Minutes to Burn (2001) (46 page)

Cameron and the others were out of their tents by the time Tank returned from the pursuit. "Derek," Tank said, pointing and breathing hard. They stood watching the edge of the forest, as if Derek were going to reappear. Savage cursed under his breath.

"He has one," Tank said. "A larva."

"You'd better come clean with me!" Savage snapped, turning to the others. "What the fuck is going on here?"

The other soldiers looked at one another, deciding who would speak.

"Derek had an accident with his baby," Cameron finally said. "With his baby girl."

"What the fuck does that mean? An accident."

"Look," Cameron said. "It's not important. Let's deal with the prob
lem
s at hand."

"This is a problem at hand."

"There's no need to waste time getting into details. His wife had post-partum psychosis. There was an accident. Derek's fucked up. He has a larva. Let's move on."

"What else did he take?" Rex asked. "A spike, a flare? What?"

"Well, I think he had a flare in his cargo pocket," Justin said. "That leaves us three." He looked around, double-checking. "The spikes are all here."

"All right," Cameron said. She stared at the ascending sun, trying not to squint. Morning already. She turned to Rex. "What's our time frame for metamorphosis?"

"I don't know, but I'd imagine soon. As Donald said, these things are turning over generations as quickly as possible. We saw that one molt already--they're on wildly accelerated development curves. Could be days. Could be less."

Justin checked his watch. "We may or may not be here."

"We could spend all our time today building traps for when the larvae transform, but I still think it's better to strike preemptively instead of waiting around and dealing with a bigger problem," Szabla said. "Let's see if we can round up any larvae this morning. We'll muster at 1300, at which time we can discuss Plan B."

"So the top order of business is still hunting down the larvae. We've got..." Cameron paused, counting in her head. "Two unaccounted for and a third with Derek."

"What about Derek?" Justin asked.

"I'll deal with Derek," Savage said.

"Don't even think about hurting him," Cameron snapped.

"You're not his mother," Szabla said. "Not anymore."

"What's your plan for dealing with him?" Rex asked Cameron.

"I'm hoping if he has some time, he'll come around. I'll try to contact him by transmitter in a bit. Hopefully, he'll reactivate it so I can reach him."

Savage smirked. "Think you can take care of business, do you?"

"Yes," Cameron said, feeling oddly unnerved by his patronizing grin. "I do."

Szabla tapped the spike twice in the palm of her hand, where it left a streak of dirt. "We can't fuck around with those things metamorphosing. If you see Mitchell and he won't cooperate, you're cleared to use reason-able force." She caught Cameron's eye across the fire pit. "I'm sorry."

"It won't come to that," Cameron said. "If anything, he'll hide. Pro-tect the larva. Even though he's gone off the deep end, he won't want to start fighting us. He'll just disappear."

Savage played with his knife, digging something out of the sole of his boot with the tip. "It's a small island," he said.

"If Derek decided to hide in an elevator, it would take you weeks to find him," Cameron said. "He's a world-class soldier."

Savage squinted in the sunlight. "Doesn't seem to be playing the part on this little cruise."

Rex turned to Diego. "We should collect a few more water samples from the coast, hope they're all normal under the microscope." He looked at Cameron with concern. "A microscope analysis is probably not going to be sufficient for the final reckoning, but for now, it'll have to do."

"The rest of us'll go into the forest," Cameron said. "Szabla, Savage and I'll carry the flares. We only have three, so don't burn 'em unless you mean it. Justin, you and Szabla are the only intact team at this point, so you should recon together and I'll go with Tank and Savage."

"I'd rather you, Justin, and Tank teamed off," Szabla said.

"I don't think--"

"Didn't realize you were the OIC here," Szabla said.

Cameron bit her lip, debating whether it was worth getting into right now. "You're right," she finally said. "I'm not."

"Okay," Szabla said. "I pair with Savage."

"I'm sure you do," Justin muttered.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"What the fuck do you think it means, Szabla? Keep your dick hol-stered."

Szabla lunged for Justin, but Cameron caught her around the waist and threw her back. Savage seized Cameron's arm, and she grabbed his wrist, stepping back with his momentum and yanking him off balance. As he stumbled forward, she locked his arm by snapping the heel of her other hand to the back of his elbow. She drove him down onto his knees, then his chest, pressuring the elbow so it was almost hyperextended.

Savage grunted, his cheek against the ground, a swirl of dirt kicking up with his breath. Cameron kept the pressure on to prevent him from reaching for his knife.

Cameron stepped across Savage's arm, twisting it and holding it firmly between her legs as she faced the others. Though her hair was hooked behind her ear, it curved forward, forming a point just under the side of her mouth. Szabla started forward but froze when Cameron tightened her hold on Savage's arm.

"We are not pulling this Lord of the Flies bullshit," Cameron said. "Because it's stupid, because it doesn't make sense, but most of all because we don't have the fuckin' time." She twisted Savage's arm with each phrase, and he strained even harder not to yell, the veins on his neck standing out like fingers. "Are we all clear?"

The wind sucked across the shed atop the watchtower and it moaned softly in the distance. Tank was up on his toes, arms tensed.

"We ousted Derek, but that does not mean there are no rules now," she continued. "As former AOIC, Szabla is acting senior officer and we will fall into line under her." They all nodded. Cameron looked down at Savage, as if just remembering him, and released his arm. She pulled him up to his feet. Rotating his arm painfully, he grimaced.

"Nice move," he said, not insincerely.

Chapter
56

D
erek carried the larva pressed to his chest, and when he got tired, he bore it on his shoulders, looping it across so he could piggyback it. At first, it seemed uncomfortable being carried--he could feel its seg-ments squirming and readjusting around his neck--but soon it calmed, adjusting to the rough ride.

He stopped once so that the larva could feed, and it did so energeti-cally, working its way through a newly fallen branch in minutes. Sitting on the hot forest ground, he watched it, amazed by the unrelenting action of its mandibles. When it had finished, he leaned over to kiss its forehead but changed his mind. Pulling himself to his feet, he dusted his hands on his cammies, picked up the larva, and continued up the forested slope.

There was no plan, at least none he could think of. Keeping the larva safe was his only intention. He'd figure something out before the sched
ule
d extraction tomorrow night; he just had to keep the larva secure until then. They'd want to take it back, study it--that much he knew.

All the ambiguities of his life took shape in a single goal: preserving the life of this creature. If he did that, maybe he could take back the rest of it. Maybe he could take back what he'd discovered that night. The Night Of.

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.