The man said nothing, but checked for his weapons. “Don’t bother” shouted Carla “I’ve given you a full body search big boy.”
“Who is this bitch” he thought, then remembered the dossier on the only female in the survey team. A girl of mystery; it appeared there was more known about the tooth fairy than her. The man looked at Max in the torchlight. Something did not add up with him either. He looked like the old man in the survey team but was obviously fit, like a young man. It must have been a lousy photo, or the poor light in here, he thought.
"We're going to explore. Stay here and we will come back for you.”
The man replied firmly “No. We will all go together.”
“Just as long as you are up to it” replied Max.
“If you can make it old man, then so can I” he quipped.
“We will stay roped together then,” said Carla.
She adjusted the machine-gun strap and slung it over her shoulder. Ejecting the magazine from the pistol, she cleared the breach of the round and pocketed it; then handed the gun back for the man to carry.
Max kept the man’s knife and put the two grenades in the backpack with spare ammunition.
“You can carry your pack” Max directed. With a grunt, the man picked up the pack, and they set off.
Using the mercenary’s torch, Max searched around the cavern. He surmised that over time, rocks swirling round and round in the whirlpool on the riverbed, had ground a hole clear through it. Water had washed away the soft strata below and progressively enlarged the chamber they were in.
There had to be as much water escaping as was entering, he reasoned, because the chamber was not full; so that could be their way out. Max shouted his train of thought in Carla’s ear, and she agreed it was a possibility.
Watching the water in the pool, it appeared to flow over to the opposite side. The central column of falling water and dense mist prevented a view right across.
The party set off in a clockwise direction where the ledge was wider. The ledge soon petered out, but they found they could climb higher, to a much wider area just below the river floor. The upper part of the chamber must be where the water had originally entered. As the hole above grew larger, the falling water and rocks must have bored into the softer underlying rock, to form the pool below.
They soon discovered the narrow but extremely deep channel through which the water was flowing out. Most likely, out of the cliff face at the waterfall.
The channel was about three meters wide at the water’s surface, some six meters below. Judging by the cross-section of the water column flowing in, the channel must be around 3 meters deep. The water was flowing at about 30 kilometers per hour. There appeared to be no other way out.
Max stood and thought through their options. They could leap into the flow and within a short time be ejected into the outside world. However, if they didn’t get smashed to pieces on the rough channel walls, they certainly would be against the rocks at the base of the waterfall. Ideally, if they could block the channel and stop the flow of water, they could walk out.
Max beckoned the other close to him. “I have an ingenious plan, but it requires some help from you,” he shouted. “If we can block the outlet channel we should be able to climb down and walk out.”
Carla saw what Max was getting at, but the man didn’t. Max tried to explain it more simply. “At the moment the water coming in is equal to the water going out. If the outlet channel is blocked at the pool end, nothing will flow out again until the whole chamber fills up and flows over the blockage. This gives us about a minute or so to climb down into the water-free channel and get out.”
“You’re totally mad,” shouted the man “you can’t block the channel, there are not enough loose rocks to do it, and even if there were, the chamber would fill before you had finished!”
“This is where you come in. Can you use your grenades to cause a rock fall?”
He looked incredulously for a moment, and then an idea dawned on him. “Let me have the torch, I need to look around.”
It was some time before he spoke, and Max and Carla were getting anxious. The torch would not last much longer they thought, so they needed to get blasting whilst they could still see their way out.
“OK!” he said at last “The roof is too risky, and it is solid rock. If that cracks, the river will fill the chamber in seconds. We need to blast material from the channel wall; the best place is where it narrows. The grenades will have to be planted deep into a pocket for them to have any effect.” Shining the torch light as a pointer he said, “I reckon about 1.5 meters down under that overhang would do the job. If all goes to plan, the bulk of the overhang will shear off and drop down to provide the majority of the blockage. More rubble from the surrounding area might be enough to fill the gaps and slow the water.
“The problem is we have nothing to cut the pocket, no way to get down there and no way of detonating the grenades from a safe distance.”
"Good, good." said Max “So the idea works and there are no downsides then.”
