pdouglas.thecodex-第35部分

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　up　from　the　melting　rubber　gas　lines。　The　prow　of　Pingo　and　Vernon's　boat　bumped　into　their　hull　from　behind；　jamming　up　against　it　as　burning　gas　began　to　spread　on　the　bottom　of　their　boat；　licking　up　around　the　gas　tanks。
　〃Out！〃　said　Tom。　〃They're　going　to　blow。　Grab　what　you　can！〃
　They　threw　themselves　over　the　sides　and　into　the　shallows　along　the　riverbank。　Vernon　and　Chori　grabbed　Pingo　and　carried　him　up　the　embankment。　Another　burst　of　gunfire　slammed　into　the　bank　above　them；　sending　dirt　and　pebbles　cascading　down；　but　Sally's　shot　had　made　the　soldiers　cautious；　and　they　were　keeping　their　distance。　The　fugitives　scrambled　up　the　dirt　embankment　and　took　cover　beneath　a　mass　of　overhanging　vegetation；　stopping　to　catch　their　breath。
　〃We've　got　to　keep　going；〃　Tom　cried。
　At　the　top　of　the　embankment　Tom　looked　back　only　once；　to　see　their　boats　drifting　downstream；　flames　leaping。　There　was　a　muffled　explosion　as　the　gas　can　in　one　of　the　boats　exploded；　sending　a　ball　of　flame　skyward。　Beyond；　the　boats　with　the　soldiers　were　cautiously　angling　in　toward　shore。　Sally；　still　carrying　Chori's　gun；　dropped　to　a　knee　and　fired　a　second　shot　through　the　screen　of　vegetation。
　They　retreated　deeper　into　the　jungle；　taking　turns　carrying　Pingo；　forcing　their　way　through　the　thick　vegetation。　From　behind　Tom　could　hear　more　shouting；　followed　by　some　random　shooting　through　the　forest　and　the　muffled　crump　of　another　exploding　gas　tank。　The　men　had　evidently　landed　their　boats　and　were　halfheartedly　chasing　them。　But　as　they　pushed　deeper　into　the　forest；　the　sporadic　gunfire　grew　fainter　until　the　sounds　disappeared　altogether。
　They　halted　in　a　small　grassy　clearing。　Tom　and　Vernon　laid　Pingo　down；　and　Tom　bent　over　him；　desperately　feeling　for　a　pulse。　There　was　none。　He　located　the　wound。　It　was　horrifying。　An　expanding　bullet　had　struck　Pingo　in　the　back；　between　the　shoulder　blades；　and　emerged　with　explosive　force　from　his　chest；　leaving　a　gaping　hole　more　than　six　inches　across。　It　had　passed　directly　through　the　heart。　It　was　amazing　he　had　lived　for　even　a　few　seconds　after　a　wound　like　that。
　Tom　glanced　up　at　Chori。　The　man　had　an　expression　on　his　face　that　was　absolutely　cold。
　〃I'm　sorry。〃
　Don　Alfonso　said；　〃There　is　no　time　to　be　sorry。　We　must　go。〃
　〃And　leave　the　body　here？〃
　〃Chori　will　stay　with　it。〃
　〃But　the　soldiers　are　surely　ing…〃
　Don　Alfonso　cut　him　off。　〃Yes。　And　Chori　must　do　what　he　must　do。〃　He　turned　to　Sally。　〃You　keep　his　gun　and　ammunition。　We　will　not　see　Chori　again。　Let　us　go。〃
　〃We　can　t　leave　him　here！〃　Tom　protested。
　Don　Alfonso　grabbed　Tom's　shoulders。　His　hands　were　surprisingly　strong；　like　steel　clamps。　He　spoke　quietly　but　with　intensity。　〃Chori　has　unfinished　business　with　his　brother's　killers。〃
　〃Without　a　gun？〃　Sally　asked　as　Chori　took　out　of　his　leather　bag　a　tattered　box　of　ammunition　and　handed　it　to　her。
