by Jack Treby
Degarmo shook his head. I could tell he was amused by the idea but sadly he was not even tempted. ‘Ah, but I enjoy my work too much. Besides, I have a wife and three children. If I were to leave, what do you think would happen to them? What do you think the general would do to them?’
‘Ah.’ I grimaced. ‘Fair point.’
Degarmo glanced out of the window. ‘And now,’ he declared, ‘we await the arrival of your man.’
To give him due credit, Degarmo was far more patient than I would have been. On an ordinary day, it would not have taken Maurice more than half an hour to gather together the money and head across town to the Fort. But on a day like this, with the wind getting stronger by the minute, a full hour was a more reasonable proposition. Degarmo, to my surprise, waited an hour and a half.
‘Do you mind if I have a cigarette?’ I mumbled at one point, as we settled ourselves in the warehouse.
Degarmo did not object. He had already lit one up himself. ‘Be my guest.’
I pulled out my cigarette case and sorted myself out a stick. I lit it and inhaled deeply. I am not a heavy smoker but, in moments of stress, there is nothing quite like a shot of tobacco to soothe one’s nerves. I only wish I’d had a bottle of whisky with me as well.
The Wart was sitting over by a window, surrounded by packing cases. It was not a terribly sensible place to settle during a storm, I thought. He had pulled out the treasure map and was peering at the scrawled markings with obvious interest. The Bamboo was sitting opposite him, looking out of the window, observing the cruel weather as it slowly gathered in intensity outside. The frame holding the glass in place was vibrating rapidly now – there were no shutters – and even the wall seemed to be bending inwards slightly.
‘Not the best place to hang out,’ I reflected nervously, having now finished my cigarette. ‘Rather too close to the sea for my liking.’ My concern was not entirely tactical. The warehouse was barely more than a hundred yards from the sea wall. It would be rather unfortunate if I were to survive an assassination attempt only to be flattened by a rickety warehouse. The rain had increased in intensity over the past hour and the streets were already starting to flood. A trickle of water was fizzling under a nearby door. Outside, I could see a few bits of timber and other random objects swirling through the air. Coconut trees were bending over in the wind. I wondered how the rest of the town was coping with it all. Not every part of Belize had a sea wall to protect it.
Degarmo, as ever, was unconcerned. ‘We will be safe enough in here,’ he assured me confidently. ‘The warehouse...’
A loud bang interrupted him, something hard striking the outer wall of the building, not far from where his two cronies were sitting. The Wart flinched but then folded his map and moved his head closer to the window, to see what had struck it. At that moment, a coconut smashed through the glass and hit him full in the face. A palpable hit. There was a hideous crunch as the Wart flew backwards, blood spurting from his nose. He hit the concrete floor with a heavy thud, the map flying from his hands. The Bamboo fell off his perch in surprise, as the wind swept in through the window and across the warehouse. Another smashing sound could be heard, coming from the back office. A second window had disintegrated. I could see a swirl of papers through the doorway. The Bamboo rose to his feet, as the treasure map fluttered away up into the rafters.
Degarmo bit his lip. ‘Perhaps you are right, señor,’ he said, visibly flustered for the first time.
The Bamboo gave up on the map and knelt down to examine the Wart.
‘Is he all right?’ Degarmo asked.
‘He’s dead!’ the thug exclaimed, in consternation. Death by coconut; not the most elegant way to die.
‘That does it!’ Degarmo jumped to his feet. He handed the revolver to the Bamboo. ‘We can’t wait any longer. Kill this fool and let’s get out of here.’ The policeman was cutting his losses.
‘Wait a minute!’ I protested, as the henchman advanced on me. The wind was starting to swirl insanely now. It was becoming difficult even to stand up. This was no longer a gale; it was the full on hurricane. The wall facing the docks was beginning to buckle under the strain. ‘I didn’t speak to Maurice on the phone,’ I gabbled, raising my voice so I could be heard above the wind and rain. ‘The telephone lines have been down for hours. And you won’t be able to get anywhere near my apartment in this weather. But I do have a cheque book with me.’ I reached into my jacket pocket. ‘I can write you out a cheque to cash. As much as you like.’