“I can do my bit if you can do yours,” he replied, unconvinced.
“Carla, you’re the lightest, if we lower you down can you dig out the rock with the knife?”
“I suppose so, providing it is not too hard.” she said uncertainly. “How big a pocket do you need?” she asked the man.
“About 300mm minimum; deeper than the length of the knife though” he replied. “Anyway, she can’t get to the rock face because of the overhang.”
“How much ammo do you have?” snapped Max.
“Six clips for the pistol, seven for the machine gun,” replied Carla “and yes, you could shoot the rock away with that lot.”
"Okay then," said Max enthusiastically. “By the way, what is your name?”
“Matt” replied the man suspiciously, “Matt Stone.”
“Take the torch, go around the pool and shoot a pocket out of the rock where it needs to be.”
“OK!” said Matt, “But how will you place the charge? She still won’t be able to get to the hole!”
“You don’t know the talents of this girl” Max replied confidently.
“I can imagine some of them.” Matt muttered, hefting the guns and ammo.
"Right," Max confided to Carla in the darkness “We need to unpick a long strand from the rope, so we can pull the grenade pins out from up here.”
“Hell! Max, this rope is already pencil-thin, and you expect me to dangle from it when it’s even thinner?”
“Well” replied Max pragmatically “if the rope snaps you’ll die in seconds. We would die of hunger, days later. If it makes you feel better, if you fall I would jump in to join you.”
She said no more but got on with the job of carefully unravelling a strand from the rope.
Just one and a half minutes later, Matt focused the torch light on the base of the overhang. His hopes of success rose sharply when he saw there was a deep ledge scored out of the soft rock. He thought that with the large fault across the base already, the girl might be able to pull herself on to it and place a charge right into the pocket.
Matt fitted some earplugs, took careful aim and fired a single shot. A dinner plate sized chunk of soft rock spalled away. His next shot hit the same spot, but much less flew out. Another shot 50mm higher this time, burst out more rock and sent the bullet screaming back at him. Inching himself in from the edge of the ledge where he lay, to present a smaller target for any future ricocheting bullets, he continued to aim and fire.
After 20 shots, he realized the loose rock and dust were building up in the hole and cushioning the impact of the bullets. He had to think of a way of clearing the pocket. It may even be deep enough by now!
Matt quickly returned and explained the problem. He added, “What we usually do when planting explosives in a road, is to drive a metal spike through the road surface, working it around, so the point loosens the soil under it and forms a small chamber. We then put a small charge in the bottom of the hole and ignite it. This makes a substantial chamber under the road, to take a much larger charge, leaving just the original small hole through the road that we started with.
“I can make a small charge out of several bullets wrapped in tape. The girl can push them deeper into the hole I have made, leaving the percussion caps exposed, so I can shoot at them to set off the charge.” They all three looked at one other; Carla shrugged in the torchlight and nodded ‘OK’.
Matt quickly made up the charge pack and scratched the diagram of what he wanted her to do, in the wet rock they sat on. She already knew what was required the moment Matt described how to clear the hole. She had seen the preparation and placement of dynamite in rock, when planning escape routes for Marco. Max on the other hand was fascinated by the technique.
Carla wore Matt’s bullet-proof jacket to reduce the cutting in of the thin rope around Carla’s waist. Max tied the other end of the rope around his waist and used Matt’s gloves to gain a secure grip on the rope. Loops were tied in the rope, forming handholds to maintain a steady grip when Carla was level with the new pocket in the rock. Max knew her life depended on him and silently prayed he could cope on his own, holding her eight-stone body with the pencil thin rope cutting deep into his hands. His hands had seldom encountered manual labor and therefore lacked the thicker skin and calluses of more physical men.
Matt showed Max how to wrap the rope across his body, allowing the friction against it to lessen the pull on his hands. By paying out the rope this way and bracing his body against the solid rock, he should maintain control. If necessary, Matt could help him pull her up when he returned.
Carla was unable to see the pocket, so she dropped over the edge, guided by the torchlight that Matt shone from the other side of the channel. Because of the roar of water in the cavern, Max closely watched the torchlight as it signaled his next move. One flash lower her down, two flashes stop, three flashes pull up.
