A second man, who must have stayed still, fired at his muzzle flash. Riga felt the snap of air next to his head. He did not flinch but, with an instinct born of years of close-quarter battle, returned fire. There was a cracking splat of bone and blood and the hard, sudden thump of a body thrown backward onto the ground.
A rush of air caused a vibration, an almost imperceptible fluttering of dust, as a figure rushed from the darkness. This man was better than the others; he had waited, using animal cunning to get close to his adversary, which meant that he would use a knife. Riga silently took all the pain as he bent down on his wounded leg, his lower profile fooling the attacker. He came in high, found only air, then felt the agony of death as Riga dispatched him with one blow.
Riga quickly calmed his labored breathing. He listened. There was no one else. But others would come.
He pulled the tab on another flare and examined his leg. The bullet had torn across his thigh, but no bone was broken, no artery damaged. Butterfly clips would not hold a gash like this, especially with the exertion he would be placing on the leg. He would stitch and bind the wound. It would slow him down and there would be pain-though he was no stranger to that-then he would continue his pursuit.
And find out why Cazamind had turned on him.
Max acknowledged that Flint was the rain forest expert and at first light allowed him to lead the way into the jungle. Flint found the line of least resistance through the trees, and using the animal paths, they made good time.
Xavier was insistent that he go in the middle. Flint could lead the way, but Xavier wanted Max behind him; there was no way he was going to bring up the rear. He had seen plenty of movies where the man at the back always got taken out by whoever was hunting them.
As Flint moved forward intuitively, Max kept his eyes on the jungle. He could see no movement, and yet there was something out there that worried him. The dank smell of the undergrowth filled their nostrils, but Max was convinced he could smell the sweat of men. He whispered a gentle hiss to Flint barely ten paces ahead of him. By the time Flint and Xavier turned, Max was on one knee and gesturing them down. They dropped to their haunches at once. Xavier’s eyes were wide with fear, and Max put a finger to his lips to make sure the boy did not speak. Flint had not moved as he concentrated on the surrounding jungle. He would not question Max’s caution; the boy had good instincts.
He shook his head. Max nodded an acknowledgment. Maybe, he thought, the warning sensation was simply a state of heightened tension. Like a wary animal, Max felt a nerve-tingling threat. A sixth sense was at work. They moved on carefully, but within seconds Max’s fears were realized. It was as if a million butterflies had flapped their wings at the same time and created a fluttering current of air that jostled the leaves-a wave of unseen energy rushed toward them. They no sooner felt it than the jungle floor erupted.
Flint and Xavier were swept up into the air by a net, their bodies slammed together. Xavier yelped; Flint cursed. Their arms and legs were caught up in the rope weave. It had happened so fast. Max was barely a step behind them, but he twisted round, fully expecting someone to complete the attack. He was too late. As if from nowhere, dozens of spears angled at his chest and throat. He was surrounded by urchin-like children, some of them about ten or eleven years old, others no more than Max’s age. They were Maya, they were armed and they had Max trapped.
And they weren’t smiling.
23
Moments after the attack, Flint shouted at their attackers in Mayan. After a minute of uncertainty, they cut the net trap, thumping him and Xavier to the ground. The children stepped back, lowering their spears, but they stayed on guard as Max went to help Flint untangle himself from the net.
“They wanted to make sure who we were. I told them we were searching for your mother,” Flint explained as he got to his feet. “They’re like feral kids; they have to stay out of sight of the warriors.”
“The Serpent Warriors?” Max asked.
Flint nodded. “They’re scared of them, and they want us to get out of here now.”
This was no time for Max to start asking any more questions. Prompted by the sharp points of the spears behind them, Max, Xavier and Flint started running. They ran at a pace that nearly killed the older man. On and on they went, through barely perceptible gashes in the undergrowth, across crevices and streams, uphill and down. The high humidity made them gasp, and the heat attacked them like another enemy. Flint’s smoke-raddled lungs could not take in the oxygen he needed to keep going. Max and Xavier supported him and managed to keep up with the fast-running children.
They finally came to a makeshift camp, and it was obvious to Max that these children were not part of any formal settlement. The lean-to huts offered basic protection from the elements, like a forest shelter that any Boy Scout would make-branches, twigs, leaves and moss on a simple frame. Max realized they also offered good camouflage against any searcher who did not look carefully enough.
Four hours of grueling travel had taken their toll. Xavier gulped water offered to him by a young girl and then crumpled, exhausted, against the base of a tree. Max watched as some of the children helped drag the half- conscious Flint into the cooler air of a lean-to. These kids seemed organized. A young girl bathed Flint’s face; another fanned him with a big leaf. Once he had drunk more water, he seemed to recover quite quickly. Obviously the plant thief could endure jungle conditions. It had been the hard pace that caused him problems.
Max stayed on his feet, still wary of what was going on. If he needed to make a run for it, he would do so in an instant. One of the girls approached and offered him a gourd full of water. She smiled at him, nodded and said something Max didn’t understand. “It’s OK. They won’t hurt you. You’re safe now. Drink,” Flint translated.
Max spilled water over his face and felt his belly distend with a satisfying swig as one of the boys stepped forward and threw the broken-shafted spear and his blowpipe at his feet. He said something to Flint.
“He wants to know if I’m telling the truth about you searching for your mother,” Flint said.
Max made no attempt to pick up his weapons. He looked directly at the boy and girl and nodded. Dare he hope these wild-looking children knew anything about his mum?
The boy looked at him intently. They were of equal age and build-perhaps the jungle boy was sizing him up, wondering if Max posed a challenge. It seemed he was the spokesman for the group. Again he said something to the girl. She looked uneasy.
“When white people come here, they bring trouble,” Flint said quietly. “But they saw a Serpent Warrior run from the cave’s direction, which meant something had frightened him. It had to be you.”
Max looked directly into their eyes. Even if they did not immediately understand his words before Flint translated, he wanted to convince them of the truth. “We were attacked on the other side of the mountains before we came through the Cave of the Stone Serpent. I don’t mean to bring you any trouble.”
He extended his hand to the boy, reasoning that there was a hierarchy in this group and the boy should be greeted first.
“My name is Max Gordon. Yes, I’m trying to find out what happened to my mother.”
The boy ignored Max’s gesture and spoke again, looking to the girl, who said something in her gentle voice. She smiled and Max felt a seldom-experienced tenderness. She was beautiful.
“Boy’s name is Tree Walker, and she’s called Setting Star. They’re brother and sister,” Flint said. “Son, don’t you go all soppy on me now. She’s a pretty girl, but we’re still in deep trouble here.”
Max blushed. He hadn’t realized he had been so obvious. The boy gestured him toward the center of the settlement. He noticed there were no fires, but there was fruit laid out on broad jungle leaves that served as plates. Flint’s whiskers were already covered in yellow juices as he smothered his face like a dog in its feed bowl.
“Flint, you eat like a pig at a trough.”
“Aha. Eat as much as you can as quick as you can. I got a feeling these kids are gonna be on the move again, and soon. They’re scared. These Serpent Warriors are out there somewhere, and from what I can tell, they’re gonna be coming for you.” Flint sank his teeth into a huge slice of mango and sucked like a drain. In between slurping gulps, he translated as Tree Walker and Setting Star spoke quietly but with a sense of urgency. As if eager to rid themselves of painful memories.
