Alligator (23 page)

He spotted the skiff at the mouth of the channel, caught in a complicated dam of tree limbs and boulders. He could see that Thompson was trying to work them out by using their motor. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Thompson, cut your motor! You're just gettin' yourself in tighter!"

Thompson tried to understand what Lee was saying, but the roar of the wind was too strong.

"Your motor!" Lee repeated. "Cut your motor!"

Thompson shook his head and yelled back, "I can't hear you! I can't hear nothin' but the wind!" Thompson kept pushing the motor. It didn't occur to him that he had been doing the same thing for minutes and it wasn't helping. He was no longer thinking; he was stalled in one pattern of action, and he couldn't get out of it.

Lee struggled forward, his body trembling from the effort. Above him he could see that the sky was completely covered with clouds, and long black lines of rain hung like whips.

"The motor!" Lee screamed. "Cut the motor!" But Thompson was beyond hearing anything but the wind.

As Lee reached the skiff, he pulled the handle of the motor from Thompson and shut it down. "I'm gonna pull her in!" he yelled. "You use the pole!"

Thompson shook his head. "I can't hear you no more!"

"Thompson, it's okay now. Come on."

"We're gonna die!" yelled Thompson. "We're all gonna die out here alone. We should have listened to Luke, we—"

Lee smashed Thompson across the face with his hand. "If we die, it'll be your own fault!" he screamed. "Now start poling!"

The shock of the blow brought blood to Thompson's face. Instinctively he threw a punch at Lee; then he began to whimper, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for—"

"Never mind that now!" Lee yelled. "Come on!"

Lee attached a rope to the bow of the skiff and, throwing it over his shoulder, edged the boat out around the tree limbs while Thompson pushed with the pole. Once clear, Lee jumped onto the skiff. The storm was almost right on top of them; Lee wouldn't allow himself to look at it. Using both the pole and the motor, Lee and Thompson bucked through the channel and into the open water.

A few minutes later, the skiff was in the shallows around Sand Fly. Lee breathed freer when he saw Sand Fly. He hadn't allowed himself to think about it, but until that moment, he hadn't believed they could make it.

On the hummock, the men were lashing their boats to trees, throwing tarpaulins over supplies, fighting the forty-mile-an-hour wind that pulled ropes, supplies, and tarps from their hands like an insane practical joker.

Maurice was cutting lengths of rope when he saw Lee and Thompson pull in the boat and carry Marris off. Before, when Maurice had realized that the storm was about to begin and Lee hadn't made it yet, he had surprised himself with feelings of grief. Then the storm began to gnaw at him, eroding everything but a desperate will to live, and by the time he saw Lee pull on shore, he no longer cared. His own life, hanging trembling, was all that mattered.

Maurice finished cutting the rope and threw one of the pieces to Rye. Rye let it fall to the ground. "I won't be needin' rope," he said. He looked directly at John, his eyes issuing a challenge.

John understood the challenge. There was no question of accepting it; he could never live with himself if he didn't. He looked at Rye with eyes that were chilling. "Better take it while you can, old man." John laughed.

Maurice ran over and tried to hand the ropes to Rye and John, but they just let them drop to the ground.

"What's the matter with you two?" he screamed.

"Stay out of this!" Rye yelled.

"That's right, Maurice," taunted John. "You heard the boss man."

Maurice picked up the ropes and again tried to get the men to take them. "Stop it!" he screamed. "For God's sake, not now!" But neither of them moved.

Maurice was about to pull Rye away, to plead with him to take cover, when the sound of the roaring wind filled his head and suddenly everything became unimportant. He took one last look at Rye and John. They were watching each other, locked together by their hate; they seemed to know nothing else. Maurice couldn't bring himself to care any more. He picked up a length of rope and wound it around the trunk of a sturdy tree several times. After slipping under the coils, he pulled on the ends and made the rope tight around him. He tied a knot, then leaned back against the tree. He knew he had given himself up to the power of the storm. It was a terrifying feeling, yet at the same time there was a crazy kind of exhilaration in it. He had felt like that only one other time, on a plane between Miami and New York when he had thought they were going to crash.

