They rolled softly through a dripping gray swirl2. Kintyre stepped from the car. Contact jarred in his feet. Almost, he fell, running alongside it in search of balance. Then the dark wet body slipped from him and was lost. He heard a muffled3 slam as Guido closed the door, the rising drone of speed, and now just his shoes thudding on pavement.
He stopped himself and jogged back. He was no track star, but he remembered to conserve4 his wind. The fog was moving with him, its eddies5 and streamers gave him the nightmare sense of a treadmill6 bound south. He could see the highway and something of the right-hand cliff that rose up and lost itself overhead. To his left there was nothing, world's edge and smoky endlessness. The air was chill.
Presently he regained7 the automobile8. It was a new model, built for an impression of lowness and width; it sat and bared its teeth between blind headlights like some garish9 dinosaur10 defying the glaciers11. Judas! Suppose this was only a harmless passer-by? But a signboard told him POINT PERRO, and who else would have come today? Kintyre tried the door. It wasn't locked. He eased it open to read the registration12 on the steering13 column.
Gerald R. Clayton. So. Kintyre felt his hands shaking. One more reassurance14, before he went down the path. The dashboard thermometer showed the engine still warm. They hadn't been here long.
I do not wish for a God to help me, he thought. But I wish I had one to thank.
He filled his lungs and emptied them, filled and emptied them. Those were dank breaths, but they helped him ease up. He had three armed men to face; if he must also war with himself, it would be hopeless. Not that he felt any great conviction of winning. But—yes. He reached under the dash and yanked loose the ignition wires. After he was dead, that might delay their escape with Corinna.
He climbed the low barbed-wire fence. It guarded a jut15 of cliff maned with harsh yellow grass. You had to go to its very edge to see that there was a beach underneath16. As he approached, he began to hear the surf. Incoming tide: breakers crashed among rocks, the water streamed down again with a roar, whirlpools gurgled in small grottoes. He did not think a human cry would be heard this far above.
When he came to the brink17, he could just make out a sketch18 of jumbled19 crags and a laciness on the bull combers; then the rifted mist hid the sea from him again. There would be a highness to either side, the arms enclosing this inlet, but those were lost in the gray. He walked cautiously until he saw the path, a goat track plunging20 downward.
Its dirt was gritty under his feet. Despite himself, he loosed gravel21 showers now and again. After each he stopped, crouching22 and listening for voices. There were none: only the surf, snorting more loudly every time. The fog was his friend, could he have approached without it? Yes, he'd have found a way somehow, swum around a headland if he must, but the fog helped him. No proof of supernatural assistance, of course; this was a notoriously wet stretch of coast; however, he was advantaged thereby23.
At the cliff's foot he stood among half-seen boulders25 and considered where his enemy might be. Not more than a hundred yards from him, but he had perhaps fifty feet of unclear vision. This pea soup was thickening by the minute. If the others arrived, say, twenty minutes ago, they would have been granted better visibility, could have selected a spot. Kintyre stretched his memory. The cliffs made a semicircular wall, with driftwood and great stones at its foot; the diameter was a narrow strip of sand, paralleled by a line of rocks. These latter were below high-water mark and would be drenched26 already. Kintyre could just glimpse the sleet-colored ocean breasting them. Okay. So his quarry27 was under the cliff. Was there some way to lure28 one of them out?
An idea came. It was hazardous29, but no more so than blundering blind. And he was not afraid of what might happen to him. In a certain way, he had been given another chance to rescue Morna; he could not but take it.
Crouching in the rocks, he started to cough, as much like a sea lion's bark as he could manage. It was a bad imitation, but he dealt with pavement people. The noise went deep, wet, and ringing among the breakers.
"What's that?"
"Ah, nuts, you go."
"You heard me, Terry," said Silenio.
"The girl knows this coast," said Clayton. Kintyre flowed over a bleached34 white tree trunk. It snagged his shirt, he had to stop and fumble35 for his liberty. And the fog talked and talked.
"It's just a seal, isn't it, Miss Lombardi?"
No answer.
"Silenio," said Clayton.
"I'm sorry to have to do this, Miss Lombardi," said Clayton. "But now that we've gotten settled here, such things will happen pretty continuously. Unless you cooperate. So to start with—that was a seal we heard barking, wasn't it?"
