Insects: A Novel

by Koloen, John

  “The forest is filled with food,” Duncan responded. “We’re not gonna starve.”

  The conversation went on in this vein for several minutes before Duncan ran out of things to say. Johnson started to tighten his pack and before long others were doing the same, burning off nervous energy if nothing else. Meanwhile, Boyd continued to work on the satellite phone, trying to figure out how to make it work. Standing near the clearing, the sky overcast and dark, he fiddled with the device for several minutes before folding the antenna and returning it to his pack.

  There was little conversation as everyone seemed to turn inward, hoping that Suarez would find a way out. That may be why nobody noticed as Azevedo hobbled toward where Boyd stood while working on the phone. When he moved back to where he’d left his pack, Azevedo continued to move into the clearing, his straw hat dripping with rain, his cane searching for solid ground. Within minutes, despite his limp, he stood amidst a carpet of branches and leaf litter, pausing before continuing toward one of the huge piles of debris.

  55

  Suarez made a wide berth around the cleared land to avoid thick underbrush, piles of debris and discarded equipment. He wondered why anyone would abandon saws and axes. He stopped to examine several pieces, and they looked in decent condition. He thought momentarily about collecting the equipment and coming back in the future to retrieve it for resale. But he knew Duncan was in a hurry and simply made note of where the equipment had been tossed and moved on, all the while wondering why anyone would do that. By the time he had covered half the distance around the clearing, he noticed several chainsaws that workers had left behind. Why would they do that? Shortly, the puzzlement gave way to elation as he found the continuation of the trail. Originally, it must have cut through the clearing but had been covered over by the debris. It headed in a westerly direction where they calculated the high ground would be.

  Because of the debris that littered the clearing, some piled ten to fifteen feet high, he did not have a clear view of the other side. He could not see Duncan nor could Duncan see him. He thought about running across the clearing but backed away and retraced his steps along the path he’d blazed, moving as fast as he could. Rain was pouring into the clearing, and it was only a matter of moments before small pools of water that he’d passed on the way in had turned into larger pools on his way out.

  56

  Boyd was the first to notice Azevedo trudging into the clearing, limping and using his cane to maintain balance. It was obvious that the professor was having trouble staying upright as the debris turned the ground into an unstable mass of leaves and branches that completely covered the clearing like a huge, lumpy carpet. Boyd instinctively ran toward Azevedo, taking large steps, practically leaping across the debris.

  As he neared Azevedo, he felt his foot break through the debris, and he could feel something strike the top of his hiking boot. Although his foot had disappeared quickly, he had difficulty pulling it out of the debris, and when he did, he was shocked to see a red snake clinging to his shoe top. When he shook his foot vigorously, the snake let go and quickly slithered into the debris. It was visible for such a short time that he couldn’t identify the species though he guessed it was a coral snake. Fortunately, its fangs did not penetrate the thick leather of his boot. Unlike several of his companions, who gasped when they saw the snake, he was focused on reaching Azevedo.

  “Dr. Azevedo,” Boyd said, catching his breath. “What are you doing?”

  Azevedo felt Boyd’s hand on his shoulder and turned to face the young man. He had a disappointed look on his face.

  “I’m trying to make it easier on everyone else,” he said quietly. “I have no business being here. I’m just holding everyone back.”

  “Nonsense,” Boyd cajoled. “You’re not holding anyone back. What’s holding us back is not knowing how to get where we want to go. You know, we didn’t stop here so we could rest.”

  “Things will get worse,” Azevedo said as he let Boyd help him return to the group. “I am sorry that you came after me.”

  “Well, you didn’t think we’d just let you walk away, did you?”

  Azevedo shook his head.

  “We’re not like that,” Boyd said emphatically. “Like Howard said, we’re all going to get out of this together.”

  Just as they emerged from the debris, soaking from the rain, Suarez returned, smiling.

  “Mr. Howard, Mr. Howard,” he said, happily. “There’s a trail on the other side.”

  Duncan looked elated, patted Suarez’s shoulder and shook hands as if the young guide had just discovered gold. He had planned to talk to Azevedo about separating himself from the group but was suddenly in too good a mood to care. He was aware that standing water was rising around them and that it would not be long before the lower lying areas became inundated. Between themselves, Boyd and Johnson decided that one of them would always stay with Azevedo.

  “I think he’s kinda suicidal,” Boyd whispered as Johnson prepared Azevedo’s sling.

  With Suarez leading the way, they made good time reaching the opposite edge of the clearing. By the time they stood at the trail leading into the forest, everyone had made note of the many tools that seemed to be discarded haphazardly around them. At the same time, everyone could also tell that the water was rising as the rain increased, with more of it penetrating the forest canopy.

  A shallow sheet of water started to flow across the debris in the clearing. Suarez knew this would only get worse as rivers far away overflowed, sending water in their direction. Even so, he was probably not as concerned as the others, as he could always climb a tree and wait it out. How many of the others could climb he could not tell, but the old man would never be able to get off the ground. He thought Boyd, Johnson, and Duncan could save themselves if it came to that, but he doubted whether they would do that.

