Part 16 (1/2)
Centaine was heavily shaken and tossed about so that she had only her grip on the steering wheel to keep her in her seat as the big car canted even further over.
Still the gap was too narrow; her nearside wheels smashed into the piled earth and rock. The Daimler bucked wildly, throwing its nose high, flying up and forward like a hunter at a fence. Centaine was hurled towards the winds.h.i.+eld, but she flung up a hand to brace herself and clung to the wheel with the other.
The Daimler came down again with a rending crash, jerking Centaine back against the padded leather seat. She felt unyielding rock slam up into the Daimler's belly like a boxer taking a heavy body blow, and the back wheels crabbed over the pile of broken earth, the rubber tyres screeching as they sought purchase on the tumbled boulders. Then they caught and flung the Daimler forward again.
it dropped down the far side of the obstacle, and hit hard.
Centaine heard something break, the clanging rupture of one of the steering rods and the wheel spun without resistance in her hands. The Daimler had fought its way over the barrier, but it was mortally wounded and out of control. The steering gone and the throttle linkage jammed wide open.
Centaine screamed and clung to the walnut dashboard as it roared down the cutting towards the river-bed, slamming into one bank and then hurling across and cras.h.i.+ng into the other, the coachwork banging and ripping and buckling at each impact.
She tried desperately to reach the ignition switch, but the speedometer needle was flicking at the 30 mph notch and she was thrown across the pa.s.senger seat. The steel corner of the diamond case gouged her ribs, then she was thrown back the other way.
The door beside her burst open just as the Daimler roared out of the cutting into the river-bed and Centaine was hurled out through it. Instinctively she doubled herself into a ball, as though she were taking a fall from a galloping horse, and she rolled in the soft white sand, head over heels, coming up at last on her knees.
The Daimler was slewing wildly across the river-bed, the engine still roaring, and one of the front wheels, damaged by the rocks of the barrier, flew off, bounding and leaping like a wild creature until it struck the far bank.
The front end of the Daimler dropped and the nose dug into the sand. The engine was still roaring and the huge vehicle somersaulted end over end and came down on its back. The three remaining wheels pointed at the sky, spinning in a blur, the gla.s.s in the windows crackling and splintering into diamond chips, the cab buckling and sagging, hot oil pouring out of the slats in the bonnet and soaking into the sand.
Centaine pushed herself up and was running as she regained her feet. The sand clung to her ankles. It was like running in a bath of treacle, and terror had heightened her senses so that time seemed to stand still. It was like one of those terrible dreams in which all her movements were reduced to slow motion.
She dared not look behind her. That menacing masked figure must surely be close. She tensed for the grip of the hand that would seize her at any instant or the slam of a bullet into her back, but she reached the Daimler and dropped on her knees in the sand beside it.
The driver's door had been torn off and she crawled halfway into the aperture. The shotgun was wedged against the steering control but she dragged it clear and ripped open the small door of the glove compartment. The cardboard box of shotgun sh.e.l.ls was scarlet with black lettering: ELEY KYNOCH 12GAUGE 25X SSG it broke open under her frantic fingers and the red bra.s.st tipped sh.e.l.ls spilled into the sand around her knees.
She pushed across the breech lock of the shotgun with her thumb and broke open the gun. The two empty bird-shot cartridges flew out with a crisp click-click of the ejectors and the gun was s.n.a.t.c.hed out of her hands.
The masked man stood over her. He must have moved like a hunting leopard to come down the bank and across the river-bed so quickly. He flung the empty shotgun out across the sand. It landed fifty feet away, but the impetus of the throw had swung him off balance. Centaine launched herself at him, coming off her knees and driving her whole weight into his chest, just below the raised left arm that he had used to throw the shotgun.
It was unexpected, and he was balanced on one foot. They went over together in the sand. For an instant Centaine was on top of him, and then she wriggled away, came to her feet and floundered back towards the Daimler. The engine was still racing, blue smoke pouring from the engine as the oil drained away from the sump and it overheated.
The pistol! Centaine seized the handle of the rear door and threw her weight against it. Through the window she could see the leather holster and the chequered b.u.t.t of Twentyrnan-Jones service revolver protruding from the seat pocket, but the door was jammed.
She ducked back to the gaping front door and tried to reach it over the back of the driver's seat, but bone-hard fingers dug into her shoulders and she was dragged bodily out of the doorway. instantly she spun in his grip, and his face was very close to hers. The thin white cotton bag covered his entire head, like the head of a Ku-Klux Klansman.
The eye-holes were dark as the hollow sockets in a skull, but there was a glint of human eyes deep in the shadow and she went for them with her fingernails.
He jerked his head away but her forefinger hooked in the thin cloth and ripped it down to his chin. He seized her wrists and instead of pulling away she hurled herself against him and drove her right knee up into his groin. He twisted violently and caught her knee on the side of his upper thigh.
She felt the shock of the blow drive into the rubbery muscle of his leg, but his grip on her wrists tightened as though she had been caught in the jaws of a steel gin trap.
She ducked her head and fastened her teeth into his wrist like a ferret, at the same time kicking and kneeing him in the lower body and s.h.i.+ns, raining blows at him, most of them slogging into his hard flesh or bouncing off bone.
He was grunting and trying to control her. Obviously he hadn't expected this type of wild resistance, and the pain in his wrist must have been excruciating. Already the hinges of her jaws were cramping with the force of her bite. She could feel tissue and flesh splitting and tearing between her teeth and his blood welled into her mouth, hot and coppery and salt-tasting.
