Charlie gave her a wry smile. 'What kind of a swimmer are you?'

Just then, Eric came in to tell them that he was ready to let Gumbo off the leash. They all went downstairs, keeping the lights off, feeling their way across the kitchen to the back door. Eric unlocked it, and opened it up as quietly as he could, and stuck his head out to listen to the sounds of the night. Charlie whispered, 'Anything?'

'Nothing; but there's somebody there. I can feel it in my bones.'

'Where do you keep your dog?'

'He's around the side, in his doghouse. Come on, Charlie, 285.

you follow me. Miss - you stay here. Keep the door locked. Don't open it to n.o.body, only to us. But when it is us, you make sure you open it real quick.'

Robyn gripped hold of Charlie's sleeve in the darkness. 'For G.o.d's sake, Charlie, be careful.'

'You can count on it,' Charlie told her.

He and Eric stepped out on to the verandah and Robyn turned the key in the lock behind them. Dawn was not far off. All along the banks of the bayou, the trees and the bushes seethed in agitation, and Charlie wondered how Eric could distinguish any kind of noise amidst it all, but when they reached the top of the steps Eric stopped for a moment, listening, and then said, 'Come on. It's okay for now.'

Keeping close together they skirted the northern side of the house until they came to a ramshackle collection of outhouses and derelict chicken coops. Gumbo, the dog and a half, growled deep in the back of his throat as they approached, and his tail started to lash against the planks of his doghouse. Charlie had never seen a doghouse built like this before. It was more like a miniature fort. Eric unfastened the padlock that held the doghouse door, and Gumbo launched himself at them like a jet-black, bristling drag racer. Charlie instinctively jumped back, but Gumbo was chained up and, with a jingling of solid steel links, he was arrested only a foot away from Charlie's ankles. He snarled and slavered and twisted, but Eric let out a sharp whistle between his teeth and said, 'You mind your etiquette, Gumbo, this is a houseguest,' and the dog quietened down a little, and allowed Eric to approch him, although Charlie still felt uncertain about his lolling tongue and hungry panting, and decided to keep well back. 'Now, you stay polite, boy,' Eric kept soothing Gumbo. 'You stay polite and keep your fangs to yourself.'

Eric caught hold of the dog's chain and released it. Then, with the dog leaning away from him as if it were being pulled by a giant magnet, its breath sc.r.a.ping in its half-strangulated 286.

throat, he led it across the yard toward the edge of the fields. 'You see them trees,' Eric told Charlie, indicating the dark, sad spires of the cypresses. 'That's where they're at. I heard them drive off the track and across to them trees and they haven't stirred since. But old Gumbo'11 roust them, won't you, Gumbo? Gumbo's the best rouster that ever was. Chickens, rats, turtles, catfish, gars. He'd roust anything on land or water, would Gumbo - wouldn't you, Gumbo?'

As if he had been given his cue by an off-stage prompter, Gumbo said grrooorewrrrr and scrabbled at the gra.s.s with his claws.

Eric knelt down and let Gumbo off his chain. 'Go fetch them, Gumbo. You go fetch them.' Gumbo dashed off madly towards the left, abruptly stopped, and then barked loudly and tore off toward the cypress grove. They saw him running like the shadow of a pa.s.sing storm cloud across the gra.s.s, and then he had disappeared into the darkness. Eric slowly stood up, and placed his hands on his hips and listened.

'That's some dog,' said Charlie, mainly because he was nervous.

'That's a dog and a half,' Eric agreed. Charlie liked to hear him say it, because of his Cajun p.r.o.nunciation of hay-uff.

They waited. The wind blew through the trees, making the cypresses bow and curtsey like dancers at a midnight ball. Eric sniffed but kept his hands on his hips and said nothing. Charlie surrept.i.tiously checked his watch. He didn't like to say that, for the best rouster that ever was, Gumbo was taking his own sweet time about rousting. It was quite clear that Eric worshipped his dog and a half; and Charlie would no more have thought about criticizing Eric's wife, if she had still been alive.

After about five minutes, Eric placed his finger and thumb in his mouth and let loose a sharp, ear-splitting whistle. 'Dog's taking too darn long,' he said, by way of explanation.

Charlie strained his eyes to penetrate the pre-dawn darkness. 'Give the poor fellow a chance.'

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'Fellow?' said Eric. 'That ain't no fellow. That's my dog.' And to prove the point, he let out another piercing whistle.

