The forest was even more dim than he had remembered. When he looked up at the sky, the rain started, as if on cue. And then it was ham-mering down, the leaves and twigs dancing with its descent. He took his bearings, gauging how far he had moved into the forest and up the vol-cano's wooded slope. He was close to the middle of the Scalesia zone. He could rest here and regain his energy.
A fat cedrela had snapped in the earthquake, the sharp shaft of the stump sticking up in the air. The trunk had fallen to the side, where it lay in a smashed heap of branches. The fallen tree was still attached to the stump by a hinge of bark and pulp, creating a small triangular area of shelter.
Derek left the larva beside the tree and gathered branches and broad leaves, which he wove loosely together to shield the shelter from both sides. He finished building the little hut and worked a splinter out of his palm. Pinching it until it stuck out from the bead of blood, he removed it with his front teeth, then spit it out. He turned to the larva and stepped back in surprise.
It lay beside the shell of its old cuticle, its sides barely expanding and contracting as it drew breath. It appeared to be exhausted.
He turned his mind away from the darkness he felt encroaching, from the dangerous reality he sensed but refused to admit. Picking up the larva, he moved it into the small shelter, curling up behind it. The heat made the larva uncomfortable, so it squirmed away from him but rested its head near his. He pulled the sheet of branches and leaves down across the front of the shelter and lay back, losing himself in the sticky webbing of his thoughts.
Voices pulled him from his delirium. He recognized Szabla's, coming from no more than fifteen feet, and he peered through a gap in the leaves and saw Savage's face, his eyes sunk in shadows. Even though they were close, he could not make out what they were saying.
As always, Savage was carrying his blade. He said something to Szabla, his voice a murmuring hum, then headed directly for the shelter. Derek froze, one hand hovering protectively above the larva's head. He prayed it wouldn't stir.
Savage thunked his boot down on the stump, inches from Derek, and assessed the terrain. Rainwater ran down the rubber surface of his boot, dripping onto Derek's cheek. Derek could practically feel the heat coming off Savage's body. He moved not a muscle.
Savage sheathed his knife, patting it on the side for good measure, and walked back to Szabla. They disappeared into the underbrush, their crackling footsteps fading away.
Derek exhaled. Though he hadn't realized it, he'd been holding his breath for nearly a minute. The larva shifted with the sound, seeking his body, as if for reassurance. It nuzzled into the hollow of his neck, and a flash of fear ran through him, but its mandibles remained retracted.
The ground rumbled suddenly, fiercely, and the tree rocked overhead. For a moment, Derek was worried that the tree would slide from the stump and crush them, but it held strong. He laid a hand protectively over the larva as the earth shook around them, then stilled. Aside from its abdominal segments bunching slightly, the larva did not move.
Lying on his back, Derek looked at the brief wisps of sky he could make out through the network of branches around him, the rain-heavy air, and the dark columns of the trees.
The forest suddenly seemed quite peaceful.
Dexterously, Savage moved ahead of Szabla in the rain. From time to time, she could make out the flash of his skin between the tree trunks. He rarely wore a shirt in the forest, but for some reason, the mosquitoes left him alone.
He called out to the larvae, "Hey little guys, you want some candy?" and then he'd laugh his forty-grit laugh.
All of a sudden, he was gone. Szabla scanned the area in front of her but could make nothing out in the dim light. She called his name once, her voice trembling ever so slightly, then reached across and fondled the ball of her biceps and felt her courage steel.
She stepped off the small trail they had been moving along and was immediately swallowed by the foliage. She circled around the area she had last seen Savage, holding the spike up above her head so that it wouldn't rustle through the branches.
"Quiet," she heard him grumble before he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into the foliage, slapping a hand across her mouth. They sank to the forest floor until they were lying side by side, hidden beneath ferns. Savage eyed her for a moment, then removed his hand. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the right. "Something there," he whispered.
He kept his hand near Szabla's mouth, ready to cover it again if she spoke. She was silent, though, and they lay staring into the darkness. After a few minutes, a branch nearby exploded with motion. Szabla tensed until she realized it was only a bird; the large-billed flycatcher shot through the canopy, its sulfur-yellow belly the single spot of color in the gray air.
