CHAPTER TWELVE
Entangled
RALPH AND THE others hurtled through the undergrowth. The sun had disappeared now, and the forest was a black and prickly tangle of creepers and branches, biting and jabbing at their feet as they ran. At last they neared the clearing, and Ralph overtook the others as they slowed to a trot.
The man with the scar was waiting for them. At first they did not see him, then a trunk seemed to come to life and approach them. Panting, Ralph told him of the visitors, and the man nodded grimly, then motioned to a denser area of vegetation. The boys followed him as he pushed himself beneath a large hollow bush; once installed in their hiding place they peeked out between the trees that bordered the clearing.
They waited, cold air running over fresh sweat as they tried to quell their breathing. Presently the hisses and ticks of the jungle were joined by deliberate, unscared footfalls, and forty feet away the five boatmen appeared, an adult reprise of the boys' journey. The flame-haired man led the congregation into the clearing, one of the dark-skinned men carrying a tumble of yellow fabric. With fizzing hearts the watchers saw that two of the others held spears, thin and crudely accurate. The group halted in the centre of the glade and the white man knelt at the metal opening. The distinctive grating noise was egregious, unnerving amidst the cool, quiet trees. With the hole exposed the man swivelled his legs onto the top steps of the ladder and quickly descended, and two of the others followed.
In the black hole Ralph wondered what the adult beside him was thinking, and stole a furtive glance. The man was rigid, keen, and somehow seemed to be comprehending these events. How much did he know about the mysterious five?
Suddenly the man emitted a low but distinct whistle, then, to the boys' rising horror, one of the dark ones walked directly up to them. Ralph started, but the man with the scar held his arm.
'Don't worry. They're friends of mine.'
He ducked out of the hollow and met the man halfway. After a coarse exchange the dark one returned to the hole and descended into it, while the man with the scar stood waiting. Presently the three underground natives appeared from the bunker. The redheaded man did not emerge with them.
By now almost insane with tension, Ralph gave into an impulse and scrambled out, and the others followed pensively. The man with the scar turned and gave them a sinister simper.
'Meet my friends,' he said, and nodded to the silent quartet. Up close they were even more intimidating. Ralph noted more of the fluorescent shapes on their bodies: a scorpion; a double-tongued snake; a pyramid, all like entries in some ancient Egyptian journal. Their countenances were inscrutable.
The man with the scar fired off some directions to the natives in a foreign tongue, then gestured for the boys to follow him. The tenfold troop took off again, taking a more obscure path back to the friendlier side of the island. After five minutes the scarred man barked at them: 'You boys are more nimble than us. Go on ahead and slash the bushes with your weapons.'
Jack obediently took the lead and began swiping at the thorny brush, and the others followed. After a while the vegetation grew sparser, and Jack called back to them:
'Come on, it's easier from now on.'
Eagerly he advanced onto a flat area of leaves and grass – then suddenly the ground disappeared beneath his feet, he was falling into the middle of the Earth. With a stinging thump he landed in a tangled heap at the bottom of a deep pit, and winced as he looked around. The sides were as sheer as a cliff face.
He leapt to his feet in anger, glaring up at the square of black above them. 'Let me out of here!' he cried.
Five unresponsive faces peered down at him.
'Foolish,' said the man with the scar. 'Very foolish. Will kids believe anything these days?'
Jack was livid, and kicked the side of the hole. Soil showered over his ankles. 'You bloody savages! Let me out at once!'
'Terribly sorry,' replied the man coolly. 'I'm afraid you're going to have to make the most of it down there. Adieu.'
With that the five faces disappeared, and all that remained was the whispering nightlife of the forest.
Jack heard a murmur behind him: Ralph had fallen in as well. The fate of the other three boys was unknown. The supine boy brushed the ferns from the false covering off his limbs and rose to his feet.
'Robert! Bill! Maurice!'
The wildlife buzzed indifferently.
Jack looked at Ralph. 'In another pit?'
