Minutes to Burn (2001)

by Gregg Hurwitz

  He needed to sleep. Climbing slowly down the ladder, he headed back to base and ducked into his tent early.

  The humble fire fought the dusk. The larva rustled in the grass, no longer needing to seek shade. Rex and Diego had been analyzing its movements, seeing how it responded to light and touch. They'd already grown accustomed to its gentle, lethargic movements--there was some-thing almost hypnotic about them.

  Savage dumped an armful of firewood near the pit. He noticed Szabla way off down the dirt road, staring at something against the base of a tree at the forest's edge. He ducked through the alley of balsas onto the road and walked up to her.

  "Look," she whispered, pointing. "A praying mantis." The mantid was about eight inches tall, standing in a patch of weeds by a thick gnarled root. "She's a big one, huh? I almost didn't see her there. I was just watching these finches."

  A few finch chicks hopped among the rocks, searching for grubs and beetles. The mantid regarded them with interest.

  "Growing up, we called praying mantises 'soothsayers,'" Szabla said. "My mother said they point the way home for lost children."

  One of the finch chicks hopped close to the patch of weeds. With a movement too quick to see, the mantid lunged forward, crushing the chick in its front legs.

  Szabla's smile faded.

  The mantid's head lowered beneath the squawking beak and the chick was still. The mantid continued working on the chick, turning it with its legs. It pulled back into the weeds on its spindly legs.

  "Back home," Savage said, letting his hand come to rest on Szabla's shoulder, "we called them 'Devil Horses.'"

  The dirt around the fire pit was growing scorched, dark sediment set-tling over it like snow. Cameron toyed with the ring around her neck, rubbing the top of the sapphire with a fingernail. Tank tried to stretch his lower back, then sat on the log next to her and rested a heavy forearm across her shoulders.

  The larva munched the back of the log on which Diego sat. The harsh, steady sounds of its mandibles grating the wood filled the air.

  Szabla, Savage, and Tucker sat across the fire from it, clearly uncomfort-able. The base of the log between Diego's feet splintered, then gave way, and the larva's head poked through, its jaws working around a mouthful of wood. Diego reached down and gently stroked its head.

  Its appetite seemed nearly insatiable--Diego and Rex had been experimenting with it for the past hour, feeding it everything from cac-tus pads to palo santo branches. They still had not determined whether it was carnivorous, but it had shied away from a full-grown land iguana, which Rex had attempted to feed it despite Diego's protestations. Now, swollen with food, the larva sprawled along the edge of the rainwater-filled cruise box near Tank's tent.

  Derek emerged from his tent into the dark tropical night, rubbing his jaw. His eyes were bloodshot, the rims red.

  "Thought you were trying to get some sleep, LT," Cameron said.

  Derek took a swig from a canteen. He rubbed his eyes, then massaged his temples with the heels of his hands. "How do you know I didn't?" he asked.

  "I don't know," Szabla said. "Your charming disposition."

  A sudden splash caused Cameron to turn to the cruise box, and she realized the larva had scaled one of the sides and fallen in. Diego was up in a flash, leaning over the open cruise box. The others crowded around him as he reached into the murky waters.

  "Is it all right?" Cameron asked, surprised by the concern in her voice.

  Rex pushed through the others to Diego's side, staring down into the cruise box. The larva squirmed along the bottom, wriggling like an eel as Diego tried to grab it.

  "Wait," Tank said, pointing. "Look."

  Rex grabbed Diego's arm, pulling it back. Derek signaled Tank to step back to let the firelight through. The larva's thrashing slowed. "Pull it out," Derek said. He looked worried, almost upset. "Pull it out."

  "No, wait," Diego said. "It's breathing. Look." He pointed to the larva's gills, which fluttered underwater. "Holy shit. The gills must feed an air bladder, or versatile lungs of some sort."

  "Holy shit is right," Tucker said. "This thing gonna fly too?"

  "Maybe that's what it was doing when we discovered it," Diego said. "Heading for the ocean." He grasped the larva firmly around the base of the head and pulled it from the water. It dangled before him, squirming in the air, its abdomen curling. Its obsidian eyes glowed in the firelight, its spiracles emitting the cooing sound.

