Minutes to Burn

by Gregg Hurwitz

  "No bugs," she'd murmured.

  Suddenly he was yelling and shuffling backward on the forest floor on all fours, slapping at his face, swiping at the cobwebs of the memory. He slammed into a tree before realizing where he was, within a small ring of Scalesias in the highlands of Sangre de Dios.

  His breath caught in his chest when he saw the thing woven between the two trees across from him. A pupation chamber. About five feet tall, cylindrical, and horizontally striated, the cocoon was a dull beige. A sticky substance ran up along the trunk on each side, securing the cocoon to the tree. It bulged near the center, like a body bag.

  It was pulsing.

  Derek tried to crawl backward, again hitting the tree trunk behind him. He stood, gazing at the cocoon in horror and amazement. His lips trembled, trying to form sounds.

  The cocoon seemed to float in the shadows, framed by the dark trees stretching up around it. It looked almost holy, the circle of moss, like the apse of a cathedral. Derek felt as he had as a boy when he'd stepped forth from his confirmation, surrounded by a group of relatives. Their eyes had all been on him, and for a fleeting moment, he'd felt he must have been something holy for so many adults to be staring at him in his too-tight suit.

  Derek's knees jarred the ground when he fell, bringing him back to the forest. He felt wetness on his cheeks and realized he was crying, though he wasn't sure why.

  A grumbling creak came from within the cocoon.

  Though the sun had already slipped beyond the horizon, the sky was still lit with its distant glow-a light shade of purple. A heap of cumulus clouds drifted, barely visible through the treetops. Derek was crying so hard the world seemed to streak before his eyes-the trees, the purple sky, the light sheen of the cocoon.

  He turned to his shoulder and it took him three tries to say the name so his transmitter could read it. "Cameron," he finally sputtered. "Pri-mary channel."

  Cameron was in the vesicle when Derek's voice clicked through. Tank had been shoveling like a back-hoe, clearing out the excess rock at the bottom. They were all working now, using the light of the hastily made torches that Justin had stuck in the ground at the edges of the hole. "Yeah?" she said. "Derek? Derek?"

  "Are you private? Get private."

  Cameron threw her shovel aside and scrambled out of the hole, using a knotted rope they had tied to a spike up top. She was careful not to bring more rock tumbling down beneath her feet. She felt Szabla's angry eyes on her as she ran toward the camp, and she knew her secrecy prob-ably upset Justin as well, but she owed Derek at least that. She ran until she was clear of the others, leaning over with her hands on her knees. For a moment, she thought the transmitter had cut out, but then she realized that the wavering noise was Derek sobbing. "Derek," she said. "What's up?"

  Derek wiped his eyes and stared at the cocoon. It was wiggling now, and he could see something moving beneath the surface. It was creaking as it stretched.

  Cameron tried to be patient, but her voice wouldn't allow it. She heard a noise in the background, like the supports of a bridge groaning. "Derek, what's going on there?"

  An image moved through him-four tiny, lifeless fingers curved on lacquered rosewood. "It was my fault, Cam," he said. "I should've known it was going to happen."

  "What's there, Derek? What's going on?"

  "I don't know. I think…I think she's changing."

  "Is there a cocoon?" He didn't respond, so she forged ahead. "Derek, listen to me very carefully. Find a branch, a rock, anything. You have to protect yourself. You saw that thing Savage dragged back here."

  Weighted with grief and exhaustion, Derek searched the area for a suitable branch. He finally found one. It was a bit thicker than he had hoped for, but he could still get his hands around it well enough to swing it with some force.

  Shoving himself up to his feet, he clutched the branch tightly, searching for rage. He stepped forward, raising the tree limb above his head, but became nauseously weak. He crouched, his head bowed as if in sup-plication, his shoulders heaving with sobs.

  "She's just a baby, Cam," he said. "She's just a baby."

  Cameron looked frantically at the forest. Somewhere in the dark patch of trees this was all taking place, and she was unable to do any-thing about it. "Derek, listen to me. If you don't pull your head out of your ass ASAP, we're all gonna be in a fuckload of trouble. Now toughen up! Do it!"

