Tambor.
Ford got to his feet, pulling Zacul with him. 'Let's get the hell out of here. '
Tomlinson, a step behind, called, 'Are we being attacked? I don't understand what's happening.'
Ford, who could make no sense of it either, didn't answer. They covered fifty more yards before Zacul stopped, gasping. 'No more, I can run no more. I'm
Ford said, 'We try driving to Tambor and we'll die for sure. Someone's army is coming down that road and I bet they'd love to get their hands on you.'
Zacul said, 'Then we'll take a boat, that's what we'll do . . . take a nice boat on the lake away from the noise of all these cowards.' His mind wandering in delirium.
Crouching beside him, Tomlinson whispered, 'Why isn't he any better? You gave him the shot. Those guys inside started to breathe easier almost right away.' Tomlinson had stayed behind to give the injections before catching up.
'Maybe he's just unlucky.'
'Two of them were already dead. I think I saved Suarez, though.'
'You would.'
Tomlinson caught his arm. 'You didn't give it to Zacul, did you? The antidote.'
Ford said, 'I think we'd better keep moving.'
Tomlinson still held his arm. 'Why don't you answer me? You didn't. You didn't give him the shot!'
Ford pulled his arm away easily, looking into Tomlinson's eyes. 'I said we'd better keep moving.'
More mortar rounds were coming in now, some exploding as they hit the tops of the trees. Diesel fires had spread from the trucks to some of the living quarters. The smell of melting fiberglass mixed with the stink of burning rubber and black smoke swirled in the cool wind coming off the lake.
Ford called, 'Let's go!' and they made it across the parade ground, into the trees before Zacul collapsed once more, pulling the boy down with him. He was,having more cramps, really hurting. He kept waving the pistol around. He wanted to know why the medicine wasn't working. Ford said he had to give it more time. Zacul said he couldn't stand the pain much longer and maybe he should kill the boy now; kill everyone now. Ford, crouching from the mortar fire and the gun, lied, 'At least you're looking better, General. Your color's coming back.'
When a mortar round cut the top off a tree about fifty yards away, Ford pressed his face against the ground as leaves and chunks of limb smacked the mud around them. Zacul raised his head and began to scream 'I order you to stop! I order you to stop this minute!' getting crazier as he got sicker. What was keeping the man going?
The boat dock was down a steep hill and extended about forty yards into the lake. The dock was very wide, commercial grade, and built of huge timbers high off the water. Two flat-bottomed barges were tied to it and one small skiff. There was a high outcrop of rock and mud where a bulldozer had cut the road to the lake, and Ford told Zacul and Tomlinson to stay under the ledge while he got the boat ready.
The shooting was getting closer now. Looking up the hill, he could see soldiers silhouetted by the flaming buildings. These soldiers weren't running, they were stalking, taking their time. Using grenades, too, judging by the sound. And shooting at anything that moved, which was the way of jungle fighters.
Ford sprinted down the dock and dropped to his belly, inspecting the boats. He considered taking one of the barges. A barge would offer more protection against the incoming rounds, but it would be like steering a semi and slow, too. It was about four miles across the lake to Tambor, and he didn't want to spend an hour getting there. At the end of the dock was a skiff, and Ford crawled out to have a look. It was a wooden boat with a high sharp bow, about eighteen feet long with a forty-horsepower Johnson on the transom. It wouldn't be fast but at least they could get it up on plane. He slid off the dock and climbed down a wooden ladder into the skiff. There were two plastic six-gallon fuel tanks in the stern. One was nearly full, the other empty. He threw the empty tank into the water before checking the rubber fuel line, making sure the bulb was primed. Then he pulled the starter rope and the boat lunged, almost throwing him into the water. Someone had left the damn thing in gear. He punched the shifting lever into neutral, then tried again. It took him three more pulls before the engine caught, throwing blue smoke in the moonlight while the whole boat trembled.
