The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 71

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his grip.

Then something crashed into his back with a force that seemed to drive

in his backbone and crush his ribs.

Both the strength and the direction were entirely unexpected. It did not

seem possible that Mek Nimmur could have moved so far and so swiftly. He

must have left the shelter of the boulder and circled out through the

scrub.

Now he had come at Boris from behind.

His attack was so savage that the arm that Boris had wound around

Tessay's neck opened.- She drew in a wheezing, strangled breath and

twisted out of his grip. Boris tried to turn and swing the rifle around,

but Mek was on him again, seizing the rifle and trying to wrest it from

Boris's hands.

The Russian's finger was still on the trigger, and a shot went off white

the muzzle was level with Mek's face. The detonation stunned him for an

instant, and he released the rifle and staggered backwards with his ears

ringing.

Boris backed away from him, struggling with the weapon, trying to open

the bolt and crank another cartridge into the chamber, but his crippled

right arm'made his movements clumsy and awkward. Mek gathered himself

and charged head down across the gravel beach. He drove into Boris with

all his weight, and the rifle flew out of the Russian's hands. Locked

chest to chest the two of them spun around in a macabre waltz, trying to

throw each other, wrestling for the advantage, until they tripped and

went over backwards into the river.

They came to the surface still grappling and rolling over each other,

first one on top and then the other, a fearful parody of the lovemaking

which Boris had watched a few minutes earlier. Punching and straining

and tripping  each other, they struggled in the shallows. But every time

they fell back into the water the slope of the bank beneath their feet

forced them further out, until, when they were waist-deep, the main

current of the Nile suddenly picked them up and swept them away

downstream. They were still locked together, their heads bobbing in the

tumble of waters, their arms thrashing the water white around them,

bellowing at each other in primeval rage.

Tessay heard the men that Mek had called coming down through the scrub

at the run. She snatched up her shamnw and pulled it over her head as

she ran to meet them. As the first of them burst on to the gravel bar

with his AK cocked, she shouted to him in Amharic.

"There! Mek is in the water. He is fighting the Russian.

Help him!" She ran with them along the bank. As they drew level with the

two men in midstream one of the men stopped and levelled his AK, but

Tessay rushed at him and struck up the barrel.

"You fool!" she shouted angrily. "You will hit Mek." Jumping to the top

of one of the riverside boulders, she shaded her eyes against the

dazzling reflection of the low sun off the water. With a sick feeling in

the pit of her stomach she saw that Boris had managed to get behind Mek

and had a half nelson hold around his throat. He was forcing Mek's head

under the surface. Mek was struggling like a hooked salmon in his grip

as they were swept into a long chute of white water.

Tessay jumped down from the rock and ran on down the bank to the next

point, from which she could only watch helplessly.

Boris was still holding Mek's head under water as they were home

together into the head of the chute. Fangs of black rock flashed by them

on each side as they gathered speed. Mek was a powerful man and Boris

had to exert every last ounce of his own strength to hold him, and he

knew he could not do so much longer. Suddenly Mek reared back, and for a

moment his head came out. He sucked a quick breath of air before Boris

could force him under again, but that breath seemed to have renewed his

strength.

Desperately Boris looked ahead to the tail of the chute as they sped

towards it. There were more rocks there. Boris picked out one great

black slab over which the waters poured in a standing wave three feet

high. He steered for it, kicking and hauling Mek's body around with the

last of his strength.

They flew down the slope of racing water with the rock slab waiting for

them at the end like a lurking seamonster. Boris continued to wrestle

with Mek, until he had turned him into a position ahead of him. He

planned to steer him into a head-on collision with the rock and use

Mek's body to cushion his own impact.

At the very last moment before they struck Mek dragged his head out from

the surface, and as he grabbed a precious lungful of air he saw the rock

and realized the danger. With a single violent effort he ducked forward

below the surface again and rolle over head-first. It was so powerful

and unexpected that Boris was unable to resist.

Instinctively he maintained his lock around Mek's neck and was carried

forward over his back until their positions were reversed. Now Mek had

managed to interpose Boris between himself and the rock, so that when

they slammed into it it was the Russian who bore the full brunt of the

impact.

Boris's right shoulder crunched like a walnut in the jaws of a steel

cracker. Although his head was still under water he screamed at the

brutal agony of it, and his lungs filled with water. He relinquished his

grip and was flung clear of Mek. When he came to the surface he was

floundering like a drowned insect, his tight arm shattered in two

places, his good arm flailing weakly, and his sodden lungs wheezing and

pumping.

Mek exploded through the surface only a few yards behind him. Looking

around quickly as he strained for air, he spotted Boris's bobbing head

almost immediately and with a few powerful overarm strokes came up

behind him.

Boris was so far gone that he was not aware of Mek's intentions until he

seized his shirt collar from behind and twisted it like a strangler's

garotte. With his other hand, below the surface, Mek secured a grip on

the back of Boris's wide leather belt and used it like the helm of a

rudder to steer him towards the next reef of rocks that was boiling the

water ahead of them.

Through his waterlogged lungs Boris was trying to shout invective at

him. "Bastard! Black swine! Filthy-' But his voice was barely audible

above the rush of the waters and the growl of the rocky spur that lay

across their path. Mek rode him head-first into the rock and he felt the

impact transferred through Boris's skull to jolt the straining muscles

of his forearms. Instantly Boris went slack in his grip, his head lolled

and his limbs became as limp and soft as strands of kelp washing in the

surf.

As they tumbled into the next run of open water, Mek used his grip on

the back of Boris's collar to lift the Russian's face above the surface.

For a moment even he was struck with horror at the injury that he had

inflicted.

Boris's forehead was staved in. The skin was unbroken, but there was a

deep indentation in his skull into which Mek could have thrust his

thumb. And Boris's eyes bulged, pushed out of their sockets like those

of a battered doll.

Mek swung the inert carcass around in the water, and stared at the

broken head from a distance of only a few inches. He reached up and

touched the depressed area of the skull with his fingertips, and felt

the shards of splintered , bone grate and give beneath the skin.

Once again he thrust the shattered head below the surface and held it

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