Counterpoint

by John Day

  It was some time before he spoke, and Max and Carla were getting anxious. The torch would not last much longer they thought, and they needed to get blasting whilst they could still see their way out.

  “OK!” He said at last, “The roof is too risky, and it is solid rock. If that cracks, the river will fill the chamber, in seconds. We will have to blast material from the channel wall. The best place is where it narrows. We need to plant the grenades deep into a pocket for them to have any effect.” Shining the torch light as a pointer, “I reckon about 1.5 metres down under that overhang would do the job. If all goes to plan, the bulk of the overhang will shear off and drop down to provide the majority of the blockage. More rubble from the surrounding area might be enough to fill the gaps and slow the water.”

  “The problem is we have nothing to cut the pocket, no way to get down there and no way of detonating the grenades from a safe distance.”

  "Good, good," said Max, “So the idea works then.”

  “I can do my bit if you can do yours,” replied the man, unconvinced.

  “Carla, you’re the lightest, if we lower you down can you dig out the rock with the knife?”

  “I suppose so providing it is not too hard,” she said uncertainly. “How big a pocket do you need,” she asked the man.

  “About 300 mm minimum, deeper than the knife is long though,” he replied. “Anyway, she can’t get to the rock face because of the overhang.”

  “How much ammo do you have” snapped Max.

  “Six clips for the pistol, seven for the machine gun,” replied Carla “And yes, you could shoot the rock away with that lot.”

  "Okay then," said Max enthusiastically. “By the way, what is your name?”

  “Matt” replied the man suspiciously, “Matt Stone.”

  “Take the torch, go around the pool, and shoot a pocket out of the rock where it needs to be.”

  “OK!” Said Matt, “But how will you place the charge? She still won’t be able to get to the hole!”

  “You don’t know the talents of this girl” Max replied confidently.

  “I can imagine some of them.” Matt muttered, picking up the guns and ammo.

  "Right," said Max to Carla in the darkness, “We need to unpick a long strand from the rope so we can pull the grenade pins out from up here.”

  “Hell!” She said, “this rope is already pencil-thin, and you expect me to dangle from it when it’s thinner?”

  “Well, ” replied Max pragmatically “If the rope snaps you’ll die in seconds. We will die of hunger, days later. If it makes you feel better, if you fall, I would jump in and join you.”

  She did not say any more, but got on with the job of carefully unravelling a strand from the rope.

  It was just one and a half minutes later when Matt focused the torch light on the base of the overhang. His hopes of success rose sharply when he saw there was a deep ledge scored out of the soft rock. He thought to himself, with that large fault across the base already, the girl might be able to pull herself onto it and place a charge into the packet properly.

  Matt fitted some earplugs, took careful aim, and fired a single shot. A dinner plate sized chunk of soft rock spalled away. His next shot hit the same spot, but much less flew out. Another shot 50 mm higher this time, burst out more rock and sent the bullet screaming back at him. He inched himself back from the edge of the ledge he lay on, to present a smaller target for any future ricocheting bullets; he continued to aim and fire.

  After 20 shots, he realised the bits of loose rock and dust were building up in the hole and cushioning the impact of the bullets. He had to think of a way of clearing the pocket. It might even be deep enough by now! Matt quickly returned and explained to the others what the problem was. He added, “What we usually do when planting explosives on a road is to drive a metal spike through the road surface, working it around, so the point loosens the soil under it and forms a small chamber. We then put a small charge in the bottom of the hole and ignite it. This makes a substantial chamber under the road to take a much larger charge, leaving just the original small hole through the road that we started with. I can make a small charge out of several bullets wrapped in tape. The girl can push them deeper into the hole I have made, leaving the percussion caps exposed, so I can shoot at them to set off the charge.” All three looked at each other, and Carla shrugged in the torchlight and nodded OK.

