My foot caught in bamboo and twisted painfully. I sucked in air, grabbed for a handful of trunk, and went under. I came up sputtering. The foot hurt like hell. All I needed, now—a broken ankle.
Lightning. A quick flash and the afterimage of a gaunt figure. Hands wound about a green trunk.
"Rhamik, here!"
He saw me. Wide eyes full of fright. I bit my lip against the pressure of the foot against the ground and splashed toward him. I grabbed his arm and a great curtain of rain lashed out at us.
"Where is it," I shouted, "back that way? Did you come from the village?"
He stared at me. "Andrew—" Rain stung at his eyes and he blinked. "Andrew, you do not have the new person."
Listen I told him I am having one hell of a time with the old person. Come on, we've—"
"No." He shook his head. "First we must get the new person, Andrew."
"Rhamik," I yelled, "forget it! There's no way. There isn't even a hut back there." I jerked at him but he wouldn't budge. The water was up to my waist. Now what the hell was I going to do?
Rhamik answered that. He was away from me and plowing through the water like a wet cat, pulling himself along from one trunk to the next. I ground my teeth and sloshed after him and the ankle told me what it thought of this business.
"Rhamik!"
Just how did he expect to find the hut in all this? I wondered. And why? The Great Flood was upon us and what we needed was a stilt-house and a roof. We needed a new person like a bucket of water.
I lost him once. Then found him in a flash of lightning. He was clinging to a trunk looking frightened.
"Are you satisfied?" I yelled at him over the rain. "Can we go back, now?"
"Here, Andrew," he said weakly.
"Here what?"
"Here is the hut. You must get the new person quickly."
I stared at him. "What hut? Rhamik, you don't even know where we are!"
"Yes, Andrew. The hut is here. I am touching its walls with my feet. The new person is behind you. Please, Andrew. It is important to hurry."
I knew I might as well argue with the rain. He intended to stay right where he was until I got the new person. Or drowned.
Do it, then, and get it over with and get on the road. I took a quick breath and went under. No problem finding the new person. My hands touched it. I jerked them back. Good God, it was like reaching out in the dark and clutching a handful of cold worms. It seemed to know I was there. It pushed anxiously against my fingers.
I came up for breath. "Rhamik, I can't find it."
"Yes, Andrew."
"All right. So I found it. But I'm not going to touch it. Not again. It can stay right where it is."
He looked at me somberly. "Then I must stay too, Andrew."
"Why, Rhamik—it's----my new person, not yours! What the hell difference does it make?"
He didn't answer. He clutched his hands tightly around bamboo and stared into the rain and shook.
OK, friend, it's your choice, I thought. Go or stay. I considered a quick blow to the jaw, but knew I'd never get him to the stilt hut. I'd be lucky to make it myself. The foot was producing small explosions.
So I made a sound, sensible decision. I left him clinging to his bamboo and struck out through the rain.
I looked back at him.
He hadn't even watched me leave. I turned around and held my breath and felt around for the new person. I could do it if I didn't let myself think about how it felt. Or how it squirmed when I touched it. Damn, it had grown! Even in the water it felt like a good hundred pounds.
"It's heavy," I shouted to Rhamik, "but looks like it'll float enough so we won't be dragging dead weight! We'll be better off if we swim for it now and pull it between us. We'll have to in another couple of minutes—water'll be too high to walk!"
Rhamik looked at me blankly. "Swim, Andrew?"
Sweet Jesus, I moaned to myself. The word's not even in his bloody vocabulary.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A lifeguard can shout at a drowner all day.
He can curse him soundly, and ask him why he was in the goddamn pool in the first place if he couldn't swim. These questions never do any good.
We were a great team. Rhamik was terrified of the water, I had to pry his fingers from every branch—between branches, he clung fiercely to me. The new person, of course, was all mine.
I wondered how high the water would rise and how long it would be until morning. And if we would be around to see it.
Sheet lightning ripped the skies, and the wind had risen to a high pitch. It drove the rain in stinging bursts of needle spray almost horizontally above the water. Branches whipped and flailed us and I blinked once and Rhamik was gone. I went under where he should have been. He wasn't. I came up for air and a ragged branch tore a hole in my side.
On the second dive he found me. His hands clawed at my face and found the death-grip and I hit him in the stomach as hard as you can hit someone underwater. It took the steam out of him. But not before he got in a very accurate kick squarely on the ankle I had not intended to ever touch again.
I almost let him go.
Pain rolled in like a warm wave and nearly carried me on its crest to a dark and peaceful sleep. The temptation was very real—frightening enough to jerk me coldly back to business. Rhamik was vomiting water in my face. One arm gripped my neck. The other was holding us both out of the water, tight against a frail green trunk.
I yelled something at him— Was he all right? Could I do anything? He answered with another great surge of water, so I didn't worry about him. Anyone who's retching up his insides is still at the party.
The next flash of lightning confirmed a fear. Diving after Rhamik had completely turned me around. I had no idea which way we had been going. One bamboo stalk looked much like another.