  Derek stumbled to his feet, moving toward the cocoon. It swayed and convulsed, something pumping beneath its surface. He drew back the branch like a baseball bat, flexing his arms and his shoulders and throwing his full force into the swing. He struck the side of the cocoon, rocking it between the trees. It was hard, and much denser than he'd expected. He was just drawing back the branch again when a massive splitting sound filled the air. A seam had opened straight down the pupation chamber.

  "It's hatching," he said. He stepped back in horror. "Jesus God."

  "Run, Derek! It's too late-we're gonna have to deal with it later. Get the fuck out of there. Come back to base. Just run!"

  Derek fought through the weakness. Closing his eyes, he felt anger return slowly to him, felt his soldier's instincts quickening his heart. When he opened his eyes again, the world was back in focus. "And leave everyone else to pay?" he said, his voice thick with mucus and tears. He shook his head. "Not again."

  He clicked out as Cameron screamed into her transmitter.

  The others ran toward her from the hole, Justin leading the way. She was still yelling when they got there, and then she fell silent. They stood around her expectantly. It was impossibly silent.

  Derek saw a head rear through the slit and burst the shell of the cocoon like a melon. Pieces of hardened silk clung to the mantid's face in slimy strips as it slowly emerged. The new head was an open maw- sawing mandibles, yawning labrum, quivering maxillae. The face was alive with motion.

  He snapped the head to one side with a swing of the branch.

  The mantid's body slowly followed the fearsome head. First, a pair of snapping legs, then the thorax, then the orb of the abdomen. The man-tid unfolded from the white pupation chamber like a phoenix rising. Her head lifted on a high, towering neck, a ring of crusted silk clinging to her throat like a gory necklace. She rose unsurely on her legs, then shook herself like a wet dog, freeing her limbs from the slime and drawing out her mass.

  It seemed inconceivable that the larva could have metamorphosed into such a large and terrible thing. The mantid was expanding still, like a chick fluffing itself out after hatching. Derek darted forward and struck its back with a solid blow, but the wing didn't crumple. He aimed for the thin neck and swung, but the mantid reared up and he hit only her armored thorax. He ran quickly out of range before she could focus on him.

  Her raptorial legs practiced a few quick snatches at the air, jackknifing shut like a steel trap. She approached him, leaving the husk of her cocoon clinging to the trees.

  When her front legs lowered, Derek lunged forward, hammering her head with a flurry of blows. The attack seemed to confuse her, and it kept her from striking. Sometimes hitting the head, sometimes the thorax, he continued his assault as the mantid adjusted to her new body and the onslaught. Finally, she raised a front leg, blocking a blow, and the branch snapped. Derek hurled the remaining piece at her, his arms aching.

  She reared up, towering over him, rank and fetid. He stared up into the black pools of her eyes. Her mandibles spread slightly as her rapto-rial legs drew back. In the brief stillness before the strike, Derek drove himself up at the mantid, a whirlwind of fists and elbows.

  The soldiers stood around Cameron on the dark grass, the distant torches at the hole flicking above the shadowy outlines of their faces like infernal halos. Cameron was shuddering all over, though it wasn't more than cool, and she crossed her arms against her chest to keep them from trembling. She opened her mouth to speak, but her jaw was shaking, so she closed it.

  They stood in silent rank, waiting for something, though no o
ne knew what.

  Echoing from the darkest folds of the forest came a petrifying scream. It circled them once, twice, then departed, leaving only the wind whispering against the grass.

  Chapter 62

  Samantha couldn't remember the last time she'd slept. Despite the continuing activity at the makeshift work station outside the slam-mer, she dozed off, forehead pressed to the window. Donald came over, amused, and tapped lightly on the glass. She awoke with a start. "I didn't do it," she said.

  He smiled, cuffing his sleeves. "I feel we conveyed the environmental and medical complications quite admirably to your superiors."

  "First time I've offered expert testimony through a window."

