was watching the attack just as she had watched Whatzat die, with fascination, amusement even. It was clear she wasn’t going to do anything to stop Garcia.

  Strabo sank to his knees, woozy and confused. Garcia grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him over to a pool of filthy green water. He thrust his head into it and held it underwater for a few seconds before letting go.

  Strabo came up, choking and spluttering and dripping slime. He got to his knees and was sick over himself.

  ‘Stand up, cabrón,’ said Garcia and Strabo forced himself to his feet.

  Garcia hit him again. And again. His knuckles were bleeding and Strabo’s face was red and raw looking. His eyes, though, for the first time in his life, were focused. He had lost his squint.

  Garcia beat him until he was exhausted, then he tossed him to one side, where he slumped in a lifeless heap.

  Garcia went to JJ and knelt by him, stroking his face.

  ‘You will be all right,’ he said. ‘I will not let anything happen to you, mi niño. I will find a doctor for you.’

  Gently he scooped the boy up in his muscular arms and stood.

  He walked over to Mrs Glass.

  ‘I am taking the boy to the car,’ he said. ‘Do not try to stop me or I will kill you with my bare hands.’

  Mrs Glass said nothing, but she held Garcia’s stare.

  Garcia turned away and started walking down the track towards the entrance. Mrs Glass lit a cigarette and watched him go.

  He grew smaller and smaller.

  James felt a warm glow of relief pass through him. He wished he was as brave as Garcia, but he had done
nothing for the boy.

  Then he froze. His world fell in on itself.

  A gunshot had split the air. Garcia had fallen.

  Strabo was standing there holding a rifle, his face a bloody, bruised mask.

  He was smiling.

  Precious screamed and she and James ran to where Garcia was lying.

  He was just alive. He took hold of James’s hand.

  ‘It’s up to you now,’ he said. ‘You must be valiente. Look after JJ for me.’

  Garcia closed his eyes and Precious clutched his handsome head.

  ‘No, no, no, no, no…’ she murmured. ‘Please, no…’

  Precious buried Garcia by herself. She wouldn’t let anyone else help her. James watched as she dug the trench and dragged the body over to it. He watched her gently roll him in and cover him over with earth. Then he watched as she sat there, all alone, the light fading from the day.

  He barely noticed the gunshot and the small explosion from the work shed when Mrs Glass and Strabo finally got the safe open. They came out soon afterwards and joined James where he was helping Sakata to make a fire. The two Americans looked tired and none too happy. Strabo’s face was a mess, covered in cuts and bruises, his right eye completely swollen. He grabbed a bottle of whisky from a bag and took a long noisy swallow. Mrs Glass adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and stared at the flames that were curling up out of the fire.

  ‘I hope it’s worth it.’

  Everyone looked round to see Precious glaring at Mrs Glass.

  ‘You talking to me?’ said Mrs Glass, taking the bottle from Strabo.

  ‘Yes, I am talking to you,’ said Precious. ‘I want to know if the money in that safe is worth all the lives you’ve taken. How many is it now? Twelve? Thirteen?’

  ‘I’m not counting,’ said Mrs Glass.

  ‘I am,’ said Precious. ‘And I am going to make you pay for every one of them.’

  ‘Fine words, honey,’ said Mrs Glass. ‘But in the end, just words. What are you going to do, huh? What do you seriously think you are going to do, sister?’

  ‘You never answered my question,’ said Precious.

  ‘Is it worth it?’ said Mrs Glass. ‘That’s a good question. The men who drilled this oil well? Working themselves to death eighteen hours a day for the promise of wealth? Did they think it was worth it? The generals, back there in the war, when they sent thousands of young men off to die? Did they ask themselves if it was worth it? God, up there in heaven? When he sent the storm to wipe out Tres Hermanas –’