by John Koloen
Returning to the camp, Braga pushed the American to the ground and headed to his tent, followed by Grimaldi, where he reloaded the revolver while they talked about what they could do about the insects. Returning to his men, he ordered two to serve as lookouts in case the insects closed in on the camp and ordered the others back to their tents, threatening them if they didn’t obey. Then he and Grimaldi approached the Americans.
“You know about these things,” Grimaldi said as Braga watched, his face obscured in the harsh light of a lantern.
Duncan nodded.
“I know a lot.”
“Then you will help us,” Grimaldi commanded.
Looking at Braga, speaking slowly to sound out the words, Duncan said, “Só se você nos libertar.”
Grimaldi glanced at Braga, who nodded slightly and said something to the cook.
“He says he will free you under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t run away. He will shoot you if you try.”
For a moment, the American had something to smile about.
89
“What the fuck?” Harden said bitterly after everyone except Duncan had returned to their prison, their bindings still in place.
“Relax,” Boyd said.
“He fucking threw us under the bus.”
“You don’t know him,” Boyd insisted.
“I don’t want to know him.”
“He’s trying to work things out.”
“Like we aren’t?”
“Like you didn’t see what he saw,” Boyd said, testily.
The miners who weren’t assigned to watch for the bugs took it upon themselves to patrol the perimeter of the camp, grabbing shovels, pieces of sheet metal, anything that they could use to defend themselves. One of them confronted the prisoners, shouting at them in Portuguese.
“He says it is your fault for bringing the insetos here,” Suarez said.
“Tell him we didn’t bring them,” Boyd said.
The angry miner continued venting, going so far as to wave his machete threateningly, when Suarez stepped toward him menacingly, leading with his shoulder.
“I have nothing against you,” the miner said, pointing with his blade. “It’s these gringos. They brought this on us. Now, instead of going home rich we might all die. All because of them.”
A second miner, who had been listening to the argument, joined the fray.
“We should feed them to the bugs,” he said loudly, waving the rusted blade of a shovel sans shaft for emphasis.
The miners and Suarez were shouting at each other a mile a minute, too fast for Boyd to keep up. Paulo moved close to his cousin for moral support, leaving the three Americans in the background nervously watching. Within minutes three more miners joined the argument, all shouting at once, drawing the attention of Braga, along with Grimaldi, who was talking to Duncan, whose bindings had been removed.
“What are you doing?” Braga demanded in Portuguese as he approached the men, Duncan and Grimaldi bringing up the rear.
“They brought the bugs,” the first miner told Braga loudly.
“Don’t shout. You are hurting my ears,” the boss said coolly, reaching for the man’s hand and taking the machete from him. Seeing this the second miner lowered his shovel blade, stepping back as Braga took a position between the prisoners and the miners, who had become mute.
“These men did not bring the bugs,” he told the miners. “You think they are some kind of Pied Piper? You think they have power over the bugs? Tell me, why don’t they command them to kill us all like poor Luis?”
Grimaldi looked on in astonishment. Not long ago Braga had blamed Duncan for bringing the bugs. The boss had listened to him.
The first miner lowered his head sheepishly.
“We didn’t have a problem until they came,” he said defensively, his words barely audible.
“You saw Victor’s body, didn’t you?”
The miner nodded.
“You think he was killed by a jaguar?”
“No.”
“He was killed before the gringos got here. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. We are making progress. Get back to what you were doing and leave them alone. They are not the enemy. The enemy is out there,” Braga said, pointing into the surrounding darkness.
Boyd had little trouble getting the gist of what Braga had told his men, which he translated for Harden and Cooper. The boss’s voice, measured and precise, left no doubt as to who was in charge. Turning to Duncan, who hovered behind him, Braga put his hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.
“You see what I am working with,” he groused in Portuguese as he gestured for the American to lead the way back to the cook shack. Duncan’s Portuguese was good enough to understand.
“On second thought,” he said, pausing, turning to face the miners who were dispersing. “Libertar os prisioneiros.”
90
Ignoring their chafed wrists, the three Americans high-fived each other after being freed while Suarez and Paulo hugged, nobody noticing that Suarez had previously removed his cable tie. A few of the miners seemed resentful while the remainder were fixated on the baratas assassinos that had invaded the riverbed, though the insects had advanced no further, remaining out of range of the mens’ flashlights. But they could hear them, as they collectively went about the slow process of disassembling Luis Fuentes and the boar.
Duncan’s educated eyes had seen enough in the brief time he and Braga had gone after Fuentes. Even though he was in fear for his life and helpless to do anything at the time because of his bindings, it was impossible not to recognize the scale of the invasion. The floodlight only partially illuminated the riverbed but it was enough to shock the former professor. He had never seen so many in one place in the wild, though he knew from his lab work that they were prolific.