Szabla let out her breath in a rush and looked at Savage. The mud he had smeared across his cheeks and chest for camouflage had hardened, cracking like a pie crust. It was darker around his mouth; he looked like a predator after feasting on a kill.
He kept the grin on his face, a white floating crescent that reminded her of the Cheshire cat's, and she suddenly became aware of how close they were. One of her arms was pinned beneath his shoulder, her hand resting in the dirty tangle of his hair. He smelled of sweat and mud, and his body pressed against hers was the hardest she had ever felt, though he was over fifty years old. His muscles weren't inordinately large, but they were tight, hard like stones.
She turned her head slightly to face him full on, her cheek brushing against his beard. She held his eyes for a moment, her heart still pounding from the scare. Staring into his eyes was like looking into a black hole; they were bottomless, empty, tinged with gray. Szabla felt she was peering through the surface ice of a frozen lake, peering into death itself.
Her unease was clear as they separated and stood.
Savage cleared his throat, bringing up a plug of phlegm he spit out on a jet of air. It splatted against a frond and dripped to the ground. He stared at her, seeming to read her mind.
"You go places sometimes," he said, his voice soft, gravelly, and, if she wasn't mistaken, gentle, "you can't get back from." He looked up at the living ceiling above them. "I went into the jungle when I was eight-een, and I stepped out of life. I don't...I don't have a choice anymore."
Leaning back against the slimy bark of the tree, he watched a cluster of insects flutter around a branch overhead. Szabla looked everywhere but his eyes, then started back along the trail.
After a moment, he followed.
It was one of the longest days Cameron could recall.
Since the larvae needed shade of some sort, she, Tank, and Justin skipped the sparse coastal zone. They swept the rim of the arid zone near the lagoon where Cameron had located the first larva, before heading north and making their way through the transition zone above the volcanic rift. Finally, they cut into the forest proper, cresting Cerro Verde around noon, steering clear of the caldera itself by circumventing it from the safety of the surrounding trees. At one point, a vantage opened, and Cameron caught a clear glimpse of the active caldera through the tree trunks--a long, flat plain of lava set off with the occa-sional jumble of rocks and dipping out of sight in the middle. Myriad fissures split the dark rock, through which the glow of hot magma emanated. Steam rose in wisps, curling into elongated apparitions before dissipating.
They paused reverently before continuing down the steep eastern side of the Scalesia zone. They combed the terrain in huge swaths, beating the underbrush and waiting for the small creatures to crawl forth so they could beat them to death.
Tank carried the bolt from the specimen freezer, and Cameron and Justin each held a spike. If they didn't start picking the larvae off soon, their situation would get worse. They still had thirty-four hours to extraction, and thirty-four hours could be a long time stuck on a tiny island with master predators on the loose.
They walked on in silence, taking in the trees and the short, darting movements of birds. Cameron's arms were w
hipped and raw from plant stalks and twigs. Her left shoulder had a large abrasion she might have gotten scraping against the rough bark of a tree, but she couldn't remember for sure. In fact, she couldn't recall the source of most of the aches and pains that shot through her body with each step.
At one point, she could have sworn she sensed Derek close to them in the forest, but when she listened, she heard nothing except the whisper of leaves against one another. She tried reaching him on his transmitter a few times, but it was still deactivated.
They circled up to take a rest, snacking from their MREs. No one stood guard. Cameron rested in a crouch, eating vegetarian tortellini out of the pouch. The rain had stopped, though the air was still gray and heavy. After ten minutes of sitting, Tank was still breathing heavily. Justin said something softly to him that Cameron could not quite make out, but she guessed he asked about Tank's injuries, because Tank shook his head and stood up quickly, pretending not to wince.
They started to leave, but Cameron stopped herself, went back to their rest spot, and cleaned up the plastic wrappers from the MREs, shoving them into her bag.
