The pressure of the water was enormous, seeping through the entire structure. With no way of relieving the weight, far greater than the builders had ever imagined, the dam was creaking and straining. Hundreds of gallons from higher ground were added to the load every minute.
It seemed to Jim that the whole thing was likely to go at any moment. Crumble and break up, trapping him in the great tomb that knew no sound.
But that wouldn’t be good enough.
IT TOOK HIM twenty-five minutes to reach the dam, plant the charge and return to the safety of the fringe of dead trees to join the others.
“Dirty bird, Jim,” said Sly Romero, giggling. “Muddy bloody dirty birdy.”
Jim Hilton slid alongside Nanci on the muddy ground. “Can you see it?” he questioned anxiously, still short of breath from the strain and exertion.
Squinting along the barrel of the rifle, she paused before answering. “Yeah. The smoke doesn’t help, but it’s much worse lower down and on the far side. Yes, Captain Hilton, I believe that I can hit it.”
“Then do it.”
Her finger tightened on the trigger. “Now?”
“Now,” he said.
ZELIG HAD BEEN staring at the dam, since one of the men under his command had pointed out how dangerous it looked. But all their main explosive material had gone up when the Chinook disintegrated on the top of them.
“Hunters are grouping by the old house,” reported a young female sergeant. “They look just about ready to come up at us, General.”
The exchange of fire had more or less stopped, with only the distant crackle of flames from the wrecked vehicle and helicopter still audible in the background. The single, distinct crack of a rifle shot made Zelig look around.
“What was that?”
“Saw a ricochet spark off the front of the dam, sir,” said someone.
“Won’t blow it up like that.” Zelig grinned humorlessly. “Like killing an elephant with a spit-ball.” He tried to focus his mind on whether they should run and leave some of the wounded, with the hope of fighting again another day. Or stay where they were and risk the probability of being massacred by the Hunters with their greater firepower and superior numbers.
Then he heard the rifle’s sharp report again.
It was followed instantly by a huge, muffled roar. A great cloud of thick, dark gray smoke billowed up from one of the buttressed arches below the face of the dam.
FROM THE SHELTER of a line of dead pine trees, Margaret Tabor had seen the tiny flash of flame and puff of smoke at the top of the valley, high above them. Her first thought was that Zelig had managed to get a couple of snipers across the dam to fire down at them, but the range and angle made that unlikely.
She missed the second shot, but everyone saw the spectacular result.
“They’re trying to blow the dam on top of us,” she screamed. She took a breath to yell orders for a fast retreat, but suddenly realized that the smoke was clearing, and the mountain of earth still stood, undamaged by the explosion, holding back the limitless water. “Failed, you failed,” she crowed exultantly.
“IT DIDN’T work, Dad,” whispered Heather Hilton.
The charge of blasting powder had been detonated by the second round of the .375, fired with great accuracy by Nanci Simms. But the dark cloud had blown away, and the mountain of earth and stone still stood, unmoving.
“Wait!” Jocelyn McGill said. She had excellent sight, and now she was crouching forward, pointing with a trembling finger. “There, about halfway down, there’s…”
“Water coming through,” continued Jim. “Hallelujah, brothers and sisters.”
“But will it bring down the—” Paul McGill stopped in midsentence, stricken by what they could all see.
“Going, going,” said Nanci, standing up and dusting dirt off her knees.
“Gone!” whooped Sly, clapping his hands together.
FIRST THERE was the trickle of silvery water, fountaining out under pressure. It was hardly more than a spray, only a couple of inches across, working its way through a network of fine cracks in the basic structure. The cracks widened and deepened near the heart of the explosion.