“They’re coming in to investigate. We’ve got a minute, maybe two.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
“Bad odds for a gunfight. I’d suggest we go down the other tunnel and look for an exit, but I’m not in the mood to be devoured.”
Sam grinned. “I’m sure our visitors will share your sentiment. You look for a better hiding spot, and I’ll go stir up some trouble. Be back in a flash.”
Sam dashed across the cavern, hopped the creek, then started down the right-hand tunnel. After snatching the flare from the sand he dashed down the ramp to the water’s edge, stopped, and clicked on his headlamp. Twenty feet away he saw a jumble of scaly tails, clawed feet, and fanged snouts. He counted at least three crocodiles. They hissed and thrashed as the light panned over them.
“Sorry about the intrusion,” Sam murmured.
He cocked his arm and heaved the sputtering flare down the tunnel. His aim was true. The flare landed on the nearest crocodile’s back, then bounced into their midst. The hissing and thrashing became frenzied. En masse, the crocodiles began scrabbling away from the flare and moving toward the ramp.
Sam doused his headlamp, turned, and ran. As he reached the creek he saw Remi’s headlamp flash once near the far wall. He ran that way and found her hunched between a crescent of boulders. Just as he skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees he heard the echo of voices at the cavern entrance.
“Are the natives restless?” Remi whispered into Sam’s ear.
“More like enraged. If that flare stays lit, our visitors should head straight for it.”
“And into an ugly surprise.”
“Let’s just hope their surprise doesn’t turn on us.”
IT TOOK LESS THAN A MINUTE for their visitors to make their presence known. Having grown accustomed to the steady if muffled rush of the waterfall, Sam and Remi heard its pattern change as bodies moved through the cascade. This was followed by the sound of boots in the grotto, then whispered voices through the entrance and in the main cavern. The whispering stopped, followed by the barely perceptible scuffing of feet on stone.
Sam whispered in Remi’s ear, “One man. A scout.”
This was a watershed moment for their plan. If the scout decided to investigate the flare on his own, the crocodile reception would probably send him and his compatriots running. If, however, they came en masse, the reception and its resulting pandemonium could easily engulf Sam and Remi as well.
Sam and Remi sat still, listening. The sound of the footfalls went quiet. A single voice called out something. More silence. Then more footfalls, overlapping, moving through the entrance tunnel. Now the crunch of footfalls moving across the loose rock and sediment. The group was moving deeper into the cavern. With their eyes already well adjusted, Sam and Remi could plainly see the faint red flickering of the flare down the right-hand tunnel. How soon this group would see the light was the question.
Sam and Remi turned their heads this way and that, trying to triangulate the location of the party. Remi whispered, “They’re near the far wall.”
The crunch of footfalls stopped. A single voice called something in what Sam assumed was Malagasy, and while the word made no sense the inflection was one of surprised announcement, as in, Sam imagined: Look, a flare!
Whatever was said, it had the desired effect. The group continued, but their pace seemed more cautious. Soon, Sam and Remi saw the first figure move into the sputtering glow of the flare. Then a second. And so on. Until all five men had moved into view. One by one, the men started down the ramp. Boots splashed in water.
Sam whispered, “Any second—”
A guttural scream echoed through the cavern.
“—now,” Sam finished.
The first scream was joined by a second, then shouting. Remi managed to catch one of the words, a curse. “Someone’s developed a bladder control problem,” she whispered.
Sam drew the Webley and propped the barrel on the rock before him.
Across the cavern came the sounds of splashes in the water, then boots pounding up the stone ramp. Then the first gunshots, tentative at first, then in full automatic, the pop-pop-pop bouncing off the cavern walls. The mouth to the right-hand tunnel blinked orange with overlapping muzzle flashes; caught in the strobe light, men backing up, stumbling, scrambling back to their feet.
“I count five of them,” Sam whispered.
“Me too.”
Once back on level ground, the rebels turned and sprinted, most of them heading straight for the entran
ce. One, however, clearly panicked, rushed headlong across the cavern toward Sam and Remi’s hiding spot. The man stumbled into the creek, fell, then crawled across to the other side. The man got to his feet, took a few steps toward Sam and Remi, then stopped and looked around.