For four more hours, they painstakingly canvassed the forest, peering into bushes and caves, through the gnarled hollows of trees, and within clusters of boulders. At one point, Tank stopped, snapping his fingers sharply, and they all froze.
There was a slight scraping, like nails against bark, and they peered around nervously. Tank raised the freezer bolt behind his head, the knob dwarfed by his large fingers. Cameron and Justin moved slowly for cover behind a tree trunk, and Tank was left alone in the clearing. He took a hesitant first step back but stopped when the scraping came again. A cluster of ferns to his right split open, and a shadow charged out at him. As he stumbled back, swinging the bolt and missing, Cameron realized it was a feral dog, its spotted coat stretched tightly across its ribs. She felt the breeze from the dog's movement as it flashed off into the foliage. In an instant, even the sound of its running had vanished.
Tank swayed a bit on his feet, still clutching the bolt. Justin started laughing with relief, but no one joined him. He stopped.
They arrived back at base camp, defeated and exhausted, praying that Szabla and Savage had had more success. They ducked into Tank's tent to get out of the glaring sun, and Tank collapsed on his back on the ground. Cameron could tell he was really hurting, though she was prob-ably the last person in the world he'd admit that to. "You sure you're all right?" she asked.
"Fine."
"Well, you know what usually makes me feel better after a long day of unsuccessful larva hunting?" Justin asked, glancing over to see if he'd made Cameron smile. "A good hot shower and a back massage. But since I can't have either of those, I think I'll go take a dump."
Even Tank laughed a little as Justin disappeared through the flap.
"Good kid," Tank said. He shook his head, leaving sweat stains on his pad. He ran his fingers across his tender forehead, drawing away peels of skin. He looked at Cameron sheepishly. "Forgot sunblock," he said.
Cameron cringed. She unscrewed the cap from her canteen and took a healthy gulp of water. She'd need to get to the ocean soon to rinse off the grime. It clung to her like another layer of clothing.
Above the barrel of Tank's chest, the strong curve of his chin was bristled with whiskers. Cameron had always liked being in Tank's large, serene presence--maybe it was the constant current of unspoken affection he sent her way. She felt the need to say something to him, some-thing personal, but she didn't know what, so she was quiet.
Justin's voice from outside broke the silence. "Hey you guys! Check this out. Quick!"
They scrambled out of the tent and found Justin furiously buttoning up his pants. He started for the forest, gesturing them to follow. They passed through some recently cleared pasture, and soon the Scalesias were all around them. About fifteen yards in, he slowed, bending aside a leafy bush so that Cameron and Tank could see.
A larva, smaller than the others, with a light, almost yellow-green cuti-cle, had slid itself up a tree trunk, its prolegs grasping the moist bark. It worked its head back and forth, expelling a white sticky substance that looked like silk onto the trunk. It attached itself to the silk bedding and bent its head down to its bottom segment. It was weaving a cocoon around itself.
Cameron stepped forward, moving around Justin. "Incredible," she murmured.
They watched its graceful, repetitive movements with fascination. It had ensconced its lower half in silk when they heard approaching foot-steps behind them. Cameron turned as Szabla appeared in the foliage, Savage trailing her by a few steps.
"I was wondering where you--" Szabla froze, staring at the larva. Without hesitation, she crossed to it and kicked it from the tree, sending a scattering of moisture through the air. It squirmed on the ground awk-wardly, its lower body still encased in silk. Savage stepped forward and raised a foot to the tree trunk, resting an arm across his knee.
Reaching over without even looking, Szabla grabbed Savage's knife from his ankle sheath. She reached the larva in four strides and drove the blade into the top of its head. A gurgling noise issued from its gills. It flipped and twisted, arching like a Halloween cat, its true legs splayed out in front of it like wooden pegs. Green hemolymph bubbled from the slit. It shuddered twice through its entire body, contracted slowly into a ball, and stilled.
Szabla glared at Tank, Justin, and Cameron, running the knife across her thigh and back again. Cameron almost retched at the smudge it left on her cammies, full of virus. She felt Savage's eyes on her, reading her. "That's my tough little soldier," he said, his voice amused and disdainful all at once.