Once below the overhang, Carla saw the pocket and adjusted her balance so she could reach out and grasp the ledge. As Max continued to lower her, she pulled herself in closer. Her hold on the ledge improved and more of her weight was taken by it; the load on Max’s arms rapidly dropped to nothing as she hoisted herself up on the ledge.
Carefully she forced the charge deep into the hole. The bullets had been remarkably effective in penetrating but left many sharp edges, impossible to remove with bare hands. Hopefully, the small charge would remove them, and then the two grenades would fit extremely well at the bottom of the pocket.
Carla decided to slide along the ledge away from the pocket and signaled to Matt to fire into the hole. This departure from what was agreed made good sense, but was terribly dangerous. No one could predict the result of the explosion or the actual direction of the blast. Time was running out, the torch was much dimmer now.
Matt fired, right on target. The contents of the pocket shot out, right at Matt. He had anticipated this might happen, but to get a clear shot his eyes and above were highly exposed. Flying rock lacerated his scalp as it shot by him.
Carla had put her fingers in her ears, but the noise was so loud it still made them ring.
The echo reverberated around the chamber like thunder. With his fingers in his ears and face against his knees, Max hoped nothing would break loose and fall on him.
***
A sort of quiet descended on them. The thunder of cascading water continued, but it was nothing to the crescendo from the blast.
Max pulled hard on the rope, Carla was still there, Matt signaled not to pull yet. Carla moved back to the pocket; it was now exceedingly deep, cleared right out, with a bulbous base and the original smaller opening. With her thumbs up to Matt, he signaled Max to pull her up and raced back to meet them.
Next came the crucial stage of placing and detonating the grenades. Matt showed Carla how to place the grenades, ease the pins almost out so a tug on the string would pull them free. He also ripped out his trouser pockets and explained how to fill them with damp dust and small bits of rock so they would help retain the blast. She knew this already.
Back down the rock face she went, Matt shouldering the rope this time, Max with a torch on the other side of the channel. Carla had trouble adjusting her balance; the grenades were quite heavy and made a difference to her trim.
Eventually, she pulled herself onto the ledge and back to the hole. Quickly she placed the grenades, adjusting the pins and string in the dim torchlight.
There were plenty of damp rock particles on the ledge, and the trouser pockets were soon filled. It was tricky placing them securely yet allowing a string and both pins to be withdrawn. In the end, she used the pockets as padding to keep string and pins free, and backfilled the hole with rock. Signaling to go up, she rolled off the ledge when Matt took the strain on the rope. With him pulling hard, she scrambled up using whatever hand and foothold she could find, reaching the top just as Max returned.
The torch could only be used in short bursts now; the battery was practically exhausted, recovering a little whilst it was off.
Pulling them close in the dark, Matt suggested where they should take cover. “When I pull the string, we have five seconds to get to safety, wherever that might be.
“I am sure the overhang will collapse, but how much and whether it will block the flow of water, I don’t know” he added. “We might be injured by the shock wave, and it might cause the roof and the river above to fall in on us.”
"Shit or bust then," said Max.
“On my count of five then” continued Matt. “I will pull the string. Ready with the torch? One, Two, Three, Four, Five!” On came the torch, brightly at first, but dimming with each of the passing five seconds. All three lay flat on the ledge several yards away from the overhang, tucked around the corner. Matt and Max protected Carla with their bodies. Each with their fingers in their ears, mouths open and eyes tightly closed.
The blinding flash and shockwave left them stunned and dazed. The solid stone ledge they were on vibrated, as massive rocks struck close to them. The rumble of the explosion diminished, but falling rock continued for about 15 seconds.
Suddenly they felt icy water sweep along the ledge. The roar of the water sounded so different; splashier.
Flicking the torch on showed that the ceiling above them had cracked, and water was pouring in through numerous openings. The dust from the explosion had been quickly damped down by the mist of water in the air.
They leapt to their feet and ran to the overhang. It was gone, and the channel was blocked.