  Matt quickly made up the charge pack and scratched the diagram of what he wanted her to do, in the wet rock they sat on. She already knew what was required the moment Matt described how to clear the hole. She had seen the preparation and placement of dynamite in rock when planning escape routes. Max on the other hand was fascinated by the technique. To reduce the cutting in of the thin rope around Carla’s waist, she wore Matt’s bullet-proof jacket. Max tied the other end of the rope around his waist and used Matt’s gloves to better grip the rope. Loops were tied in the rope as well, large enough to slip a hand in so as to maintain a steady grip when Carla was level with the new pocket in the rock. Max knew her life depended on him and silently prayed he could cope on his own holding her eight-stone body with the pencil thin rope cutting deep into his hands. The soft skin on his hands had seldom encountered manual labour and therefore, lacked the thicker skin and calluses of more physical men.

  Matt showed Max how to wrap the rope across his body, allowing the friction against it to lessen the pull on his hands. By paying out the rope this way and bracing his body against the solid rock, he should maintain control. Matt could help him pull her up, when he got back, if necessary.

  With Matt on the other side of the channel using the torchlight to guide Carla’s point of descent, she could not see the pocket; she dropped over the edge. Because of the roar of water in the cavern, Max watched the torchlight as it signalled what he had to do. One flash lower her down, two flashes stop, three flashes pull up.

  Once below the overhang, Carla saw the pocket and adjusted the balance of her body so she could reach out and grasp the ledge. As Max continued to lower her, she pulled herself in closer. As her hold on the ledge improved and more of her weight was taken by it, the load on Max’s arms rapidly dropped to nothing as she hoisted herself up on the ledge.

  Carefully, she forced the charged deep into the hole. The bullets had been remarkably effective in penetrating but left many sharp edges, impossible to remove with bare hands. Hopefully, the small charge could remove them, then the two grenades would fit extremely well at the bottom of the pocket.

  Carla decided to slide along the ledge away from the pocket and signalled to Matt to fire into the hole. This departure from what was agreed made good sense, but was terribly dangerous. No one could predict the result of the explosion or the actual direction of the blast. Time was running out, and the torch was much dimmer now. Matt fired, right on target. The contents of the pocket shot out, right at Matt. He had anticipated this might happen, but to get a clear shot his eyes and above were highly exposed. Flying rock lacerated his scalp as it shot by him.

  Carla had put her fingers in her ears, but the noise was so loud it still made them ring.

  The echoes reverberated around the chamber like thunder. With his fingers in his ears and face against his knees Max hoped nothing would break loose and fall on him.

  A sort of quiet descended on them. Still, the thunder of cascading water continued, but it was nothing to the crescendo from the blast.

  Max pulled hard on the rope, Carla was still there, Matt signalled not to pull yet. Carla moved back to the pocket, it was now exceedingly deep, cleared right out, with a bulbous base and the original smaller opening. With her thumbs up to Matt, he signalled Max to pull her up as he raced back to meet them.

  The crucial stage of placing the grenades and detonating them was next. Matt showed Carla how to place the grenades, pull the pins almost out so a tug on the string would pull them free. He also ripped out his trouser pockets and explained how to fill them with damp dust and small bits of r
ock so they would help retain the blast. She knew this already.

  Back down the rock face, she went, Matt is shouldering the rope this time, Max with a torch on the other side of the channel. Carla had trouble adjusting her balance; the grenades were quite heavy and made a difference to her trim.

  Eventually, she pulled herself onto the ledge and positioned herself at the hole. Quickly she placed the grenades, adjusting the pins and string in the dim torchlight.

  There were plenty of damp rock particles on the ledge, and the trouser pockets were soon filled. Placing them securely yet allowing a string and both pins to be withdrawn was tricky. In the end, she used the pockets as padding to keep the string and pins free, and backfilled the hole with rock. Signalling to go up, she rolled off the ledge when Matt took the strain on the rope. With him pulling hard, she scrambled up using whatever hand and foothold she could find, she reached the top just as Max returned.

  The torch could only be used in short bursts now; the battery was practically exhausted, recovering a little whilst it was off.

