“Seven, I think.”
“I only got two,” she said. “When are you going to try your new strategy? Before or after we’re out of ammo?”
“Now might be a good time,” he said. He went down the steps to the entryway, looked around the wall to see if any enemies were in sight but saw none. He restacked the firewood he had piled in the passage, poured some of the whiskey on it, struck a match and lit a fire. As it grew, he kept his shotgun aimed at the opening beyond. When the fire was flaming high and the resin-dripping branches were blazing torches, he took four of them together and ran up to the walkway. He threw one of the flaming brands as far as he could over the wall, then each of the other three so they landed as widely as possible. He sat down on the walkway again and listened while thirty or forty rounds glanced uselessly off the high stone wall.
Remi made use of the concentrated fire. She fired three rounds and then ducked down. “Make that three,” she said.
“I’ll tell the scorekeeper.”
“How’s our strategy— Oh, my,” she said, looking over Sam’s side of the wall.
Sam looked too. The sky seemed to be lightening. He took the shotgun and stood up to get a better look, then ducked down as the next volley of shots hit.
The torches had started some brush on fire, and the flames were growing, beginning to eat their way into a large thicket where Sam had hidden, crackling and raising sparks. As the gunfire died down, Sam heard men shouting in Spanish. Sam ran downstairs, picked up three still-burning brands, climbed back up, and threw them over the wall on the other side of the enclosure near Remi.
“What are you doing? They’re all on that side.”
“I’m giving us light and space,” he said.
“For what?”
“We’ll deprive those guys of hiding places and put them in the light of the fire.”
She patted his shoulder and smiled, then pointed at the other side of the enclosure. She and Sam crouched, went to that side, and got ready. Then they popped up at the same time, ready to fire. The men were not visible. In the light of the growing fires, Sam stared but saw nobody.
Remi tugged on the back of his belt. “Don’t give them time to aim at you.”
Sam ducked. “Listen,” he said. “We’ve driven them back.”
“For a while,” she said. “As soon as the fire burns that brush away, they’ll be back.”
Sam shrugged. “It bought us a little time.”
“Thanks, Sam. I’ll still love you for at least two more hours.”
“After that, what?”
“We’ll see,” she said. “It depends on their marksmanship.”
They sat on the walkway, holding hands. Every few minutes, one of them would go along the walk, pick a spot, and pop up to look. The fires flamed along the strip, taking brush and trees but not going any farther because of the pyramids on each side.
As the moon set, Sam looked down the strip. “I think they’ll be coming soon,” he said. “And it looks as though more of them have arrived. It makes you wonder who they can be.”
“This is starting to get depressing,” she said.
He went through his pockets. “How much ammo have you got left?”
“Twenty rounds. Eight in each pistol, and one spare magazine with only four in it.”
“I’ve got fifteen. And five shells in the shotgun.” He hugged her. “I’m sorry to say, we’re about done.” They sat leaning their backs on the wall, silent.
Remi sat up straight. “Sam!”
“What?”
“The pool. It’s not a cenote, like a well.”
“No?”