Wall of Night (36 page)

Thirty feet upriver, huddling beneath a tangle of tree limbs beside the bank, Tanner could hear only snippets of Xiang's words over the rush of the current, so strong it pushed his body nearly horizontal. Already, the icy water was numbing his fingertips and ears. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. The cold felt like a vice around his chest.

Until the moment he'd plunged into the river and realized the strength of the current and the temperature of the water, Tanner had intended to float downstream for a distance, then climb out on the opposite bank and keep going. Instead, he'd turned and started paddling hard upstream, gaining mere feet for every dozen strokes until finally he spotted the branches and latched onto them.

Now he wondered if he'd made a terrible mistake. If Xiang chose this spot as the hub for their search, he'd have to either try to crawl out and slip away or let go and take his chances downstream.

Either way, he couldn't remain in the icy water for long.

Five minutes after the hind ferried Shen's men to the opposite bank, it returned and landed at the road junction. Over the beat of the rotors, Tanner heard a barked order, but caught only bits of it: “Two … here … watch.”

He slowly turned his head until he could see Xiang and another man jogging toward the helo. Two soldiers remained behind at the river's edge.

The Hind lifted off and flew upriver a few hundred yards, then turned and started downriver at a near hover. The belly spotlight clicked on and began tracking across the water's surface.

Eyes squinted against the downwash, Tanner waited until the beam was nearly upon him then took a gulp of air and ducked under. The light swept over the tangle of branches, started to move on, then stopped. The water went translucent. Leaves and silt swirled around his face.

Come on
…
there's nothing here
…

The water went dark. Tanner resurfaced. The beam was moving downriver.

From his left, a flashlight beam played over the branches as one of the soldiers walked along the bank. He called to his partner, “Check upstream.”

A laugh in reply.
“Xi wang ni war de hao
!”
Have a good time
!

The soldier slipped from Tanner's peripheral vision. He waited until the crunch of footfalls faded then dug his fingers into the mud and gently pulled himself onto the bank. Ten feet to his right, the remaining soldier stood smoking, his AK held at ready-low.

Shivering now, Tanner clenched his jaw against it and began inching his way along the bank. From the corner of his eye, he could see the patrolling soldier's flashlight playing along the water's edge. Suddenly the beam lifted, turned.

Coming back this way.

It took all his self-discipline to not get up and run. He kept crawling, gaining six inches at a time until he'd reached the soldier's blind spot. Slowly, eyes fixed on the man, Tanner rose into a crouch. He coiled himself, sure the soldier was going to turn.

He didn't.

Tanner sidestepped left, paused, took another step, paused. The patrolling soldier was fifty yards away, his flashlight beam skimming ever closer.
Gotta go,
gotta go
…
Tanner turned, scuttled into the trees along the road, and dropped onto his belly. Heart pounding, he waited for a shout.

None came.

At the bank, the two soldiers joined up.

On trembling legs, Tanner crept across the road, then started running north.

Against every rule he knew but beyond caring, he ran straight down the center of the road for an hour, listening as the braying of the dogs and the thumping of the Hind's rotors slowly faded into the distance.

All the terror and frustration and exhaustion of the past two days rose into his throat. He wanted to scream. He swallowed it and kept running, and slowly the emotion subsided. With it went all his energy. As if someone had pulled a plug, he suddenly felt numb.

His boot struck a rock. He tripped and sprawled into the dirt.

Stay here,
a voice in the back of his head told him.
Sleep.
You've gone far enough.

He rolled himself onto his back and stared up at the stars.

You've done all you can.
It's time to let go.

Then, a different voice:
If you quit,
they'll find you and kill you.

“No,” Tanner murmured. “Get up, Briggs. Get off the road.”

He rolled his head to the left and saw a steep embankment of stunted pines bordering the road.

Get up,
Tanner commanded.
Climb the ridge into the next valley.
More places to hide there.
Find a place,
then sleep.
He rolled onto his belly, forced himself to his knees, then planted a boot in the dirt, then pushed himself upright. He staggered a few steps, then caught himself. His vision sparkled.

Now run.
Don't think,
just run.

He pointed himself at the embankment and started up.

Ten miles to the southeast, Xiang and Shen stood on the lake's shoreline, watching the Hind hovering over the water, its spotlight slicing through the darkness.

“There's no way he could have slipped through,” Shen said. “The dogs have been up and down both sides of river; there's no scent.”

