Crimson Shore

39

At the last moment, Pendergast — from long-honed instinct — twisted away from the blade with such speed that he was briefly airborne. As he came crashing down, Dunkan burst from the grass, bayonet in hand, slashing at Pendergast and cutting a long slice across the fabric of his sleeve, sending the flashlight spinning. Flipping over and leaping to his feet, Pendergast got off a shot from his Les Baer. But the feral man had vanished back into the jungle of salt grass. Pendergast fired again in the direction he had disappeared — once, twice — then stopped to listen. He was just wasting ammunition. The man was certainly maneuvering back around for another attack.

Pendergast knelt to retrieve his flashlight, feeling around in the dark, but found it broken. He was now totally blind, in unfamiliar territory. The next attack could come at any time, from any direction. The tide had now come in to such an extent that he was trapped on this grass island with Dunkan. Neither could escape the other. But despite his firearms, he was the one at a severe disadvantage. With this dense grass and rattling wind, Dunkan could once again literally creep to within a few feet of him unobserved. If he stayed there and waited for the attack, he would lose.

The question was how to turn the odds in his favor. There was a possible solution. It was extreme — but it might work.

Even as he worked out the solution, he realized Dunkan must be edging in for the next attack, and this time he might not be so lucky as to avoid it. One thing he was sure of: Dunkan would approach upwind, so as not to betray his presence by his stench.

Upwind. That was crucial.

He seized a bunch of dry grass, bundled it together, pulled out his pocket lighter, and lit it on fire. It flared up in the wind, crackling loudly; he thrust the burning bundle into the dense vegetation, sweeping it along, instantly igniting the dry stalks into loud, crackling flames. The gusts drove the fire fast downwind, as Pendergast backed himself upwind, moving diagonally away from the propagating fire. He then thrust the improvised torch into the dry grass again and again, each new fire leaping up and combining with the rest.

In less than a minute, a veritable wall of fire was advancing across the island, crackling and roaring like mad, sparks and flames leaping upward. Pendergast continued to move upwind, through the unburnt grass, until he reached the point where the mudflats that ringed the island began. The clouds were a little thinner now, and the tide was still rushing in. The whole scene was lit up in the ghastly light of the fire, which reflected off the shiny mudflats, turning them the color of blood.

Pendergast watched the conflagration carefully. As he had anticipated, the fire — guided by the rising wind — moved in an arc, like a hinge closing in on itself. The blaze now became an inferno, the surrounding air increasingly hot. Minute by minute, the area of unaffected grassland dwindled. Les Baer at the ready, Pendergast began to circle the island, keeping to the very edge of the grass, moving swiftly and silently.

Finally — over the roar of the flame — Pendergast heard a cry: a howl of rage and desperation. He moved along the edge of the grass in its direction. Soon after, it was followed by the sound of crashing footsteps: Dunkan had been flushed out and was running in a panic from the flames.

Fast as a striking snake, Pendergast darted into the grass. The terrified figure was running on a path tangential to his own, his retreating shoulders backlit by the flames. Pendergast raced after him, leapt upon his back, stunning him with a blow from the butt of his gun; as they crashed to the ground he ripped the bayonet from Dunkan’s hand and threw it into the oncoming flames. Cuffing Dunkan’s wrists behind him, he rose and half dragged, half carried the semiconscious man away from the oncoming fire and out onto the flats. There, he let him flop down in the mud.

While waiting for the man to recover his senses, Pendergast cleaned as much soot and dried mud from his own arms and legs as possible. Soon, he saw Dunkan’s eyes flutter open, grotesquely white within their coating of mud. They fastened on him in mute fury.

“Save your energy,” said Pendergast. “We’re going to have to wait awhile for the turn of the tide. And then I’ll take you to your brother.”