"Yes. Oh!"
"Go look, Terry," said Silenio.
Kintyre put his ear to the stones. He heard them rattle37. If he could intercept38 Larkin, get him from behind without any noise....
He tried to judge whence the footsteps came. There were no more voices, no sound at all except Larkin and the sea. Kintyre followed, bent39 nearly double.
When he saw the vague shape, he changed course to intercept. Larkin was little more than a trench40 coat and a hat, fog-blurred. He was making no attempt to be silent, he slipped and stumbled, but his progress was quick. Kintyre decided41 he was going to get away, rose and sprinted42 the last few yards.
Larkin heard the hunter. He turned. "What—" Kintyre hit him. They went down together. Kintyre tried to get an arm around Larkin's throat. He didn't quite manage it. Larkin screamed.
That was a lost cause already. Kintyre wriggled43 free of threshing arms and legs, rolled away and bounded to his feet. Larkin was crawling to hands and knees. His face was a white blob with holes for eyes and mouth. He continued to scream.
Kintyre fled toward the sand. He heard Silenio curse. "What is it? What's going on out there?"
"Get back here!" said Silenio.
Kintyre whirled and threw himself prone46. The sand was hard against his stomach. He could make out Larkin at the very edge of visibility, head weaving around. "Where did he go?" Larkin was crying. "Where is he?"
"Get back, I said, back here before I start shooting!" yelled Silenio.
Larkin groped a way toward the bodiless voice. Kintyre went on hands and feet this time, a quadruped rush. Larkin heard something and looked behind him. Kintyre went flat, simultaneously47. Larkin faced back toward the cliff and resumed. Kintyre came after him again.
Three feet away, Kintyre stood up and leaped.
Larkin could not miss that. He spun48 on one heel, his knife already slicing. Kintyre moved in, presenting his left side, staying just out of reach. Larkin stepped forward. He was wary49 on the uncertain footing, too wary to be thrown hard. Kintyre feinted a blow with his left hand. Larkin slipped aside to avoid it. That took some of the rattlesnake speed off his striking blade. Kintyre's right hand chopped down, edge on, as he bent at the waist. The steel went half an inch past his belly50. His hand connected with the arm behind. In that awkward stance it was not a blow of the real bone-cracking force, but Larkin moaned and went down on one knee.
Kintyre kicked at his neck. Larkin lowered his head and took the impact on the skull51. This boy was good! It threw him onto his back, though. Kintyre circled for an opening. Larkin sat up, poised52 the knife in one hand, and threw it.
Kintyre felt a dull blow in his left biceps. He stared down. The knife stood in the muscle, blood was a red shout against skin and cloth. Larkin scrambled53 to his feet and pelted54 in the direction of Silenio's cries.
Kintyre knew little shock. Coolness at such moments was normal; he even had time to think that. The blood was simply oozing55 around the steel, no important vessel56 had been cut. He went after Larkin.
The boy slipped on a wet rock. There were shadows ahead, Clayton's lair57? Kintyre sprang for him. To hell with defensive58 judo59. Larkin had just gotten up. He heard the feet which followed, turned around and lifted his hands. "Help!" he shrieked60.
"I'm coming!" cried Silenio in the gray.
Larkin flung himself into a clinch61. His arms wrapped around Kintyre's waist with astonishing strength. Automatically, Kintyre's right arm went up to jam into his larynx. But Larkin's chin was down, guarding the throat. His right hand let go and reached after the knife in Kintyre's flesh.
Kintyre pressed a thumb into the boy's jugular62. Larkin choked and pulled himself free. The knife came with him, in his grasp; blood runneled from the metal. He stepped in to rip. Kintyre's right hand traveled up. The heel of it struck Larkin at the root of the nose.
Larkin gurgled and flopped63 backward. His face was no longer quite human: the blow had driven his nasal bone into the brain. So much for him.
Silenio burst from cold clouds. He was a squat64 balding man with a round blue-cheeked face. There was an automatic in his hand. He looked a fractional second upon Kintyre and the body. Then he fired.
Kintyre was already running. He didn't hear the bullets, or even the ricochets, only the flat smack65! smack! smack! as the gun went off behind him. He crouched66 low, zigzagging67 a little. A pistol is not a very accurate weapon. When he felt sand under his feet again, he looked back. Nothing but fog. He heard Clayton and Silenio calling to each other.
