on the ground, pulling his rifle into position and aimed in the direction of the firing. He kept his finger on the trigger; a shattering fusillade of twenty bullets sprayed the area. It was over in seconds. The stillness returned.
He felt a hand grabbing his leg. It was Marcus.
'Pull back. Down to the river, mon,' he whispered harshly.
McAuliff scrambled backward in the darkness. More shots were fired from the bush; the bullets screamed above him to the right.
Suddenly there was a burst of rifle fire from only feet away. Marcus had leaped up to the left and delivered a cross-section barrage that drew the opposing fire away. Alex knew Marcus's action was his cover. He lurched to the right, to the edge of the clearing. He heard Sam Tucker's voice.
'McAuliff Over here.'
As he raced into the brush, he saw Sam's outline on the ground. Tucker was crouched on one knee, his rifle raised. 'Where. For Christ's sake, where's Alison? The others'?'
'Go down to the river, boy, South, about three hundred yards. Tell the blacks. We'll hold here '
'No, Sam! Come with me . . Show me.'
'I'll be there, son 'Another volley of shots spat out of the jungle. Marcus answered from the opposite side of the clearing. Tucker continued speaking as he grabbed the cloth in Alex's field jacket and propelled him beyond. 'That black son of a bitch is willing to get his tar ass shot off for us! Maybe he's given me a little time I don't deserve. He's my countryman, boy. My new landsmann. Jesus! I knew I liked this fucking island. Now get the hell down there and watch out for the girl. We'll join you, don't you worry about that. The girl, Alexander!'
'There are five men out there, Sam. I killed one of them a mile back. They must have seen my flashlight when I was running. I'm sorry . .' With these words McAuliff plunged into the soaking-wet forest and slashed his way to the river bank. He tumbled down the short slope, the rifle clattering against the metal buttons of his jacket, and fell into the water.
South Left.
Three hundred yards. Nine hundred feet... a continent.
He stayed close to the river bank, where he could make the best time. As he slopped through the mud and the growth and over fallen trunks, he realized his magazine clip was empty Without stopping he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh clip, snapping the old one out of its slot and slamming the new one in. He cracked back the insertion bar; the cartridge entered the chamber.
Gunfire broke his non-thoughts. Behind him men were trying to kill other men.
There was a bend in the narrow river. He had travelled over a hundred yards; nearer two, he thought my new landsmann . Christ, Sam Tucker, itinerant wanderer of the globe, schooler of primitives, lover of all lands - in search of one to call his own, at this late stage of life. And he had found it in a violent moment of time in the cruellest wilds of Jamaica's Cock Pit. In a moment of sacrifice.
Suddenly, in an instant of terror, from out of the darkness above, a huge black form descended. A giant arm fell vicelike around his neck, clawing fingers tore at his face, his kidneys were being hammered by a vicious, powerful fist. He slammed the rifle butt into the body behind him, sank his teeth into the flesh below his mouth, and lunged forward into the water.
'Mon! Jesus, mon.'
The voice of Lawrence cried as he pummelled McAuliffs shoulder. Stunned, each man released the other; each held up his hands, Alex's awkwardly thrusting out the rifle, Lawrence's holding a long knife.
'My God!' said McAuliff. 'I could have shot you!'
There was another fusillade of gunfire to the north.
'I might have put the blade in... not the handle,' said the black giant, waist-deep in water. 'We wanted a hostage.'
Both men recognized there was no time for explanations. 'Where are you? Where's Alison and Whitehall?'
'Downstream, mon. Not far '
'Is she all right?'
'She is frightened . But she is a brave woman. For a white English lady. You see, mon?'
'I saw, mon,' replied Alexander. 'Let's go.'
Lawrence preceded him, jumping out of the water about thirty yards beyond the point of the near-fatal encounter. McAuliff saw that the revolutionary had tied a cloth around his forearm; Alex spat the blood out of his mouth as he noticed it, and rubbed the area of his kidneys in abstract