  Pulling them close in the dark, Matt suggested where they should take cover. “When I pull the string, we have five seconds to get to safety, wherever that might be.”

  “I am sure the overhang will collapse, but how much and if it will block the flow of water, I don’t know” he added.

  “The shock wave might injure us, and it might cause the roof and river above to fall in on us.”

  "Shit or bust then," said Max.

  “On my count of five then,” continued Matt. “I will pull the string. Ready with a torch? One, Two, Three, Four, Five.” On came the torch, brightly at first, but dimming with each of the passing five seconds. All three lay flat on the ledge several yards away from the overhang, tucked around the corner. Matt and Max protected Carla with their bodies. Each with their fingers in their ears, mouths open and eyes tightly closed.

  The blinding flash and shockwave left them stunned and dazed. They felt the solid stone ledge they were on, vibrate, as massive rocks struck it, close to them. The rumble of the explosion diminished, but falling rock continued for about 15 seconds.

  Suddenly they felt icy water sweep along the ledge. The roar of the water sounded so different, it sounded splashier.

  Flicking the torch on showed that the ceiling above them had cracked, and water was pouring in through numerous openings. The dust from the explosion had been quickly damped down by the mist of water in the air.

  Quickly they got to their feet and ran to the overhang. It was gone, and the channel was blocked.

  Scrambling down the rock fall into the channel in the dim light was fraught with danger, but time was not on their side. Water would soon rise above the blockage they had caused, their way out would be gone.

  By the time they reached the bottom of the channel, they could see a faint light reflected off the wet channel walls, it was coming in from the end of the tunnel. After running about 10 metres, the tunnel turned about 20 degrees. They headed on; in the distance was brilliant sunlight.

  They emerged from the tunnel and stood on the narrow ledge at the face of the waterfall. Even with the bright light filtered through tons of water falling past them from above, like a thick glass curtain, it took a while for their eyes to fully adjust to the brilliance of the tropical sun.

  About 3 metres below them was a long ledge that led to the safety of the jungle at the side of the waterfall. They had to get down there immediately or be swept away off their ledge when the rapidly rising water breached the blockage.

  “Carla!” Shouted Max over the roar of the cascading water. “We will lower you down the rope first, then Matt, you go next.” Neither protested. Carla knew she had to keep Matt under control with her gun. Matt knew he stood a chance of escape down there with the girl. He didn’t care how Max was going to get down on his own.

  The two men lowered her down. She gave a thumbs-up because the ledge was wide, running well back into the cliff. Max tied one end of the rope around the middle of the machine gun, so he had a good grip. Matt slid down the thin rope expertly, his gloves taking the friction.

  Max wedged the gun across the narrow base of the tunnel under the fast-flowing water and hoped it would hold as he slid down the rope. He removed his trouser pockets and wrapped them around his hands as makeshift gloves.

  As he eased himself over the ledge, a loud rumble emanated from the tunnel, seconds later a torrent of water poured out followed by stones, mud and boulders. He started to descend, when the rope above went slack; a boulder had smashed the gun free. Max dropped onto the smooth wet ledge on all fours, teetering on the brink. A foot lashed out; Matt kicked him hard in the side and Max fell into the wall of cascading water.

  Chapter - Over the waterfall.

  Matt turned slowly away from the water and faced Carla. She moved quickly backwards a little way along the ledge, towards the jungle. Dropping down on one knee she pulled out her gun from her ankle holster, Matt’s grin diminished to a scowl as he quickly reassessed his options.

  The girl was quite unusual, if she carried a gun she probably knew how to use it, but she was now all alone, and without him and his men, she would never get out of the jungle alive. She might get lucky and shoot him in the head, but with such a small-calibre weapon, a hit in a limb would not stop him. His body armour would protect his vital organs. If he could close on her, no matter what her self-defence skills were, his weight and strength would easily overpower her slight frame.