All along the hummock, the other men had tied themselves down to trees, some in twos, some alone. They waited for the storm in silence, walled in by the sound of the wind and the hollow thud of their own life pounding in their ears, like lonely islands in a howling sea. The waiting completely severed the last connection between the men and pulled each so far into himself that what was happening just inches away had as much relevance as a famine in India.

In the sky, the black clouds swirled and undulated, blocking out most of the light and filtering the rest into a luminous green.

For a moment, the wind calmed and the air was crystal and chilled. With it came deathly silence.

Suddenly veins of lightning ripped the sky. There was a loud crack of thunder, and a great gray curtain of rain crashed down.

The outside world was obliterated. Pinned to their trees like butterflies to a tray, the men closed their eyes against the rain, which smashed and battered them into a kind of mindlessness.

The wind returned, even stronger than before. It whipped across the hummock at sixty miles an hour, beating at trees, wrenching off branches and leaves and scattering them across the swamps.

The wind tore at the water until it was a torrent. Frenzied waves battered the skiffs, throwing them up and back, creaking and moaning against the ropes that held them. Heavy rain pounded off the deck of the Saurian. The airboat pitched from side to side, and tore at its ropes with a life of its own. The metal-and-fiberglass hull made a screaming sound as it strained against the ties. Rope fibers began to split and unravel under the force of the water and the enormous weight of the Saurian. Knots slipped. The airboat was held by only a few threads; then they too broke. The Saurian was wrenched from the shore and pulled out into the water. It whirled one hundred yards offshore, caught in an eddy. Suddenly the wind reversed. A huge wave picked up the Saurian and sent it back to the hummock. It picked up speed as it went, and didn't stop until it reached shore and crashed into a tree. Wood splintered into the air; branches and leaves crashed down. With a great ripping sound, the tree buckled and uprooted, then fell across the deck of the Saurian, shattering the fiberglass frame.

In the middle of the hummock, a pile of supplies broke its ties. Tin cans, clothes, first-aid supplies, blankets slid along the ground, were taken up by the wind and whirled through the air, spinning in large circles over the heads of the men and out into the water.

Very few of the men saw the supplies break loose, and those who did couldn't bring themselves to care or to understand. Most of them felt no connection with anything or anyone, including themselves.

Ben still hadn't opened his eyes. He was afraid of what he would see, yet not knowing was beginning to be even worse. He forced himself to open his eyes. He could see nothing beyond the gray wall of rain pounding at his face. If it were not for the sound of a man wailing nearby, he would have thought he was alone.

It was Marris who was wailing. He didn't hear himself, nor did he hear anything except the sounds within his own body. Thompson had tied himself next to Marris, intending to keep a watch on him.

Ace started to cry. He no longer cared if D.W. heard him; he knew it didn't matter. Just then, he felt something brush against him. It was D.W. reaching over to touch his hand.

The furious noise of the storm was so shattering to Albert that he desperately tried to pull his mind away from the hummock and back to his normal life. He thought about Matty, the restaurant, his kids, but his mind held only for a moment. The storm forced its way back into his consciousness, and with it came the fear.

Not five feet from Albert, the tremendous pressure of the wind made the towering cypress Sam was tied to creak and moan. The branches bent to the ground, shooting splinters into the air like sparks. Suddenly a branch tore from the trunk and was taken up by the wind. It spun in midair, then, picked up by a new current, came crashing back to earth, on end, like a spear.

Sam never even saw it until it had pierced him through his chest and he was held, pinned and screaming, with a great hollow blackness in his center. He felt the warmth of his blood as it spilled across his chest and the spasms that wrenched and jerked his body like a mechanical toy; then he could feel no more.

John and Rye were clutching trees only a few yards from Sam. They didn't see Sam's twitching body, nor did they hear his screams. The wind and the rain cut them off from everything but themselves, and the terrible taunting challenge of the other. They held on to the trees by the sheer power of their wills, as if their hatred was even stronger than the storm.

John shouted to Rye, "I saw you the other day, Whitman. You ran. You ran like you had a goddamned yellow streak painted down your back."

