Szabla walked over and hoisted the thick branch. She stared at Justin, holding the branch horizontally over the hole, her muscles flexed. "Grab the other end, Kates."
From the opposite side, Justin took the branch and lowered it to the lip of the hole. With painstaking care, Szabla set her end of the branch down, where it just missed the last inch of ground. She threw the branch aside.
"Fuck it," she said. "Maybe we'll only need five."
She jumped down into the hole and laid the block of TNT on the ground, dead center. The wire ran up and out of the hole to the Clacker, which lay in the grass about five feet from the edge of the hole. Using the knotted rope, she climbed out.
Savage notched the remaining five branches deeply in the middle to ensure their breaking under the mantid's weight, then they laid them across the hole and smoothed wide fronds on top of them. One end of
the hole remained exposed, showing the blackness beneath.
"We're gonna need one more branch," Savage said.
Tank patted Cameron on the shoulder, angling his head toward the forest.
"All right," Cameron said. "We'll be right back."
"I'll go instead," Justin said.
"No, it's fine. We got it."
Justin started to protest, but she raised an eyebrow to silence him. Tank leaned over and plucked the freezer bolt off the ground. It was at least a thirty-pound bar, but he carried it like a Wiffle-ball bat, tapping one end casually against his palm.
They walked in silence to the edge of the field. Cameron scanned the forest, hoping to see the end of a fallen branch peeking out from beneath the leaves, but there was nothing. Except for mounds of leaves, scattered twigs, and the husks of a few rotting oranges, the ground was bare. The forest receded into blackness between the tree trunks. The noises of living things echoed from the void.
There was never silence in the forest, Cameron had learned. Birds cackling, rain pattering, rats scampering, but never silence. Even the air seemed to be alive, seemed to move and feel and whisper all around them.
"We're gonna have to go farther in," she said. "I don't see any here."
Tank raised the bolt from his shoulder, gripping it by the knob like a nightstick. The spike Cameron held against her thigh seemed delicate in comparison.
She started into the darkness, Tank following closely behind.
The mist turned slowly to rain again; they heard it first in the treetops. Drops danced along the leaves, bending them under their weight until they dipped at the stems, spilling. The rivulets darted through openings, drizzling down in streams around them.
"Gimme a six-pace lead," Cameron whispered loudly. She had to raise her voice; the sound of the rain was amplified beneath the canopy.
The strength of the downpour increased until it sounded as if they were under fire. Despite his size, Tank was incredibly graceful, moving through the undergrowth with the agility of a deer. Cameron had to turn and make sure he was following. Were he Derek, she would have known exactly where he was at all times. She wouldn't have had to check his location, wouldn't have had to point to direct him. Tank was excellent, but Derek had been the best. Derek had been like a part of her.
Floreana's deformed baby clawed its way back into her thoughts and she drew her head back slightly at the image. She noticed her fingers trembling and she balled her hand into a fist, clenching it until her fin-gernails dug painfully into her palm. When she opened her hand, her fin-gers were still trembling, so she slapped herself once across the face, hard. Tank saw her halt, heard the ring of the slap, and waited unquestioningly for her to move again.
She inched forward, fighting desperately to clear her mind. There would be time to mourn, she hoped, for Derek and for other things lost. Now was not the time to go limp with grief or weak with horror. Cameron was trained precisely not to mourn or pity, not to cower at times when she most should. She had already let it in, the softness of her emotions. And now, as she stalked through the forest, bending aside fronds with her arms, chest, and face, she swore it would not happen again.
As she moved, she overturned heaps of leaves with her boot to see if they hid any lengthy branches from sight. They needed just one branch: one more branch and the trap would be ready.
A flash of lightning illuminated a small clearing ahead, and she saw a bough sprawled across the fecund ground like a knotted snake. Thickly gnarled, bowed up toward the middle, and seared by lightning at one end, it lay amongst a scattering of bark peels.
Cameron raised her hand, snapped her fingers once, and pointed. Tank swung wide, holding back to keep surveillance behind them. Out of habit, she winced as she stepped into the clearing. Years of ops had made her accustomed to sniper fire; she hated moving from cover, no matter the circumstance.