He glanced down at his wounded arm. It bled merrily. He flexed68 the fingers, tested their resistance to pressure: good, nothing had been severed69 which a few stitches wouldn't heal. But until he got the stitches, if ever, he had an arm and a half at best.
And Clayton and Silenio were still holding Corinna. It wouldn't take them long to think of making a hostage of her.
Kintyre hurried to the base of the cliff and went along it as quietly as he could. A weapon, how about throwing stones, no, they all seemed too large or too small. Bare hands were limited by the reach of an arm. Passing a log, he stopped to feel after clubs. He found a broken-off branch, four feet long and not very crooked70. It had a narrow end, almost a point. Salt water and weather had turned it bone-white, iron-hard.
Kintyre followed the cliff. When he heard them talking again, he went with his back flat against it. Total silence would be his one chance, when he got into seeing range; they mightn't look his way.
They sat behind a log, a yard or two from the precipice71. Clayton was huddled72 into a topcoat, hands in pockets, squatting73 wretchedly on a flat boulder24. Silenio stood up, sentrylike, the gun in his hand.
Corinna sat facing Clayton. Her arms were free; a rope lashed74 her ankles. The long hair was heavy with dampness. She didn't seem to have been injured yet, except for that one short episode—
"It could only have been Kintyre," Clayton was saying. "And alone. Otherwise this beach would be solid with police."
"That's possible. I think we had better get going. But remember, it's a single man. If you can nail him, we're safe."
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, almost with wonder.
Sudden pain sharpened Clayton's voice: "I've got three children. They'd be dragged down with me. The mud would stick to them all their lives. No!"
Kintyre glided79 forward. Corinna spied him over Clayton's shoulder. Through the watery80 air he saw her lips part. She cocked her head and looked out at sea. "What was that?" she exclaimed.
Clayton and Silenio turned wholly from Kintyre. He made the last few yards in a rush.
Silenio whipped around. Kintyre was almost upon him. He raised the gun. Kintyre thrust with his stick. It was ill-balanced, but he had fenced for many years. He got Silenio's hand and knocked it around. The gun went off with a crack; stone and lead spurted81. Kintyre jabbed Silenio in the stomach. Silenio fell to his knees. He still had the gun. Kintyre snapped the point of his stick to the back of his enemy's hand and bore down. Bones parted; the stick went through, into the sand.
Silenio howled and tried to pull it loose. From the edge of his eye, Kintyre glimpsed Clayton's bulky frame launched at him. He let go the stick and caught an extended arm. He heaved Clayton over his shoulder and onto the rocks.
Silenio freed himself and scrabbled for the automatic. Kintyre put his foot on it. Silenio rose and threw himself at his opponent. The weight struck Kintyre's left biceps. Agony went like lightning. He staggered back, holding the arm.
The man from Chicago laughed. He picked up the gun, awkwardly left-handed, and fired.
And missed. Kintyre recovered himself, moving in again. Another shot went off nearly in his face. Another miss. There wouldn't be a third, he knew. He snatched up the stick. Silenio backed off, grinning with hatred82. He steadied his left hand with the wounded right and took careful aim.
Kintyre lunged. It was a swordsman's movement, more leap than stride, with all his mass behind it. He took Silenio in the throat.
Silenio dropped the gun, clawed at the stick, and began to fold up. He tried to call out, but could only say blood. He sat down in a dazed way, plucked at his neck, and bled to death.
Kintyre had no time to notice it. He saw Clayton coming back. It did not seem possible Clayton could still move; the left side of his face was one giant bruise83, the cheek flayed84. Kintyre groped after the gun. Where was it?
Clayton advanced with a rush. He fell the last six feet. Raising his head and his arm, he showed metal in the hand. "Got it!" he said.
Kintyre pounced85 on him. They rolled over, kneeing and gouging86. Clayton hammered a fist on Kintyre's hurt. The grasp on him loosened. Clayton writhed87 free, got up and ran. The fog whirled him from sight.
Kintyre pulled himself to hands and knees. Blood dripped from his wounds, bright little puddles88 formed on the ice-gray stones. His head tolled89.