  It wasn’t just that water was flowing behind them, it was also starting to flow across the trail. Just a thin sheet, but Suarez knew it would get much deeper, and it wouldn’t be long. If all of them were to survive, they needed to find high ground. He briefly discussed this with Duncan, who seemed uncertain what to do next. He’d seen Azevedo walk into the clearing and wondered if he’d have gone after him if Boyd hadn’t.

  The trail was actually a poorly built road, with gravel poured into ruts made by truck tires.

  “That’s how they haul the lumber out,” Suarez said. “I don’t see heavy equipment tracks, so it’s probably small-timers working on their own.”

  “Actually,” Azevedo said, “it’s probably just as well they left. These illegal operations, you know, they aren’t done by Brazil’s finest citizens. People are killed all the time, those who try to protect the forests. It can be very dangerous to happen onto these operations. You know, they carry guns for a reason.”

  Once again, everyone nervously crowded around Duncan. Questions came up about the threat posed by illegal operations in the forest. What would they do if they stumbled into a drug processing camp? What if the people clearing the forest were waiting to ambush them? His concerns were no different than theirs. He was worried too, but somehow he had to avoid showing it. He felt resentful and wanted to lash out but knew instinctively he had to remain calm, at least as calm as he could.

  Then Hamel asked why they couldn’t use the debris on the forest floor to build a structure that would keep them out of the water. Groans followed. No one took his suggestion seriously, which only encouraged him to insist on a reason not to do it.

  “The water would wash it away,” Boyd said.

  “Besides, did you see the snake that attacked Cody?” Johnson said. “You think you could pile up a bunch of branches and stuff and not have snakes? They’re trying to get out of the water, too.”

  “We have to keep going,” Duncan said. “We have a trail to follow. It has to lead somewhere.”

  “That’s right,” Boyd agreed.
“They don’t build trails, much less roads like this, for no reason.”

  “What if it leads to a drug camp?” Hamel said quickly. “What then?”

  “What if it leads to high ground?” Johnson snapped.

  “Look, we can argue all day, and we won’t get anywhere,” Maggie Cross said. “We’re accomplishing nothing here. We need to find high ground; I think everyone can agree on that. It makes more sense to me to follow an actual trail than go off on our own. Cody’s right. It has to lead somewhere.”

  Hamel grumbled, but it was clear that the others were willing to suspend their concerns about where the trail would lead them. Duncan sent Suarez ahead, telling him to stay within sight of the group and, as the young guide took the lead, Azevedo returned to his sling, and they slowly made their way down the thoroughly wet but well-defined trail.

  57

  Gonzalo Juarez looked out his front window on the morning he had planned to pick up Professor Azevedo and the Americans and saw sheets of rain pouring into the flooded street. The weather did not look promising, and if it didn’t let up, he was certain he would not leave the harbor. Given that he would have to pull three aluminum boats behind his heavy thirty-footer, given that floodwaters were rising quickly, given that the rain showed no sign of letting up, he called his mate and told him to stay home.

  Conditions were too dangerous. The Rio Negro was filling with debris from the upstream flooding, and he thought it wasn’t worth the risk to pick up his customers. He figured they’d be safe in the cabin where he’d left them. He knew they had a satellite phone and figured they would use it if they needed help. He didn’t know how a satellite phone worked, but he understood it could be used where cell phones couldn’t. Azevedo had his number. He’d wait for Azevedo to call or the weather to break, whichever came first.

  58

  Suarez did not get far before he discovered why the workers had left their tools behind. They weren’t running from a flood. They were running from something they couldn’t escape. He ran back to Duncan and pulled him away from the group.

  “There are bodies,” he said breathlessly, pointing toward where he’d been.

  “Bodies?”

  “Just like the others, bones.”

  Duncan looked as if someone had just told him the president had been assassinated.

  “What?”

  “The bugs, the bugs,” Suarez said, trying not to speak too loudly.

  Duncan motioned for the group to take a break, which puzzled everyone since they hadn’t even gotten out of sight of the clearing. He followed Suarez several hundred feet. The guide didn’t have to point out the bodies. There were three, all near the trail. All reduced to skeletons.

  Suarez watched Duncan as he whispered, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is going on.”

  When Duncan had finished, Suarez said quietly, “Please, Mr. Howard, don’t curse the savior’s name like that.”

  It wasn’t clear whether Duncan heard Suarez, but he stopped swearing in any case. His mind was racing with questions. What should they do? Suddenly, heading west on the trail was fraught with danger. He had given no thought to the insects since yesterday, when it became apparent that the expedition was over. The optimism he felt when they broke camp this morning took a hit when they realized they couldn’t return to the cabin, but it brightened when they determined they could make higher ground. What residual optimism remained vanished at the sight of the skeletons.

  Even so, it was difficult for him to concentrate. Everything he’d planned had gone to hell. The satellite phone didn’t work. He wasn’t prepared for the rain, and they were running low on food and already they were using purification tablets as they filled their water bottles with flood water. Along with the optimism, his self-confidence suffered. Suddenly, he found himself struggling to overcome self-doubt. It seemed to him that nothing he planned had worked out, and now they were in the worst of places with death seemingly confronting them no matter what they did. Anyone could have done better, and now he had to face the others, and he had nothing to say. And then there was the pressure. He had to come up with a plan, but he didn’t feel that he could play a leading role, given his success thus far. It didn’t help that darkness was approaching. Decisions had to be made quickly or they could be stuck where they were.

