Hurricane Gold Read Free Page B

He flung himself over the edge and fell 6 feet. He was relieved to land on something soft.
    His sense of relief was rather short-lived, however.
    It was hard to decide which of the two was the more surprised: King, or the massive, sleeping anaconda.
    As soon as King realised what he had landed on, he forgot all about his injuries and began scrabbling for a way out. For its part, the huge snake wrapped a length of its fat body around King’s leg. It sensed that something was attacking it, and it was fighting back the only way it knew how.
    ‘He has reached the sign of Gucumatz, the snake god,’ said El Huracán as King grabbed hold of the top of the wall and tried to haul himself out. The great weight of the anaconda, which must have been a good 25 feet long, was pulling him back, though. He kicked out as it began to crush his leg. The coils slid further and further, up his shin, past his knee and along his thigh towards his groin.
    ‘Get off me, you filthy brute,’ King snarled and he pounded the animal against the wall. He managed to hoist himself up on to the top of the wall, his lower half still dangling into the snake pit.
    He shook his trapped leg and felt a slight lessening of the grip, and then, with an almost inhuman effort, he wrenched it free.
    The snake had to be satisfied with his shoe, which it proceeded to mangle in its coils. The shoe had been handmade in Italy and cost more than the average Mexican peasant would earn in a month.
    King didn’t stay around to watch, though. He struggled to his feet, and then winced from a fresh pain as he tried to walk.
    He had twisted his ankle trying to get it away from the snake, which now meant that neither of his legs was much use to him.
    He yelled every foul insult he could think of up at El Huracán, who was busy taking money off those men who had lost bets so far.
    ‘You’d better hotfoot it to the other end, Señor King,’ El Huracán called down to him. ‘Because when you see what I have cooked up for you next you are not going to want to stay for dinner.’
    ‘What are you talking about, you reptile?’
    King looked around him, trying to work out where the next threat would come from.
    The floor of this section of the rat run was made entirely of riveted iron plates. The sun was burning down and had heated up the metalwork. King could feel it through his sock.
    Well, at least there wouldn’t be any animals around. It would be too uncomfortable for them here .
    King hobbled forward, the floor seeming to get hotter with every step.
    He spotted a series of vents along one side of the alley. Smoke was seeping out.
    And then he understood.
    The floor wasn’t just getting hotter from the heat of the sun.
    There was a fire down below.
    El Huracán’s men were deliberately heating the iron plates. If he didn’t get out of there fast he was going to be fried like a shrimp on a griddle pan.
    But moving quickly wasn’t possible with a badly cut foot and a twisted ankle; he could only shuffle along like one of the walking wounded from a battle.
    Soon the heat had burnt through his sock and there was nothing to protect the skin of his foot. He tried to run, but only managed five steps before he stumbled. He put out his hands to break his fall and, as they pressed against the red-hot metal, he screamed in agony. When he tried to pull them away they were stuck fast. He gritted his teeth and pulled hard, leaving two grey handprints of flayed skin behind.
    Somehow he got to his feet again and staggered on, the smell of cooking meat filling the air.
    He wondered what sort of twisted mind could dream up such a place. What sort of mind could take pleasure in the pain and suffering of others? But he knew the answer. A mind like his own. A mind like all the men on this island possessed.
    A heartless, criminal mind.
    He was delirious with pain now, his vision blurring, his heart racing, his breath scalding his lungs. The heat was so intense it burnt the sole off his