“Then where is he?” Xiang demanded.

“There's one possibility: he swam with the current and beat us here.”

“Ten miles, in this water?” Xiang said. “I don't think so.”

“Then what?” Shen snapped. “Perhaps he's a ghost; perhaps he sprouted wings and flew away.”

“Watch your tone, Lieutenant.”

Shen sighed. “I'm sorry, sir. It's frustrating. We have no trail, no scent … We were three minutes behind him and now he's gone!”

“He won't get out of the country; in fact, I doubt he'll even try—not yet at least,” Xiang replied. “We have a critical advantage; I think it's time we use it.”

“What advantage?”

“We know where he's going.”

Though later he would be able to recall only fuzzy images of the hours following his escape from the river, upon reaching the crest of the ridge, Tanner hadn't stopped as he'd promised himself, but kept going, putting one foot before the other until finally his body gave out.

Running on force of will alone, he stumbled down into the next valley, up the next ridge, then down again before collapsing. He crawled off the trail, covered himself with loose branches, then slipped into unconsciousness.

When he awoke he felt a flash of panic. It was daylight. The sun filtered through the trees, casting stripes on the ground. He blinked against the glare and looked around.
Oh God
…

Less than three feet from his face were a pair of boots. Silhouetted by the sun was a man-shaped figure. As Briggs watched, the boots shuffled forward, and slowly the tip of a walking staff slipped through the branches and jabbed him on the forehead.

Tanner grabbed the staff, jerked hard, felt it come free, then swung, striking the leg in front of him. As the man fell, Tanner rolled out and scrambled to his feet.

Sitting on the ground before him was a gaunt Chinese man in his early fifties. He rubbed his leg and stared up at Tanner in terror. “Aiyah … aiyah!” He began crawling backward.

“
Deng
…
Hen baoqian
…
” Briggs called.
Wait,
I'm sorry.

He bent over and laid the stick on the ground. As he straightened, he felt a wave of pain burst behind his eyes. His vision blurred and he felt bile rising into his throat. Before he could catch himself, he lost his balance and toppled backward onto his butt.

“
Ni you shemma bing
?”
the man said.

Tanner tried to focus on the words.
What's wrong
…
you
…

Tanner felt his forehead; his skin was hot and clammy. His calf felt like it was on fire. He pulled up his pant leg and ripped off the bandage. The knife wound was swollen red and seeping pus.

“Ahh!” the man gasped, then pointed at Tanner's leg. Looking at Tanner for permission, he gestured to himself, then at the wound. Briggs nodded. The man crawled over.

The man touched the wound with his fingertips, then sniffed them and wrinkled his nose. He felt Tanner's forehead.
“Fa shao.
”
Fever.
“
Sh
è
n-chu she tou lai.
”

Tanner shook his head, not understanding. The man stuck out his own tongue, then pointed at him. Briggs reciprocated and the man studied it. “Ahh …”

“I'm sick,” Tanner said in English.

The man nodded. “You sick.” He grabbed his walking staff and Tanner's backpack, then helped Tanner to his feet.
“Lai,
lai.
”
Come,
come.

Tanner knew better than to argue; it was all he could do to stay upright. He started walking.

The man led him down the valley floor, then turned onto a path. Judging from the angle of sunlight, Tanner assumed it was shortly after dawn. He'd slept for almost ten hours. Where was Xiang?

The path opened into a sloping meadow bordered by a narrow dirt tract to the west. Nestled in the center of the meadow were a cabin and barn made of thatch-and-mud bricks and flagstone shingles. A pen with two chickens and a goat sat beside the bam.

The man called out. The door opened and out stepped a young boy and girl, both between eight and ten years old, and a woman, also in her mid-fifties. They stopped and stared at Tanner.

“
Bang zhu
!”
the man called.
“Bang zhu
!”

As one, the children and the woman ran forward, relieved the man of the staff and Tanner's backpack then led the way into the cabin, which was divided into a small kitchen, a front room, and a communal bedroom. The only light came from two large windows in the kitchen.

The man led Tanner to a cot against the front-room wall and gestured for him to lie down. His vision swam and sparkled, and he felt another wave of nausea grip his belly.

The man began barking orders and Briggs found himself at the center of activity. A pair of hands stripped off his field jacket while another removed his boots and socks and while a third rolled up his pant leg. In seconds he was covered in a heavy woolen blanket.