The wind blew and the night began to lighten a little, a faint grey light that outlined the world without colouring it. Eric hummed 'Les Blues du Voyager' and Charlie could tell that he was worried now. 'Maybe that dog forgot to stop running,' he said.

'Maybe there's nothing in those woods to roust,' suggested Charlie.

'Oh, I heard them all right.'

Charlie said, 'Do you want to go take a look?'

Eric was silent for a long while. Then he said, 'I don't know ... this ain't like Gumbo one bit. That dog's the best rouster that ever was.'

Charlie peered into the gloom. He was sure that he could see something move, over to the left of the trees. Something small, and pale, like a child running through the long gra.s.s. He took hold of Eric's arm and said, 'Look - do you see that?'

Eric looked, with his glasess and without them, but in the end he shook his head. 'I guess I could use a new pair. I haven't had my eyesight tested since Nancy went. I guess I haven't been looking after myself too well in lots of ways.'

Charlie said, 'Come on. Let's take a look for ourselves. It's the only thing we can do.'

He began to walk toward the cypress trees, and Eric reluctantly followed behind him. They were almost halfway there, however, when Eric said, 'Ssh - listen! I heard something! That's Gumbo, I swear it!'

Charlie listened but all he could hear was the wind. Eric said, 'He's mewling or something, like he's been hurt.'

Without any further hesitation, Eric began to run stiffly across the field, his long arms and legs waving like a semaph.o.r.e. Charlie called, 'Eric, for Christ's sake be careful!' but Eric had heard his dog calling and that was all he cared about. Charlie had no choice but to go running after him. He glanced 288.

behind him only once, just to make sure that the house was still deserted and unlit, apart from the single lamp that he had switched on in their upstairs bedroom.

'Eric!' Charlie shouted. He didn't care if there was anybody there to hear him. If there was, they would have seen them and heard them by now in any event.

He had almost caught up with Eric when they saw a huge ball of orange fire suddenly ignite in the shadow of the trees. The flare up was immediately followed by a high stomach-lurching scream - a scream that sounded human at first - but which was even more horrifying to Charlie when he realized that it wasn't.

The fireball came rushing towards them through the gra.s.s, zigzagging as it came, and it was shrieking unbearably - high and harsh and agonized, like somebody dragging their fingernails down a dry chalkboard. Charlie and Eric stopped where they were, both of them, and stared at the running, tumbling flames in helpless fright. They knew what it was but they couldn't bring themselves to believe it. It was Gumbo, and he was ablaze from head to tail, and screaming in agony as he ran.

'Watch out!' Charlie told Eric. 'He's coming straight for you! He wants you!'

Gumbo ran burning through the gra.s.s and the fire that engulfed him rippled like a cloak. Eric was paralysed for a second, but then he turned and began to stumble away. Gumbo in his death agony was running for the one person he could trust; the one person who had always protected him and fed him and kept him from harm.

Eric tried to escape, but Gumbo was too fast for him. Gumbo was driven by the pain so intense that he was running faster that he had ever run in his whole canine life, faster than he had ever chased chickens or catfish. He pa.s.sed within two feet of Charlie and Charlie felt the heat of his blazing fur, and smelled gasoline and burning flesh.

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tripped, and cried out, and fell to his knees. Gumbo leaped on top of him, still screeching, still blazing, like a dog from h.e.l.l. Eric rolled over and over trying to beat him off, but Gumbo's flesh and fur came off in burning chunks, and seemed to stick like napalm to Eric's clothes. Eric yelled out hoa.r.s.ely for help. 'Charlie! Charlie! For G.o.d's sake, Charlie! He's killing me!'

Charlie ran through the gra.s.s and kicked Gumbo hard in the side. The dog rolled off his master with a roar of flames, then rolled over again and lay quivering on his back, only barely alive, his blackened paws drawn up like spider's legs. Charlie tugged off his coat and covered up Eric's shoulders and chest with it, and brushed the smouldering dog fur away from his face. He glanced at Gumbo but the dog must surely have been dead now. The flames had died down, and all that Charlie could hear was the crackling of his fire-shrunken tissues.

'Eric, are you okay?' Charlie asked him.

Eric shook his head. 'He's hurt me bad, Charlie.'

'Come on, Eric, I'll call for the ambulance. You'll be okay.'

'It's not the burns, Charlie. The burns hurt but the burns ain't nothing.'

'What are you talking about?' Charlie demanded. 'If you let me call the ambulance right now, we can have you in hospital in fifteen minutes.