'Don't know,' he shorted, then, equally curt, 'I'm a fool.'
Jack was impatient. 'Forget it. Let's just try to get out of here.' He fell to his knees. 'Stand on my shoulders.'
Dazedly Ralph balanced a foot on one of Jack's grazed blades, then the other. With difficulty the former chief staggered to his feet, steadying himself against contiguous sides. Gingerly he reached up an arm – but he was still a foot away. The soil crumbled through his fingers when he tried to get a grip. Pain returned to his legs from the recent shock, and he half jumped, half fell from Jack's shoulders.
'We're done for,' he gasped, defeated.
Jack sunk down next to him and they both shut their eyes. A self-imposed darkness was preferable to the unending one outside. Time stopped. Nature treaded water. Outside the boys' earshot, the five devils disposed of the other boys then returned to the clearing. Ralph murmured a misremembered line from Shakespeare.
'The best of rest is sleep, and that you often provoke. Yet grossly fear'st thy death, which is no more.'
Jack did not reply. He wished the hole were deeper, that he could fall forever and evaporate in the vicious heat at the Earth's core. He wanted to die… To be death's conquest and make worms his heir.
AFTER THE BOYS had been sucked into this maelstrom, and were out of sight on their black sea bed, a lone figure circled on the surface high above them. In their dejected state his appearance would have seemed ironic if not jolting: a man with hellfire for hair, and devil-hued bruises on his face and arms. But this devil was their saviour. Hours after their earthy imprisonment – above the sea yet under the ground – this figure wandered through the forest as the blackness at last relented and the first beams of dawn crept through the trees. Finally he stopped at the pit, and looked in.
'Hello?'
Inside a dream, Ralph's parents stood at the door of their cottage in beautiful England. They were waving goodbye to him… And then suddenly they were saying hello, and gesturing to walk back down the lane. A final hug? Or a day off from school? Or would they all die together?
'Hey, you down there!'
Ralph jogged awake, then looked up. The red-headed man stared down at him, as Jack shifted to consciousness too.
'You!' cried Ralph.
The man was unfazed, and even managed a smile. 'Need a hand?' Quickly he produced a coiled rope and flung one end down to the boys. It landed on Jack's legs and he took it instinctively. Above them the man secured his end to a trunk and tested it. 'Up you come, lads,' he called.
Anything was preferable to the pit, even a higher rung of hell. Jack leapt up the sides of the hole like a monkey, and within seconds was standing next to the mysterious man, whom he had heard so much about from his fellow prisoner. Ralph followed presently. The three humans looked at each other.
'I'm Martin,' said the man in an American accent, and held out his hand.
Ralph remembered the custom as if it were ancient. 'Ralph,' he said blankly, and offered his own.
Jack introduced himself too, and the man granted them more information.
'Given everything you've been through, I'm not sure you'll believe this, but I work for the Secret Service.'
'I've heard that before,' said Ralph with neither scorn nor humour.
Martin nodded. 'I know. Old Scarface told me all about it.'
'But I thought he captured you?' said Ralph, amazed.
'He did, but not before I'd escaped. I know this island like the back of my hand, and the bunker too.' He paused, almost enjoying the dazed looks of his boyish audience. 'There is another way out, one that leads to a small platform in the cliff edge.'
'Not… Not the grave?' asked Ralph.
The man nodded. 'Exactly. No one would spend the better part of a year in that dungeon without another exit, and a more convenient one, too. After I was locked inside I headed straight for the grave, then doubled back – with this, of course.' He patted a Smith & Wesson that was holstered under an arm. 'I had to dispatch one or two of the natives before I could move on to Scarface,' he admitted.
A shiver went through the listening boys. One or two? How could he be so casual?
The man who called himself Martin read their thoughts. 'Sorry to break this to you, but there are no heroes in this game. Only sides. We have to do what's necessary.' He examined their faces keenly. Then he said, 'So do you want to know why you're here on this island?'