Hands fell gently upon him. He sat back, leaning into the circle of her arms. Her hair brushed his face. "You came," she said.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No. There wasn't time. Oh, your poor arm!"
"Can you make some kind of bandage for it? My tee shirt will do."
"It isn't sterile90. No, there are antibiotics91 these days, thank God for that." She pulled the garment over his head, sawed the seams across on an edged stone, and ripped it up. He noticed that her dress was gray. When she looked directly at him, her eyes and blonde hair were the only color in his world.
"Thank God for you," she added.
Her hands were deft92, fashioning a compress and binding93 it in place. He kept his head toward the sea, listening. "What is it?" she asked.
"Clayton. Where did he go?"
"Wouldn't he try to escape?"
"If so, fine. I sabotaged94 his car. Or even if he gets it going, he'll never make it out of this state. But I'm afraid he realizes as much himself."
She knelt behind him, where he sat on the ground regaining95 his breath, and laid a hand in his hair. She asked steadily96: "What will he do?"
"In his place," said Kintyre, "I'd come back and kill us. He should have done that when he broke free of me, he had the gun. But of course he was half stunned97. Now that he's had a little time to think the situation over—yes. If he got rid of us, there'd be no witnesses to prove he hadn't also been kidnaped and was the single fortunate survivor98. The kind of lawyers he can afford would have at least a chance to brazen99 out that yarn100."
He stood up. "Fade back along the cliff, away from the path," he said. "Find yourself a sheltered spot and hunker down in it. If you need help, scream."
"You?" For the first time he heard fear. She stood up, and trembled.
"As I said, he has a gun and he will probably be stalking us, if he hasn't started yet," Kintyre answered. "I'd better forestall101 that."
She considered him with a somehow old look.
"All right," she said. "There is no other way. Christ guard you."
She reached up and kissed him, a brief light contact, and walked away.
Kintyre stood thinking of a certain letter. It had been written by Machiavelli from the farm at San Casciano, after he had gone there disgraced, tortured, and exiled, with all his work fallen, to dust. He wrote a friend:
"All my life I have behaved as I chose in love affairs. I let love do as it likes with me, I have followed it over hill and over vale, through fields, through woods, and after all I think I have done better than if I had avoided it."
You needed a certain courage to be happy.
Kintyre turned and went toward the path. It was a starting point for his search; Clayton's instinct would have been to bolt. He made no effort to be still. A snap shot in the fog wouldn't hit him, except by chance, and his racket would draw attention from Corinna.
Nevertheless, when the fire came, it was shocking. From the sea!
Kintyre whirled and padded toward the water. Clayton must have thought to circumvent102 him, wade103 out and around till he struck the cliff. Or perhaps he figured to hide among the rocks and—No matter. It was necessary to get him.
The tide was coming in heavily now. Kintyre saw how the sand gleamed, even in this sunless air, and then how it was whelmed in foam104. Spray beat his face; he heard a hollow sucking roar among the stones. Where was Clayton?
Out in the surf, it tongued flame. He saw the beach furrowed105 beside him. So—crouched on a rock, approachable only through the water! Kintyre ran along the shore, trying to get out of visual range before a bullet smote106 him. The pursuing shots had a muffled sound.
He entered the water. It was savagely107 cold. It pulled at his ankles, sand shifted under the tidal drag. How deep was it where Clayton laired? Not over a man's height: Clayton was planning to get Corinna also, he'd have to come back ashore108 without wetting his gun too much. Not that a brief soak would disable a well-oiled automatic. But he would first lure Kintyre to him, if he could. A man struggling through chest-deep turbulence109 ought to make an easy target.
Kintyre strained eyes into the fog. He could just see the fortress110 rock as a shadow, fifteen feet high at the peak, forty feet long, Gibraltar-shaped. Breakers hurled111 against its seaward flank. This was a rapidly sloping bottom. The depth on Clayton's side was hardly over four feet, but it might be ten at the western end of the rock.
His bad arm gave him saw-toothed pain and reddened the water. He used his right, a side stroke. The undertow grabbed him and yanked him outward. He wrestled113 to stay afloat. A comber went over him. Briefly114 he was in a remembered darkness.