  "I'm relieved Rex and Diego made it off the island." Donald crum-pled his shirt in a fist and released it, admiring the new folds and wrin-kles. "I hope the others will be all right." He brought his lips together, his white beard bristling. "A courageous bunch."

  "I like that Cameron," Samantha said. "Smart and tough. That's how I want to be when I grow up." She heard the clicking footsteps that announced Colonel Douglas Strickland's approach, and when she looked, she was shocked to see Secretary of the Navy Andrew Benneton at his side. On his way from a Senate subcommittee meeting, Benneton wore a sharp, well-tailored suit. Donald stood nervously, fingering the back of his chair.

  The men shook hands, and Benneton nodded to Samantha through the glass.

  "I'm glad to hear Rex is safe," Benneton said. "We're going to be able to get the rest of the squad off the island in a little more than twenty-four hours."

  "How about the air strike?" Donald asked. "Is it called off?"

  Benneton shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Donald, but the team here feels that the risk of the Darwin virus's spreading is unacceptable."

  Samantha banged her head gently against the glass. "'The team here.' I trained half the goddamn 'team here.'"

  "As soon as the squad extraction is complete, we're going to send in a B1 from Baltra. Neutron bomb," Strickland said. His tone was smug, almost proud. He removed his beret, pressing it to his side with his left elbow. "We received UN approval this morning."

  "That's a surprise," Samantha muttered.

  His legs shaking, Donald eased himself down into his chair. "A neu-tron bomb. That'll kill all the terrestrial island life. Boil the surrounding waters and send out a shock wave. Everything within miles…dead."

  Strickland ran his tongue neatly across his lips. "That is the point, Doctor."

  Benneton looked away, annoyed with Strickland's tone. Samantha sensed that there was no love lost between the two.

  "Andrew," Donald said. "If I could inform you that the known virus reservoir was exterminated, and the island's water system was no longer infected, would you be willing to hold back the air strike?"

  "Can you inform me of that?"

  "No," Donald said. "Not yet. But Rex and the Acting Director of the Darwin Station, Dr. Diego Rodriguez, are heading to the Station to test water samples as we speak, and it is my understanding that the soldiers are hunting down the remaining carriers."

  Strickland shook his head. "I don't think that's sufficient grounds to-"

  "Dr. Everett," Benneton said, cutting Strickland off. "Do you think we will have reached a plane of reasonable security if these criteria are met?"

  "Yes," Samantha said. "Of course, we never know when this virus could resurface, but if Sangre de Dios's water system is uncontaminated and the accountable virus reservoir exterminated, that provides us with as much guarantee as we're ever going to get." She glared at Strickland. "Certainly as much as a bombing will give you."

  Benneton mulled this over. "Given our current lack of manpower, how can we monitor the island for a future reemergence?"

  "A lot easier than if it's been irradiated," Samantha said.

  Donald made a calming gesture. "Dr. Rodriguez has offered to moni-tor the ecological activity there on a regular basis, as well as keep an eye on the unicellular phytoplankton in surrounding waters. We can also take steps to quarantine the island."

  Benneton pursed his lips, as though lost in an internal debate. "If you can give me those assurances," he finally announced, "then I will call off the strike."

  Strickland inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. "I'm not sure-"

  "If and only if those conditions are met," Benneton said. He ticked them off on his fingers. "The water system clean, the accountable virus reservoir exterminated, and continued supervision of the island. I'm sorry, Donald, but that's the most slack I can free up."

  "Can't you delay the bombing?" Donald asked.

  Strickland snickered. "Oh sure. I'll just ask the Air Force to permit the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to proceed to the Caracas summit without flight escort. Maybe pull air support from the three battalions we're shifting down the coast to Guayaquil." His usual grimace returned. "Given our limited resources, we need to find the most efficient means of neutralizing the situation."

  "I don't think you comprehend the gravity of what's happening on that island."

  "Oh, I certainly do, Doctor. Make no mistake about it-I'm aware we have a big-league problem on our hands. That's why we're going to deal with it in big-league fashion. We're juggling a constellation of logistics to get those planes to Baltra on the thirty-first for the 2200 extraction and 2300 bombing."