She leaned back to survey the treetops, envisioning the creature swaying upside down from the branches overhead. The trunks rose up into darkness, shadowy and dripping with ants, but free of danger.
She felt her shoulders relax as she moved farther into the clearing. She circled the branch once, her eyes picking through the trees around her, then backed up until she felt it against her heel. She stepped back so the branch was between her feet and glanced down at it quickly. With relief, she noted that it was long enough to stretch across the hole. Keeping her eyes on the forest, she crouched to grab the branch.
As if on cue, the rain stopped the instant her hand touched the bark. It didn't taper off; it ceased at once and completely. Cameron could sud-denly hear how hard she'd been breathing. She started when water splashed on her shoulder.
Her fingertips rested on the bark of the branch. With the cessation of rain, the forest seemed unnaturally quiet. She felt that the silence should have enabled some clarity of thought, but it did not. Something chirped near her, in the leaves.
She was paralyzed in her crouch. The trees surrounded her in their various sizes, some towering up through the canopy, some just beginning to spread their branches, others thin and bare like telephone poles.
With increasing conviction, she sensed that something was wrong, though what it was she could not figure out. Her breath coming in short quiet gasps, she stared at the trees around her, the dense foliage curling from the soil, even the branch beneath her fingertips, but everything seemed in order. When she rose to stand, both her knees cracked loudly at the same time.
She looked for Tank and he flashed her a dour thumbs-up when he read her expression. Things were clear behind them.
She stepped toward the far end of the clearing, wielding the spike like a saber. She stopped at the edge, resting an arm against the nearest tree trunk. The bark felt smooth against her sleeve. Her eyes tried to pierce the darkness beyond, but she couldn't make anything out. Her knees tensed as she waited for something to fly out at her.
Nervous about leaving the darkness unattended, she risked another quick glance back at Tank. He was holding firm, scanning the terrain behind them. The glint of the steel bolt in his hand calmed her a bit, but her confidence wavered when she turned back to the forest. It was breathing, the forest. It was alive--near her, on top of her, all around her. It was watching her.
She choked down the fear rising in her throat, setting her bottom jaw forward and clamping down on her upper lip. The pain brought her back from the edge. She sucked air deeply, drawing it into the far corners of her chest, and exhaled through her nose. She was fine. There was nothing out there.
Leaning back on her heels, she shoved off from the tree. Above her, the tree moved. A head swiveled around on an impossibly elongated neck. It looked at her, eyes as wide as globes, mouth a quivering mess of blades and parts.
Cameron yelled, stumbling back.
Slowly, deliberately, the mantid pivoted, her upper body leading her abdomen. Her front legs had been resting on the tree trunk next to her, holding her body almost perfectly upright on her rear legs. The mantid's abdomen resolved into view, the wings folded along her back but not protruding past the tip of the abdomen. Cameron noted the wing le
ngth, even through her terror, and realized that it was a female. Even worse.
From behind, the mantid had blended in perfectly with the trees, the hard brown-and-green-speckled cuticle passing for a trunk in the night. Cameron had rested her forearm right across the folded wings of the mantid's back. The mantid hadn't struck only because she'd been facing away, and would surely have been detected in turning around.
Backpedaling, Cameron held the spike before her, her face drained of color. The mantid lumbered forward on her four hind legs, cocking her head, her large, unblinking eyes gathering Cameron into them. The spikes lining the raptorial legs glistened, still moist with rainwater, and the mantid snapped them once.
Cameron could not remember ever having been awed into silence, frightened beyond words, and yet, as she gazed at the creature stretched nearly nine feet in the air before her, its abdomen thicker than an oil drum, its slender weaponed legs, she was speechless. Her mouth worked open and closed, trying to call out to Tank, or scream, or both, but nothing came.
The mantid lunged forward, feigning a strike, and Cameron raised the spike protectively across her face as she stumbled back. Her heel caught on the fallen branch and she went down hard on her back, the spike rolling off through the leaves. With a cry, she sat up, digging her hands behind her so that she could shove herself to her feet, but it was too late.