Scrambling down the rock fall into the channel, in the dim light, was fraught with danger but time was not on their side. Water would soon rise above the blockage they had caused, and their way out would be gone.
By the time they reached the bottom of the channel, they could see a faint light reflected off the wet channel walls, coming in from the end of the tunnel. After running approximately 10 meters, the tunnel turned about 20 degrees; they headed on, and in the distance was brilliant sunlight.
They emerged from the tunnel and stood on the narrow ledge at the face of the waterfall. Even with the light filtered through tons of water, falling past them like a thick glass curtain it took a while for their eyes to fully adjust to the brilliance of the tropical sun.
About 3 meters below them was a long ledge that led to the safety of the jungle at the side of the waterfall. They had to get down there immediately or be swept away off their ledge when the rapidly rising water breached the blockage.
“Carla!” shouted Max over the roar of the cascading water. “We will lower you down the rope first then Matt, you go next.” Neither protested. Carla knew she must keep Matt under control with her gun. Matt knew he stood a chance of escape down there with the girl. He didn’t care how Max would get down on his own.
The two lowered her down. She gave thumbs-up because the ledge was wide, running well back into the cliff. Max tied one end of the rope around the middle of the machine gun, so he had a good grip. Matt slid down the thin rope expertly, his gloves taking the friction.
Max wedged the gun across the narrow base of the tunnel under the fast-flowing water and hoped it would hold as he slid down the rope. He removed his trouser pockets and wrapped them around his hands.
As he eased himself over the ledge, a loud rumble emanated from the tunnel; seconds later a torrent of water poured out, followed by stones, mud and boulders. He had started to descend, when the rope went slack; a boulder had smashed the gun free.
Max dropped onto the smooth wet ledge on all fours, teetering on the brink. A foot lashed out; Matt kicked him hard in the side and Max fell into the wall of cascading water.
Slowly Matt turned away from the water and faced Carla. She quickly moved back a little way along the ledge, towards the jungle. Dropping down on one knee she withdrew the gun from her ankle holster; Matt’s grin diminished to a scowl as he quickly reassessed his options.
The girl was quite unusual. If she carried a gun she probably knew how to use it, but she was all alone now, and without him and his men, she would never get out of the jungle alive. His body armor would protect his vital organs. She might get lucky and shoot him in the head, but with such a small-caliber weapon, a wounded limb would not stop him. No matter what her self-defense skills were, if he could close on her, his weight and strength would easily overpower her slight frame.
Suddenly she stood up, swung the gun round behind her, aimed, fired a single round and re-aimed at a point between his eyes; all in two seconds. The unexpected move caught him completely off guard, or he would have jumped her.
He had never seen anyone do such a thing before. It surprised him that she shot the apple sized fruit out of the paw of a monkey in a tree 10 meters away. How could anyone turn so quickly, select a spectacular target from a jungle backdrop, aim and fire, hit it square on and re-aim at him, all in a couple of seconds? She was something else.
Carla, on the other hand, knew there were trees close by and decided to demonstrate the devastating effect of the special ammunition the gun fired. She hoped to hit a substantial branch or trunk of a tree, so the fragmenting high-velocity bullet could blow away a dinner-plate-sized chunk of bark. She did not see the monkey at all.
“You must have read my mind, you cunning little bitch,” thought Matt. “Now, how do I get in close?”
Anticipating his move to risk a hit and jump her, she fired at his heart. The impact threw him back as his body armor absorbed the force. Before he could recover, she fired again. He staggered further back and again she fired, repeating the process six times. Suddenly, before he could regain his balance she ran at him with a flying dropkick, sending him backwards. His thick skull smacked against the rock face and he slid down, unconscious, onto the ledge. Using Matt’s bootlaces, she tied his hands to his ankles behind his back. Only now could she think about Max.
