He approached the dynamo, cautiously peering into the enormous wire-encased flywheel. There was a horizontal space, no more than half an inch wide, separating the upper and lower screens of thick latticework that kept objects of any size from penetrating the whirring interior. That space or something similar was what he had hoped to find, the reason for the machete. Sections of all generators, needing air, had openings of extremely limited dimensions, vertically and horizontally; this was his. It was either his or he was its in death; one slip meant instant electrocution, and even if he avoided death by millicounts of high voltage, he could be blinded by the exploding streaks of white electric light if he did not turn away in time, keeping his eyes tightly closed. But if he could do it, the island’s generator would be shut down for major replacement. Time… time might well be the last gift he had to give.
He pulled the machete out of his belt, sweat pouring down his face despite the wind from the flywheel, and inched the blade towards the horizontal space… Trembling, he yanked the machete back; he had to steady his hands! He could not touch either edge of the narrow space! He tried again, inserting one inch, then two, and three… he rammed the heavy blade inside, snapping back both hands before the blade made contact and lurched to the ground behind him, his face and eyes buried under his arms. The self-contained electrical detonations were ear-shattering, and despite his tightly closed eyes, white blinding light was everywhere in the darkness.
The flywheel would not stop! It kept chewing up the primitive metal of the machete while spewing out bolts of Frankensteinian electrical charges, spitting jaggedly, violently into the fence.
Kendrick leaped up, shielding his eyes, and, step by cautious step, crossed back to the tree clipper, its saw-toothed jaws embedded in the transformer’s conduit. He gripped the rubber handles, and in desperation crashed them back and forth until the jolt threw him off his feet. He had struck the cable proper and the telescoped metal clippers fell into the metal fence. The whole generator complex went mad, as if its electrical inhabitants were infuriated by mere man’s interference with his superior inventions. Lights went out everywhere, but there were still blinding, erratic, jagged streaks of electrical lightning within the lethal fenced enclosure. He had to get out!
Scrambling on his stomach, his arms and legs propelling him like a racing spider’s, he reached the hole in the fence, the beam of the torch guiding him through. When he got to his feet, the rifle was thrust into his hands by Emilio.
‘Matches!’ yelled Evan, unable to reach his own; the Mexican gave him a handful while angling the torch over to the last towel. Kendrick ran, limping to his fuse, lurching to the ground and striking half a dozen matches on a rock. As they flared he threw them on the last towel; the flame caught and started its deadly journey, slowly, relentlessly, no more than a glow in the dirt.
‘Hurry!’ cried Emilio, helping Evan to his feet and leading him, not to the path back to the dirt road, but instead into the high grass below. ‘Many have come out of the house and are running down! Pronto, se๑or!’
They raced, literally diving into the grass as a swarm of panicked men, most with rifles, approached the blinding, erupting generator, shielding their eyes and shouting at one another. During the chaos Kendrick and his Mexican companion crawled through the grass below the terror-stricken crowd. They reached the road as another equally stupefied stream of men came rushing out of the long, low building that was the staff’s barracks. Most were only half dressed, many in undershorts, and not a few showing the effects of too much alcohol.
‘Listen to me,’ whispered Evan into Emilio’s ear. ‘We’ll get out there carrying our rifles and start up the road… Keep shouting in Spanish as though we were following someone’s orders. Now!’
‘กTraenes agua!’ roared the Mexican as both men sprang out of the grass and joined the stunned, screaming crowd from the barracks. กAgua!… กTraenes agua!’ They broke through the mass of excited bodies only to be confronted by the panicked contingent from the main house, half of whom had cautiously moved down the path to the dying, smoking, spitting machinery that had been the island’s source of power. The darkness was awesome, made eerie by the maniacal voices shouting everywhere in the dim, intermittent moonlight. Then beams of light shot out from the house above.
‘The path!’ cried Kendrick. ‘Head for the main path down to the dock. For God’s sake, hurry! That tank will blow any second and there’ll be a stampede for the boats!’