Szabla tossed the knife back to Savage, who caught it expertly by the handle. She picked up the larva, careful to keep her hands clear of the hemolymph. "What's wrong, Cam?" she snarled. "Forgot Floreana's lit-tle Sigourney Weaver trick already?"
She headed back in the direction of camp, knocking Cameron's shoulder hard as she passed her.
Chapter 57
Moths floated on the outskirts of blossomed plants, fortuitously brushing against stamens and flower cups with their pollen-dusted proboscises. They scattered from Derek's footsteps as if in flight from a predator, zooming in paired figure eights. The larva felt leaden in Derek's arms, and it had grown more sluggish. It lazed across his straining forearms, head and posterior end dangling.
Eyes alert, back hunched, treading rotting fronds and beetle shells underfoot, Derek paused only to lap tears of rain from moist orchid blossoms. He found a brilliant white bud brimming with water and gen-tly plucked it from the bush. Raising the larva's head with a guiding touch beneath its chin, he placed the half-opened flower into its mouth.
Its mouth pulsed, sawing into the flower and moving it quickly down its throat. When it was done, it squirmed over itself, segments rotating, to look into his face.
Derek felt himself fill with something larger than himself, stirrings in the empty spaces of his heart. The vibration of his transmitter broke him from his thoughts. He'd reactivated his transmitter about twenty minutes ago, though he wasn't certain he wanted to speak to anyone yet. He thought for a few moments, then set the larva down, cleared his throat, and tilted his head to his shoulder. "Mitchell. Private. Obvi-ously."
The line hummed with silence.
"What?" he asked.
He realized he was surrounded by a tight ring of trees, and he began clearing the space within them of rocks and leaves, preparing a lay-up point. The exhaustion of the past week had overtaken him all at once, it seemed. Though he'd dozed a little last night, his head was still light with fatigue. He'd need to get some real sleep soon.
Cameron's voice filled the air around him, and he found its familiarity among the dirt and stones and trees soothing. "Derek," she said. "Cameron."
He took a moment to center himself, then spoke, impressed with the evenness of his voice. "Let me guess. You're huddled in my tent, proba-bly sitting on my Therm-a-Rest with the rest of my squad
around you trying to see what you can squeeze out of me."
The grass was heavy with dew at the edge of the forest. Cameron stood in a tall patch that reached nearly to her knees, looking out at the ball of the sun. About fifty yards behind her, the others mustered in the shade of their tents, eating MREs. The fire had consumed most of the larva's body, leaving behind only a darkened husk.
"I'm sorry you think it's like that," she said, sounding more upset than she'd wanted to let on.
"Well, you'll have to excuse me. When your soldiers mutiny, it tends to make one a bit of a cynic."
She bit her lip to punish herself with the pain. "We're beyond that now." She almost called him "LT" but caught herself. "That thing is dan-gerous, and it's gonna metamorphose. We caught one weaving a cocoon earlier."
"What did you do to it?"
Cameron did not answer. His eyes closed and it felt so good that he almost dozed off right there on his feet. He swayed a touch, then forced his eyes open. The larva had inched its way around a tree trunk, its pro-legs clinging to the bark. "It's beautiful, Cam," he said. "We need to get it to safety."
"It's packing a deadly virus," she said, the words coming in a rush. "It needs to die." They both reeled a bit with the bluntness of her statement.
"I never would have guessed you'd betray me," he said slowly. "That you'd violate orders, violate my trust."
"It's about more than that," she said.
"Sounds like Savage got to you through osmosis," he said. "There are no rules anymore, huh?"
"New rules."
"Well, while you're enjoying your new rules, remember that you're all in violation of direct orders from a superior--orders that still stand. Whether you like them or not, my orders are my orders. I haven't cleared any of you to kill these animals. They need to be protected."
Cameron took a moment, trying to place her thoughts in words. "This isn't going to solve anything, you know. About what happened to you... your family."
Minutes to Burn (2001) Page 34