***
Carla ran from behind the curtain of water, along the ledge towards the jungle. Looking down at the base of the waterfall, she saw the boiling white foam and felt sure no one could survive that. She watched the water flow out and followed the river with her keen eyes. There was something, like a body, one moment on the surface, the next lost below the white torrent.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement in the jungle. Matt’s men were climbing down the steep rock face to the river below and had not seen her. Carla looked back to the river and searched again for Max’s body. In the calmer water, she saw it again; it was as though an arm had swung up, like an exhausted swimmer doing a slow crawl stroke. There it was again, and as the water calmed down the body rolled over and backstroked towards a sandy shallow at the side of the river.
Fear gripped her heart; Matt’s men would see him at any moment now, especially if he collapsed exhausted on the sand. She could only watch and hope he would find safety. As soon as Max could touch bottom he clung to the lea side of a large rock to rest.
From the moment he was kicked off the ledge, his world became one of white and foaming water, spinning and tossing him like a cork. After the plunging water turned and spat him out of the base of the waterfall into the river, he was teased and tormented with snatches of air as he was forced to the surface, and plunged under it again.
The rocks had battered him hard, but nothing had been broken. As the turbulent water calmed, he struggled towards the smoother water at the side of the river. The shallow sandy riverbed provided a good place to get ashore, but he needed to rest first. As his wits returned, he looked up at the waterfall. He clearly saw Carla on the ledge watching him, but not moving.
Suddenly she moved back into the shadows. A few moments later, he heard the sound of someone slashing a way through the jungle, above the subdued roar of the distant waterfall. He had to conceal himself, but where? All the rocks were too low to provide any cover. He could not hide under water long enough and would be seen, if he dashed across the open sand to the jungle.
Animals used this part of the river to drink. The large rotting carcass of a water buffalo lay on the sand; its stench was blowing Max’s way. He crawled hopefully towards it. Just the thick tough hide remained, covering its ribs; its soft underbelly, had been ripped open by scavengers foraging for the soft and juicy innards. Once they were consumed, the limbs and neck had been gnawed away.
Max slid closer. The sun beat down on him relentlessly as it had done on the carcass for the last two days. The smell of the putrefaction made Max start to vomit. To counter this he grinned hard, to stop the gagging reflex and it worked.
The voices were close now; taking a deep breath, he entered the hanging flap of belly skin feet first. His legs sank into a warm rancid soup of decomposed flesh. He could imagine the greenish-brown maggot infested slime seeping into the open pores of his skin, carrying with it untold diseases and corruption to infect his body. Instinctively he clenched his anus more tightly shut.
His head and shoulders now passed into the darkness of this sweltering hell. All the oxygen was depleted, from his last deep breath and he needed to breathe again, now.
To his surprise the vile stench was no worse inside, his senses were overloaded.
He tensed even more as the voices became louder. What if they noticed the marks he made in the wet sand as he had eased into the hiding place? Obviously they were looking for human footprints, in the sand churned by countless hooves of watering beasts, but they found none. Someone with an itchy trigger finger fired three rapid silenced shots into the back of the carcass. Two lodged in the thick mass of bone where ribs and spine converged. The third passed through the top flank and out through the open belly, screaming through the air as it ricocheted off rock. Maggots rained down on Max from the bullets’ impact; fortunately the bullets missed him.
The voices moved off into the distance again.
Sweat streamed from his body and ran down his bare skin, along with maggots, to add to the slime he lay in.
After what seemed an eternity of some 10 minutes, Max cautiously eased out into the fresh air. He lay and listened but could hear no-one. They could still be close by of course, but not talking, so he lay there for a while longer.
Plucking up courage, he made his move peering about him as he slipped completely out of the carcass, onto the damp sand. The clean water was so tempting; would he ever be clean again? The risk of being seen was too great and he made a low dash for the cover of the dense jungle. He was fortunate to find the freshly cut trail the men had made, down from the waterfall, so he quickly made his way up to Carla. She had been watching from the shadows of the ledge and planned to intercept Max as he got close.
As he reached the tree Carla had shot at, gunfire broke out below. The men were being chased by around 20 pygmies; the mercenaries’ guns scythed through the group of men leaving them squirming and bleeding along the river’s edge. Other pygmies maintained their cover in the jungle, and when the last echoes of gunfire died away, below the roar of the waterfall, arrows and spears rain down on the mercenaries. Their bodies bristled with the thin projectiles and the men brushed them off with ease.