  Diego set the larva on the ground. It sputtered, expelling water from its gills, its body humping and straightening against the dirt.

  "I think we should kill it," Szabla said. "Take it apart, see what it is."

  Derek, Diego, and Cameron glared at her with outrage. "Exterminating species went out with rail barons and the Third Reich," Rex snapped.

  "I agree with Szabla," Savage said. He flashed a dramatic thumbs-down, Roman-emperor style.

  Justin stood up, knocking his hands together angrily. "Now that's a big fuckin' surprise."

  "Nobody's gonna kill this thing," Derek said.

  Szabla ran her fingers along the raised line of bruises on her neck. "Or what, LT?"

  They broke up, heading for their respective tents. Though the larva had shown no sign of straying, Diego emptied the cruise box and placed it inside. "I'll keep an eye on it tonight," he announced. Closing the lid, he began to drag the cruise box toward his tent.

  Diego heard the larva's fluttering coo as he pulled the box through the flap and lit the hurricane lamp. He set it in the corner, then sat on his bed, staring at the closed container. A simple rectangular box, containing per-haps the most startling aberration of nature to be discovered in his life-time. And he was the discoverer. Maybe his surname would even find its way into the animal's taxonomic nomenclature.

  The canvas flap whispered and he glanced over and saw Derek hulking just inside his tent. He started, almost falling off the bed. "You star-tled me," Diego said.

  Derek did not reply. The light from the lamp played across his face, the flame reflecting in his bloodshot eyes. He'd let his beard go several days, and it rasped beneath his fingers when he ran his hand up across a cheek. "I want to take a look at it," he said, jerking his head toward the cruise box. "Alone."

  Diego placed his hands on his knees, feeling himself start to sweat. "I thought we agreed we weren't going to hurt it."

  Derek looked at him, his eyes finding sudden focus. They were sharp, offended, but the look quickly faded. "If you want to keep this thing in my base camp with my men, I need to take a closer look at it."

  Diego crossed his arms. "Why do you have to be alone?"

  "Maybe you'd prefer to leave the larva outside and take your chances that it'll still be there in the morning?"

  Diego stood and headed hesitantly for the flap. Derek did not move out of his way, and he had to squeeze past him to get out of the tent. He halted outside, tilting back his head and taking a deep breath, then turned and peered through a gap in the flap.

  Derek waited a moment before crossing to the cruise box, slowly lifting the lid. The interior was bathed in darkness. He raised the lamp, leaning over to peer inside.

  The larva's head rose slowly from the darkness, tilting. For a few moments, Derek stood quietly, the larva regarding him and cooing from its spiracles. Finally, he leaned forward and lifted the larva out of the cruise box as he would a baby from a crib, gripping it around the thorax. Its abdomen curled and loosened, dangling beneath it. It may have just been the light, but its head looked remarkably anthropomorphic--the large, round eyes, the mouth closed into a clean line, mandibles retracted.

  Derek pressed the larva against his chest. Spreading his large hand awkwardly on the back of its thorax, he walked with it, its bottom abdomen segments tapping against his stomach. Then he cupped its head, rocking his hand gently so the antennae swayed.

  Unable to contain himself any longer, Diego ducked through the flap, clearing his throat angrily. Derek quickly held the larva out away f
rom him. He placed the larva brusquely back in the cruise box, handling it now with an objective expediency.

  The larva rustled in the darkness, then squirmed up the side of the cruise box, its thin antennae bobbing ever so slightly as its head broke into the light.

  Derek watched it for a moment, as if resisting the impulse to rest his hand on its head. He snapped Diego a quick nod on his way out of the tent.

  Chapter 38

  Something about the humidity made Szabla come alive. The air was a blend of moisture and warmth. Sex, heat, and danger were indistinguishable from one another in the tropics, separate movements of the same dance. The rain started, slow, warm, and building, pasting a few wayward strands of hair to her cheeks.

  Alone, she sat on the log, keeping an eye on the night. The larva and Derek's violent behavior had thrown her for a loop; she'd found it diffi-cult to settle into sleep. She wasn't the only one with insomnia--Tucker lay on his sleeping pad behind the tents, charting the constellations in a spare log book, and she could see Derek's silhouette shifting around in his and Cameron's tent.