‘It is ahead. We must pass through the galena.’
‘Christ, they’ll be at the windows, on the balconies!’
There is no other way, no quicker way.’
‘Let’s go!’
The dirt road stopped, replaced by the narrow path that only minutes ago had been bordered by the parallel rows of domed amber lights. They ran, Kendrick lurching in agony, down into the sunken patio, racing across the bricks to the steps that led to the main path.
‘Stop!’ roared a deep voice as the beam of a powerful torch swung down on them. ‘Where are you… Jesus Christ, it’s you!’ Evan looked up. Directly above, standing on the short balcony he had stood on barely an hour ago, was the outsized yachtsman. In his hand was a gun; it was being raised, aimed at Kendrick. Evan fired his rifle at the same instant the yachtsman’s weapon exploded. He felt the searing hot bullet slice into his left shoulder, hurling him back off his feet. He fired again and again as the giant above held his stomach, screaming at the top of his lungs. ‘It’s him! It’s Kendrick!… Stop the son of a bitch, stop him! He’s going down to the boats!’
Kendrick took closer aim and fired a last shot. High Noon in the Town of Corruption grabbed his throat, arched his neck, then fell forward over the railing and down into the brick patio. Evan’s eyes began to close, the mists swirling about his head.
‘No, se๑or! You must run! Get to your feet!’ Kendrick felt his arms being pulled out of their sockets and his face being repeatedly, harshly slapped. ‘You will come with me or you will die, and I will not die with you! I have loved ones in El Descanso—’
‘What?’ shouted Evan, saying nothing, agreeing to nothing, but answering everything as part of the mists cleared. His shoulder on fire, the blood drenching his shirt, he rose and lurched for the steps, somehow in the far reaches of his mind remembering the Colt .45 he had taken from the Mafioso, ripping it out of his back pocket, tearing the stretched cloth to remove the weapon too large for its recess. I’m with you!’ he cried out to Emilio.
‘I know,’ replied the Mexican, slowing his pace and turning around. ‘Who pulled you up the steps, se๑or?… You are hurt and the path is dark so I must use the linterna—the flashlight.’
Suddenly the earth exploded, shaking the ground with the impact of a block-sized meteor, smashing windows throughout the big house on top of the hill and sending fire up into the night sky. The generator’s fuel tank erupted into the heavens as the two fugitives raced down the path, Kendrick staggering, trying desperately to focus on the wavering beam of light ahead, his knee and ankle searing in pain.
Shots. Gunfire! Bullets snapped above them, around them, digging up the earth in front of them. Emilio switched off the torch and grabbed Evan’s hand. ‘It is not much longer now. I know the way and I will not let go of you.’
‘If we ever get away from here, you’re going to have the biggest fishing boat in El Descanso!’
‘No, se๑or, I will move my family to the hills. These men will come after me, after my nifios.’
‘How about a ranch?’ The moon abruptly emerged from beyond the rushing, low-flying clouds, revealing the island’s dock barely two hundred feet away. The gunfire had ceased; it started up again, but again the earth seemingly blew apart, an isolated galactic mass in frenzy. ‘It happened!’ shouted Kendrick as they neared the base of the dock.
‘Se๑or?’ cried the Mexican, terrified at the ear-shattering, unexpected detonation, panicked by the ball of smoke and the branches of fire that rose beyond the house on the hill. This island will go into the sea! What happened?’
‘The second tank blew! I couldn’t predict, I could only hope.’
A single gunshot. From the dock. Emilio was hit! He doubled over grabbing his upper thigh as the blood spread through his trousers. A man with a rifle moved out of the moonlit shadows fifty feet away, raising a hand-held intercom to his face. Evan crouched, his whole body now a festering boil, and raised his left hand to steady his right and the Colt automatic. He fired twice, one or both of his shots hitting the target. The guard reeled, dropping both the rifle and the radio; he fell on the thick wood planks and was still.