　〃Silent　arrows　are　more　effective　in　the　jungle。　He　will　kill　enough　of　them　to　die　with　honor。　This　is　our　way。　Do　not　interfere。〃　Without　a　backward　glance　Don　Alfonso　turned；　swiped　his　machete　across　a　wall　of　vegetation；　and　plunged　through　the　opening。　They　followed；　struggling　to　keep　up　with　the　old　man；　who　moved　with　the　speed　and　silence　of　a　bat。　Tom　had　no　idea　where　they　were　heading。　They　walked　for　hours　up　and　down　ravines；　wading　swift　streams；　at　times　hacking　their　way　through　dense　stands　of　bamboo　or　ferns。　Biting　ants　rained　down　on　them　and　crawled　down　their　shirts；　and　several　times　Don　Alfonso　impaled　small　snakes　with　his　machete　and　flicked　them　aside。　It　rained　briefly　and　they　were　soaked。
　The　sun　came　out　and　they　steamed。　Clouds　of　insects　followed　them；　biting　viciously。　Nobody　spoke。　No　one　could　speak。　It　was　all　they　could　do　to　keep　up。
　Hours　later；　when　the　light　began　to　die　in　the　treetops；　Don　Alfonso　halted。　Without　a　word　he　sat　on　a　fallen　tree　trunk；　fished　out　his　pipe；　and　lit　it。　Tom　watched　the　match　flare　up　and　wondered　how　many　more　they　had。　They　had　lost　almost　everything　with　the　burning　of　the　boats。
　〃What　now？〃　Vernon　asked。
　〃We　camp；〃　said　Don　Alfonso。　He　pointed　with　his　machete。　〃Make　a　fire。　There。〃
　Vernon　got　to　work　and　Tom　helped。
　Don　Alfonso　pointed　his　machete　at　Sally。　〃You：　Go　hunting。　You　may　be　a　woman；　but　you　shoot　like　a　man　and　you　have　the　courage　of　a　man。〃
　Tom　looked　at　Sally。　Her　face　was　smudged；　her　long　blond　hair　in　tangles；　the　gun　slung　over　her　shoulder。　He　could　see　in　her　face　everything　he　was　feeling：　the　shock　and　surprise　of　the　attack；　horror　at　the　death　of　Pingo；　dread　at　the　loss　of　all　their　supplies；　determination　to　survive。　She　nodded　and　went　off　into　the　forest。
　Don　Alfonso　looked　at　Tom。　〃You　and　I　will　build　a　hut。〃
　
　An　hour　later；　night　had　fallen。　They　were　sitting　around　the　fire；　eating　the　last　of　a　stew　made　from　a　large　rodent　Sally　had　shot。　A　small　thatched　hut　sat　nearby；　and　Don　Alfonso　sat　in　front　of　a　pile　of　palm　leaves；　stripping　them　and　weaving　them　into　hammocks。　He　had　been　silent　except　for　giving　terse　orders。
　〃Who　were　those　soldiers？〃　Tom　asked　Don　Alfonso。
　Don　Alfonso　busied　himself　over　the　hammocks。　〃Those　were　the　soldiers　who　came　upriver　with　your　other　brother　Philip。〃
　〃Philip　would　never　permit　an　attack　on　us；〃　said　Vernon。
　〃No；〃　said　Tom。　He　felt　his　heart　sink。　There　must　have　been　a　mutiny　on　Philip's　expedition；　or　something　else　had　happened。　At　any　rate；　Philip　must　be　in　grave　danger…if　not　already　dead。　The　unknown　enemy；　therefore；　had　to　be　Hauser。　He　was　the　one　who　had　killed　the　two　policemen　in　Santa　Fe；　who　had　arranged　for　their　capture　in　Brus；　who　was　behind　this　most　recent　attack　on　them。
　〃The　question；〃　Sally　said；　〃is　whether　we　go　on　or　go　back。〃
　Tom　nodded。
　〃It'd　be　suicide　to　go　on；〃　Vernon　said。　〃We've　got　nothing…no　food；　no　clothes；　no　tents；　sleeping　bags；　or　food。〃
　〃Philip's　up　ahead；〃　said　Tom。　〃And　he's　in　trouble。　It's　pretty　obvious　that　Hauser's　the　one　behind　the　killing　of　the　two　policemen　in　Santa　Fe。