As had the man, the woman examined the knife wound, felt his forehead, and looked at his tongue, making “ahh” and “eeeh” noises as she went. After a brief murmured conference with the man, she nodded and rushed off into the kitchen.

The man shooed away the children, who'd been kneeling beside the cot, staring at Tanner and giggling. As they scampered away, the old man shrugged an apology at him.

“It's okay,” Tanner said.
“Huang tou tai gao le.
”
Blond hair too tall.

The man cocked his head, then smiled.
“Huang tou tai gao le,
”
he agreed.

Tanner slept fitfully for some time, and was awakened by a stinging sensation on his calf. He opened his eyes and looked down. Kneeling at his feet, the man was applying a compress to the wound.

“Pool-tyce,” the man said.

Pool-tyce
…
?
Poultice, Tanner realized. “You speak English?”

“Little English.”

“Where did you learn?”

“Eh? Oh …” The old man called out and the young girl scampered into the room carrying a trade paperback. She held it up:
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

“Good old Harry,” Tanner said.

The girl nodded vigorously. “Good old Harry!” she repeated, then ran off.

Tanner laughed; the effort took his breath away. “Your daughter?” he asked.

“Daughter, yes.”

“What's your name?”

The man thought for a moment. “Tun-San. You?”

“My name is … My name is Briggs.”

“Briggs. Where from?”

“America.”

Tun-San's eyes widened. “America … no joking?”

“No.” Tanner suddenly felt guilty; he was putting these people at risk. If Xiang discovered they'd helped him … “Tun-San, it would be best if no one knew I'd been here.”

It was too much for the man's vocabulary. He shook his head. “Not understand.”

Using a combination of English and Chinese words and hand gestures, Tanner got his point across. Tun-San looked him in the eye. “You … ah … criminal?”

“No,” Tanner replied. “I'm trying to help a friend. He's in trouble.”

Tun-San considered this, then nodded solemnly. “I tell no one.”

Tun-San lifted the poultice away, looked at it, then set it aside. He pulled another from the bucket between his knees, wrung it out, and reapplied it to the wound.

“Bad come out,” he told Tanner.

After two hours of treatment with the poultice, Tun-San woke Tanner from his light sleep.

“Look leg,” he said.

The swelling and redness were almost completely gone. Tun-San gently pressed the cut, but instead of pus, all that came out was a dribble of bright, red blood. Briggs reached down and touched the flesh; it was cool. “How did you do that?” he asked. “What was—”

“Herbs,” Tun-San said, then rattled off a list of ingredients. Tanner recognized a few of them—Chu-hua, ginseng, forsythia, willow—but most were unfamiliar to him.

“Ah, here, drink.”

Tun-San's wife, Wu, appeared beside the cot carrying a quart-size bowl of steaming, greenish brown broth. Tun-San propped Tanner up with a pair of straw pillows and she placed the bowl in his hands. They both watched him expectantly.

He sniffed the broth, then drew his head back. It smelled like unwashed socks, dirt, and hot gin.

Seeing Tanner's expression, Tun-San chuckled and said something to his wife, who gave him a withering stare.
Making Jun of her cooking,
Tanner guessed, then smiled.

Clicking her tongue, she urged him to drink.

He lifted the bowl to his lips and sipped. The broth tasted exactly as he imagined unwashed socks, dirt, and hot gin would taste. It burned all the way down to his belly, then seemed to surge into his head. He blinked his eyes and groaned.

Tun-San hurried into the kitchen and returned with a cool, wet towel, which he draped across Tanner's forehead. After a few seconds his vision cleared. He felt Wu's eyes on him.

“All,” she ordered. “Drink all.”

Tun-San sat beside the cot as his wife fed Tanner bowl after bowl of what he'd mentally dubbed “sweat sock soup.” Halfway through the second bowl, his taste buds went mercifully numb.

After the first hour, he signaled that he needed to relieve himself. With Tun-San's help he hobbled onto the porch and urinated into a steel pail until it was full

Tun-San nodded approvingly and patted him on the back. “Bad out,” he said.

The process went on for another six hours until Briggs had consumed nearly two gallons of the broth and made a dozen trips to the pail. To his amazement, with each urination he felt progressively better. His headache and fever began to fade and he felt the strength returning to his limbs.

