Эллери Куин - The Killer Touch

He reached the stone shelters as she was tucking in her, shirt. The plastic bag formed a pregnant bulge above her belt.

“You pulled me down off the high,” she said with faint sullenness. “I can walk now.”

Going back was easy; the wind hammered against their backs like a giant fist. Surf boiled up around their knees until they had to climb the steep beach and walk in the prickly bush which grew at the center of the island. Above their heads the wind plucked a leaf from the palm tree and flicked it far out to sea.

Burt stopped when he saw the sand spit where he’d left his boat. The sea charged in from both sides, crushing together at the center and raising his boat high on a bubbling geyser of foam, rolling it over and over like a medicine ball on the feet of an athlete, then leaving it half-careened and filled with water. He turned and saw that Tracy had sat down in the sand and was gazing up at the flying debris.

“Can you climb a tree?” he shouted against the wind.

“Of course,” she said serenely. “But I don’t want to.”

“You’ve got to! We can’t get off the—!”

He stopped, for suddenly his voice rang out into absolute stillness. He looked around, and in the weird green light he saw a sight which made him doubt his vision. The island seemed to be slowly rising from the sea. Water poured off their little mound of land, cascading over the rocks, forming little torrents and whirlpools, twisting through acres of barnacled coral. He saw fish left gasping on the sand; he saw a manta ray as big as a barn roof stranded in six inches of water, its huge wings flapping like those of an enormous black moth dying from DDT. He saw a hundred crayfish scurrying between the rocks, frantically seeking the water which had left them; he saw a hundred mounded acres of rock veiled with dripping seaweed, studded with elkhorn and mushroom coral.

In the instant that his eyes encompassed the spectacle of the ocean floor exposed to the hostile air, he saw the reason for it. The sea was leaving the island, sucked up into the blackness which thundered toward them with a sound like a thousand horses drinking at once; coming in like a huge black whale which drank the ocean dry as it came. Burt stood for an instant frozen in a fear so great it was almost ecstasy.

Then he was picking her up and carrying her to the palm tree, ignoring the thorns which tore at his legs. He propped her against the tree, but she slid down, her body limp and boneless. He jammed his knee into her stomach and held her there while his hands tore at her belt buckle...

Her hands fought him feebly. “Hey, what—?”

“I’m going to strap you to the tree with your belt.”

She giggled. “But my pants will fall.”

“That’s not the worst thing that can happen.” He jerked her belt from the loops. The slacks sagged to her hips and caught there. He removed his own belt and joined the two, then passed them around the tree and fastened them around her stomach. He pulled it so tight that her rib cage bulged out above it.

“I can’t breathe!” she gasped.

He looked down and saw the bewilderment in her dark brown eyes. She didn’t understand what was happening.

“Shut up,” he said, his voice roughened by a sudden protective emotion. He peeled off his shirt, wrapped it around the oilskin bundle of food, and tied it to the strap which held her.

While he worked, he was aware of the light getting dimmer, like a lamp turned down, changing from yellow to green, and then to blue. Suddenly it became a deep purple twilight. He was gasping for air, pulling it into his lungs and finding it hot and with a strange electric taste. He looked toward the east, out past the tongue of naked dripping rock, and saw the heaving, oily swell of the tidal wave. It seemed to be growing larger as it came, rising higher and higher until he had to look up to see its crest. He could hear it, like an approaching locomotive, crashing over those two flimsy stone huts as though they were matchboxes...

He leaped for the tree and wrapped his arms around it He pressed his face to the tree just as the water struck. His face ground into the rough palm trunk. He tried to gasp but there was no air, only water which had become a lashing monster wrapped around them. It was like being shut up in a tank with a frenzied whale. His feet left the ground and stretched out behind him. His arms popped in their sockets and he laced his fingers, willing them to grow together and never part, even though his arms might be ripped from his shoulders...

Then the water was gone, driven on by the wind. The wind was a demon of fury bent on his destruction; it peeled his eyelids apart and hammered his eyes into his skull; it rammed its fingers up his nostrils and jammed a fist down his throat, collapsing his lungs and bloating his stomach. Above him, the palm fronds were stripped away like dandelion fluff blown by a child. He bent his head and pressed it against the tree; he could feel the fibers straining in the wood and hoped it would hold; he wondered how Tracy was, but he couldn’t see her. The darkness was total. The rain struck in smothering sheets like wet flapping canvas; the water rushed over the mound and tore at his waist. He felt the sand eroding beneath him, sinking him lower and lower, and he had a sudden fear that their tree might be gouged out by the roots after having withstood the terrible force of the tidal wave. He wrapped his legs around the tree, pried one hand free, and groped around the trunk. His heart sank as his hand touched nothing. He groped downward and touched her naked back; the shirt had been torn away and she was slumped forward hanging from the belts. He seized her hair and pulled her back against the tree. His hand touched her lips and felt them moving. He extended his embrace to include her, feeling the small softness of her breasts beneath his arms.

And then he ceased to think. Time is your enemy, he told himself; to endure you must become a creature without continuity in time, you are a May fly existing on the razor’s edge of the instant. Eternity is now; the next breath and the next heartbeat will be another man’s problem. Don’t let the fingers slip, don’t let Tracy’s head sag... don’t think. The world has turned feral; all the elements are united against you, but don’t think about that. There’ll be no punishment if you survive or don’t; all fear of the future is meaningless, for this is Hell...

He had no idea how long it lasted, but a sudden peace descended like a cotton blanket. The blackness surrounded them; it was like standing in a huge silo with a tiny skylight far above. Burt looked around in the unearthly, yellow green twilight. They stood on an almost barren ridge of rock laced with tiny pockets of sand. The silence was broken only by the gurgle of runoff water and the slopping of fish trapped on the land. He saw why their tree had remained intact; it was rooted in a pocket of earth in the solid rock.

He felt Tracy move under his hands. “Please, you’re hurting...”

It was slow work, for his joints had locked together and each uncoupling was agony. When she was free, she straightened and breathed deeply. All that remained of her shirt was the collar and a tattered strip of cloth on the right side. Suddenly she gasped and began to tear at the belt.

“Don’t,” he said. “We’re not through yet.”

She kept tugging, and he crawled around the tree and seized her wrists. “Stay put, Tracy! We’re just in the center. There’s another jolt coming just like the last one.”

She looked at him in terror. “But it’s gone! My kit is gone. I had it right here—” She pressed her palm to the sunken cavity of her stomach. “I’ve got to find it! Help me look!”

“ Look ?” He waved his arm. “Where would you look? It’s five miles at sea by now.”