by John Koloen
The second insight he gained was that once a victim had been engaged, outliers used their jumping ability to join the attack. Unlike during the flood when it seemed they jumped to avoid drowning, here they jumped as a means of propulsion. Even if they were ten feet away, they could be at your feet and in your hair in seconds. You can’t let them get close, he thought as he watched. What if they had enough energy to jump multiple times, covering that much more ground? That was a scary thought. Even as he watched the two writhing Brazilians, he remained mesmerized by the insects’ complex behavior and the opportunity to study the predators in the wild.
But then the Brazilians’ screams broke through, as if he’d removed earplugs. The others heard the screams as well, but were intent on their own survival, pushing and pulling each other up the embankment, grabbing vines and arms reaching toward them, their eyes filled with bottomless fear until one by one they reached the top, rolled across it like logs, lying on their backs, staring at the clear blue sky, their chests heaving with emotions that burst forth in tears and sobs. They had made it. All but Gruber and Thomas.
93
JASON GRUBER WAS in a trance. That was the only explanation. Nolan Thomas slapped him several times, resulting in nothing but a blank stare. Still wearing the flamethrower, Thomas’s right hand man was unresponsive.
“They’re behind you,” Duncan yelled, having a clear view from where he stood. The scouts that had killed one man had reorganized to kill another. Apparently, Duncan thought, they didn’t feed, these scouts, they just killed or subdued in ghastly ways. The feeding would come later.
Someone lowered a rope.
“Tie it around him,” someone shouted urgently. “We’ll pull him up.”
“Ditch the flamethrower,” another shouted. “Tie the rope under his shoulders. Quickly.”
Soon, everyone was shouting encouragement, giving directions, trying to be helpful from a safe distance. Thomas was focused on what he was doing and like a sprinter in a stadium filled with screaming fans heard nothing, not even his furious heartbeat. He wrestled with the larger, unyielding Gruber, whose mind had succumbed to the horror that enveloped him after incinerating his colleague. The heavy flamethrower made it impossible to tie a rope around him and no matter what Thomas did he couldn’t get him to slip his arm out of the shoulder straps. It didn’t help that the nozzle and hose dangled on the ground. He worried that a misstep could trigger the igniter and engulf them in liquid fire. But he was making no progress and becoming frantic. Was it time to abandon his assistant and save himself? How much more time did he have?
Clumps of earth tumbled at Thomas’s feet as Cody Boyd slid down the embankment. The taller, more muscular Boyd gently pushed the smallish scientist aside and sliced through both shoulder straps with his pocket knife, allowing the flamethrower tank to fall behind Gruber. Thomas watched in awe as Duncan’s assistant grabbed the rope from him and deftly wove it around Gruber’s chest and shoulders, tying it off and pushing the inanimate Gruber against the embankment where the others pulled as if competing in a tug of war. It took both Boyd and Thomas pushing from the bottom to finally get Gruber off the ground and on his way, the pullers finally getting enough momentum that he nearly flew up the last several feet and on top of the bluff. Thomas and Boyd followed quickly, reaching the top just as the first scouts had emerged from the vine-encrusted forest floor and onto the soft earth below the embankment.
The men were emotionally drained by a task that had taken only minutes. Meanwhile, the insects continued to torture the unlucky Brazilians, whose companions had fled. Nobody could help them, and listening to their pitiful screams had become unbearable. Unfortunately for them, there was no coup de grace as, after incapacitating them, only a few of the insects remained, having chopped out their eyes and gaining entrance to their throats, their screams ending only after the vocal cords were mutilated. They would lie like that, suffering, screaming in silence, until the colony arrived to finish them off. Though nothing could be done for the pair, most of the Americans felt safe.
Duncan, however, had seen enough of the insects’ behavior to realize their problems had just begun.
94
EVEN THOUGH EVERYONE helped each other in their desperate escape, the group divided themselves into two tribes while resting on the bluff. The media guys huddled together, as did the science guys. While Duncan described what he’d seen and his hypothesis, Murphy took control of the Broken Tree Productions staff. As far as they could tell, the insects had no interest in their equipment, which lay on the bottom edge of the embankment but out of reach. They inventoried their belongings. Each had a smart phone. They had snack bars, water bottles and insect repellent in their daypacks. Murphy was insistent that they continue to do their work, using cell phones for videoing and recording until they could figure out a way to retrieve their equipment. Bob Mitchell nodded in agreement, but the others shook their heads.
“No way,” Joe Robinson said unequivocally. “Not until we know we’re safe.”
Murphy expected resistance.
“It’s our job,” he said.