"I'm not running now, am I, John?"

A bolt of lightning tore through the air and split a nearby tree. Terror flickered across John's face. Rye saw it. "Hold on there, John!" he yelled. "You're ridin' a wild one!"

"Keep laughing!" John screamed, fast and scared. "You can't touch me any more. I've been watching you, I've seen it coming for months. Yeah, I led the proxy fight. If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else. You're a loser now. We all can smell it."

The wind whipped Rye's clothes so they beat at his body and huge red welts began to form, but Rye felt nothing. All he was aware of was a glowing fury; his mind was focused on John's words with a precision and clarity that came only from madness.

Slowly Rye let go of the tree and stood in the raging wind. His face betrayed no terror of the incredible wind that buffeted his body; neither fear nor reason clouded his taunting eyes. "I'm ready for ya!" he screamed.

Rye's challenge clawed at John even more than the frenzied wind. The need to batter Rye into submission strong in him, he unwound his fingers from the tree and stood free in the wind, laughing.

Rye took a step toward John. It was as if he were underwater; everything was slowed by the thickness of the air. John's fingers began working at his sheath. He loosened the strap and placed his hand on his knife.

Rye continued toward John. He saw nothing except John laughing at him; there was nothing beside that laugh. John kept his hand at his sheath, waiting. Just as Rye was almost up to him, John freed the knife and lunged out.

Suddenly the seventy-mile-an-hour wind caught John. The lunge had thrown him off balance, and he couldn't hold the ground. With a great sucking sound, the wind lifted him up and swept him, almost cartwheeling, toward the swollen, rushing water. John's scream pierced through the howling wind, touching every man on the hummock.

Lee quickly untied himself and, without questioning why, went after him. Clinging close to the ground, clutching at trees and scrub willow, he pressed against the enormous force of the wind. He called out to John, but the only response was the howling of the wind and the roaring of the river. He called a few more times, though he knew John too was a part of these sounds.

He waited a minute more, then started back. Through the curtain of rain, he spotted Rye, lying on the ground. His arms were wrapped around the trunk of a tree, and he was crying out for help. Pushing against the crushing wind, head down, knees bent, Lee made his way to Rye. Rye was moving, but his eyes were wide open and staring as if he were dead. Lee threw Rye against the tree and, taking his own rope, tied him down.

Rye submitted without a word. The clarity which had burned so hot and pure in his mind just moments before was no longer there. Fear pressed in on him.

Just as Lee was about to tie himself down next to Rye, a huge whirling branch sliced into him, crumpling him to the ground. Suddenly the air was sucked from his lungs; he lost sight, and with it consciousness.

A gust of wind caught him up and sent him rolling into the rushing, swollen water. He lay half in the water, half out for a moment; then the pressure of the wind sent him tumbling into the heart of the turbulence. Boiling waves pushed and pulled at him, as if he were just another piece of debris, like the branches and splintered boards churning all around him.

Lee came to. A scrub willow hung over the water, only a few inches from him. He grabbed for it. For a moment it held; then earth began to loosen, scattering in the wind, and the scrub willow uprooted. Lee fell back into the water, still clutching the useless branch.

He tried for another branch. It too held for a while; then it cracked in two. Time and again, Lee grabbed for weeds and roots, but the fragile links to the earth always gave, and the shrieking waters sent him tumbling back out. The roar of the wind and the force of the pounding water jarred his mind and obliterated all thoughts except the blind instinct to survive, and he clutched at roots and weeds as a child breathes.

Once again Lee grabbed at some weeds. This time his hand touched something solid on the ground. It felt like a boulder. Clawing and digging his fingers into the powdery limestone, he gained a hold. If he could cling to it, even for a little while, there was a chance that he could regain some of the energy he'd scattered into the storm. Clutching the rock, straining every muscle to its utmost, he began pulling his body out of the water. He raised himself slowly, gaining on the battering wind and rushing water, inch by inch. His heart pounded painfully; it was a fire burning in his chest, and the air seared his throat as he breathed. Lee's arms began to tremble. Spasms convulsed his fingers. With a stab of terror, he realized he was losing his grip.