Insects: Braga's Gold

by John Koloen

  “If you have a hat, wear it,” Duncan said, as hot ash from the approaching flames fell like snow.

  116

  Cooper confessed to Boyd that he was having trouble.

  “My nerves are shot, man,” he said, his voice hoarse and painful from the smoke. “It’s like I can’t wrap my head around what’s happening, you know? You know what that’s like?”

  Boyd nodded.

  “It’s like one step from just locking up. I look at what we have to do and I think there’s no way I get to the other side. No way.”

  “You’ve said stuff like that before, but you’re still here. You don’t know how things will work out. No one does.”

  “I get that,” Cooper said, nodding repeatedly. “I’m just super afraid, super afraid. I’m not trained for this. I never expected this and—”

  “You stay here and I guarantee you will die today,” Boyd said, pressing a finger lightly against Cooper’s chest. “There’s no alternative.”

  Cooper looked behind him at the sparks and burning ash and then at Harden’s body.

  “Tell you what,” Boyd said, patting him on the shoulder, “stick with me. We’ll get us through this together.”

  Cooper smiled unconvincingly but Boyd was already gone. Duncan had assembled the group to get them on the same page. Cooper arrived just as Duncan started.

  “This looks to me like the shortest run,” he said, pointing at the riverbed. “It’s maybe a hundred feet. The sand is kinda thick, so it’s gonna slow us down. Just keep your legs moving and if you fall get up like your life depends on it, because it will. You do not want even one of these bugs on or especially in your body. So you want to keep your mouth shut. Don’t stop if you think the bugs are on you. Get to the other side. Just make sure they don’t crawl up your ass.”

  His audience was riveted. If they were afraid of Reptilus before, they were terrified by the time Duncan finished talking. He’d removed his shirt and told them to do the same so that the bugs would be easy to see if they attached to their upper bodies.

  “You don’t want to give them any place to hide,” he told them.

  “What about our stuff?” Cooper asked.

  “What about it?”

  “Can we take our packs? We’ll need water and stuff when we get to the other side, won’t we?”

  Duncan, who was narrowly focused on escaping, took umbrage, as if Cooper was challenging him. Backpacks, even daypacks, might give the bugs a place to hide. But he quickly recognized that their situation would remain tenuous even if they escaped the bugs and if they weren’t prepared for what comes next they might only be delaying the inevitable. It all hinged on whether the plane would be waiting for them on the other side.

  While the others made their preparations, Boyd borrowed a filleting knife from the cook and, with a plastic specimen canister nearby kneeled alongside Harden’s body, looking for life among the bugs that had buried their heads into the fleshy part of their victim’s thighs, blood oozing from the wounds.

  It took a moment for him to acquire the resolve to begin the grisly surgery as he rested the sharp point of the thin, stainless blade on Harden’s leg before applying enough pressure to break through the skin and into the muscle, maneuvering the flexible blade to avoid injury to Reptilus, cutting enough so that when he pulled on the exposed thorax the insect came loose, its head covered with a bloody chunk of Harden’s thigh. With two specimens in the container, he wiped the blade on Harden’s shorts and offered it to Grimaldi who refused to take it.

  “It’s yours,” the cook said, shaking his head in disgust.

  Others who’d watched turned away, reassessing their estimation of the young man, even his former mentor. Suarez and Paulo crossed themselves. Sensing his companions’ uneasiness, Boyd tucked the container into a ratty daypack he’d scrounged along with several bottles of water and slipped the pack over his shoulders.

  “What?” he asked defensively. He’d been in a hurry to get the work done, had steeled himself to it and then applied himself as if he were dissecting a rat.

  No one said anything.

  “It’s why I came here. Brett’s dead. There’s nothing I can do about that. This was my only chance.”

  “You would’ve done that to any of us, wouldn’t you?” Cooper asked.

  “He’s dead,” Boyd said. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I did it because I had to.”

