“Oh, oh!” Kickaha said. “There’s an opening to the lake now! Run like hell, everybody!”
The nearest bank was an eighth of a mile, six hundred and sixty feet away. Kickaha left the antelope leg behind him. The quiver and bow slung over his shoulder, the strap of the instrument case over the other, he ran for the bank. The others passed him, but Anana, once more, grabbed his hand to help him. By the time they had gotten halfway to safety, the stream was up to their knees. This slowed them down, but they slogged through. And then Kickaha, glancing to his left, saw a wall of water racing toward them, its blackish front twice as high as he.
Urthona was the first to reach the top of the bank. He got down on his knees and grabbed one of McKay’s hands and pulled him on up. Red Ore grabbed at the black’s ankle but missed. He slid back down the slope, then scrambled back up. McKay started to reach down to help, but Urthona spoke to him, and he withdrew his hand.
Nevertheless, Ore climbed over the edge by himself. The water was now up to the waists of Kickaha and Anana. They got to the bank, where she let go of his hand. He slipped and fell back but was up at once. By now he could feel the ground trembling under his feet, sonic forerunners of the vast oncoming mass of water.
He grabbed Anana’s legs, boosted her on up, and then began climbing after her. She grabbed his left wrist and pulled. His other hand clutched the grass on the lip of the bank, and he came on up. The other three were standing near her, watching them keenly. He cursed them because they’d not tried to help.
Ore shrugged. Urthona grinned. Suddenly, Urthona ran at Ore and pushed him. Ore screamed and fell sideways. McKay deftly pulled the beamer from Anana’s belt. At the same time, he pushed with the flat of his hand against her back. Shrieking, she, too, went into the stream.
Urthona whirled and said, “The Horn of Sham-barimen! Give it to me!”
Kickaha was stunned at the sudden sequence of events. He had expected treachery, but not so soon.
“To hell with you!” he said. He had no time to look for Anana, though he could hear her nearby. She was yelling and, though he couldn’t see her, must be climbing up the bank. There wasn’t a sound from Red Ore.
He lifted the shoulder strap of the instrument case holding the horn and slipped it down his arm. Urthona grinned again, but he stopped when Kickaha held the case over the water.
“Get Anana up here! Quickly! Or I drop this!”
“Shoot him, McKay!” Urthona yelled.
“Hell, man, you didn’t tell me how to operate this thing!” McKay said.
“You utter imbecile!”
Urthona leaped to grab the weapon from the black man. Kickaha swung the instrument case with his left hand behind him and dropped it. Hopefully, Anana would catch it. He dived toward McKay, who, though he didn’t know how to fire the beamer, was quick enough to use it as a club. Its barrel struck Kickaha on the top of his head, and his face smacked into the ground.
Half-stunned, he lay for a few seconds, trying to get his legs and arms to moving. Even in his condition, he felt the earth shaking under him. A roaring surged around him, though he did not know if that was the flood or the result of the blow.
It didn’t matter. Something hit his jaw as he began to get up. The next he knew, he was in the water.
The coldness brought him somewhat out of his daze. But he was lifted up, then down, totally immersed, fighting for breath, trying to swim. Something smashed into him-the bottom of the channel, he realized dimly-and then he was raised again. Tumbling over and over, not knowing which way was up or down, and incapable of doing anything about it if he had known, he was carried along. Once more he was brought hard against the bottom. This time he was rolled along. When he thought that he could no longer hold his breath- his head roared, his lungs ached for air, his mouth desperately wanted to open-he was shot upward.