She felt the shadow blocking out the moonlight even before she saw the creature looming over her.
The mantid readied herself for the strike, her arms coiled against her chest. The mouth gnashed air, and Cameron closed her eyes, thinking that the sound of wet lapping would be the last she ever heard.
Suddenly, she felt the mouth tighten around the back of her neck like a vise and she screamed, but when she opened her eyes, she was flying backward, gripped around her neck by one of Tank's meaty hands. As he yanked Cameron back, Tank swung the steel bolt with his other hand. The mantid reared up to dodge the bolt, which cut harmlessly through the empty space.
Tank backed up, dragging Cameron by the neck as her feet fumbled to find the ground beneath her.
The pain was excruciating; it felt as though Tank's fingers had pene-trated right through her flesh. His thumb crunched a nerve and she screamed, but her feet still couldn't get under her as he pulled her back-ward. With a quick jerk, Tank flung Cameron behind him. Her whole body took flight, the pain ringing through her neck like nothing she'd ever felt, and she hit the ground on all fours, her momentum carrying her sideways into a roll.
Tank stepped forward, wielding the bolt. Like a boxer, the mantid jabbed at him, her legs flashing out so quickly he couldn't see them. The smooth back of her spiked tibia struck Tank's arm just beneath the elbow. The bolt shot within inches of his cheek, flying end over end into the forest. If the muscles sheathing Tank's arm hadn't been so substan-tial, the bone would have gone to pieces. The first dull wave of pain swept through his forearm and he grimaced, keeping his eyes on the mantid.
He had lost his opportunity to turn and run. Cameron rustled to her feet behind him, too far away to help. The mantid drew herself up, her arms recoiling. She stood directly over the gnarled branch.
Tank fell to his knees and lunged at the mantid's legs. Seizing the end of the branch with his good arm, he yanked with all his might, pulling two of the mantid's legs out from under her. She swayed to the side, her raptorial legs flailing to help her regain her balance.
Tank rolled to his feet and sprinted for Cameron. She stood on unsteady legs, and he grabbed her by the arm and threw her in front of him, pushing her as he ran. She prayed she wouldn't trip.
Behind them, the mantid started forward, moving with surprising speed.
Cameron felt the mantid gaining on them as they crashed through the forest, but she soon caught up to the speed at which Tank was propelling her and really started to sprint. Quickly, she was paces out ahead of him, and he opened up a bit more, and then they were pulling away, slowly but surely, from the gnashing mouth she swore she could feel behind them.
Cameron reached the field ahead of Tank and waited for him a few paces from the forest's edge. She realized it was raining again when she felt the water washing across her face. Tank was gasping when he burst into view and he staggered a bit, doubling over.
For a blissful moment, it was silent behind Tank, and then Cameron heard the mantid again, crashing through the foliage.
Cameron ran back to Tank and looped her arm around his lower back, propelling him forward. "Move, Tank, you gotta move!" she screamed.
Panic swept through her when she heard the movement among the leaves grow louder. They started to run again, their boots sinking in the grass, slowing them. With the mantid a few hundred feet behind them, they headed for the two torches lighting the hole ahead.
Chapter 64
Szabla had just laid the last of the fronds across the branches when she heard the yelling. Savage and Justin squared off with the dark-ness, waiting to see what would emerge. Gripping the knife handle firmly, Savage angled the Death Wind down his forearm with the sharp edge out, ready for punching or stabbing. The back of the blade pushed against his skin.
"The hole. Get the fucking hole ready!" came screaming at them through the darkness.
Savage almost instinctively swung his knife at Cameron and Tank as they dashed into the small ring of light.
"She's behind us," Cameron panted. "She's coming. Is the hole ready?"
"No, not yet," Szabla said. "We need that last branch to cover the end." She pointed to the dark strip at the edge of the hole. One on either side, the two torches still burned strong.
"We're gonna have to do without. Get behind the hole. Now! Behind it. Explosives ready?" Cameron spoke rapidly, frantically.