  No one came to his defense, not even Duncan, who might have done the same thing to obtain the specimens, though not so openly. More than anything, the former professor saw it as a distraction, which may have been beneficial if it took the men’s minds off of their dire situation, or if it gave them something else to think about than mentally preparing themselves for what could turn out to be the fastest sprint of their lives or the prelude to an excruciating death.

  “Whatever you do,” Duncan said solemnly, “do not stop. If you feel the bugs on you, keep running until you’re on the other side, then deal with them.”

  “What do we do?” Grimaldi asked gravely.

  “Grab ’em and pull them off. Don’t hesitate. It’s the quickest way.”

  “It’s painful, no?”

  Duncan nodded. Looking at Grimaldi he said, “Maybe you should take your shirt off. Don’t make it easy for them to hide.”

  “What if someone falls?” Cooper asked, as if the question hadn’t already been answered.

  “Don’t try to be a hero,” Duncan said. “Every second counts. It’s the difference between a handful and a hundred. You cannot defend yourself against that many and they can be on you in seconds. You saw what they did to those guys in the truck.”

  Cooper looked toward Boyd for reassurance.

  “You’ll help me if I fall, right?”

  “Fuck no, man,” Boyd said decisively. “This is life or death. There’s no in-between.”

  “One more thing,” Duncan said, “if you feel them on your face, rip them off immediately. Whatever happens, don’t let them get to your eyes or your mouth.”

  “But you said to wait until we get to the other side,” Cooper said.

  “Except for the face. You do not want them on your face even for a second.”

  While he gave his last-minute instructions, the hatless scrambled to find headgear or wrapped their heads with bandannas, Braga grabbing Harden’s yellow cap, which was laying in the sand not far from his body. The cook pulled down to his ears his broad-brimmed straw hat. As prepared as they could be, Duncan moved to the narrowest point between them and the opposite river bank, near the center of the sandbar.

  “Are we gonna go at once or one at a time?” Cooper asked.

  “All at once,” Duncan said, firmly.

  Picking up a board from a pile they’d made when they thought they could set the riverbed on fire, Duncan directed the men to do the same. It wasn’t something he’d planned.

  “I don’t know if this helps, but on my signal, throw your board over there, away from where we’re running. It might distract them, it might not. It’s worth a shot.”

  117

  The drop from the campsite to the riverbed was nearly two feet. The sandbar was soft on the edges and it was easy to step off and find yourself sliding, heel first if you were lucky, face first if you weren’t. Duncan knew the fastest runners had the best chance of reaching the opposite bank with minimal harm. He was confident Boyd and Cooper would win the race. They were young and fit. Both worked out in gyms. Grimaldi would finish last. He was the oldest and looked as if he’d never exercised a day in his life. His waist jiggled when he walked and his breathing was labored even when he was standing still. He expected Suarez to finish third with his rotund cousin finishing ahead of the cook. Braga was barrel-chested and muscled from work but like the cook was fond of cigars. Duncan saw himself trailing the young Americans and because of his longer legs beating Suarez.

  Three. Two. One. Six boards flew through the air, landing to the left of their route, some farther away than others. D
isdaining the effort to create a distraction, Braga quickly discarded his plan to seek safety in the middle of the group by leaping into the riverbed before the first board landed, falling to one knee but regaining his balance quickly, kicking up sand with each heavy, short step, not so much running as jogging furiously. Boyd and Cooper quickly outpaced the Brazilian, Reptilus only beginning to react after they’d passed.

  “Faster, faster,” Duncan urged as he passed Braga, feeling something on his back. “Mais rápido, mais rápido.”

  Like cheerleaders, Boyd and Cooper yelled encouragement as Duncan reached them.

  “Check my back,” he shouted anxiously. “Check my back.”

  Boyd unhesitatingly pulled off two of the insects, squashing them under his boot.

  Braga and Suarez reached the bank next. The mining boss didn’t stop but continued running, disappearing through the underbrush intent on reaching the airplane before anyone else, while Boyd and Duncan checked Suarez, pulling off bugs from his legs and back.

