shade. The gentle waves lapped behind their heels, but their footprints were still visible. There were barely a few meters of sand, trimmed halfway with a ribbon of seaweed, as light as lace. Max bellied back to the water, brushed the sand smooth and edged up the weed to disguise the scuff marks.
Back in the safety of the tree line, he turned and watched the cat-and-mouse game between boat and helicopter. Max could see the boat was not as maneuverable as the chopper. They must be taking on water. It had been damaged on the reef.
The gentle thunder of waves on the reef muted the cracking of gunfire. Flames spat from the side of the helicopter. Two of the men in the boat pointed machine pistols in the air, fired and then fell back as blood exploded around them, the heavy-caliber rounds smashing their bodies. The other two men were still alive on the boat. Alejandro steered with one hand and fired his pistol with the other.
The helicopter seemed to shudder, then dipped its nose like an angry bull readying to charge. A sudden shattering noise reached Max and Xavier as the violence from the gunship assaulted their senses. Sustained firepower poured into the boat in angry response to its resistance.
A vivid flame blossomed, ballooning outward, then sucked back in on itself as the inferno in the boat’s fuel tanks made them explode. Moments later, the sound of the explosion washed over the two boys.
Xavier cried out and ran toward the water’s edge. Max grabbed him. The boy fought free, yelling his brother’s name.
“They’ll see us! Xavier. Wait!”
Max threw him to the ground and pinned him into the wet sand. The wildness went out of the grieving boy’s eyes, and Max felt the strength seep from Xavier’s body. Max forced him to his feet and pushed him back into the undergrowth.
The helicopter turned like a beast sniffing out another victim.
Max didn’t wait for it to find them. He grabbed Xavier and ran him deeper into the trees. Within fifteen meters, they had lost sight of the sea, and the tangled undergrowth made it almost impossible to penetrate any farther.
Scratched, bleeding and soaking wet, they rested, gaping upward through the jungle canopy, involuntarily holding their breath, as if the shadow that roared above the treetops might hear them.
The helicopter turned. Max followed the sound, checking that Xavier was behind him. They crouched and a narrow window between the low branches allowed them to see the chopper hover over the sea, its blades dissipating the black, choking smoke, blowing it aside, as if the beast had snorted air in search of its prey.
Satisfied that nothing remained alive, the helicopter banked away and headed for its mother ship on the horizon.
“I killed my brother,” Xavier said, his body trembling. Shock was setting in.
“If that’s true, he let you,” Max said. “We’d better check your wound, Xavier.”
The boy pulled back. “Leave me alone.” Tears welled in his eyes.
This wasn’t the time to play field medic. Max saw the glitter of light fade through the leaves. It went dark. He checked his watch-6:20 p.m. They could go no farther. Max was already thinking of how to survive the claustrophobic hours in the jungle when, as if on cue, night sounds erupted. Cicadas chattered in deafening unison, and the screeching pitch of night beetles, like a short-wave radio being tuned, filled the night air. Max pulled Xavier down into the base of a tree whose roots flared out like shields from the trunk. This was not ideal. He did not want to spend the night on the jungle floor. Spiders, ants, snakes and all kinds of animals would be moving.
Leaves rustled.
Creatures moved.
The jungle was alive.
12
Max’s eyes were wide open, staring into the darkness. Pulling his knees up, he felt for anything he could use as a weapon. His hand found a stick, and he held it across his body like a sword, giving himself the confidence of having something for self-defense, even though he knew it would be useless if anything dangerous attacked. Creatures were on their night hunt. Rustling and scratching surrounded him, and Max did not know whether he and Xavier were on the menu. Xavier’s exhaustion and grief held him in a cocoon of deep sleep. Max had become his guardian but had no illusions that they would survive a predator’s attack. He had seen men stalked and killed by lions when he was in Africa. He could never erase the horrendous sight from his mind, or the sounds of the men’s screams as they were torn apart. If fear was the key to survival, then Max thought he should live forever.
His dad’s words came unbeckoned into his mind. He squeezed his eyes closed, torn between the comfort of his father’s voice and wanting to blot out the face that came with it. Max grimaced. Time to forget the emotions. Get on with it. If his dad were here, would he be doing this? Was there anything else Max should do? His choices were limited. Stay put and survive till morning and then try to determine a plan of action.
Then, out of the darkness, fingers of light pierced the mangrove forest. An animal’s eyes gleamed as the light swooped across them. The slow rhythmic beat of an outboard engine broke the silence. The Coast Guard team was looking for survivors. Max heard their muffled voices. Americans. Their unhurried search faltered once or twice as they found another body in the water. “Here’s one of them,” a voice called. The engine spluttered as the revs were reduced. Max strained to hear. They were about fifty meters offshore. The searchlight’s beam swung crazily and then settled. Max saw the fractured illumination create shadow and form through the low branches. One of the men cried out, “What’s that? There!”
The lights swung away from the jungle. “Crocs! They’re going for the dead guy in the water!” Two rapid gunshots boomed through the night. Max heard the men whoop with success and heard one shout, “Saltwater croc! Did you see the size of him? Wow!”
Xavier jerked awake as the gunshots reverberated across the water. A cry of alarm escaped from his throat.
Max reached behind him and pushed a restraining hand against the boy’s face, whispering urgently, “It’s all right. It’s all right. They’re searching for survivors. They just shot at something, that’s all.” Max did not have the heart to tell him about the crocodiles and the bodies in the water-it could well have been Alejandro’s body the croc had tried to savage.
Someone shouted a command.
“All right, you men! C’mon, get that guy’s body aboard!”
A slushing rush of water carried across the surface. Max imagined the estuary yielding the body as it was hauled into the boat. He shuddered. He had been attacked by crocs before, but the thought of them prowling through the night waters of the mangrove swamps, ready to take the corpses of the men from the boat, made his stomach squirm.
“You think the Yanquis come for us?” Xavier whispered.
“No, they’ll patrol until daybreak and then do a final search of the area as soon as it’s light. Until then we have to stay exactly where we are, but I think we have to get off the ground. There’s too much going on in there,” he said, nodding toward the dense jungle. The sweeping light from the men’s boat had illuminated ropelike vines coming down from the tree’s canopy. Max tugged. It took his weight easily. “It’ll be OK. We have to climb into the tree. We’ll be safer from whatever’s hunting down here.”
Xavier eased himself from the ground. It was almost pitch-dark, and he reached forward like a blind man stumbling in an unknown place. His hands found Max and gripped his shoulder. “We don’ know what’s up there. The big cats, they hunt in the jungle. They climb the trees. Nowhere is safe. Maybe we swim, into the river, then around the headland.”
Xavier’s nerve had broken. He pushed against Max in the darkness, but Max turned his shoulder and shoved hard, forcing the boy back against the tree. Xavier grunted with pain. Max knew he could not afford to fight now. If they started rolling around on the floor, grappling for supremacy, that would attract bigger creatures than the insects that still shrieked around them. There were killers in the jungle, and the men were still nearby in the boats.