Instead of running for cover or firing back they just stood there for a few seconds, like they were waiting for something. Then one by one they slowly sank to the ground like tired old men, and lay still. The natives cautiously eased out of the jungle and stood over their victims. They removed the clothing from the unresponsive bodies and carried the men off into the jungle.
“Why do you think they stripped the mercenaries and carried them away?” asked Carla, suspecting the answer.
“I think they will be spit roasted or stewed! Bon appetit!” said Max sarcastically.
Carla shuddered at the thought of someone turning and basting a human body over an open fire, possibly eyeing up the tastiest cuts.
“We should get out of here,” muttered Max, “we have our own problems to deal with.”
On the way back to the waterfall, they discussed their options.
“First priority is to find a way home, preferably taking Matt with us. By the way, what have you done with him?”
“Oh he’s probably a bit tied up at the moment, things got him down” she chuckled. “Wanted to jump my bones, couldn’t cope with my rejection and crashed out; still he has probably come to his senses by now!”
Max smiled back faintly; he knew Matt was probably regretting his misjudgment of Carla.
They reached the waterfall and walked along a ledge, back to Matt. His face was red with fury; not only was the old fool back, but his bitch, as well.
Max looked down upon Matt, laid on his side like a longbow, with his hands tied to his ankles. There was no point in trying to speak above the roar of water; their hatred was mutual. Max kicked him hard in his unprotected stomach and shouted “Now there’s a good reason to want to kill me if you ever get the chance!”
He then proceeded to wash off as much as he could of the dried-on putrefied animal flesh.
Carla checked Matt’s bonds and they were fine, so she and Max cautiously went back to the camp. They planned to deal with any guards, make off with the boats they arrived in, and go back to civilization. If they were able, they would return for Matt and take him to stand trial, with his employer.
***
It was still early morning, but the sun was already scorching hot. Fortunately, the cover of the jungle offered some protection.
Closer to the camp, they approached the river through the jungle; it was slow going though, trying to move silently in the dense undergrowth.
Upon reaching the river, they saw four men guarding two powerful launches. The mercenaries were well spread out and had good cover, so surprise would be tricky.
“What we need is a good distraction” suggested Carla.
“You’re right! Do you think you could pick them off with your gun at his range?”
“It’s a bit of a long shot, pun intended.” Carla pulled her gun and checked the LED display. There were five shots left. “Not much of a safety margin, 2 misses and we’re in trouble,” she added. Max proceeded to explain his plan.
***
Carla settled down to wait whilst Max went back for Matt.
At the first opportunity, Max rubbed dirt on his exposed skin. The sweat formed a muddy camouflage.
Now he ran across open ground along the edge of the jungle, ready to duck for cover if necessary.
Near the base of the hill where Carla’s truck had flipped over, one working truck remained. Max turned it round, and left it. Quickly he made his way back to Matt. With his feet released, Matt jogged ahead of Max at the end of a rope from the truck. Max also had Matt’s knife and loaded pistol, to control him.
When they reached the truck Max strapped Matt into the driver’s seat using the seat belts, tied his hands to the top of the steering wheel and his feet back to the seat frame. He looped the remaining rope from Matt’s left hand, out of the side window, across the back of the cab and in through the other side window, tying the end to Matt’s right hand. Max could now steer the truck in safety from behind the cab.
Using a screwdriver, Max adjusted the engine’s idle speed to about 1500rpm. Then he wedged tools under the clutch, brake and accelerator pedals so Matt could not use them if he got his feet free. Finally, he gagged Matt with pieces of Hessian cut from filthy sacks found on the truck bed.
To start off, Max sat beside Matt; he needed more steering control than the rope provided until he entered the camp, and then he planned to climb into the back of the truck.
With the help of the downward slope and the truck in third gear, the engine started with the ignition key and starter motor. At a lively pace, they trundled back to camp along the track. Matt found it was pointless to struggle; when he tried to knock the lever out of gear with his knee, Max gave him a pistol-whipping across the che