　There　was　a　silence。　〃Maybe　we　should　go　back；　resupply；　and　return。　We　won't　be　able　to　help　him　like　this；　Tom。〃
　Tom　glanced　at　Don　Alfonso；　plaiting　deftly。　He　sensed　from　the　studiously　neutral　expression　on　the　old　man's　face　that　he　had　an　opinion。　He　always　looked　that　way　when　he　was　about　to　disagree。　〃Don　Alfonso？〃
　〃Yes？〃
　〃Do　you　have　an　opinion？〃
　Don　Alfonso　laid　the　hammock　down　and　rubbed　his　hands　together。　He　looked　Tom　in　the　eye。　〃I　do　not　have　an　opinion。　I　have　instead　a　statement　of　fact。〃
　〃Which　is？〃
　〃Behind　us　is　a　deadly　swamp　in　which　the　water　is　lowering　every　day。　We　have　no　dugout。　It　will　take　a　week　at　least　to　make　another。　But　we　cannot　stay　in　one　place　for　a　week；　because　the　soldiers　will　find　us；　and　the　manufacture　of　a　dugout　creates　clouds　of　smoke；　which　will　be　a　signpost　for　all　to　see。　So　we　must　keep　moving；　on　foot；　through　the　jungle；　toward　the　Sierra　Azul。　To　go　back　is　to　die。　That　is　my　statement　of　fact。〃
　
　34
　
　Marcus　Hauser　sat　on　a　log　by　the　fire；　Churchill　in　his　mouth；　field…stripping　the　Steyr　AUG。　The　weapon　didn't　need　it；　but　for　Hauser　it　was　a　repetitive　physical　process　that　was　almost　a　form　of　meditation。　The　rifle　was　mostly　made　of　finely　machined　plastic；　which　Hauser　liked。　He　retracted　the　cocking　slide　knob；　grasped　the　barrel　grip　and；　using　his　left　thumb；　pressed　the　barrel　locking　latch　down。　Then　he　rotated　the　barrel　clockwise　and　pulled　it　forward。　It　came　free　with　a　satisfying　smoothness。
　From　time　to　time　he　glanced　into　the　forest　where　Philip　was　chained　up；　but　there　wasn't　a　sound。　He　had　heard　a　jaguar　roaring　earlier　in　the　day；　a　roar　of　frustration　and　hunger；　and　he　didn't　want　his　prisoner　getting　eaten；　at　least　not　before　he　had　figured　out　where　old　Max　had　gone。　He　heaped　some　more　wood　on　the　fire　to　beat　back　the　darkness　and　the　prowling　jaguar。　To　his　right；　the　Macaturi　River　slid　past　the　camp；　making　soft　splashing　and　gurgling　noises　as　it　eddied　and　flowed。　It　was　a　beautiful　night　for　a　change；　the　velvety　sky　dusted　with　stars；　which　were　reflected　as　faint　dancing　lights　in　the　surface　of　the　river。　It　was　close　to　two　o'clock　in　the　morning；　but　Hauser　was　one　of　those　fortunates　who　needed　only　four　hours　of　sleep　a　night。
　He　chucked　another　log　on　the　fire　to　increase　the　light　and　slid　the　bolt　assembly　out　of　the　receiver。　His　hand　lightly　caressed　the　smooth　pieces　of　plastic　and　metal…one　warm；　the　other　cold…and　he　savored　the　scent　of　gun　oil　and　the　clicks　of　the　well…machined　parts　as　they　disengaged。　A　few　more　well…practiced　moves　and　the　rifle　lay　in　front　of　him；　stripped　to　its　six　basic　parts。　He　hefted　each　piece；　examining　it；　cleaning　it；　running　his　hands　over　it…and　began　putting　them　back　together。　He　worked　slowly；　dreamily　even：　no　boot…camp　haste　here。
　He　heard　a　faint　sound：　the　whine　of　the　returning　boats。　He　paused；　listening　carefully。　The　operation　had　concluded；　and　the　men　were　back　right　on　time。　Hauser　was　pleased。　Not　even　a　half…assed　group　of　Honduran　soldiers　could　have　screwed　up　such　a　straightforward　op。
　Or　could　they？　He　saw；