He drank salt fear, threshed to the wave's top, and spun down into the trough behind it. A chill seething115 had him. It bawled in his ears. He knew himself empty of strength and hope.
The sea battered116 itself upon the earth, recoiled117, laughed, and reared back to gallop118 in again. It was like the beating of a maul. A ship, a man, a girl could be crunched119 between wave and stone until ribs120 broke across. Kintyre strangled in a noisy wild night. He was spewed up again for a moment, scornfully. Spray sheeted in his face. The cold drained him, he could feel how warmth ran out. The sea rolled him over and toned in his skull.
Somehow you could swim, he thought. It was only to keep going. Though all the world were smashed on a reef, you could keep going. And there could be victory.
He saw the rock face shine before him. The waves pounded him against its roughness. Fog smoked in his eyes. He let the sea upbear him, and took its anger, while he fumbled121 about. His fingers closed on something, a handhold. His toes sought beneath the surface.
He pulled himself out.
For a little while he lay on the sloping stone back. The tide covered his feet. Life returned in some measure. He sighed and began to climb.
At the peak he looked over. Clayton sat on a small ledge122, four sheer yards below him. The ruddy hair hung dark, there was blood matting one side of the long narrow head. Clayton's gun wove about in a seeking fashion, aimed toward shore and then down again. Once he jerked, making an odd little whimper like a lost child, and fired. The sound was flat, nearly lost among rumbling123 tides.
A twelve-foot jump could easily miss that tiny projection—and once fallen into the water below, Kintyre would be Clayton's. But so he would be if he tried to crawl down.
He made his estimates, poised, and sprang.
His feet struck Clayton between the shoulders. They went over together. It spouted124 where they hit. A wave swung in from the ocean and climbed the rock in one white burst.
Kintyre came up. He stood in four feet of water. Clayton was just arising. Somehow, incredibly, he still had the gun. It lifted, at point-blank range.
Kintyre's left arm found the power to chop down. The gun was knocked loose. The sea ate it. Kintyre laid his good hand upon Clayton. Enough.
The End
The End
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1
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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conserve
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| vt.保存，保护，节约，节省，守恒，不灭 | |
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eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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treadmill
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| n.踏车；单调的工作 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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dinosaur
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| n.恐龙 | |
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glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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registration
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| n.登记，注册，挂号 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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hazardous
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| adj.(有)危险的，冒险的；碰运气的 | |
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eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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sprinted
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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44
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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45
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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46
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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47
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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48
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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49
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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50
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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51
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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52
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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53
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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54
pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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55
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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56
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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57
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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58
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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59
judo
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| n.柔道 | |
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60
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
clinch
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| v.敲弯，钉牢；确定；扭住对方 [参]clench | |
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62
jugular
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| n.颈静脉 | |
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63
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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64
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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65
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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66
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
zigzagging
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| v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的现在分词 )；盘陀 | |
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68
flexed
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| adj.[医]曲折的，屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 )；弯曲；（为准备大干而）显示实力；摩拳擦掌 | |
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69
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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70
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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71
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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72
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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73
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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74
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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75
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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76
untie
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| vt.解开，松开；解放 | |
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77
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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78
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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79
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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80
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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81
spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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82
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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83
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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84
flayed
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| v.痛打( flay的过去式和过去分词 )；把…打得皮开肉绽；剥（通常指动物）的皮；严厉批评 | |
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85
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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86
gouging
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| n.刨削[槽]v.凿( gouge的现在分词 )；乱要价；（在…中）抠出…；挖出… | |
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87
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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89
tolled
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| 鸣钟（toll的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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90
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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91
antibiotics
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| n.（用作复数）抗生素；（用作单数）抗生物质的研究；抗生素，抗菌素( antibiotic的名词复数 ) | |
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92
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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93
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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94
sabotaged
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| 阴谋破坏（某事物）( sabotage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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96
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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97
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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98
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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99
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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100
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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101
forestall
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| vt.抢在…之前采取行动；预先阻止 | |
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102
circumvent
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| vt.环绕，包围；对…用计取胜，智胜 | |
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103
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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104
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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105
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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107
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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108
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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109
turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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110
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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111
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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112
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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114
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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115
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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116
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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117
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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118
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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119
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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120
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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121
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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122
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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123
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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124
spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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