Nate dropped and hooked Conger's ankles under his arms. It was like holding the end of a downed power line as the man's body snapped and seized. "Go!"
As a team, they hauled the soldier through the narrow doorway.
Others came rushing up, awakened by the yelling.
"What happened?" Zane asked.
"Stand out of the way!" Kostos hollered, bowling the man over as he ran with the fallen soldier.
"Over here!" Kelly called. She already had her pack open and a syringe in hand. "Lay him down and hold him still."
After lowering Conger to the dirt, Nate was elbowed aside. Two Rangers took his place, pinning the soldier's legs to the ground.
Kostos knelt on the corporal's shoulders, holding him in place. But the man's head continued to bang up and down as if he were trying to knock himself unconscious. Froth foamed from his lips, bloody from where he half chewed through his own lip. "Jesus Christ! Conger!"
Kelly sliced open the man's right sleeve with a razor blade, then quickly slid a needle into Conger's arm. She injected the syringe's contents and knelt back to watch their effect, holding his wrist clamped in her fingers. "C'mon...c'mon..."
Suddenly the man's contorted form relaxed.
"Thank God," Kostos sighed.
Kelly's reaction wasn't as relieved. "Damn it!" She pounced on his form, checking his neck for a pulse, then pushed the soldiers aside as she began CPR on his chest. "Someone start mouth-to-mouth."
The Rangers were too stunned for a moment to move.
Nathan bumped Kostos aside, wiped the bloody froth from Conger's mouth, then began to breathe in sync with Kelly's labors. Nate's focus narrowed down to the rhythm of their work. He vaguely heard the concerned chatter of the others.
"Some damn frog thing or fish," Kostos explained. "It hopped out and bit Conger on the leg."
"Poisoned!" Kelly huffed as she worked. "It must have been venomous."
"I've never heard of such a creature," Kouwe said.
Nathan wanted to agree, but was too busy breathing for the dying soldier.
"There were thousands," Kostos continued, "chewing their way downstream toward here."
"What are we going to do?" Zane asked.
Captain Waxman's voice drowned everyone else out. "First of all, we're not going to panic. Corporal Graves and Private Jones...join Carrera in securing the perimeter."
"Wait!" Nate gasped between breaths.
Waxman turned on him. "What?"
Nate spoke in stilted breaths between attempts to resuscitate Conger. "We're too close to the stream. It runs right past the shabano."
"So?"
"They'll come for us from the stream...like the Indians." Nate was dizzy from hyperventilating. He breathed into Corporal Conger's mouth, then was up again. "We have to get away. Away from the waterways until daybreak. Nocturnal..." Down he went to breathe.
"What do you mean?"
Professor Kouwe answered. "The Indians were attacked at night. Now this assault. Nathan believes these creatures may be nocturnal. If we could avoid their path until sunrise, we should be safe."
"But we have shelter and a secure area here. They're just fish or frogs or something."
Nate remembered the black-and-white view through the night-vision goggles: the creatures leaping from the river, bounding high into the trees. "We're not secure here!" he gasped out. He bent down again, but he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
"It's useless," Kelly said, pulling him up. "He's gone." She faced the others. "I'm sorry. The poison spread too quickly. Without an antivenom..." She shook her head sadly.
Nate stared at the still form of the young Texan. "Damn it..." He stood up. "We have to get away. Far away from the waters. I don't know how far from the streams and rivers these creatures can travel, but the one I saw had gills. They probably can't stay out of the water for long."
"What do you suggest?" Frank asked.
"We travel to higher ground. Avoid the river and the little stream. I think the Indians believed it was just the river they needed to fear, but the predators followed the stream and ambushed them."
"You're speaking as if the creatures are intelligent."
"No, I can't imagine they are." Nate remembered the way the dolphins were fleeing, while none of the larger river fish were bothered. He pictured the attack on the pig and the capybara. A theory slowly jelled. "Maybe they're simply focused on warm-blooded creatures. I don't know...maybe they can zone in on body heat or something, scouring both the water and the river's edges for prey."
Frank turned to Waxman. "I say we heed Dr. Rand."
"So do I," Kelly said, standing. She pointed to Corporal Conger. "If a single bite can do this, we can't take the risk."
Waxman turned on Frank. "You may be the head of operations, but in matters of security, my word is law."
Private Carrera ducked her head through the roundhouse's doorway. "Something's happening out here. The river is frothing something fierce. One of the boats' pontoons just blew."
Beyond the walls of the shabano, the jungle awoke with monkey howls and screeching birds.
"We're running out of options," Nate said fiercely. "If they come up the stream and flank us, cutting us off from higher ground, many more will die like Conger...like the Indians."
Nate found support in the most unlikely of places. "The doctor's right," Sergeant Kostos said. "I saw those buggers. Nothing'll stop them from attacking." He waved an arm. "Definitely not this flimsy place. We're sitting ducks in here, sir."