At least, all I had to worry about now was Rhamik. When I'd gone after him, I had left the new person to its own devices. If Rhamik objected to being first choice, he would have to work that out for himself.
We had a chance, then. Daylight had to come eventually. We could cling to branches a little longer.
"Andrew—"
He opened his mouth and choked on rain. I did the best pounding job I could manage, keeping the ankle out of his way.
"The new person, Andrew!"
"Rhamik, that's not important now."
His eyes locked on mine. "The new person is gone?"
"You went under," I told him. "What was I supposed to do?"
He wouldn't buy that. "A new person is more meaningful than an old person."
"That's your opinion."
"Andrew—"
"Knock it off, Rhamik," I said sternly. I'd had quite enough of this.
"Andrew!" he shouted suddenly. "See!" He stared past me. Lightning flashed. I ground my teeth. Sure enough, the new person was floating in its vile cocoon, stuck in branches ten meters away.
"There, Andrew. The new person is not lost."
"So I see." I loosed his arm from my neck.
"What are you doing?"
"I am going after your goddamn new person, Rhamik. If you will let me go for a moment."
"I cannot stay here, Andrew."
"Why not?"
"I will fall under the water."
"You won't if you hang onto that branch."
"No, Andrew!"
I relaxed. "Fine. Then we'll forget about the new person."
"I will go with you."
"I don't need you to go with me."
"But that is the proper thing to do, Andrew," he insisted.
"The new person is on the path we must follow."
I looked at him. "Rhamik. . . ."
"This is right, Andrew!"
A wet branch slapped my face. I tore it aside. I remembered I had established in my own mind that he often evaded truth, but didn't lie. Well, we would see.
"Hang on," I told him, "and, Rhamik—stay away from the foot. That's important. Do you understand?"
<
br /> He nodded, relieved.
Rhamik was happy after we retrieved the new person. I told him now that we had accomplished this task, I did not intend to risk any more swimming and groping in the dark. Even if we were headed in the right direction. That it was dangerous, and that I did not have the strength for it. We could best use what strength we had by hanging on until we could see what we were doing.
Rhamik objected violently. "No, Andrew. We must keep going!"
"Why? We have almost drowned several times in the past hour, Rhamik. What's the hurry?"
"Andrew," he said, "it would be pleasant if we could cling to the branches until the light. But that will not be possible."
"It takes less strength to—"
"No, this does not have to do with strength. The water is rising, Andrew. By morning the trees will be covered almost entirely. The branches that remain above the water will be inadequate to hold us. You see? We must go now, Andrew."
I thought about that. "You're sure? The water gets that high—to cover the tops of the trees?"
"Yes, Andrew."
"Rhamik," I said, suddenly angry, "you could have told me about this yesterday! It wouldn't have hurt anything, would it? To let me know?"
"Andrew," he said simply, "the rain began a day early. I am most sorry about that. I did not know it would be early—this has never happened before."
I didn't bother to answer. No doubt, he was quite right. Why would you give anyone two days warning of the Great Flood?
There was no way to judge progress.
It seemed to me we were hardly moving, but I knew this couldn't be so. Rain lashed out, but I couldn't feel it anymore. I could feel my ankle just fine. It had its own heartbeat, and someone had started many small fires to keep warm.
Each time the sky turned white I searched for the stilt huts. Nothing. And Rhamik was right. The water was still rising—faster than I cared for. It wouldn't be long before we were swimming without the aid of branches. When that happened, I was certain I could drag Rhamik and the new person a good two meters before the fun and games were over.
And then I saw it.
Rhamik saw it too and we both shouted hoarsely at each other. Right on target—the stilt house Rhamik and his friends had built for me. Solid against the wind, firmly thatched, and still high above the water. In another flash I caught a glimpse of the long walkway leading off into darkness and the village beyond.
I guessed seventy or eighty meters.
After we'd made half of that I guessed again. My heart sank. We weren't getting anywhere. The wind was pushing us back and we were going against the lashing sheets of rain. Rhamik clung to me like a leech, weighing me down. I pushed the new person along with one hand. The wind nearly jerked it away and tossed it into the current.
I gripped branches with raw hands.
Everything hurt.
Except the foot. I couldn't even feel it anymore.
Just keep the eyes shut against the rain and grip the next branch. Pull. Swim. Next branch. Pull. Swim. . . .
Rhamik was shouting at me. Damn irritating. It interfered with my routine.
"Andrew!"
"Go away, Rhamik."
"Andrew, we are here!"
"Huh?"
"We are here, Andrew!"
I opened my eyes. Shut them again against the rain. When I looked again I saw my fist in front of me. It was clutched about bamboo. I followed the bamboo with my eyes to the hut above. It was only about a thousand kilometers away. I looked at Rhamik, and the new person, and thought about my foot.
Rhamik guessed my thoughts. "You must do it, Andrew."
I was too tired to be angry. "Just listen," I said. "Just listen, Rhamik. There is something very wrong with my foot. I might be able to make it up that ladder by myself. I doubt it. There is no use even thinking about going up there with a hundred-pound load. It would difficult if there was nothing wrong with my foot and I had a good night's sleep."