Braga initially saw the invasion as just one more obstacle standing in the way of his success. He’d listened impatiently to Grimaldi’s translation as Duncan described what he’d seen.
“But what does it mean?” Braga asked irritably, pointing into the darkness. “Will they be a problem in the morning? Is there anything we can do about them?”
Duncan was joined now by his companions, who hung on his every word, especially Harden, who had no experience with the insects.
“They may be trying to escape the fire. I don’t think they’re foraging. Obviously, they’ll attack anything they come across, it’s their nature,” Duncan said, adopting a detached, academic tone. “They may be stressed. Their scout teams are doing their jobs but the colony hasn’t been joining them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what killed the man that we saw but you could tell other animals had fed off the body. If they were foraging, there would be nothing left except bones and hides. This is unusual behavior and the only reason I can think of is the fire.”
Braga shook his head wearily upon hearing Grimaldi’s translation, staring at the ground momentarily then suddenly rising from his chair and stepping in the direction of the pond, which was swallowed in darkness, a heavy, bulky hose running from it across the riverbed to the mining site.
“Are they going to attack us?” he asked glumly.
“I don’t know,” Duncan said. “I never studied them in these conditions.”
“Then what do you know about them if you can’t answer a simple question?” Braga asked forcefully, as he approached Duncan.
“Dr. Duncan knows a lot about them,” Boyd said defensively. “He’s the world’s greatest expert.”
“Some expert,” Braga said dismissively, after listening to Grimaldi’s translation.
Grimaldi didn’t like the direction the conversation was going and spoke quietly with his boss.
“I am reminded that we are all in the same boat,” Braga said, in Portuguese. “Perhaps we should abandon the camp for now. Let the fire pass and come back when it is over
.”
Braga’s men, who had clustered around him, absorbing every word of the conversation, anxiously muttering among themselves trying to predict where it was headed and what it meant for them, erupted into cheers, hugging and shaking hands as if they’d won a lottery. Harden and Cooper fist-bumped with Boyd, who grinned approvingly.
“I think we’re gonna make it,” Harden said, absently rubbing his sore wrists. “For the first time, I really do.”
Duncan looked at his watch. Sunrise was less than three hours away and no one had slept since the previous night. Braga agreed to let the Americans retrieve their gear, at least what was left after the miners had rifled through it.
“Let’s try to get some rest,” Duncan said.
“How we gonna get out of here?” Cooper asked.
“They have a truck,” Boyd said.
“Where is it?”
“I haven’t seen it but I’m thinking they’re not going to leave it behind, what with the fire and all.”
“Same with their equipment, don’t you think?” Harden said, still feeling the glow of anticipation. “I don’t care what they do. We should just walk outta here as soon as there’s enough light. We can walk faster than the bugs, right?”
Neither Duncan nor Boyd wanted to deflate Harden’s expectations, and didn’t mention Reptilus’s wings or ability to jump nor any of the other discouraging behavioral details.
“Well, you know we flew in, right?” Duncan said.
“I thought I heard a plane, but I couldn’t be sure,” Boyd said.
“The pilot’s supposed to come back tomorrow.”
Harden and Cooper did another fist bump.
“I can’t wait,” Harden said.
91
No one could sleep following Duncan’s lecture on Reptilus blaberus. He kept it simple so Grimaldi could keep up with the translation. It had started as a private conversation with Braga but quickly drew the attention of the miners and the Americans. When it was over, everyone had cause for alarm, which grew in intensity as dawn came revealing the extent of the insect colony, which had not advanced during the night.
“I have never seen these insetos before and do not want to see them again, which I think is impossible,” Braga told Duncan, pointing at the riverbed. “But I do not want to lose everything.”
“It’s not like you have a choice,” Duncan said.
“Is there something we can do?” Braga asked. “Can we kill them?”
Looking at the extent of the colony, the edge of which extended a short distance beyond Fuentes’ body but stretched behind him for at least a hundred feet, covering the riverbed like an impenetrable liquid, rippling in the spreading sunlight. The full sun would be upon the mass within an hour. Duncan wondered how the increasing heat would affect them. It stood to reason they wouldn’t remain exposed but he’d never studied them in these conditions, and was surprised that they’d managed to survive much less thrive in a drought-stricken habitat. However, he kept his questions and doubts to himself, not wanting to make things worse than they were.
“Fire is the only thing I know of that will kill them,” Duncan said. “You can’t shoot them or beat them with shovels. There’s too many.”
“So we build a fire,” Braga said. “A very big fire.”
Duncan shook his head.
“You have to bring the fire to them,” Duncan said. “You need gasoline or something flammable.”
Braga was grappling with a way that would keep the bugs at bay while his men finished cleaning out the gold from the vein. He needed to buy time. He had second thoughts about abandoning the site. He had no legal authority to be there, held no legitimate claim and the landowners would not take kindly to him if they caught him. Even if he could return, would his men come with him? Were they now more afraid of Reptilus than of him?