  As he was thinking, she stood up, suddenly swung the gun round behind her, aimed, fired a single round and re aimed at a point between his eyes. All in two seconds. The sudden and unexpected move caught him off guard, or he would have jumped her. What did surprise him, because he had never seen anyone do such a thing before, she shot the apple sized fruit out of the paw of a monkey in a tree, 10 metres away. How could anyone turn so quickly, select a spectacular target from a jungle backdrop, aim and fire, hit it square on and re-aim at him all in a couple of seconds? She was something else.

  Carla, on the other hand, knew there were trees close by and decided to demonstrate the devastating effect of the special ammunition the gun fired. She hoped to hit a substantial branch or trunk of a tree so the fragmenting high-velocity bullet, could blow away a dinner-plate-size chunk of bark. She never saw the monkey at all.

  “You must have read my mind, you cunning little bitch,” thought Matt. “Now, how do I get in close?”

  Anticipating his move to risk a hit and jump her, she fired at his heart. The impact threw him back as his body armour absorbed the force. Before he could recover, she fired again. He staggered further back and again she fired repeating the process six times. Suddenly, before he could regain his balance, she ran at him with a flying dropkick, sending him backwards and smacking his thick skull against the rock face. Unconscious, Matt slid down the rock face on to the ledge. Using Matt’s boot laces she tied his hands to his ankles, behind his back. Only now could she think about Max.

  She ran carefully along the ledge towards the jungle out from behind the curtain of water. She looked down at the base of the waterfall at the white foam; surely, no one could survive that. She watched the water flow out and followed the river with her keen eyes. There! She saw something, like a body, one moment on the surface, next lost below the white torrent.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement in the jungle. It was Matt’s men. They were climbing down the steep rock face to the river below. They had not seen her. Her eyes moved back to the river and searched again for Max’s body. In the calmer water, she saw it again; it looked like an arm had swung up, like an exhausted swimmer doing a slow crawl stroke. There it was again. As the water calmed down the body rolled over onto its back and backstroked towards a sandy shallow, at the side of the river.

  Fear gripped her heart; Matt’s men would see him at any moment now, especially if he collapsed exhausted on the sand. She could only watch and hope he would find safety. As soon as Max coul
d touch bottom he clung to the lee side of a large rock to rest.

  From the moment he was kicked off the ledge, his world became one of white and foaming water, spinning and tossing him like a cork. After the plunging water turned and spat him out of the base of the waterfall into the river, he was teased and tormented with snatches of air as he was forced to the surface, and plunged under it again.

  The rocks had battered him hard, but nothing had been broken. As the turbulent water calmed, he struggled towards the smoother water at the side of the river. The shallow sandy riverbed provided a good place to get to dry land, but he needed to rest first. As his wits returned, he looked up at the waterfall. He clearly saw Carla on the ledge, watching him, but not moving.

  Suddenly she moved back into the shadows. A few moments later, he heard the sound of someone slashing a way through the jungle, above the subdued roar of the distant waterfall. He had to take cover, but where? All the rocks were too low to provide any cover. He could not hide under water long enough. He would be seen, if he dashed across the open sand to the jungle.

  Animals used this part of the river to drink. As a result of a fight, disease or old age, a large rotting carcass of a water buffalo lay on the sand; its stench was blowing Max’s way.

  Max crawled hopefully towards it. Just the thick, tough hide remained, covering its ribs. Its soft underbelly, ripped open by scavengers, foraging for the soft and juicy innards. When they were consumed, the limbs and neck were gnawed away.

  Max slid closer. The sun beat down on him relentlessly as it had done with the carcass for the last two days. The smell of the putrefaction made Max start to vomit. To counter this he grinned hard, apparently this stops the gagging reflex, and it worked.

  Max could hear voices now, he had to get inside the carcass and hide. Taking a deep breath, he entered the hanging flap of belly skin feet first. His legs sank into a warm rancid soup of decomposed flesh. He could imagine the green and brown maggot infested slime seeping into the open pores of his skin carrying with it untold diseases and corruption to infect his body. Instinctively he clenched his anus more tightly shut.