  Having sat on her shoulder in the hot sun all day, the solar cell was fully charged. Szabla removed it from her shoulder, the Velcro giving with a tear, and snapped it into a clunky, olive-drab elbow light. They'd brought only non-tactical lights; despite its interchangeable lenses, the unit gave a broad, bright signature.

  Tilting back her head, she let the rain fall into her mouth. Her cam-mies and tank top were molded against the curves of her body. She was as wet as if she'd just stepped out of a shower, the rainwater pouring over her face, drenching her hair, even pooling in her jungle boots.

  She flipped the light and caught it by the end. The sound of the rain was soothing and ineffably exciting. She was oddly aware of each muscle in her body--the ripples of her stomach, the solid curve of her thighs, the divot that split her deltoid when she raised her arm. She jerked her neck to one side, and it cracked all the way from the base. The wet tank top clung to her chest, forced out by the points of her nipples.

  She thought about Savage's body, hard and untan. The thin patch of hair across his chest. She'd caught him looking at her a few times, staring at her mouth until she could almost feel it growing hot under his eyes. She bent her head to the top of her biceps, licking the beads of water.

  They were salty with the ocean mist, even up here in the highlands. She lowered a hand, pressing it down the slope of her stomach.

  She rose suddenly and walked to Savage's tent, ducking inside. He was sleeping peacefully on his Therm-a-Rest. Szabla pulled her shirt over her head, quietly removed her boots, and then stepped out of her pants, one leg, then the other.

  Savage's eyes remained closed, his breathing constant.

  She crossed naked to the sleeping pad and sealed his mouth, pressing her palm firmly over it. He struggled awake, one hand shooting to his knife like a reflex, but she was already working at his pants and had him out. He was hard from sleep.

  His eyes widened as he recognized her, and he froze, blade pushing against the soft flesh of her bruised neck. She sat on him with a shudder, arching her back. She saw herself from far away, her knees pushing into the pad on either side of him, her hand clamped down over his lips, her teeth biting the inside of her cheek. She worked on him quickly, vio-lently, the blade against her throat, her hand pressed over his mouth the entire time.

  He was pinned down so tight he couldn't even react to her move-ments, but she felt him building as she came, biting even harder on her cheek as her hips rotated with a mind all their own.

  She pulled herself up off him, her throat leaving the blade, and he gasped for air when she removed her hand. His pants loose at his hips, hand still stretched upward holding the blade, he looked around as if trying to figure out where he was, what had happened. She got dressed with her back to him, then turned calmly, amused by his shocked expression. A thin scratch, beaded with two tiny drops of blood, stretched across her throat where the knife had been.

  "Thanks, soldier," she said, not untenderly. She ducked through the flap and disappeared into the rain.

  Chapter 39

  28 DEC 07 MISSION DAY 4

  Cameron shot from sleep, her body drenched with sweat. She ran from her tent, awash in nausea. Derek called after her, but she did-n't stop until she was clear of base camp, falling, her knees pressing in the dewy grass, and then she was heaving, hard and heavy, bringing nothing up.

  Derek was two steps out of the tent when Justin passed him, running for his wife. Szabla poked her head through the flap behind Justin. "What the fuck's going on?" she shouted.

  Justin caught up to Cameron, crouching before her. He rested a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off.

  "I'm fine," she said. Between gasps, she wiped her mouth, leaving a smear of dirt across her chin. Sweat darkened her blond hair along the temples.

  The others were out of their tents now a good distance behind them, mulling around and glancing over at them. Diego had set up the radio again and was clicking his way through an SOS.

  "Morning sickness?" Justin asked.

  The grass felt slick and cool beneath her hands. "Where am I without this?"

  "Without what?"

  She gestured blindly behind her at the base camp. "I never realized how much I need it," she said. "Orders, mission objectives, chain of command. Heat-'n-Serve priorities. They keep things simple. You do your job, and that's all you have to focus on. No mess." She pushed her-self back into a sitting position and spit out a gob of saliva. Justin waited for her to catch her breath.

