Страница 44 из 89
His head throbbed. He kept up the steady, gentle massage on Bobbi's rib cage.
Her eyes fluttered open weakly. "Carlos... what happened?"
"We hit a rock." That had to be it. That was all that it could be. So why was there a wet red flag on part of the memory? Something trying to hide from him and warn him at the same instant?
Carlos ripped his shirt off and wiped her face with it. She seemed flushed. He bundled the shirt and tucked it under her head. Not long now. Elliot Falkland would be fighting upriver even now. He managed a smile to think of the rotund engineer piloting his way through the rapids. Bobbi would have treatment within the hour, and tomorrow they would be able to laugh about this.
The Colony would already be sending out Skeeters.
He thought that he could hear the hum of a distant engine. "I'll be right back, chiquita," he said, and kissed her softly. Her lips felt bruised and flushed.
She reached for him, gripped at the wet cloth of his shirt. "No. Don't leave me. Please."
There was help out in the river. It tore him, but he pried her fingers loose. "Shh. Shh. I love you. I'll be right back, I promise. O.K.?"
Shaking, unconvinced, she nodded her head.
Carlos scrambled over the rocks to the south, to a higher point where he could see the bend in the river. All he could see was the rush of the water, silver-white with dark patches as it exploded over rocks and took sudden dips and turns. To either side the mountain walls were steep, at least forty near vertical meters of iron gray, roughly weathered rock. The crusty gray was interrupted by bands of lighter color. High tides? Geological separations? His mind wasn't working properly yet.
From the new vantage point, he heard nothing, could see nothing, and that puzzled him. Where was Elliot? Then he saw.
He's been wrecked too! Dear God.
Elliot lay inert on a patch of rocks by the far shore. He must have been thrown clear. The second boat was no more than a few dark shreds of fabric which still fluttered, wedged into rocks. There was no sign of La Do
A dark, spreading stain grew from beneath Elliot's head and dripped down into the rushing water. Carlos's stomach went sour and tight. I've got to help him—
And then Carlos saw it. The thing ripped through the water like a black torpedo. That was what his subconscious had screamed to him. He had caught a bare glimpse of that dark juggernaut churning through the water, smashing through the side of the boat...
The foam suddenly churned, and the black thing erupted from the water, flashing up into Elliot with the speed of a striking snake. Elliot's body jerked once, massively, and disappeared into the waves.
Something that felt like a cloak of cold slime swept over Carlos, numbing him. But in its wake his mind began to work. His first conclusion was inescapable: If he did not think very clearly, Bobbi was going to die.
What was there to do? The monster would find them. He'd be insane to assume anything else. They couldn't hope to outrun that creature under the best of circumstances. With Bobbi barely conscious, it would take a miracle to escape.
Do something. Odds don't matter. Act! In half an hour, no more, we'll be rescued. The camp is better prepared now. They were watching the race! They must already know what they're up against.
And Cadma
Carlos scrambled back down to Bobbi. She wound her arms around his neck weakly, and her black hair streamed back over her shoulders like seaweed. "Carlos? What?"
"We've got to move."
"Why?" Her head lolled back as if her neck were fractured. She coughed wetly. "Why can't we stay here? I hurt. I'm so sleepy."
Lie, you bastard. "We need to be at a better vantage point for the Skeeters—if they're going to pick us up." He lifted her to her feet. She seemed a feather. "Come on, hon." He grunted as she found her feet. He bent, unknotted the pillow he had made of his shirt and slipped it over one arm.
He half pulled, half lifted Bobbi up over the first eastern row of boulders, then took the opportunity to reorient. They had to get away from the river—but another twenty-five meters up the rocks and they would be against the cliff. No hope there.
The mountain stretched above them, a splintered pale fortress carved from the primeval clay by ragged knife strokes. Above the ridge the clouds that had been fleecy and white an hour ago had darkened, were tinged with black as though heralding a sudden thundershower. The air had gone chill.
He might be able to climb that wall, but there was no way in hell that Bobbi could make it. And there was no place to make a stand here, nothing that would afford protection.
What it looked like, he thought grimly, was a damn good place to die.
There was an answer. Both of them could die, or one, or just maybe neither. But they had to separate.
Watching his footfalls carefully, he carried her along with him, pulling, coaxing, babying her along. Scraping arms and legs, protecting her as best he could, but aware that little scrapes didn't matter right now. Have to get her to shelter. Have to get her to shelter...
The going was steep now, and twice they almost fell. Once they did, sliding and ski
Muscles tensing, tendons in his back stretching with the strain, afraid to stop for rest or to look back to see what was following them out of the water, Carlos helped Bobbi up the sharp incline. The pounding in his head grew worse. They slipped again, and this time her thigh caught on a sharp spur and made a nasty gash.
Damn! He whipped off his shirt and wrapped it around her leg quickly, before it could leak blood and destroy the tiny inspiration that had begun to flower. Above them and to their left was a shallow ledge, all but invisible from below. A single person might hide there. Maybe.
"Come on, just keep moving." She must have sensed or seen some of the dread in his ma
Carlos lowered her to the shelf. Perfect. There was even a slight overhang. If she crawled back into it, she would be safe.
If all went well...
He untied the hastily applied dressing and knotted the shirt into a tourniquet, applying it above the wound. Blood oozed in a sluggish stream.
Good enough. One way or the other, it would do.
He looked back out at the river. Nothing yet. Now he could remember: the image of Elliot's body disappearing beneath the surface, fat arms and legs slapping the water once.
And another image: that of the first creature back at the Colony as it dashed through the searchlights in a nightmare of fanged and taloned rage.
He shivered.
"Now listen," he said, kneeling next to her. "I lied to you. We're not up here to make it easier for a Skeeter to pick us up. We're up here because there's another of those creatures in the water. I've got to go, to make a trail to lead him away from you."
Her eyes widened. Her fingernails tore at his arm. "But Carlos..."
"Listen to me," he whispered fiercely. "You've seen what those bastards can do. I don't want to give up what little chance we have."
Bobbi moved clumsily, trying to sit up. The blood trickling from the gash began to pulse more strongly.
"Your leg is bad. Don't make it worse." Carlos forced her back down.
The leg! He had to do something, but there was no time at all, only hope.
"I have a chance," he said. "I don't think those things can climb as well as a human being. They're too heavy." He looked at the steepening wall. "I can climb that damn mountain and keep it busy until someone gets here. It can't be long. When I'm gone, climb as far back into the shadows as you can. Keep pressure on the tourniquet as long as you can."