  The group moved quickly and cheerfully when he waved to join him. Then they saw the bodies. There were gasps and exclamations, and they all seemed to instantly recognize how the situation had changed. It was no longer about avoiding a flood.

  59

  Hamel did not hesitate. His voice had a whiny quality, even when he wasn’t whining, but now the existential threat stretched his vocal cords to the extent that his voice had gone up an octave. Maggie Cross at first thought it was one of the women who spoke.

  “My God, my God, fearless leader,” Hamel said loudly. “I did not sign up for this, and I don’t think anyone else did.”

  Hamel stood near Duncan, his narrow face contorted, red. Cross watched him with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

  “What do you want him to do?” Boyd demanded. “He didn’t cause any of this.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Hamel said. “But so far, all he’s done is make it worse.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Johnson said angrily.

  “You could do better?” Boyd said. “Tell us what you would do. Go ahead.”

  Hamel stopped talking, unprepared for the challenge.

  “C’mon, man,” Boyd chided. “Tell us, save us, why don’t you?”

  Johnson and Boyd crowded Hamel but didn’t touch him. Cross looked at Duncan, who seemed unwilling to step in.

  “This is not helpful,” she said, finally.

  “No, it isn’t,” Azevedo said, glaring at Hamel. “It’s pointless to argue. We have a serious problem, and that’s what we should be talking about.”

  “The professor is right,” Rankin agreed. “I’m scared to death right now.”

  “Me too,” Peeples said. “Anyone not scared?”

  Nobody responded. Cross approached Duncan and nudged him.

  “Say something,” she whispered.

  Duncan had been focused on the situation, but nothing seemed to resolve itself. What could he say? What could he suggest? Everyone knew why they couldn’t return to the cabin and, after what they’d seen, everyone knew that continuing down the trail could mean certain death. And those who had seen the snake attack Boyd’s boot felt that trying to build something out of the debris wasn’t safe either. If only the satellite phone worked.

  Duncan took Boyd aside, out of earshot of the others except Suarez, who was leaning against a tall tree stump. Duncan trusted Suarez. He was not the type of person to argue or panic.

  “Is there any way to get the phone working?” Duncan whispered.

  “I’ve been trying every chance I get,” Boyd said quietly but insistently as if Duncan was asking him to do the impossible.

  “There’s nothing you haven’t tried? I’m not blaming you; I’m trying to find a way out of this.”

  Boyd sighed, held up his forefinger and went to where he had dropped his backpack. He rifled through a side pocket and returned with the phone in hand, which was inside a clear plastic bag. Others watched him and saw the phone.

  “Is it working?” Rankin asked, hopefully. Others stopped talking or whatever it was they were doing and looked at Boyd and Rankin.

  “No, it’s not working.”

  “Then what are you doing?” Hamel asked.

  “I’m gonna show it to my boss. That’s all. Sheesh. I’m just doin’ my job,” he said, peevishly.

  Approaching Duncan, he pulled Duncan toward Suarez, who had found a spot where rain wasn’t dripping through the thick canopy, removed the phone from the bag and handed it to Duncan.

  “See for yourself,” Boyd said, still p
eevish.

  “Hey,” Duncan said quickly. “I’m not accusing you of anything. Anyway, I don’t know beans about satellite phones. I’ve only used them, never had to learn what makes them tick, or not.”

  He unfolded the stubby antenna, turned it on and held the phone to his ear.

  “I’m hearing static.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s what it’s supposed to do. Now, try dialing a number. See what happens.”

  “Who should I dial?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t work.”

  “But what if it does?”

  “I don’t know, dial yourself. Wait, no, you can’t do that. No cell reception.”

  “I know who you can dial,” Suarez said. “Call the guy who brought us here. Maybe he can help.”

  “You don’t understand,” Boyd said to Suarez. “The phone doesn’t work. I tried it myself several times today. I try it all the time. It just never works. Sometimes it sounds like a call is going through and then it stops.”

  Suarez could hear the frustration in Boyd’s voice and returned to his own thoughts. Like Duncan, he knew little about satellite phones. Duncan shook his head and pointed the phone at Boyd as if to hand it to him. Boyd held up his hands.

  “It’s yours now. Just dial a number. You’ve got nothing to lose, or gain for that matter.”

  The conversation had gotten loud enough that others started paying attention. Hamel, Cross, and Rankin approached Duncan to find out what was going on.

  “Is the phone working?” Rankin asked.

  “It’s not working, Steph,” Boyd said. “It’s a piece of crap.”

  “You don’t have to shout,” Rankin responded.

  “I’m not shouting!”

  “Yes, you are,” Cross said. “They can hear you over there,” she added, nodding toward Azevedo and the others.

  “Sorry,” Boyd said. “It’s just that I’ve been trying to get the phone to work since we started, and I’ve gotten nowhere.”