Ford climbed back onto the dock and began to run toward the rock outcrop. Halfway to shore, something detonated the water beside him and the wash almost swept him away. He fell and skidded along the planking. He lay there for a few moments, then got shakily to his feet. His ears were ringing and his hands tingled. He was wet, but it seemed to be water, not blood. Tomlinson was coming toward him, herding Zacul and the boy to the boat.
Another mortar round hit and the wedge of rock under which they had been hiding disintegrated into a great plume of debris that came raining down into the water, clattering onto the dock. Ford covered his head, yelling 'They see us! Get into the boat!' But he didn't say anything more, just crouched there looking—stunned by what he saw.
The dock was aglitter with pale-green light, a light that refracted abrupt facets like the shimmer of broken glass or shattered ice. The source of the light was scattered across the dock like gravel and some of the bright orbs drifted down through the clear water, tumbling with the brief incandescence of meteors.
Tomlinson went running past him, kicking more of the stones into the water. Ford made no effort to grab the stones but just watched, transfixed. Then he heard a grunting noise, like gagging, and Zacul was standing in front of him. Zacul wasn't looking at the dock, he was staring at something else, and Ford followed his gaze upward. There, in the smoking hillside, were more emeralds. They were embedded in a great jagged wheel of stone that protruded from the earth. Even though one large chunk of the stone had been sheared away, it was still huge, maybe twelve feet in diameter, bigger than seemed possible. Emeralds sparkled on its surface like sequins, making odd designs that Ford knew were constellations.
'The calendar,' Zacul whispered. 'After all this, I've finally found it.' He turned, letting his pistol drop to his side, and Ford immediately yanked the boy away from him, yelling hoarsely: 'Run! Get in the boat!' expecting Zacul to whirl around with the pistol. -He didn't. He stood looking at the great calendar, bent slightly at the waist with pain, but oblivious to everything else.
Suddenly he turned to Ford, his eyes wild. 'You will help me. Some of the stones are falling into the water. Help me pick them up!'
From down the quay, Tomlinson yelled, 'Come on, Doc! We're waiting!'
Ford said, 'You're on your own, Zacul. We're leaving.'
Zacul pointed the gun at him, 'Not now! Not yet!' his face so crazy with pain and greed that Ford knew he was about to shoot.
Ford bent, picked up several emeralds in each hand, and pushed the stones into his pockets obediently, then lunged suddenly, hitting Zacul with his shoulder. Zacul backpedaled, tripped, and landed back first on the planking. He lay on the dock fighting to breathe, but he still had the pistol and Ford kicked him hard in the ribs as he lifted it to fire. The explosion and the sudden vacuum Ford felt near his ear were simultaneous, like an electrical shock. His legs collapsed and he dropped down onto the general. Zacul clubbed him behind the ear with the butt of the pistol and managed to roll away, using his free hand to scratch at Ford's eyes. Ford locked his hand around Zacul's right wrist and used his open hand to punch the man's elbow inward. Zacul screamed with pain, as if he'd touched something hot, and the gun flew out of his hand, skittering across the dock. Ford crawled after it, picked it up, and, crouching low, swung it toward Zacul's face. 'Rafe Hollins would want me to shoot you, Zacul.'
The guerrilla leader was up on his knees, palms pressed outward. 'Don't kill me, you can't kill me. Don't you see? We'll have money now, lots of money! You can't kill me.'
Ford said, 'I already have,' just before Zacul made a desperate lunge at the pistol. Ford could have pulled the trigger; he didn't. Instead, he batted the weak body away, and Zacul's momentum carried him off the dock and into the black, black waters of the lake.
The sharks should have gotten him. Maybe they did. Ford didn't wait around to watch.
He could hear Zacul yelling as he ran for the boat, then an abrupt scream like death itself, but Ford didn't hear anything more because another mortar round hit the dock behind him and suddenly he was flying . . . tumbling through space and into a void which was as black as the eye of God itself.