Degarmo scowled, glancing at the Bamboo. ‘Didn’t you search him?’ he hissed.
The dullard scratched his chin. ‘Boss, you didn’t ask me to.’
Degarmo threw up his hands in despair. A packing case, piled high with blocks of chicle, was beginning to waver in a distressing fashion. The packing was coming away. All of a sudden, the blocks were flying through the air. I ducked down and my captors did likewise. The Bamboo was struck by a passing block of chewing gum and the gun skittered out of his hand.
At this point, the entire roof of the warehouse was ripped from its moorings. The building collapsed like a deflating soufflé and I felt a heavy whack against the back of my head.
I don’t know how long I was unconscious. It must have been quite some time. The first thing I was aware of when I came round was the water lapping against my face; and then, the fact that I couldn't move. A wooden beam had fallen across my back. Only the edge of a pallet had prevented it from crushing me, but it was still low enough to pin me down. There was water everywhere now, not deep but flowing; and it was starting to rise. I got a face full of salty water, as I began to rouse, and nearly gagged on it. With rising panic, I tried to get a sense of my surroundings.
The wind was whistling harshly in every direction, but the building in which I had been standing had all but collapsed. Chunks of the roof had fallen all around me and blocks of chicle – those not whirling through the air – were bobbing about all over the place. My back was hurting like the devil and, even as I lifted my head, which at least was unconstrained, the water seemed to follow it upwards. It was lucky for me the blow from the beam had knocked me over onto a second low pallet. If I had hit the ground, with the water rushing in like that, I might already have drowned.
Bullet-like rain was battering around me, but I was protected from the worst of it by the fallen beams. I took a moment to gather my wits, as far as I was able. There was no sign of Degarmo or either of his thugs. One of them, at least, was dead; and right now I did not care about the other. If I did not extricate myself from this situation quickly, I would soon become submerged.
I shifted my shoulder and in the process managed to jiggle an arm free. The beam pressing down on me was not wedged hard; nor was it one of the heavier ones. If I could twist slightly and get a foot under it, I might be able to dislodge the thing, at least far enough to wriggle free. In any other circumstances, it would have taken a better person than me to shift it, but I had desperation on my side, and – with all the might of my withering middle years – I pushed against it. It moved an inch, barely more. But that was enough. With a further burst of energy, I managed to pull myself free. In so doing, I lost the support of the pallet and plunged head first into the water. My face dipped below the surface, but I had the presence of mind to keep my mouth shut as I struggled to find a footing. There was debris everywhere. After a couple of seconds, my head broke the surface and I managed to pull myself up; but the collapsed building was in such a state that I could not stand upright. The water was gurgling around me, making any movement difficult. It was knee deep at the moment but it would only continue to rise. I searched wildly for any sign of a door.
A low moan sounded off to my left. Was somebody else still alive in here? ‘Hello?’ I called out, but there was no response.
A chink of light flickered in the gloom; the remnants of a window a short distance away. There was just enough of a gap below the lintel that I might be able to pull myself through it. I could see the s
wirl outside – bits of timber and random items of junk flying through the air – but it had to be safer out there than in this unstable shack. I steeled myself, navigating the fallen roof beams as I shuffled through the water, and then lifted myself up and manoeuvred my battered body through the narrow gap of the window frame, shoving aside the sharp remnants of glass with the cuff of my jacket. The back of my legs caught, as the lintel collapsed abruptly behind me, but I managed to propel myself forward just in time and, with an almighty splash, hit the water outside.
The tide was higher out here, well up to my waist. It was fortunate that the warehouse walls had slowed the water’s progress, or I might already be dead. I surfaced quickly, my jacket snagging on a branch, and again struggled to find my feet. So much for the sea wall, I thought. I spotted a couple of coconut tress nearby, the ones that had not been uprooted. The trunk of a third tree was bobbing on the water, its roots still hanging firm, not quite giving way. A gate post nearby had also withstood the deluge. I half swam, half waded across to the fallen tree.