After a pause, Waxman nodded. "Load up the gear."
"What about the motion sensors outside?" Kostos asked.
"Leave 'em. Right now, I don't want anyone out there."
Kostos nodded and turned to obey.
In short order, everyone was shouldering packs. Two Rangers dug a shallow grave for Corporal Conger's body.
Carrera stood crouched by the doorway. She wore night-vision goggles and stared out toward the river and jungle. "The commotion by the river's died down, but I hear rustling in the brush."
Beyond the walls, the jungle had grown silent.
Nate crossed to the door and knelt on one knee beside Carrera. He was already packed and ready, his stubby-nosed shotgun clutched in his right hand. "What do you see?"
Carrera adjusted her goggles. "Nothing. But the jungle is too dense to see far."
Nate leaned out the door. He heard a branch snap. Then a small forest deer, a spotted fawn, shot out of the jungle and dashed past where Nate and the Ranger crouched. Both gasped and ducked inside before realizing there was no danger.
"Christ," Carrera said with a choked laugh.
The deer paused near the edge of the roundhouse, ears pricked.
"Shoo!" the Ranger called, waving her M-16 threateningly.
Then something dropped out of the trees and landed on the fawn's back. The deer suddenly squealed in pain and terror.
"Get inside!" Nate ordered Carrera.
As she rolled through the door, Nate covered her with his shotgun. Another creature pounced from the jungle's edge toward the deer. A third leaped from the underbrush. The fawn skittered a few steps, then fell on its side, legs kicking.
A single motion sensor blared from the direction of the side stream.
"They're here," Nathan mumbled.
By his side, Carrera had torn off her night-vision goggles and clicked on her flashlight. The brightness spread down the jungle trail to the river. The jungle to either side remained dark, blocking the light. "I don't see--"
Something plopped into the trail, only a few yards away.
From this angle, the creature appeared to be all legs with a long finned tail dragging behind it. It took a small hop toward them. From under two globular black eyes, its mouth gaped open. Teeth glinted in the bright light, like some cross between a tadpole and a piranha.
"What the hell is it?" Carrera whispered.
It leaped toward her voice.
Nate pulled the trigger o
f his shotgun. The spray of pellets shredded the creature, blowing it backward. That's what Nate appreciated about a shotgun in the jungle. It didn't require precision aim. Perfect for small threats--poisonous snakes, scorpions, spiders--and apparently against venomous amphibians, too.
"Get back," he said and swung the small door shut. It was no more than a woven flap of banana leaves, but it would temporarily block the creatures.
"That's the only way out," Carrera said.
Nate stood and unhooked his machete with his left hand. "Not in a shabano." He pointed the blade toward the far wall, the side opposite both river and stream. "You can make a doorway wherever you want."
Frank and Captain Waxman joined him as he crossed to the central yard. Waxman was folding a field map.
"They're already out there," Nate said. He reached the far wall, raised his machete, and began hacking through the woven palm and banana leaves. "We have to leave now."
Waxman nodded, then shouted and waved an arm in the air. "We're hauling out! Now!"
Nate cleared a ragged hole through the rear wall, kicking debris aside.
Waxman waved Corporal Okamoto to take the point. Nate saw an unusual weapon in the soldier's hands. "Flamethrower," Okamoto explained, hefting the weapon. "If necessary we'll burn a way through the bastards." He pressed the trigger and a steam of orange fire shot from the muzzle like the flickering tongue of a snake.
"Excellent." Nate patted the corporal's shoulder. After so many days on the river, Nate had grown fond of his boat's motorman, although the Asian corporal's off-tune whistling still drove him crazy.
With a wink to Nathan, Okamoto ducked through the arch without hesitation. As he passed, Nate spotted the small fuel tank strapped to the corporal's back.
Another four Rangers followed: Warczak, Graves, Jones, and Kostos. All had outfitted their M-16s with grenade launchers. They spread to the right and left of their point man. New alarms blared as the Rangers tripped the perimeter's motion-sensor lasers.
"Now the civilians," Waxman ordered. "Stay close. Always keep a Ranger between you and the forest."
Richard Zane and Anna Fong hurried through. Next Olin and Manny followed, trailed by Tor-tor. Last, Kelly, Frank, and Kouwe passed.
"C'mon," Kelly said to Nate.
He nodded, glancing back to the shabano. Waxman oversaw the last of the Rangers, who would guard their rear. Two soldiers were gathered over something in the middle of the yard.
"Let's move, ladies!" Waxman ordered.
The Rangers stood. One, a corporal named Samad Yamir, gave a thumbs-up sign to Waxman. The corporal seldom spoke, and when he did, his voice was thick with a Pakistani accent. There was only one other fact Nate knew about Yamir. He was the unit's demolitions expert.
Nate eyed the device left in the yard with suspicion.