  Things weren’t going as well for Braga’s friend, Grimaldi, nor for Suarez’s cousin Paulo. Both struggled with the footing, the unevenness of the sand making balance precarious, particularly at their slower pace. Suarez almost immediately angled to go to his cousin’s aid but Duncan restrained him.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Duncan said quietly as they watched insects jetting out of the sand, ten feet into the air, their rigid wings extended, whirring ominously as they used the barbs on their forelimbs like tiny ice axes to chop into their victims’ torsos and shoulders. More than a dozen insects had landed on Paulo in the twenty seconds it took him to reach the two-foot rise of the sandy bank where Suarez and Duncan reached out to grab his arms and pull him up and onto the ground, frantically ripping the bugs from his body, leaving dozens of bloody, open wounds the size of a pencil eraser.

  But there was nothing they could do for Grimaldi, who seemed to move in slow motion, his fat legs and belly providing ample anchorage for the brutal machinations of Reptilus’ forelegs and mandibles. Two-thirds of the way to safety, he screamed as the flyers dropped from overhead, burying their cutting surfaces into the profusion of nerves of his tender lips, dangling from them like rock climbers as they dug deeper, blood streaming onto his sweat-gleaming belly. He pulled at them, but overwhelmed by the pain, let go only to feel the weight of several crawling under the brim of his hat, glimpsing their dark, terrible bodies scuttling across the straw weave and without warning stabbing and chopping his eyeballs, bringing him to his knees, his body covered by a twitching army of fiendish killers.

  “Deus me ajude, God help me,” he shouted, his head down, on all fours, breathing heavily, aqueous humor dripping into the sand, his tongue now a roadway as the bugs crowded into his mouth, gagging him with no way to clear them from his throat. Helpless, he remained on his knees, his body swaying precariously over his calves, no longer able to scream, his sounds guttural and bestial.

  It took only minutes for the diabolical predators to remove any hope that the cook would somehow survive. The men watched Grimaldi in helpless disgust as Duncan moved past them and across the undergrowth into the open where the shrieks of the cook were muffled but unmistakable.

  118

  No sooner did Boyd and Cooper catch up with Duncan than a smiling Josias Ikon, their Munduruku guide, emerge from nearby, a machete in one hand and Suarez’s revolver in the other, handing the gun to Duncan, who had given it to him before surrendering to Braga.

  “Are you gonna do it?” Boyd asked, looking down at the gun in Duncan’s right hand.

  Duncan offered the gun to Boyd.

  “You do it,” he said.

  “I can’t,” Boyd said.

  “What do you mean you can’t?”

  “I can’t do it.”

  The former professor glanced at the others. None of them volunteered as they continued to put distance between themselves and the inescapable screams of the cook. His chest tightened as he contemplated his options. If he went back, the others would know what he’d done. They might be grateful that he did it, and some would blot it from their memories but others would never be able to forget it, any more than he could forget plunging a machete into Luiz Cardoso’s chest. Even the ruthless Braga had spared his workers’ agony, but only after Duncan had approved it. It all hinged on him, and all because no one else would step up. Now that they were out of danger they were no longer concerned with insects and seemed content to put everything behind them as if it had never happened.

  “Why the fuck do I have to do it?” he shouted at Boyd, who was taken aback, but said nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, Duncan returned to the riverbank where, adopting the fighting stance he’d learned at the firing range, sighted the cook, kneeling, his face bearded by excavating insects, dreadful inhuman sounds coming from his bloodied body, no more than thirty-five feet from safety. The first round was high and to the right. The second round skidded over the top of the cook’s head, taking several insects with it. The third round found its home in the cook’s skull, knocking him over. Duncan didn’t want to watch but there was no other way to do it. His mind recorded every detail in slow motion. But he wouldn’t think about it until later. The fire had invaded the opposite side. Vegetation on the hillside, dry from drought, was catching fire. It wouldn’t be long before the flames jumped the riverbed and ignited the strip of hardwoods and palms that lined the opposite bank.

