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.
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.