“What if we build a big fire around us?” he said, pointing at where the men had finished working the previous day. “Wouldn’t that keep them away from the men?”
“Then what?”
“What do you mean ‘then what’?” Braga glared. “We escape with the gold.”
“I don’t think that will work,” Duncan said dourly.
“All we have to do is hold them off a few hours. We work like our life depends on it. That’s all I’m asking.”
“You’re talking to the wrong guy,” Duncan said. “I can’t control them. No one can. They’re gonna do whatever they’re gonna do and as far as I’m concerned the only thing we should be discussing is getting out of here.”
This wasn’t what Braga wanted to hear. He got up from his chair shaking his head, stepping away as if to put distance between him and Duncan’s pessimistic assessment. He had put in too much effort and money to quit now that he was on the verge of success. Even a few hours’ work would make a big difference. Yesterday’s haul easily put him into profit. It wasn’t fair to him or his men, who, with a few more hours would go home with more money than they had ever seen at one time. But he could tell from their faces that most of them were not thinking about making money. He knew that it wouldn’t take much for some of them to simply bolt across the riverbed even though, without a guide, they might never find their way back to civilization.
Until this point Duncan hadn’t focused on making an escape. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Grimaldi about the plane returning to pick them up. He realized that Braga’s greed had caused him to minimize the risk they were facing and to offer up the plane would only serve to inflate his confidence. Besides, it was a small plane, which he was depending on for his own escape.
No sooner had Braga ended the conversation than Grimaldi set about making dough balls using cassava flour, powdered milk and powdered eggs that he flavored with cinnamon, which he served with strong black coffee.
“These are really good,” Cooper said, “crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside.”
The dough balls momentarily took their minds off of the decisions that lay in front of them, which is what the cook had hoped for. But it was a brief respite and was followed by something that not even Duncan, the world’s leading expert on Reptilus blaberus, had expected. While the men savored their breakfast, the insects started throwing sand into the air by beating their wings on the ground and burrowing. This started as the sunlight spread across the colony and within fifteen minutes the riverbed returned to its natural condition with the only indication that Reptilus had been there the blackening lumps that were Fuentes and the boar.
“I don’t believe it,” Duncan said to Boyd as they watched in amazement. “Is this how they adapt to drought?”
“It makes you wonder what else we don’t know about them,” Boyd mused.
92
What astonished Duncan encouraged Braga to return to work. Within minutes he was exhorting his men with a pep talk, promising they would leave as soon as the vein had played out.
“Your pockets will be filled with more money than you’ve ever seen,” he told them. “This is why we have been working so hard for these many weeks. It is now up to you. Do you want to go home with nothing or do you want to go home with money to burn? It is your choice.”
Braga paced in front of them, rallying his men like a coach preparing his team for a big game. But he knew it wasn’t enough to shout. He had to show them, lead by example, step onto the riverbed and show them it was safe, even though the insects had not come close to the campsite, at least not to their knowledge. But it turned out to be a safe bet as he stepped down from the sandbar, moving confidently turning to face them from twenty feet away.
“Look at me,” he shouted, stamping his boots in the sand. “There are no bugs here. Your bellies are full, now it is time to work. I know you are tired but in a few hours we will put all of this behind us and be on the way home. Think of how your families will see you returning with your pockets full.”
The men looked at each other as if the decision depended on their buddies. I’ll go if you’ll go. Braga could see it in their eyes
and the way they shrugged and nodded.
“What do you have to lose?” Braga hollered encouragingly.
Smiling broadly as the first men entered the riverbed, he whooped and hollered as the others joined them, taking their places while he went to the diesel generator, which started on the third try. Faced with the prospect of crossing the riverbed to turn on the pump, he stared at the empty sand, wondering where Reptilus had gone and whether he was walking into a trap. But he had no choice. He stepped onto the riverbed cautiously, his eyes fixated on his shoes, wary that Reptilus might be underfoot, his anxiety increasing with every step. He knew the insects had gone somewhere and crossed himself several times before reaching the edge of the pond where his anxiety gave way to relief, as if Reptilus couldn’t follow him there. Turning on the pump, he opened the valve and listened to the water rushing into the three-inch single jacketed hose, pulsing across the riverbed where a manifold diverted the flow into three smaller hoses, each leading to one of three sluice boxes.
While the men encouraged themselves to work hard so they could finish quickly and avoid the fast approaching fire, Duncan shook his head skeptically as he watched Braga reposition the pump hose to minimize the amount of wet sand and muck it would suck up before retracing his steps. Now that the men were working, he didn’t want anything to break down and gum up the works. More than usual he hovered over the miners, admonishing them to clean out the sluices more frequently than usual, wanting to capture every shiny grain of the rich pay dirt.