'Don't,' Eric whispered. In the growing light of the morning, Charlie could see how grey his face had become. 'I don't want to die in no hospital. I want to die here, by the Normand Bayou.'

'Eric, you've been burned, but only superficially. You're not going to die.'

Eric cleared his throat, and looked up at Charlie with an odd smile. 'It's my heart, Charlie, it's been giving up on me for years. I had a bad attack last year, the doctor said I was lucky as all h.e.l.l to be still alive. I'm going, Charlie. I can feel 290.

it closing in. Old man death, creeping in. Old Baron Samedi, that's what my mother used to call him.'

'Eric, I'm not going to let you die in some field,' Charlie protested. He squeezed the old black man's hand very tight.

'Well, you don't understand, this isn't no ordinary field, this is the field where I lived, me and my Nancy. This is the field where we danced, and delighted ourselves. So, this is a good field to die in, if you're talking about dying in a field.'

Charlie said, 'Somebody set fire to Gumbo on purpose.'

'Them Celestines.' Eric nodded. 'They're out there now, you take my word for it. They came after you, didn't they, even though you thought you was clean away?'

'Eric, what can I say? If it hadn't have been for us, this wouldn't have happened.'

Eric laid his head back in the scorched gra.s.s, and let his eyelids droop a little as if he were tired. 'Every man has to go some time, Charlie, and none of us chooses the way. It wasn't your fault. My heart was ready to take me at any time. I could of been brushing my teeth, I could of been dancing. I just thank the Lord that it wasn't in bed, when I was asleep, because then I wouldn't have known nothing about it.'

Charlie said, 'Do you think you can make it back to the house, if I carry you?'

Eric shook his head again. 'Don't move me, Charlie. I want to stay here. I want to see the sun rise, if I can.' He grunted, and then he smiled and said. 'It's a funny thing, that yours should be the last human face I ever see. My father ain't going to be too pleased with me, when I get up to heaven. He sent the doctor out of the room when he was dying. He said he didn't want no white ghost faces looking at him when he died.'

'I have to move you,' Charlie insisted.

'Don't you dare try. Those people who burned my dog are out there somewhere and believe me they want to do the same to you, or worse. The best thing that you can do is get the h.e.l.l out of here, you and your lady friend, and not come back.

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There's a skiff down by the landing. You can row south-westwards from here, if you keep the sun ofFn the right side of your back all morning, and ofFn the left side of your chest all afternoon, you shouldn't get lost.'

'Eric, you're coming with us,' said Charlie.

'No,' said Eric. 'Leave me here, Charlie, and leave me now. I'll only slow you down.

Charlie stood up. He looked towards the cypress grove, following the zig zag path of scorched gra.s.s which Gumbo had left behind him as he chased after his master. It was light enough now for him to be able to see the quick glint of chrome from an automobile b.u.mper, and the small pale flicker of a hooded child.

They had sent David the dwarf after him. Now he knew for certain that the Celestines meant business. They were determined to catch him, and they were probably determined to kill him, too. He bent forward to give Eric's hand one last squeeze, and then he began to jog towards the house. He had no intention of leaving Eric out in the field unattended, but with the Celestines closing in on them, he figured that the best idea would be to call for an ambulance as quickly as he could.

He ran up the verandah steps and knocked at the kitchen door. The curtain was tugged back and he saw Robyn's frightened face. 'It's okay, it's me. Let me in.'

She frantically unlocked the door. 'Where's Eric? What's happened?'

'Eric's been hurt. The Celestines are here. I have to call an ambulance.'

'Oh, my G.o.d! What are we going to do?'

Charlie picked up Eric's old-fashioned telephone and dialled for the operator. While he waited for an answer, he told Robyn about the skiff moored on Eric's jetty. 'We won't stand a chance if we try to get out by road. They've probably got the track blocked back by the highway.'

'Do you know how to row?' Robyn asked him, aghast.

'It's easy, it's like anything else. You can pick it up as you go along.'

Robyn watched him, biting his lip, as he talked to the operator. 'Listen - there's been an accident out at Eric Broussard's place, on the Normand Bayou. Eric's suffered a heart attack. He's in the field about seventy feet to the east of his house. I offered to move him into the house but he didn't want me to touch him. Can you make sure an ambulance gets here quick. . .. You don't have to worry about my name. I'm just pa.s.sing through. All right, then, yes. I surely will. Thank you.'

Charlie hung up the telephone and said, 'That's the best I can do. Right now, you and I have to get out of here.'