"All right." Rhamik nodded. "All right, Andrew."
I didn't like the sound of that. "All right, what?"
"It is all right. I will stay here with the new person. When it is light, perhaps. . . .
I moaned under my breath. "Rhamik, you won't be here when it's light."
"That may be so."
"Damn it," I shouted at him, "it's my new person, Rhamik! I don't want it. Don't you understand that? I want to get up that ladder!"
He smiled wearily. "Yes, Andrew. I understand."
I knew I was licked. And—what the hell difference did it make? Whether I fell off the ladder with or without the new person? I could not let Rhamik do what he was thinking. And I knew very well that he would.
The system was theoretically simple.
Using my good foot, I balanced on the ladder. The new person lay across my chest. It rested on my arms, and my hands gripped the ladder behind it. I let my arms take the weight while I moved my good foot up a notch at a time. Then I nudged my hands up another rung. Slowly. So that the new person rose evenly.
The whole idea was totally absurd. I would make about one meter and then I would fall into the water and drown.
But I had to try. I didn't want the little bastard's suicide on my hands. My suicide, though. That was OK.
I did make one meter.
Then two.
Three. Maybe—
The wind caught me and tried to toss me away. I gripped the ladder and the new person squirmed violently against me. My face came up against something terrible and my stomach turned over. No, I thought, God, no—don't let me get sick. Not now.
Another meter.
My hand touched the floor of the hut. I closed my eyes, let my chest push the thing up and over. I hung there, for a long time. I sucked in air, but the wind tore it away. I couldn't see anymore and I knew I was getting dizzy. I wasn't going to make it. I was going to let go and fall off the damn ladder.
I moved everything at once and tore my arms on the rough floor of the hut and dragged myself up and over.
I knew exactly what was going to happen.
My bad foot slammed hard into the new person and I went down. There was a great deal of screaming. I finally decided it was me.
I was glad when I stopped.
It was much better when I wasn't making noises.
The noise made things hurt more.
There was lightning for a while. And the black hulk of the new person, Rhamik huddled beside it. Then Rhamik put something over the door of the hut and the lightning became only three sharp lines around its edges. . . .
I was very angry with myself.
I had promised I wouldn't make noises anymore and I was still doing it.
Then I decided it wasn't me.
Rhamik? No. Rhamik's foot didn't hurt. Something else, then.
The new person. Small sounds. Like baby kittens. And when there was enough lightning and I was awake again I knew it was frightened and that it was tearing at itself and trying to get free of the cocoon.
Oh, Christ, I thought. I hope it doesn't do that. Don't let it do that while my foot hurts so much I can't even get away from it. . . .
The sound was different because there wasn't any.
The wind had died and the rain had stopped. Dull gray light peeked through the sides of the hut and around the mat curtain.
Rhamik squatted by the door.
The new person had stopped making noises, but it was breathing hard. Rhamik had found a piece of matting and he was cleaning the new person with it, peeling away thick, viscous layers of jelly.
Rhamik carefully saved the jelly, and when he had a nice pile of it on the floor he fed it to the new person.
My stomach churned. It hurt too much to turn away. There was more gray light now and the new person wasn't as terrible as I had thought it would be. It had full, ivory breasts. Rose-colored nipples that stood erect when it breathed. Wheat-yellow hair and high cheeks. A narrow waist and a flat tummy and long legs.
My foot was wors
e than I'd imagined.
I was burning up with fever and hallucinating. The lighter the hut became, the more the new person looked like Melisa Mills.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A narrow bamboo railing faced the door of the hut and precariously circled the left wall. From there the walkway between my hut and the village snaked crookedly over the water through a perpetual veil of gray fog.
Gray was the color of the day.
Gray skies sagged to meet the leaden face of the water. The tips of drowned bamboo lay listlessly on the surface, their pale greens faded to match the general scheme of things. We were color-coordinated throughout, but our decorator had limited means.
Leaning against the wall of the hut, I rested one leg gingerly on the walkway and let the other hang over the edge. Rhamik had done the best he could. But he knew nothing about the treatment of sprained or fractured ankles or whatever it was that was wrong down there. So I simply stayed off the bad limb for a week while the swelling subsided, and now, I was doing a little preliminary hobbling about, and a great deal of sitting.
Something churned the water to a fine froth below, and bumped against one of the stilt poles. I didn't bother to look; I knew what it was, and didn't care to think about that at the moment.
Which did not mean that it would go away. The silvergators were with us, playing their part in the ecological scene, and whether I cared to believe in them or not didn't bother them greatly. Rhamik called them Choan, but they were silvergators to me. They looked a little like dull, platinum crocodiles and all the world like the nasty little silverfish I used to discover among old books and papers. They were more than two meters long, and spent their time skimming hungrily through the shallows below. Since there was not a single thing to eat down there except wet bamboo, they necessarily ate each other.
That was what all the churning was about. And why I didn't care to watch. That, and the fact that if I wanted to eat, I, too, would be having raw silverfish filet for dinner. And lunch, and breakfast. Though I seldom managed more than one of these seafood delights per day.
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