Blue Gold

"I'll need your strength again, Dr. Paul. Push against this hatch. I don't think anyone is at the river, but be cautious."

She backed off to give Paul more room. He put his shoulder against the wood, braced himself, and shoved, gradually increasing the pressure until he felt the wood give. He pushed harder. The circular cover opened a few inches. Paul peered through the narrow space with one eye and saw water. With a final shove he popped the hatch off.

The opening was in the side of a grassy embankment. He slithered through the hole, then helped the others climb out. Moving from the cool, dark tu

The stockade fence and its grim decorations were a short distance away. The tu

"It looks like they're having a weenie roast," he a

Francesca responded by motioning for the others to follow her along the edge of the river. They stayed low, hidden by the embankment, and after a few minutes came upon a dozen dugout canoes. They hauled two dugouts aside. Trout thought of scuttling the others, but their hulls were thick and not easily damaged.

"Anybody got a power saw?" he said. "Even a hatchet would do."

Francesca reached into her sack and came out with a covered pot. Using a flat stone from the riverbed, she smeared the blackish yellow contents of the pot onto the other canoes. She lit the substance on fire. The wood flared into smoldering flames where she had daubed the unctuous mess.

"Greek fire," she said. "It's a combination of resin from local trees. It will burn hotter than napalm. If someone tries to put it out with water, it only makes the fire spread."

The Trouts looked on with wonder as the flames began to eat through the hulls. They knew the sabotage would help, but once the natives had discovered their scuttled craft, they could race along the well-maintained pathway that bordered the river.

They paired the stronger paddlers with weaker ones. Gamay and Francesca got in one craft. Paul and Tessa took the other. They shoved off into the river and paddled for their lives. After an hour they pulled over to the shore for a drink of water and five minutes of rest, then set off again. The paddles raised blisters on their palms as they pushed the canoes against the river current. Francesca passed around a medicinal ointment from her amazing bag, and it numbed the pain in their hands. They kept on, trying to put as many miles between them and the village as possible before daylight failed.

Darkness came all too soon. Travel on the river became difficult, then impossible. The canoes became tangled in thick grass or ran aground on sandbars. They were quickly exhausting them selves and getting nowhere. They gave up and paddled closer to shore, where they dined on jerky and dried fruit. They tried un successfully to sleep, but the dugouts served poorly as beds, and they were happy to see the gray light of morning.

With bleary eyes and stiff joints they set off again. The sound of drums spurred them on and made them set aside their aches and pains. The ominous drumming seemed to come from everywhere and echoed through the forest.

The canoes glided through the curtain of mist rising off the river. The smokescreen hid them from Chulo eyes, but they had to move slowly to avoid obstacles. As the sun rose it baked the mists off to a translucent haze. With the river ahead once more visible they paddled furiously until the sound of drums faded. They kept moving for another hour, not daring to stop. Before long they began to hear a different sound. Gamay cocked her ear. "Listen," she said.

From a distance came a low roar, as if a train were speeding through the forest.

Francesca, whose serious expression had not changed since they left the village, ventured a slight smile. "The Hand of God beckons."

With spirits renewed, they forgot they were tired and hungry and that their buttocks were numb and dug their paddles in once more. The roar grew louder, but it didn't obliterate another sound, a quick whirr as if a river bird had taken flight, followed by a solid thunk.

Paul looked down in disbelief. A three-foot-long arrow was embedded in the side of his canoe. A few inches higher and it would have pierced his rib cage. He looked toward the shore. Flashes of blue-and-white-painted bodies could be seen darting between the trees. The ululating war cry filled the air.

"We're being attacked!" Paul yelled u

Spurred by the arrows chunking into the water around them, Gamay and Francesca were bent low over their paddles. The canoes shot forward out of range.

Their pursuers had quickly caught up, making good time following the path along the river. At one point the trail turned in land to cut through the forest. The natives had to fight their way through thick growth to get a clear shot at the canoes. They made several attempts. Each time the canoes passed beyond the range of their arrows. Even the high-tech weapons Francesca helped forge had their limitations.

It was obvious that the cat-and-mouse game soon would turn in favor of the hunters. The paddlers were bone-weary. They were missing strokes and no longer paddled in a unified rhythm. When it seemed they could go no farther, they were out of the river and onto the lake. They paused for a minute to reco

Heartened by the straightforward scheme, they paddled with renewed vigor, staying midway between the shore and the falls. The thunder of thousands of tons of water plummeting from the five cascades was unimaginable. The canoeists could barely see each other in the fine mist that was thrown up at the base of the falls. Paul vowed to tell Gamay that he had changed his mind about building a hotel there. They came out of the mist cloud into the open lake. Four pairs of eyes sca

Gamay, who was in the lead canoe, pointed with her paddle toward the shore. "I see it over there, where the tree line is bro ken. Oh, hell-"

They all saw the source of Gamay's agitation: the flicker of blue and white as three canoes had come out of the river.

"It's a hunting party," Francesca said, squinting against the sun's reflection. "They've been away and won't know we're escaping. I'm still their queen as far as they know. I'll try to bluff my way. Head right at them."

Gamay and Paul put their misgivings aside and kept the dugouts pointed toward the newcomers. The men in the oncoming canoes showed no sign of hostility, and a couple of them even waved. There was shouting from shore. Alaric and his men had burst from the forest. They were calling and beckoning to the hunting party. The canoes hesitated, then, as the yelling grew louder, they pointed the dugouts toward land. The craft had barely touched shore when the hunters were ejected and the chase party took their place.

Their prey had taken advantage of the slight pause and paddled madly for the river, but their pursuers quickly cut down the angle.

"We can't make it to the river!" Gamay yelled. "They'll cut us off."