Waxman found Nate staring. The captain pointed his rifle toward the opening. "Waiting for a personal invitation, Dr. Rand?"
Nate licked his lips and followed after Frank and Kelly.
Again he found Private Carrera marching behind him. She was now outfitted with a flamethrower, too. She studied the dark forest with narrowed eyes. Beyond her, Waxman and Yamir were the last to leave the shabano.
"Stay close!" Waxman yelled. "Frag or fry anything that moves."
Carrera spoke at Nate's shoulder. "We're going to make for a knoll about five klicks ahead."
"How do you know it's there?"
"Topographic map." Her voice sounded unsure.
Nate glanced over his shoulder questioningly.
Carrera lowered her voice and nodded to the side. "The stream wasn't on the map."
Kelly glanced over, looking sick, but she remained silent.
Nate sighed. He was not surprised at the inaccuracy of the map. The waterways through the deep jungle were unpredictable. While the boundaries of lakes and swamps varied according to the rainfall, the smaller rivers and streams were even more changeable. Most remained unnamed and uncharted. But at least the knoll was on the map.
"Keep moving!" Waxman ordered behind them.
As a group, the team fled into the jungle. Nate stared around him, his ears pricked for any suspicious rustle. In the distance, he heard the babble of the small stream. He imagined the Indian villagers racing up the nearby footpath, unaware of the danger lurking so close, oblivious of the death that lay ahead.
Nate tromped after Frank and Kelly. A flicker of flame lit up the jungle ahead as Corporal Okamoto led the way. Few words were shared as the group scaled the gentle slope away from the river. All eyes watched the jungle around them.
After about twenty minutes of climbing, Waxman spoke to the soldier at his side. "Light the candle, Yamir."
Nate turned. Samad Yamir swung around and faced the way they had come. He shouldered his M-16 and loosened a handheld device.
"Radio transmitter," Carrera explained.
Yamir raised the device and pressed a button, triggering a red light to blink rapidly.
Nate frowned. "What is--?"
A soft boom sounded. A section of forest blew upward in a ball of fire. Flames shot high into the night sky and mushroomed through the surrounding forest.
Stunned, Nate stumbled back. Shouts of surprise arose from the other civilians. Nate watched the sphere of flames die away, collapsing in on itself, but leaving a good section of the forest burning. Through the hellish red glow, a scorched hole in the forest was evident, every tree stripped of leaf and branch. At least an acre. There was no sign of the shabano. Even the motion-sensor alarms had gone silent, fried by the explosion.
Nate was too dumbstruck to speak--but his eyes, furious, met Waxman's gaze.
The captain waved them all on. "Keep moving."
Carrera urged Nate forward. "Fail-safe method. Burning everything behind us."
"What was that?" Kouwe asked.
"Napalm bomb," the corporal explained dourly. "New jungle munition."
"Why weren't we told...at least warned?" Frank asked loudly, walking half backward.
Captain Waxman answered, marching and waving them on. "It was my call. My order. I wanted no arguments about it. Security is my priority."
"Which I appreciate, captain," Richard Zane called back from up ahead. "I, for one, commend your actions. Hopefully you've annihilated the venomous bunch."
"That doesn't appear to be the case," Olin said with narrowed eyes. Their Russian teammate pointed to the stream, now visible due to the blaze. A section of the waterway on their side of the fires frothed with the leaping, racing bodies of thousands of small creatures. A roiling stampede climbed up the stream, like salmon spawning.
"Get moving!" Waxman yelled. "We need to reach higher ground!"
The pace of the party accelerated. They scrambled up the slope, less concerned with watching the forest than with speed. The creatures were flanking them off to the right.
Flashes of fire marked the point man ahead. "I've got water here!" Okamoto called.
The group converged toward him.
"Dear Lord," Kelly said.
Fifty yards ahead, another stream cut across their path. It was only ten yards wide, but was dark and still. Beyond it, the land continued to rise toward the knoll, their destination.
"Is this the same stream?" Frank asked.
One of the Rangers, Jorgensen, pushed out of the forest. He had his night-vision glasses in his hand. "I've scouted down a ways. It's an offshoot of the other stream. This one feeds into the other."
"Fuck," Waxman swore. "This place is a goddamn water maze."
"We should cross while we still can," Kouwe said. "The creatures will surely come this way soon."
Waxman stared at the slowly flowing water with clear trepidation. He moved beside Okamoto. "I need some light."
The Ranger fired his flamethrower across the waters. It did little to reveal what lay in the murky depths.
"Sir, I'll go across first," Okamoto volunteered. "See if it can be crossed safely."
"Careful,
son."
"Always, sir."
Taking a deep breath, Okamoto kissed a crucifix around his neck, then stepped into the water. He waded into it, his weapon held chest high. "Current's sluggish," he said softly, "but deep." Halfway across, the waters had climbed to his waist.
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