  "The teams have always kept things neat for me. Kept them in control. Locked away behind a starched uniform." She laughed, a short stutter that died quickly away. Off behind them, she could hear Tank taking a leak against a tree. "I'm an adult, and I hardly know how to think for myself."

  Justin rested a hand on her cheek and she let him.

  When she spoke again, her voice was soft with fear. "How can I have a baby if I don't even know how to think for myself?" She shook her head. "I can't. I can't have this baby."

  Justin brushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she pulled away.

  "Doesn't this upset you?" she asked, her eyes fierce and daring.

  Justin swallowed hard. "Only one thing upsets me."

  "What's that?" Cameron said.

  He rose, letting his hands slap to his thighs. "That you never asked what I wanted."

  Chapter 40

  The larva made its way through the thick vegetation, pulsing along with ripples of its abdominal segments. Its remarkable head pivoted slowly from side to side, its large, round eyes taking in the surroundings.

  The larva had fared well in its brief time in the forest, surrounded by an inexhaustible supply of vegetation. The previous day, it had acciden-tally felled a large Scalesia after eating its way through the base, but it had escaped unharmed. Remaining close to the ootheca had proved advanta-geous, as its fellow broodmates had spread out rather than remaining nearby and competing for food.

  Overlying the epidermis and basement membrane beneath, the larva's cuticle was beginning to flake where it scraped the ground. Its cuticle was loose all around so that it shifted within it when it moved.

  The larva was growing. It would soon molt.

  The cuticle split behind its head, and it began to wriggle forward. The small hooks on its prolegs anchored to the substrate to keep the cuticle from moving with it. The larva continued to struggle forward, stretching against its own skin and gulping air, broadening itself. The split in the cuticle widened, and the larva pulled itself through the top of its old body, its tiny true legs scrabbling on the ground. Its new exoskeleton was an even more vibrant green.

  The new skin was wet and tender. It had not yet hardened, nor had the muscles firmly attached to it. It needed to remain immobile until its new cuticle hardened.

  The larva tensed at the quiet scrape nearby. Limbs stiff with age, the feral dog broke
from his hiding place in a patch of ferns, lunging at the larva. The larva curled into a protective ball, but not before the dog's mouth closed over its head, its teeth piercing the top of its thorax. The dog swung his head once and the small green body flapped in his mouth like a doll, rotating under the captive head with a sickly crunch.

  Drawing his kill up in a bunch between his legs, the dog slid to his belly and began gnawing on the larva's rich tissue. As he worked his way through the head, the dog bit into the larva's mandible. The pointed end pierced the dog's gums, coming free from the head, and he let out a series of yelps.

  Backing up and shaking his head, the dog thrashed until the mandible fell to the forest floor. He mouthed the larva, pulling it away through the underbrush. The larva's abdominal segments dragged on the ground behind it, kicking up a trail of rocks and dirt.

  "What in the Jesus Fuck was that?" Justin whispered to Szabla, the dog's yelps vibrating in his ears.

  Szabla held up a hand to quiet him. Aside from the usual sounds, the forest was silent. "Dog," she said. "Sounded like."

  Justin raised the canteen and shook it, allowing the last few drops to fall into his waiting mouth. They'd been surveying the forest for the bet-ter part of the morning. Since Rex had headed off with Derek and Cameron to set the third GPS unit near the lagoon, he'd charged Justin and Szabla with locating suitable bedrock within the forest.

  The forest had a freshness from yesterday's rain. In the cups of leaves, nooks of logs, and footprints in the mud, the rainwater pooled in twin-kling disks. The air was hot and humid, scented so sharply Szabla could taste it in the back of her throat.

  Justin moved in the direction of the yelps, thin branches bowing out of his way. Szabla hooked his shoulder with a hand, pulling him to a stop. "I'll take point," she said.

  She passed him and started ahead. She couldn't help looking around in wonder at the varied flora--mint with purple flowers, vines with leathery leaves, the occasional white orchid flowering from a Scalesia trunk. A brown finch wove through the tree trunks, making a soft shushing call. Justin imitated it, turning to watch it disappear.