  Strickland glanced at his watch. The digits blinked red and steady: 1903, 30 DEC 07. "You have twenty-six hours and fifty-seven minutes. I suggest you urge your colleagues to use them well." He placed his beret atop his head and adjusted it with a sweep of his index finger. "Good day."

  He snapped a crisp salute to Benneton and headed up the hall.

  Chapter 63

  Szabla pushed an electric blasting cap into a block of TNT, then taped the block to two others, creating one large brick. Since the Clacker detonator was generally used for Claymores, manufactured C4 charges with molded-in shrapnel, Szabla had to jerry-rig it. She spooled off a good length of wire running from the Clacker, spliced it, stripped the insulation, then performed a western union splice with the two wires of the blasting cap to ensure a good connection.

  She held the Clacker in her hand, turning it over. It was about the size of a fist. Once she "clacked" it by clicking the ends together, the charge would run down the wire to the blasting cap, which would initiate the block in which it was ensconced, sympathetically detonating the remaining two blocks.

  "Good to go, baby," she said. "We'll just veil it like a trap, and when that thing falls through, we'll green haze the motherfucker. Walls should collapse right in." She glanced down the length of the hole, assessing its span. "We're gonna need to veg up the top-we should use dead branches because they'll give easier. Savage estimated the last fucker at two, three hundred pounds." She turned to the others. "Go get some branches and leaves and shit. At least six branches."

  She crouched, lowering the torch to afford Tank more light. He was removing the last of the rock from the far corner. Grunting, he heaved another shovelful up onto the grass.

  "Um, maybe I'm a little slow here, but don't we have to go into the forest to get 'branches and leaves and shit'?" Justin asked.

  "Uh huh. At least dead, brittle ones," Szabla said. "Over there, Tank," she added, turning back to the hole and pointing to a mound of rock in the far corner.

  "And isn't there an enormous people-devouring creature in the forest?"

  "Uh-huh."

  Justin looked from Szabla to Savage and Cameron, then back to Szabla again. "If a equals b, and b equals c…"

  "If we don't get this covered before it starts raining," Szabla said, "we can forget it." As if to punctuate her point, thunder rumbled across the sky. She could've sworn she felt the ground vibrate beneath her feet.

  "But visibility's for dick right now," Justin said. "Maybe we should wait."

  "We're trying to kill the thing, Kates, not build it a fucking swimming pool," Savage growled. He glanced over at Cameron. "Let's go."
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  Justin picked up an elbow light, and Cameron looked over at him, hands on her hips. "It'll be drawn to artificial light," she said. "Leave it."

  She and Savage headed for the road, and Justin reluctantly set down the light and followed. The balsas towered in lines on either side. Cameron searched the bases of the balsas for dead branches, but Szabla was right-to find the longer branches and foliage they needed, they'd have to press into the forest itself. There hadn't been many fallen branches in the transition zone to begin with, and they'd used what they had found earlier for the fire.

  The sky opened with a gentle rain. Cameron's sleeves began chafing around her arms with the moisture. Justin pulled off his shirt and tied it around his waist. The rain made its way down through the ridges of his stomach, and the muscles of his arm shifted as he swung the spike by his side. Cameron paused for a moment to admire him before ducking through the foliage.

  The rain pattering atop the canopy made it sound as if they were inside a drum. They gathered wide fronds and long branches, moving quickly, their eyes darting nervously about. Each time Cameron reached out to snap a frond off a plant, she half expected to see the creature's face hiding behind it, jaws spread and thrusting. Sick as it sounded, she hoped the creature had gorged itself on Derek and was now resting.

  The air smelled of decomposing leaves in the mud, dust trapped beneath the canopy overhead, and the swirls of insects buzzing around the trunks. The ferns whispered against one another. A large rat scurried unseen along the forest floor.

  The moonlight was surprisingly strong, even through the trees and rain. Though Cameron had to squint as she searched the ground, she could make out the twisted outlines of fallen branches from a distance.