They went upstairs to gather up the few possessions they had left there, including the Celestines' Bible. Then Charlie went all around the house, peering out of the windows, to see if there were any signs of an ambush. 'It looks quiet,' he said, as he let the parlour drapes fall back. 'Maybe they've decided that we're too scared to come out again.'

They opened the kitchen door, and Charlie leaned this way and that to make sure that the verandah was deserted. He listened - but, like before, his untrained ear could hear nothing at all but the wind and the rattling of dry leaves across the yard.

'All right,' he said. 'I guess it's now or never.'

They tiptoed along the verandah and down the steps, checking from right to left with almost ever step they took. Robyn clung on to Charlie's sleeve, and kept nervously coughing, a little dry cough of sheer fear. They crossed the yard, and there was a sudden gush of wind which made the dust sizzle against their ankles. Robyn said, 'Is that somebody singing? I'm sure I can hear somebody singing.'

Charlie listened, and when the wind died down he could hear the high quavering voice of Eric Broussard still lying on 292.

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his back in the field where his own dog had brought him down, singing 'Laisser les Cajuns Danser'. There was something infinitely sad about it, a man lying dying in a field, singing his own requiem, but there was something infinitely eerie about it too.

The crouched their way along the back fence until they reached the path which led to the jetty. The sky was light enough now for them to be able to see Eric's skiff outlined black against the bronze surface of the bayou. Frogs croaked, katydids chirruped, and steam rose from the surface like a graveyard scene in a horror movie. 'Come on,' said Charlie. 'I don't think they've managed to figure out where we are yet. They're probably still watching the car.'

Running now, they headed for the jetty; but just as they did so they heard the roaring of a car engine, echoing around the side of the house, and a pale-coloured Buick came sliding around the corner in the dry black dirt, its headlights full, cutting them off from the entrance to the jetty.

'This way!' Charlie shouted, and took hold of Robyn's arm and dragged her away from the jetty and back towards the house. They ran in between the outbuildings, their footsteps thudding, while behind them the Buick revved up its engine again and came slewing around the yard. Charlie pressed Robyn against the wall and then breathed. 'They have to go all the way around the house. Come on - let's get back to the bayou.'

They could hear the car's tyres sliding and howling as it circuited the house once more, hunting for them like an enraged beast. They ran without a word towards the jetty, along the wooden duckboards, and out on to the rickety wooden structure itself. They were only halfway along it when the Buick reappeared, its headlights blinding them, its engine screaming. It headed straight towards them, the duckboards clattering and thundering under its wheels.

'Dive!' yelled Charlie, and they tumbled off the jetty into the water. The Buick flashed past them with its brakes shrieking like strangled pigs. Although there was fifty more feet of jetty to go, the Buick's driver must have been heading towards them a fraction too fast, and the boards were slippery with moss and early-morning damp.

Charlie, tossing his head up out of the water, saw the huge car go flying off the end of the jetty in a b.l.o.o.d.y blaze of brakelights, and crash into the bayou. Immediately, weighted down by the engine, the front of the car dipped under the water, and the trunk reared up like the stern of a sinking ship. A wave of chilly brown water slapped against Charlie's face, and he felt as if he had swallowed half of the bayou. He frantically trod water, then mud.

'Robyn!' he shouted. 'Robyn! Are you okay?'

'I'm here!' Robyn called back. 'I'm right by the boat!'

Charlie touched the oozy bottom of the bayou, and managed to wade a little way closer to the sh.o.r.e. Grabbing hold of the tough gra.s.s that grew on the bank, he pulled himself hand over hand toward the jetty, and at last managed to climb back up on to the planks, where he lay chest down for a moment, panting with effort, his trouser legs glistening black with mud from the knees down. After a few seconds spent getting his breath back, he stood up and squelched along to the end of the jetty, and looked down into the water. Robyn was clambering into Eric Broussard's skiff, tilting it sideways as she did so.

'You sure you're okay?' he asked her.

'What about those men in the car?' said Robyn.

Charlie looked towards the bayou. Already there was nothing to be seen of the Buick but its red taillights glowering under the surface. Charlie wiped his hands across his mouth to clear away some of the mud, and said, 'f.u.c.k them.'

'But they must be still alive.'

'They wanted to run us down, didn't they? They were trying to kill us!'

But before Robyn could say anything else, Charlie took a 294.

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deep breath, ran a short distance along the jetty, and dived back into the bayou. He knew just as well as Robyn that he couldn't leave the car in the water without making at least a token effort to save the men inside. Fighting for your life was one thing. Letting people die was another.