The rain was smacking uncomfortably against my face, now that I was free of the building, and visibility was poor. The wind seemed to have dropped off slightly, though. I took a moment to gauge my surroundings. The warehouse was a wreck but other buildings were still standing, A couple of roofs had been blown off in the distance. I saw two or three upturned boats, which must have breached the sea wall. A hefty wooden barge had jammed itself between the two remaining coconut trees.
The rain eased for a moment and I could see briefly across the river – or the lake, as it was now – to the buildings on the far side. Most of the houses seemed to be standing still. A church was missing its roof, but a fair number of people were out and about. Rescue efforts were already being mounted for those who had been trapped like I had. The wind really was dropping and people were making the most of it.
I closed my eyes for a moment, relief shuddering through me. That was it, then. The hurricane was slowly dying. It had been intense but brief. And by the looks of it, there had not been too much damage done. The Good Lord had been merciful this afternoon.
Sadly, my own travails were not so easily concluded.
‘You have the luck of the devil,’ a voice called out from behind me. It was Degarmo, of course. Some people never know when to give up. Slowly, I shuffled around to face him. He was sitting on the back of an upturned boat, which had become stuck in a mangle of telegraph polls. He regarded me sourly, clinging on to my horizontal chunk of tree, still up to my waist in water.
‘We both do, it appears.’ The two of us were barely five yards apart, but we had to shout to make ourselves heard over the howl of the dying wind. ‘You managed to crawl out then?’
‘I was lucky to survive.’
'I thought I heard a voice in there. One of your men.' There were lots of voices calling out now, cries of distress from every direction, but none – so far as I could tell – from the warehouse. Degarmo's henchmen were not the only ones caught out in tricky circumstances.
‘Perhaps. If he’s not dead yet he will be soon enough.’
‘Don't you care? They’re your men.’
‘Not any more. And besides,’ he added grimly, ‘they’ll have more chance of finding that treasure of theirs in the afterlife than they ever would in British Honduras.’
‘So what happens now?’ I asked, wiping the water from my eyes. ‘You're just as trapped as I am. Until the water drops...’
‘Nothing has changed,’ Degarmo assured me determinedly. He slipped off the side of the boat and into the water. ‘Lots of people will have died today. I don’t think anyone will be surprised to see another corpse floating downstream.’ He waded menacingly towards me.
‘This isn't necessary,’ I protested, looking around manically for an escape route. Degarmo was standing inland of me – insofar as there was a land – and my options for retreat were extremely limited. ‘Look,’ I called out, reaching into my jacket pocket. ‘I still have my cheque book.' The damn thing was soggy and mashed together, but that was beside the point. ‘Why not let me disappear? You could tell the general I died.’
Degarmo regarded me grimly. ‘You really don't understand, señor. It's a point of honour now.’
There was no reasoning with the fellow. Degarmo wasn’t armed, but he was considerably younger and stronger than I was. I wouldn’t stand a chance in a fair fight. Somehow, I had to get away from him. I launched myself back into the water, attempting to swim for it, but the flow of the tide was against me and before I could even get a foot’s length away Degarmo grabbed hold of my leg and reeled me in. I struggled, aiming a fist at his face, but it didn’t get anywhere near him. This man was a professional. He didn't need a gun or a knife. His hands gripped me tightly around the throat. The wind was starting to whip up again, but Degarmo had managed to wedge his feet firmly onto the ground by the gate post. I could feel him squeezing the life out of me. I tried to kick out, but the water made it impossible.
This is it, I realised finally. I would die here, in the water, in some god forsaken backwater of the Empire. And everyone would think it was the hurricane that got me.
Degarmo jammed me up against one of the coconut trees and I felt the life draining out of me. There was a distant low rumble, the heavens parting perhaps to receive me into their embrace, but the rumble grew louder and then louder still. All at once, the hands dropped from my throat. My eyes were screwed shut. When I opened them, I saw that Degarmo was staring past me, his mouth agape, and for the first time I saw fear in his eyes.