Szabla picked up the Clacker and tossed it to Savage. He stood a few paces off the lip of the vesicle, holding the unit, the wire trailing along the ground before disappearing through the covering leaves. He held it in both hands, fingers laced across the hinged end.
Behind them, the darkness was silent, save the raindrops pattering gently on the grass. Trees creaked and swayed in the breeze. About a hun-dred yards away, the edge of one of the GP tents flapped in the wind.
Szabla, Tank, and Cameron stood to the east of the hole. Savage waited facing the forest, toying with the Clacker.
"We can't all line up like this," Cameron said. "We'll scare it off."
"And that's a bad thing?" Justin asked.
"We don't have time, Justin," Szabla scowled. "In case you forgot, there's still another larva out there. We fuck around, we're gonna have two of these things on our hands."
Szabla stared at the rest of the squad. Cameron and Tank were still panting from their run. Szabla and Savage made the strongest team right now, so they'd have to handle it. She turned to Tank, Justin, and Cameron. "You three. Split." She pointed downslope. "Me and Savage'll lure this thing into the hole. Once you hear the blast, come running."
The shed atop the watchtower howled with the wind and they all jerked, but still nothing appeared.
"Go, Cam. That's an order." Szabla looked at them anxiously. "Now!"
Tank and Justin turned and ran into the darkness. Cameron took a few halting steps backward, her eyes on Szabla.
"Go! " Szabla yelled.
With a grimace, Cameron sprinted off after Tank and Justin. Szabla and Savage watched her figure fade into the night, Savage weighing the Clacker in his hand.
"How do you know it won't go after them?" Savage asked. He ran his fingers over the cut on his forearm. It had already scabbed over.
"It'll be drawn to the light," Szabla said.
"Aren't we all?" he responded dryly.
A thunderous noise nearly startled Szabla off her feet. When she looked up, Tank and Rex's GP tent floated up on the wind in the dis-tance, trailing guy lines and strainers under it like kite tails. Something had ripped the entire thing out of the ground, sending it airborne with a single strike.
Szabla could just b
arely see the other tents in the moonlight, large, dark blocks quivering in the wind like slumbering elephants.
The loose canvas edge no longer flapped. Szabla looked at the tent rolling on the wind across the field and realized that the mantid had thought it was alive.
She glanced at the darkness all around, her heart hammering, her chest rising and falling visibly beneath her black tank top. The shirt was tight to her body with the rain. She thought she heard a rustling sound behind her and she whirled, almost losing her balance, but there was nothing there.
She and Savage backed around the hole. The torches only illuminated a fifteen-foot circle. They looked until they felt their eyes straining but could detect no movement.
There was a screech to their left and a flash of green, and then one of the torches was lying on its side in the grass. The flame quieted to a small yellow flare, then an orange glow, and then it was gone.
"Fuck," Szabla said. "Fuck me."
Their eyes trained on the spot where they'd seen the blur of the man-tid, Savage and Szabla walked slowly back around the hole to stand nearer to the remaining torch. Szabla's chest was hammering up and down.
"Calm down, Szabla," Savage growled. "Enjoy this."
"Come on, you fucker," Szabla said to the blackness. "Come on."
Something swished through the grass. Savage stared down the length of the hole, straining to make out what he could on the far side. He undid the Clacker's safety veil, thumbing the small piece of metal aside, freeing the two ends of the detonator so that they could meet. Szabla held her ground, though her legs were shaking.
An enormous triangular head moved slowly into view, floating about nine feet off the ground. It cocked to the right, regarding Szabla intelli-gently. She stared into the quivering preoral cavity, the hole surrounded with grotesque living tools, and stifled a scream.
With elegance, the mantid pulled herself into the circle of light. Szabla grimaced when she saw the full length of the body, the six legs ending with hooked claws, the sheen of the cuticle.
The mantid moved forward to the edge of the hole and halted, fixing them with a predator's stare. Her eyes were large orbs, so dark they were shiny. Between them, her ocelli glittered like marbles.
Minutes to Burn (2001) Page 38