Occasionally, after he'd finished outside, Wu would retrieve the pail, pour some of the urine into a clear jar and examine it in the light, clicking her tongue and squinting.

By mid afternoon, she ordered him out of bed and to the kitchen table. Tanner stood up, testing his legs. Aside from a slight ache in his calf and some residual body weakness, he felt remarkably good.

Wu placed a plate of boiled vegetables and fried rice before him. He suddenly realized how hungry he was and began eating, not stopping until he'd consumed two platefuls and downed three glasses of goat's milk. Through it all, Wu stood, arms akimbo, and nodded. When he was done, she cleared away the dishes and set a clay mug before him.

“
Cha lu,
”
Tun-San explained.

“Green tea?” Tanner said.

“Yes, green tea with … ah …” He made a buzzing sound.

“Honey?”

“Yes! Honey!”

It was delicious. He finished three mugs before he could drink no more.

Wu pointed to the door and said, “Use pail, then bring.”

When he returned, she repeated her inspection process, squinting at the specimen for several seconds before turning to him. “Better,” she proclaimed, then asked. “Feel better?”

“Much better,” Tanner said. “Thank you, Wu.”

Mere thanks wasn't enough, he knew. Not only had these people probably saved his life, but they'd given him a mental boost he hadn't even realized he needed. It felt good to be surrounded by friendly faces for a change. White skin, blond hair and all, they'd seen someone in need and had helped. “Thank you both,” he repeated.

For the first time since Tanner had arrived, Wu smiled. “Happy to do.”

Later, he and Tun-San sat on the porch together. “Where
your friend?” he asked.

“I'll show you,” Tanner said. “Where's my pack?” Tun-San went inside and returned with it. Tanner pulled out the map, took a moment to orient himself, then pointed. “He's right here.”

Tun-San peered at the map. “How far?”

“About a hundred seventy kilometers.”

“Eh?”

“A hundred seventy
gong li.
”

Tun-San traced his finger along the map, muttering to himself and measuring distances with his thumb. “Five hours,” he said.

“Pardon me?”

“Be there
zhong tou
—five—hours.”

“I don't understand.”

Tun-San stood up and grinned. “Come.”

Tanner followed him to the barn. Tun-San unlatched the doors and swung them open.

Sitting inside was a rust-streaked, powder blue 1952 Chevrolet pickup truck. Aside from the cab, which was pitted with rust holes, the rest of the truck seemed to be constructed solely of bamboo and what looked like several miles of bailing wire. In the place of rear tires were a pair of wagon wheels. The doors had been removed; in their places, a pair of horizontal bamboo rods.

To Tanner, the truck looked like something out of a
Gilligan's Island
episode.

Beaming with pride, Tun-San opened the hood.

Instead of a traditional engine, a motorcycle engine was suspended from the mounting brackets by yet more bailing wire. A rubber belt like those found on industrial timber saws connected the engine to the drive axle. Jutting from the top of the contraption was a rope cord connected to a T-handle—the starter, Tanner realized.

Tun-San pointed at the engine. “Triumph, nineteen sixty-five.”

“Triumph motorcycle engine?”

“Yes.”

“It's amazing, Tun-San. You built this?”

He nodded. “Four years.”

“It runs? It goes?”

“Oh, yes. I show. I can take you to your friend.”

Tanner shook his head. “No. Thank you, but no. If you're seen with me, you'll get into trouble.”

Tun-San waved his hand like an old Jewish mother. “No trouble. I drive, you hide.”

Tanner was torn. If by accepting the offer he brought harm to Tun-San and his family, Briggs would never be able to live with himself; on the other hand, he doubted he had the strength to reach the camp on foot—not quickly, at least. Tanner extended his hand. “Thank you, my friend.”

Tun-San took it. “You welcome, my friend.”

After saying good-bye to the children, Tanner accepted a small jug of sweat sock soup and a set of stern dosage instructions from Wu. On impulse, he gave her a hug, evoking a giggle from her.

“I'm happy to have met you,” Tanner said. “Thank you for everything.”

“Yi-lu ping-an,
”
she replied.
Have a good trip.

With three crates of eggs and two five-gallon gas cans resting on a bed of straw in the back and Tun-San at the wheel, Tanner pushed the surprisingly buoyant truck out of the barn. He got into the passenger seat and, at Tun-San's urging, pressed his foot on the brake pedal.