Slowly, I turned around, as the rumble continued to grow.
And then I saw it: a wall of water some fifteen high, unlike anything I had ever witnessed before. For a moment, I simply gaped at the thing. I had looked death in the face many times before but this was beyond anything I had ever experienced, a monstrous elemental force, callous, implacable. Strangely, I did not feel any fear. My mind was simply numb, awestruck by the sheer power of the natural world as it rushed towards the sea wall and then on to consume the world.
I heard a whimper from behind me – Degarmo yelping in disbelief – and then some inner resolve that I did not know I possessed took control of me. I scrambled up onto the barge which had stuck fast between the two coconut trees. The strength of the wind almost sent me flying back into the water as the tidal wave roared across the sea wall barely a hundred yards distant. I don't know how I found the energy at that moment, but somehow I managed to grab hold of the tree trunk and start yanking myself up. I hadn't climbed a tree like this in decades – not since I was in short trousers, in fact, and only then at the behest of my father – but somehow, after all these years, I remembered how to do it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Degarmo, who was standing stock still in the water below me, transfixed by the oncoming storm.
‘Quickly,’ I yelled. ‘Give me your hand.’ I don't know why I offered to help him like that – the man was my enemy, after all – but though I despised the fellow with every fibre of my being, and though there was no prospect of salvation for either of us, in the face of such an elemental force a small chink of humanity forced itself up into the light, and I held out my hand for him.
‘Up here!’ I called again. But other forces had taken control of Renee Degarmo – the understandable desire to flee. He turned and attempted to run, but you cannot run in water that is up to your waist; and you certainly cannot run from the sea.
The tidal wave was now closing in on us. I scrabbled up the trunk as far as I could manage, my hands scraping furiously against the rough bark, my thighs protesting at their abrupt extension around the curve of the trunk. Only seconds remained; but I would not be able to rise above the crest of this particular wave. The tree itself was only a little more than fifteen feet high and the top section was sprouted out with palm fronds. I shifted my body as best I could so that the trunk of the tree was between me and the sea, with my legs twisted around the core and my arms too. I br
aced myself and then closed my eyes, like a child awaiting the inevitable reprimand. It did not keep me waiting long.
I can barely describe the force of the impact as the wave hit me. I only felt the top of the damned thing and that would have rendered me senseless if the coconut tree had not absorbed some of the blow. And then I was underwater, in spite of my elevated position. I felt the rush of the tide, the tug of it, ripping at my clothes, my arms, my very soul. I could not breathe, there was no air, only a mountain of water. Was it possible to drown hanging from the top of a coconut tree? All I knew was, I had to hold on. But the tree itself was wilting. I could hear the creak of wood as it was strained to the uppermost. If it broke, I would be swallowed up, as Degarmo must surely have already been swept away.
Somehow, I held on, blind, breathless, choking with the sea water as it filled my lungs. The world was growing dim all around me. There was no sound but the furious rush of the water. And then, as quickly as it had struck, it was gone, speeding on past me, in search of other lives to devastate.
The sudden change of circumstances, the abrupt availability of oxygen to breathe as I choked out the sea water was such a shock to my beleaguered system that I almost lost my grip at that moment. If I had fallen then, all my struggles would have been in vain. But somehow, I managed to hold on, even as I coughed and choked, and even as the wind continued to swirl all around me.
The other coconut tree had been swept away, as had the tree that had fallen earlier on and the barge that had jammed up between them. I glanced down tentatively. The ruins of the warehouse were nowhere to be seen. I did not know if they had been carried inland or were simply submerged. There was no land anywhere now, just the sea all around me. And there I was, hanging above it all, my hands raw, my thighs screaming with pain, as I continued to grasp the bark of that miraculous tree, the rain still battering my face and the howling wind making one last attempt to finish what the tidal wave had started.