Terry Pratchett - Nation

He grabbed the edge of the coral, steadied himself on a root of an old tree that had wedged in the gap. Very cautiously, he pulled himself up.

And there was Cox, running, running along the spit of old coral that led from the shore around to Little Nation and the new gap. Mau heard his boots crunch on the coral as he ran, speeding up while the watching Raiders scuttled out of the way.

The man glanced up, raised his gun, and, still pounding over the coral, fired twice.

A bullet went through Mau’s ear. The first thought as he dropped back through the water was about the pain. The second thought was about the pain, too, because there was so much of it. The water was turning pink. He reached up to his ear and most of it was not there. His third thought was: Sharks. And the next thought, happening in some little world of its own, said: He has fired five shots. When he has fired all the bullets he has, he will have to load the guns again. But if I was him, I would wait until I’d had one last shot with the big pistol and then reload it, keeping the little pistol ready to hand in case the darkie suddenly came out of the water.

It was a strange, chilling thought, dancing across his mind like a white thread against the terrible red background. It went on: He can think like you. You must think like him.

But if I think like him, he wins, he thought back.

And his new thought replied: Why? To think like him is not to be him! The hunter learns the ways of the hog, but he is not bacon. He learns the way of the weather, but he is not a cloud. And when the venomous beast charges at him, he remembers who is the hunter, and who the hunted! Dive now! Dive right now!

He dived. The tree half wedged in the gap was tangled up in a mass of seaweed and palm fronds, twisting everything together as the tides rolled it. He ducked into its shadow.

Already the tree had become a world of its own. Many of its branches had been ripped off, but the trailing weeds had colonized it, and little fish darted in and out of the forests of green. But better than that, if he tucked himself up between the tree and the edge of the gap, he could just get his face out of the water and be lost in the mass of vegetation.

He dropped back under the surface; the water around him was going pink. How much blood could one ear contain? Enough to attract sharks, that’s how much.

There was a thump, and the whole of the tree shook.

“I’ve got you now, my little chappie,” said the voice of Cox. He sounded as though he was right above Mau. “Nowhere to go now, eh?” The tree rocked again as the man walked up and down in his heavy boots. “And I won’t fall off, don’t you worry about that. This piece of wood is as wide as bloody Bond Street to a sailor!”

There was another thump. Cox was jumping up and down, making the tree rock. It rolled slightly, and a bullet went past Mau’s face before he pulled himself back into the shadows.

“Uh-oh. We’re bloody bleeding,” said Cox. “Well done. All I’m going to have to do is wait for the sharks to turn up. I always like to see a shark having his dinner.”

Mau worked his way along the bottom of the log, hand over hand. The trail of pinkness followed him.

There had been six shots. He raised his head in the shelter of a clump of weeds and heard a click.

“Y’ know, I’m really disappointed in those cannibal johnnies,” said Cox, right overhead. “Too much talk, too many rules, far too much mumbo jumbo. Jumbo mumbo jumbo, ha, ha. Milk-and-watery bunch, the lot of ’em. Been eating too many missionaries, if you ask me.” There was another click. Cox was reloading. He had to use two hands for that, didn’t he?

Click…

Mau reached down for his knife and his belt was empty…. Click.

So he swam face upward along the underside of the trunk, his nose only a foot or so from the bark, which was covered with tiny crabs.

That was how it would end. The best thing to do would be to leap up and get shot. That would surely be better than a shark’s teeth. And then everyone who knew about the Nation would die —

Are you totally stupid, Mau? It was the new voice, and it said: I’m you, Mau, I’m just you. You will not die. You will win, if you pay attention!

Click…

The pale green weed in front of him moved and he saw something black. In a moment where time stood still, he brushed the weeds aside and saw it, wedged firmly in the trunk: a trunk that was full of little marks to show where men had helped other men.

He had been proud of himself that day. He had hit the tree with the alaki axehead so hard that it would take all the next boy’s strength to pull it out. The next boy was him.

Without thinking, and watching himself, somehow, from the outside, he grabbed the handle and raised his legs until they were firm against the underside of the trunk. The axe was stuck fast.

“I can hear you wriggling about,” said a voice right above him. “You will be wriggling a whole lot faster in a moment. I can see the fins coming. Oh my giddy aunt, I wish I’d brought sandwiches.”

Click…

The axe came loose. Mau felt nothing. The grayness was back in his mind. Don’t think. Do the things that must be done, one after another. The axe was free. Now he had it. This was a fact. The other fact was that Cox had now loaded his pistol.

Mau dragged himself branch by branch to the little area where he could breathe without being seen. At least, the area where he hoped he could not be seen. As he ducked his head down, a bullet went past it. Five bullets left, and Cox was losing his temper: he fired again (four bullets left; a fact), and Cox was right above him, searching for movement in the tangle of floating greenery. The bullet had come down as straight as a spear but had tumbled and lost its way. It’s hard to run through water, Mau told himself. The more you try, the harder it gets. A fact. It must be the same for bullets. A new fact.

“Did I get you that time?” said Cox. “I hope I did for your sake, ’cause they’re getting closer. Actually, I was just saying that to be nice, ’cause I want to see you wriggling. I want to stay here until I sees the sharks burp, and then I will go back and have a nice chat with your little lady.”

Mau’s lungs were beginning to hurt. He made the tree trunk wobble, then let himself sink. He didn’t hear what Cox shouted, but four bullets splashed into the water high above him, left trails of bubbles for a few moments, and then just tumbled away in the current.

Six shots. Only the little pistol would be left. No, Cox would have to reload. And that needed both hands. A fact.

Now there had to be more facts, one after the other, all falling carefully into place like little gray blocks.

Mau rose fast, dragging the axe behind him. He grabbed the stub of a broken branch with his free hand, got a purchase with his feet on another, and, with his lungs on fire, let all the momentum of his rise and all the strength left in his body flow into his arm.

The axe came out of the water in a great curve, moving in space but not in time, water droplets hanging in the air to mark the arc of its passage. It blocked the light of the sun, it made the stars come out, it caused thunderstorms and strange sunsets around the world (or so Pilu said later on) — and as time came back at double speed, the axe hit Cox in the chest and he went backward off the log. Mau saw him raising his pistol as he sank, and then his expression changed to an enormous grin, with blood at the corners, and he was dragged into the swirling waters.

The sharks had arrived for dinner.

Mau lay on top of the log until the commotion died down. And he thought, in those little white thoughts that scribbled their way along the redness of the pain in his lungs: That was a really good axe. I wonder if I’ll be able to find it again.