With his free hand the masked man seized a handful of her thick curly hair and tried to pull her head back. She was breathing through her nose, snuffling like a bulldog and gritting her teeth in with all her strength, and she reached the bone. It grated under her teeth, and the man was tugging and jerking at her head, giving small agonized cries and grunts.
She closed her eyes, expecting him at any moment to slam his fist into the side of her head and break the grip of her teeth, but he was strangely gentle and considerate in his reaction, not attempting to inflict injury or pain, merely trying to pull her off.
She felt something burst in her mouth. She had bitten through an artery in his wrist. Blood pumped against the roof of her palate with hot spurts that threatened to choke and drown her. She let it pour from the corners of her mouth without relaxing her bite. It sprayed from her lips and splattered them both as he jerked her head from side to side. He was moaning with agony now, and at last he used punitive force.
He dug thumb and forefinger into the hinges of her jaw.
His fingers were like iron spikes. Pain shot down into her locked jaws and up behind her eyes, and she opened her mouth and flung herself backwards, again taking him by surprise, breaking out of his grip and darting away back towards the Daimler.
This time she thrust her arm over the back of the driver's seat and reached up to the b.u.t.t of the revolver. It slipped from the greased holster, and while she fumbled with a shaking hand to get a hold on it, the mas man seized her hair from behind and jerked her backwards. The heavy pistol fell through her fingers and clattered against the steel of the inverted cab.
She rounded on him again, snapping at his face with teeth that were still stained pink with his blood. The torn mask flapped over his face, blinding him for an instant and he stumbled and fell holding her in his arms. She was kicking and scratching and slas.h.i.+ng at him as he rolled on top of her and pinned her with his full weight, holding her arms spread like a crucifix, and suddenly she stopped struggling and stared up at him.
The flap of his mask hung open and she could see his eyes. Those strange pale topaz-coloured eyes with the long dark lashes, and she gasped.
Lothar! He stiffened with the shock of his name, and they lay, locked like lovers, legs entangled, their lower bodies pressed together, both panting wildly and smeared with his blood, staring at each other wordlessly.
Abruptly he released her and stood up. He pulled the mask off his head and his tousled golden locks fell about his ears and tumbled down his forehead into his eyes as he wrapped the mask tightly around his mutilated wrist. He realized that it was seriously injured, the tendons and bone were exposed and the flesh was mangled and tattered where she had chewed it. Bright scarlet arterial blood soaked through the white cloth immediately and dripped into the sand.
Centaine pulled herself into a sitting position and watched him. The engine of the Daimler had stalled, and there was silence except for their breathing.
Why are you doing this? she whispered.
You know why. He knotted the cloth with his teeth, and suddenly she flung herself sideways and reached desperately into the cab, her fingers scrabbling again for the pistol. She touched it, but could not get her fingers around the b.u.t.t before he pulled her away and pushed her over backwards in the sand.
He picked up the pistol and unclipped the lanyard. He wound the lanyard around his forearm as a tourniquet and grunted with satisfaction as the seep of blood shrivelled.
-Where are they? He looked down at her where she lay.
What are you talking about? He stooped and looked into the cab of the Daimler, then pulled out the black j.a.panned despatch box.
Keys? he asked.
She stared back at him defiantly and he squatted and placed the box firmly in the sand, then stepped back a pace.
He c.o.c.ked the pistol and fired a single shot. The report was stunning in the desert silence, and Centaine's ear drums buzzed with the memory. The bullet had torn the lock of the despatch box away and a circle of the black paint flaked from the lid leaving the metal beneath s.h.i.+ny and bright.
Lothar pocketed the pistol, and knelt and lifted the lid.
The case was filled with small packages, each neatly wrapped in brown paper and sealed with red wax. He picked out one package, favouring his injured hand, and read aloud the inscription in Twentyrnan-Jones ornate old-fas.h.i.+oned penmans.h.i.+p: 156 PIECES TOTAL 382 CARATS.
He tore open the heavy cartridge paper with his teeth and shook out a sprinkle of gems into the palm of his injured hand. In the white sunlight they had that peculiar soapy sheen of uncut diamonds.
Very pretty, he murmured and dropped the loose stones into his pocket. He packed the torn parcel back into the despatch case and closed the lid.
I knew you were a murderer, she said. I never thought you a common thief. You stole my boats and my company. Don't talk to me about thieves. He tucked the despatch case under his arm and stood up.
He went round to the boot of the Daimler and managed to open it a crack, even though the vehicle was inverted, and he checked the contents.
Good, he said. You've had the sense to bring spare water.
Twenty gallons will last you a week, but they'll find you before then. Abrahams is sending out an escort to meet you. I intercepted the instruction from Twenty-man-jones. You swine, she whispered.
I will cut the telegraph wires before I leave. As soon as that happens they will realize at both ends that something is wrong. You'll be all right. Oh G.o.d, I hate you. Stay with the vehicle. That's the first law of desert survival. Don't go wandering off. They will rescue you in about two days, and I will have two days Start. I thought I hated you before, but now I know the real meaning of the word. I could have taught it to you, he said quietly, as he picked the abandoned shotgun out of the sand. I came to know it well, over the years that I was rearing your son. Then again when you came back into my life only to tear down everything I ever dreamed about and worked for. He swung the shotgun like an axe against one of the boulders. The b.u.t.t shattered but he went on until it was bent and battered and useless. He dropped it.