Gabriel Hunt - Hunt at The Well Of Eternity

Escalante went halfway off the bridge before he was able to grab hold of a plank. He pressed his other hand to the wound in his side. Blood pumped between his fingers.

“Hang on!” Gabriel shouted to him.

He struggled to lift Cierra, whose leg was now twisted and caught between the planks. A few feet away Escalante’s fingers scrabbled at the wood as his legs dangled off the side of the bridge.

Somewhere behind Gabriel, Mariella screamed.

He jerked his head around to see that two more of Esparza’s men had emerged from the thick growth at the eastern end of the bridge—the Cuchatlán side—and charged out onto the span. One of them had hold of Mariella and was trying to drag her off the bridge. The other came at Gabriel, his lips curled in a snarl.

Gabriel understood now what had happened. Hector had known a shortcut of his own and gotten a small group of Esparza’s men to the gorge ahead of Gabriel and his companions. These men crossed the bridge to the eastern side and concealed themselves there. It had been a trap, all right, and Gabriel had walked into it.

With a desperate heave, he finally lifted Cierra onto the bridge. “Grab the rope and hang on,” he told her. Then he swung around to face the man who was almost on top of him.

Gabriel hadn’t had a chance to use his Colt yet, and he didn’t get that chance now. The man’s hand chopped down in a vicious blow. The side of it caught Gabriel’s wrist and knocked the gun loose. The Colt fell and landed on the planks at Gabriel’s feet.

He didn’t have time to try to retrieve it. Instead he swung a fist at the man’s head, knocking him backward. As the bridge swayed to the side and the man almost pitched off of it into nothingness, he flung out a hand in desperation and grabbed the guide rope. He swung his foot up in a kick that landed in Gabriel’s stomach and knocked him back against Cierra, who screamed again as she hung on to the guide rope for dear life. Her torn shirt hung open, her breasts barely covered beneath it in a red bra. The sight caught the eye of Esparza’s man; he only hesitated a split second, but it was enough for Gabriel to bring his right fist up in a sizzling uppercut that landed solidly on the man’s jaw.

This time the man didn’t have a chance to grab the guide rope. The punch propelled him back and to the side, and suddenly there was nothing under him but air. He shrieked in terror as he fell, tumbling for a few seconds before he reached the bottom of the gorge and the fading screams abruptly stopped.

Gabriel glanced one way, saw that the second man had succeeded in dragging Mariella off the bridge. He looked the other way and saw Cierra still clinging to the guide rope. Escalante had finally been able to pull himself back onto the bridge, but he was still bleeding as he lay on the planks, breathing heavily.

At the western end of the bridge, Podnemovitch had gotten up after being knocked down by Tomás, who still lay there on the grassy verge. With his already ugly face made even uglier by the rage contorting his features, Podnemovitch stood over Tomás and pumped three more rounds into him, the shots slamming out and echoing back from the walls of the gorge.

Gabriel’s Colt still lay on one of the rough-hewn planks, its muzzle lodged against a large splinter. That was all that had kept it from falling off while the bridge was swaying beneath them. Escalante reached out with a bloodcovered hand and closed his fingers around the revolver’s grip. He lifted it and fired at Podnemovitch, who ducked back toward the jungle. Over the echoing roar of the gun, Escalante shouted to Gabriel, “Take Cierra and go! I’ll hold him here!”

Even if the bandit hadn’t been wounded, Gabriel didn’t think he would have been any match for the big Russian. He knew that Escalante was offering himself up as a sacrifice.

But that was Escalante’s decision to make. He knew how badly he was hurt, knew he probably wouldn’t make it anyway. Gabriel couldn’t let that gesture go to waste, so he grabbed Cierra’s arm and urged her toward the eastern end of the bridge.

“No!” she cried. “Paco!”

“Go!” Escalante told her.

Cierra sobbed as Gabriel dragged her toward the end of the bridge. There would still be Esparza’s other man to deal with once they got there, but for now the important thing was to get off this perilous span.

As they approached the end of the bridge Gabriel saw that Mariella was still struggling with her captor. She landed a round house punch as Gabriel and Cierra stumbled off the bridge. Solid ground had seldom felt as good under Gabriel’s feet as it did at that moment.

As Cierra slumped to her knees, he let go of her arm and lunged forward to grab the shoulder of the man Mariella had just punched. The man was off balance from that blow, and Gabriel was able to jerk him around and throw a right cross that slammed into his jaw and put him down, out cold.

More shots blasted. Gabriel saw that Escalante had managed to pull himself to his feet. The bandit stood on the bridge shooting at Podnemovitch, who was returning the fire as he advanced, striding deliberately from plank to plank as he approached. Escalante’s wound had weakened him to the point that his aim was shaky and his shots missed Podnemovitch.

Not so the slugs fired by the big Russian. They pounded into Escalante and slewed the bandit around. Escalante grabbed the rope with his free hand and looked back at Gabriel, Cierra, and Mariella.

“Cut the ropes!” he cried with fading strength. “Cut the ropes, Gabriel!”

Gabriel looked down at the man he had just knocked out, saw a sheathed machete at his waist. He bent and yanked the big blade from its sheath, spun toward the bridge. “Head for the jungle!” he told Cierra and Mariella as he slashed at the anchor ropes.

Podnemovitch roared something in Russian that sounded like a curse. He fired past the sagging Escalante at Gabriel, who brought the machete chopping down on the rope again. One of Podnemovitch’s bullets chewed splinters from the anchor post. Gabriel thought one more strike might part the rope, which would cause the bridge to twist and throw Podnemovitch off into the gorge.

Before the machete could fall, though, Cierra and Mariella both cried out in alarm. A new voice called, “Drop the machete, Señor Hunt, or my men will kill you and the women both.”

Gabriel recognized those arrogant tones. He looked behind him and saw that Vladimir Antonio de la Esparza had emerged from the jungle on this side of the bridge, along with a dozen heavily armed men who had rifles trained on him.

So much for a small group having reached the bridge before them. All of them had made it here and crossed over the gorge, leaving only Podnemovitch and a few other men to follow behind and set up the ambush.

He wasn’t ready to drop the machete just yet, though. He said, “Back off, Esparza. You can’t have me gunned down fast enough to stop me from cutting this rope, and if I do, Podnemovitch better know how to fly.”

The threat didn’t appear to ruffle Esparza. “If you do that, Señor Hunt,” he said as he brought up a pistol and pointed it at Cierra, “I will kill Dr. Almanzar and then have my men shoot you.”

“Do it, Gabriel!” Cierra cried. “I don’t care what happens to me! Just do it!”

Gabriel glanced along the bridge at Podnemovitch, who now stood over Escalante’s motionless body with a tensely expectant look on his face. He had to know that he didn’t have time to make it back to the other end of the bridge before Gabriel could chop through the final strands of the rope.

But Gabriel couldn’t do it. Slowly, he lowered the machete, then let the handle slip through his fingers. The big knife fell to the ground at his feet.