People of the Lakes(95)

She’d judged accurately, seeing the spear slip through the water and into the big red fish. Water thrashed, and the heavy spear bucked hard before it slapped underwater.

Pearl jumped down, grabbing the rope in callused hands.

Careful, too hard a pull would jerk the barbed point free and the huge fish would escape.

With skilled hands, she played the fish in, aware that if she took too long, the sharks would be drawn and all she’d get would be the satisfaction of a good cast.

As the panicked fish battled for its life, she could hear its frantic drumming. Now she could reach the wooden spear, and through it, control the movement of the red fish. Keeping pressure to the side, she caused the fish to crab against the boat. There, straining, she could reach over the side. As the canoe rocked, she slipped a hand inside the gills, feeling the spines.

The red fish thrashed desperately at the invasion of her fingers.

With a deft jerk, Pearl pulled the flopping monster into the boat.

She grinned at her catch, noting the familiar black spot at the root of its tail. The fish slapped the carved wood with its body, blood leaking down the golden-red scales to smear on the wet wood.

Pearl used a deer-bone awl to work the barbed point free of the tender meat. For a moment, she glanced down at her prize, watching the jaws work as it gasped for breath.

The dream shredded itself, and some sense of urgency goaded Pearl awake. She lay for a moment, remembering the freedom, the sea, the still waters of the swamp—how glorious life had been. Then she blinked her eyes open at the cold plop of rain on her face. Occasional drops fell through the matted roof of the hasty shelter the Khota had built.

She stared into the darkness. How much of the night remained?

She propped herself on one arm and looked out beyond the shelter. So dark. Rain beat on the hard-packed sand and hissed and spat in fires burned down to smoldering coals.

Chill air crept into Pearl’s blankets as she sat up. To her right lay One Arm’s slumped body. His chest rose and fell with each sleeping breath. At the mouth of the shelter, Eats Dogs had curled into a ball. Rhythmic breathing told her that he too slept soundly.

Pearl drew her feet up. With the care instilled by a lifetime of hunting, she eased from the blankets. Fear charged both nerve and muscle as she placed her feet carefully.

Holding her breath, her heart battering at her ribs, she stepped over Eats Dogs and out into the cold rain. In a low crouch, she hurried warily across the camp. Bitter wind gusted out of the north; its bite sliced into her as she made her way to the beach.

She reached the first of the canoes and took stock. Nothing moved. Any sound she’d made had been covered by the rain.

As another gust of wind worried at her, she bent and put all of her weight into pushing the canoe. The heavy dugout wouldn’t budge.

Gritting her teeth, she tried rocking it, but made no headway.

Pearl bit off a curse and moved to the next of the canoes. Her plan had been to shove all of the craft into the water, to let the current carry them away, while she stole the last one.

The third canoe hadn’t been pulled as high onto the beach.

She grunted, throwing every bit of her strength into lilting and shoving. Her feet dug into the wet sand as she inched the canoe back into the slapping waves.

Well, one canoe would be better than none. With it, she could reach the creek mouth she’d spotted that afternoon. She would paddle up the creek as far as she could go, hide out for as long as she needed to let pursuit vanish down river, and then go in search of shelter.

She could wait it out. Let them forget about her. Enough fish, ducks, and shellfish could be found to keep her belly full in the meantime. She might not make it back to the Anhinga lands until late summer, but she’d get there.

She could hear water slapping the stern of the canoe. Another good hard shove and—

“If you’d wait until morning, we’d help you,” Grizzly Tooth called from the darkness.

Pearl froze for an instant, fear running bright through her veins.

“Wake up, my warriors!” Grizzly Tooth shouted. “Our woman is trying to escape!”

Pearl fumbled in the canoe, searching for a dart, a weapon, anything. Her fingers clutched onto a thong as she turned to run.

A bola!

Her feet beating into the sand, she sprinted down the beach.

She sorted out the bola, finding the knot that bound the separate cords together. The stone weights rattled and knocked at each pounding pace.

“She’s heading down the island!” Grizzly Tooth bellowed.

“Cut her off!”

The angry shouts of men filled the night. Pearl ran as she’d never run before. How far did the sand go before it turned to mud?

Behind, she could hear the muffled steps of a pursuer. She forced herself to greater effort. Now, or never! She had to break free! This would be her only chance.