  The others heard the report of Duncan’s revolver and waited in silence until he rejoined them. Of the survivors, Paulo Dias had suffered the most, his torso oozed blood from a dozen gouges. With no medical supplies, there was little they could do for him except to offer words of encouragement. Suarez, with years of experience as a guide, had a mental map of the area and was certain he could lead them to the place where he and Duncan had landed, which he estimated at three kilometers. But it wasn’t a simple hike in the barren terrain. They were exhausted, having had little or no sleep since arriving, the stress of their life-and-death situation taking a psychological as well as a physical toll. Only minutes into the hike the line of men stretched so far that Suarez at the front could not see his cousin in the rear as they weaved a course across the uneven ground, amid mounds of ashes and piles of stumps. A blanket of smoke blocked out the sun, trapping its heat and sucking the moisture from the air, its dryness irritating their throats resulting in bouts of painful coughing.

  Duncan halted the march until everyone had caught up. They hadn’t gone far and already they were thirsty, with only the few bottles of water that Boyd had stuffed into his daypack, some of which he needed to keep his specimens alive. Capturing them had come at a high price and he was determined not to let them die. Cooper, after a moment’s exhilaration at the realization that he had survived the crossing, regretted not bringing a backpack and questioned whether they would make it out alive now that they had an entirely new set of problems to deal with. What if the plane wasn’t there? What if the pilot landed in a different place? How could he even find a place to land with all the smoke?

  Boyd tried to ignore him but Cooper wouldn’t take the hint.

  “You’re not the only one who doesn’t know what’s going to happen,” Boyd barked hoarsely. “We’ll get through this, somehow.”

  “That’s good enough for you? Somehow?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  Cooper shook his head.

  “Then why are you torturing yourself? And me.”

  “Because, I’ve never been in this situation and I don’t know what to do. Okay? Satisfied?”

  “None of us has,” Boyd said.

  “I just can’t help thinking what if there’s no plane. How do we get outta here?”

  “Braga has my sat phone. If we can find him, I can call Biodynamism. I’ve got what they want. They’ll send in a chopper to get us, you, me, the bugs, everyone.”

  Cooper smiled.

  “Okay, I can see that,” he said. “So where is he?”
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  Boyd sighed.

  “No more questions. You’re not doing anyone a favor dredging up all the things that could go wrong. It’s not helpful, so either shut up or go walk with someone else.”

  Suarez waited for his cousin to catch up, which irritated Duncan who wanted to move quickly to reduce Braga’s head start. He wanted to beat him to the plane and he thought he had the advantage insofar as he knew where the pilot would land and Braga didn’t. But just as Duncan was retracing his steps from when they’d arrived, Braga had picked up the trail and, judging by the distance between his boot prints, he was making time while Duncan wasn’t.

  Disappointment quickly dashed their hopes as they reached the landing spot only to find fresh tire tracks. The pilot had come and gone. Behind them they could see the fire intensifying and in front of them, the forest through which Josias had led Boyd and his companions and left his broken ATV. Boyd knew his specimens would likely not survive a long hike to Jacareacanga. More than anything, he wanted to find his sat phone. Not one to dwell, he’d seamlessly shifted from a narrative that had them flying out on a small plane to embracing the notion that Biodynamism would rescue them.

  More concerned about survival, Duncan thought they’d be wasting what little energy they had left waiting for an airplane that might never return. It was time to cut their losses and make the decision to follow the Munduruku guide into the forest. He would be able to find water and maybe enough food to sustain them, but standing out in the open only increased the likelihood of dehydration and collapse. Suarez agreed, if only because his cousin, who grimaced with pain, was most likely to be the first victim. Duncan surmised that Reptilus injected venom when it tore into flesh, like fire ants and bees.

  Only Boyd and Cooper were insistent that they do what they could to fly out, Boyd for obvious reasons and Cooper so that he could put an end to an experience that brought him to the edge of panic.