Flint offered a farewell handshake to Max. “I don’t want him. He’s yours.”
Xavier scowled. “Blood fall vein,” he said in Creole.
“What did he say?” asked Max.
Flint spat to one side, partly to rid himself of the small fly that had settled on his lips, but mostly in disgust. “Blood follows vein-he means relatives look out for each other.” Flint snorted. “Good luck, son. I’ll wait until you’re across; then I’m out of here. But I’d watch my back with this one,” he said, looking at Xavier.
Xavier dared to point a finger at the grizzled face. “You bush crazy, you know that, plant man? You got weeds growing in your brain. This boy is my friend. I wouldn’t wanna stay with you even if you asked me nicely.”
Flint smiled at Max. “ ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!’ ”
Xavier pleaded with Max. “You see? This guy has been smokin’ stuff that’s bad. An’ you trustin’ him to send you in there?”
“It’s Shakespeare.”
“I don’ care what it’s called-I just hope there was none of it mixed up in that cigarette you gave me.”
Max smiled but felt a stab of uncertainty. There had been moments when being with Orsino Flint was the safest refuge he had had in days. Now he was going back to a violent environment. The moment passed. Fear was a good thing-it would keep him alert and alive along with the inflamed energy of anger he felt for his dad.
Xavier was startled by Max’s aggressive burst of energy. The boy looked primal, caked in sweat and dirt, armed with blowpipe and bush panga, carrying the flint-headed spear, hair plastered to his head and with a wild look in his eye. It made Xavier think twice about following him. Orsino Flint grabbed his shirtfront and pulled his face close to his own.
“Get out of here, drug scum. You ever come back, I make you croc bait.” He shoved Xavier out of cover. Like an uncoordinated bird fallen from the nest, Xavier stumbled, arms floundering, but then gave chase to Max, who was already halfway across the wasteland. More than anything else, he did not want to go where Max was going, but he could not stay with Flint.
Max did not look back. He wanted the safety of the trees and prayed hostile eyes were not watching his pounding approach. He made it to the edge of the forest and ran in a couple of meters before stopping, turning and looking back for Xavier. He saw the gangly kid run across, and in the distance Orsino Flint eased back a tree branch and disappeared. As Xavier ran, Max saw him turn his head to one side. He faltered, and fell, sprawling into the dirt.
He got to his feet, confused, and then ran on, looking wildly for where Max might be. His uncertainty made Max step back into the open. He raised his spear arm, and the boy swerved to run toward him. As Max grabbed him and yanked him into cover, Xavier coughed and wheezed, shaking with exertion. “There’s someone comin’!”
Max pulled him down. “Don’t move. Stay absolutely still, whatever you do. There may be men in the trees as well.”
Now Max could hear the sound of a pickup truck approaching. He moved position slightly so he could see down the wasteland. At first he saw only the plume of dust from the vehicle, but then, as he raised his head slightly through the cover, he saw the open-backed 4?4. Two men in the front, two more in the back, all of them armed. Maybe this was a routine patrol, but it was very bad timing as far as Max was concerned. The pickup truck slowed. A man in the back was pointing at something ahead of the vehicle. And then they stopped almost opposite the place where Max and Xavier were hiding.
“What they doin’?” Xavier whispered.
“I don’t know,” replied Max, keeping his eyes on the men who now climbed out of the vehicle. One of them was pointing to something on the ground. He bent down and picked up something that glistened in the sunlight. It took Max a second to realize what it was, and as he did so, Xavier’s hand went to his neck.
“My gold chain,” the boy muttered.
The men were studying the ground. Max could hear them talking, and then they looked up toward the trees. They had seen the boys’ tracks. No sense in hiding now; they would be caught in a couple of minutes. Max grabbed Xavier’s shoulder. “Come on. Run for it!”
The boy faltered. In that brief moment, Max saw the fear on his face: he did not want to run into the jungle, but then he smiled. “It’s OK, it’s OK! I know a couple of those guys. They’ve worked with my brother. Max, you go on-I’ll be OK here. They can take me back with them. I won’t say anything. I’ll cover for you. I can get home now.”
Xavier’s smile broadened. He squeezed Max’s arm. “I can keep these guys off your back,
All the men lowered their weapons except one, who kept an eye on the jungle, the butt of a pump-action shotgun on his shoulder. Max held his breath. The men had reached Xavier, and they seemed to be smiling. He heard them greet each other and embrace, and then Xavier began telling his story, never looking back to where Max lay hidden.
Orsino Flint’s words came back to him about not trusting Xavier and that he would sell him out at the first opportunity to save his own skin. Max was desperate to believe that Xavier would do no such thing, and for a few brief moments his faith in the boy held out. But then one of the men gently pushed Xavier against the side of the truck. They did not seem happy with the boy’s explanation. Xavier was protesting too much. As one of Xavier’s “friends” held him, the others turned to stare toward Max’s hiding place. These men might have known Alejandro, but now they were working for someone else, and that someone must be paying them big money not to take anything at face value. Max ran. The men saw the movement. The chase was on.
20
There were no tracks to follow in the jungle, so Max ran purely on instinct. Keeping his head down and his shoulders hunched, he brushed aside many of the low branches. If he couldn’t see any tracks, then neither could the men following him, but they would hear him crashing through the undergrowth, and that would lead them to him.
Before he plunged into the undergrowth, his last sight of the three in pursuit was of them running in a V formation. That was clever. It meant that Max’s arc of escape was in a confined area.
He tried to keep a sense of direction and run in a straight line-almost impossible in these conditions-but he knew that if he could, he would reach the ravine and hopefully find the entrance to the cave. The going was hard, and already the heat and difficult terrain were sapping his strength.
He crouched, wiped the sweat from his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. If he could not see his pursuers clearly, then the same was true for them. He waited. These men were clumsy, just pushing through the undergrowth. There was a rustling movement nearby-one of the gunmen. Max lay flat.
He concentrated on his breathing-it sounded so loud. The man was less than three meters away.
Max eased the blowpipe from his back and, with agonizingly slow movements, loaded a dart. He got the blowpipe into position, brought it to his lips and in his mind’s eye pictured the man’s route.
The jungle floor rustled with insect life, and the largest spider Max had ever seen emerged from the twisted growth. Its long, prickly legs must have spanned almost twelve centimeters and supported a hairy, misshapen body. The legs picked their way through the debris and came straight for him. The spider’s fangs for biting and poisoning its prey were clearly visible, and its globular eyes seemed to be focused on his own. The man’s footfalls had obviously flushed it out. Max froze. The spider straddled the blowpipe, and with silk-like softness walked across his hands.
Max’s heart thumped into the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the spider clamber across his face. Every part of him wanted to scream and jump clear.
His back muscles quivered. The spider picked its way across his hair and onto his neck. The way Max was