“OK, you do what you want,” Robinson said. “I’m focusing on my survival. We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“So to speak,” Jack Walker said.
“They’re down there and we’re up here,” Murphy said. “We’re safe.”
“How do we know they can’t crawl up here?” Andy Wilson asked nervously. This was his first big field assignment and he wanted to make a good impression on the boss but, at the same time, he struggled to keep his fear in check.
“Maybe we should ask the doc,” Bob Mitchell suggested. “He’s the expert.”
Murphy grimaced but recognized he was losing the argument. He wanted them to focus on their work as a means of relieving their anxiety, just as he had done, but they weren’t going for it. He followed his staff as they joined the scientists, who sat on the soft, grassy earth listening as Duncan explained what he’d seen and his hypothesis about the scout groups. Originally, he’d surmised scout groups were small, consisting of fewer than fifty members.
“It could be several hundred,” he said, “based on what I observed. And they seem to go about their work in a very organized fashion, covering a lot of ground quickly, as you may have noticed.”
The scientists let this sink in.
“What do you mean by organized, professor?” Gruber asked after raising his hand. He seemed to have recovered from his shock.
“They are never out of contact with each other. Each seems to sweep in an arc, the ends of the arc meeting at some point. They converge if one of them locates prey, but I don’t know what they do if don’t find anything. Anybody else notice anything?”
“Can they fly?” Mitchell asked.
“I don’t think so, but they can jump.”
“Can they jump up here?” Mitchell asked.
“I don’t think so, not from the bottom. They’d have to find a higher platform. Anyway, there’s a breeze blowing against them so I think we’re safe, for now.”
“I wish he hadn’t said that,” Wilson whispered to Robinson.
“Said what?”
“For now.”
“No shit,” Robinson chided.
“So, does that mean we’re still in trouble?” Wilson asked hesitantly.
“Louder,” someone shouted.
“He asked if we’re out of trouble,” Duncan said, rising to his feet, brushing dust off his bare legs. “I’d say no. I think you’re never safe with these guys around.”
Nobody could dispute this after watching Covelli die, not even Nolan Thomas, who had remained silent.
“Is there any way to protect ourselves?” Wilson asked.
“What about the flamethrower?” someone asked.
Gruber stared at his lap. Thomas patted him on the shoulder, concerned for his mental state.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Gruber erupted, jumping to his feet. “I know what you all think. I killed Gr
eg and now, because of me, we don’t have the flame, the flamethrower.”
“Nobody is saying that,” Thomas said, standing alongside his chief assistant.
“You didn’t do it on purpose,” one of the assistants volunteered.
“Fat lot of good that did for Greg,” Gruber said moodily.
“He was dead no matter what,” Duncan said. “That happened to us. That’s how one of my students died, only he begged for us to kill him.”
“What happened?” Wilson asked, who knew little about Duncan’s first expedition.
“One of us stabbed him with a machete,” Duncan said, “at great risk to himself.”
This sank in at different rates to each, except for Gruber, who remained riddled with guilt.
“It wasn’t intentional,” Thomas said, looking up at Gruber’s tear-streaked face. “Everyone knows that.”
“Look at it this way,” Duncan said, “if he hadn’t died, he’d still be lying down there being slowly eaten alive, suffering pain you cannot imagine. I’ve seen it before. I know the horrible things these insects do. How would you feel, how would any of us feel right now if we knew that he was still lying there, alive but with no chance of survival? His screams would drive us crazy until we couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Greg, his name was Greg Covelli,” one of the assistants said.
Duncan nodded, his attention drawn to the open field between them and the next line of trees. Boyd scanned the tree line with binoculars that he carried in his daypack. The others took interest, all standing now, looking. Thomas whispered encouragement to Gruber.
“You see,” Thomas said quietly. “If he hadn’t died when he did, we’d have killed him. There’s only so much people can put up with. You ended his suffering sooner, and in many ways you ended ours as well.”
Gruber smiled slightly.
“That’s better,” Thomas said in a fatherly voice. “We need you.”
Boyd handed his binoculars to Duncan, who thought he’d seen something moving but it was too far away and may have been nothing more than the tall grass waving in the soft breeze.
“Shit,” Duncan said.
Hearing this, several of the others clamored to look through the binoculars. Jack Walker, who got to them first, peered for a full thirty seconds.
“I don’t see anything,” he complained, handing them to someone else.
“What are we gonna do?” Boyd whispered to Duncan.
95
THERE WAS LITTLE time for planning. It wasn’t as if they’d had many choices, but Duncan wanted to focus on what they needed to do. They couldn’t simply stay where they were. Either they found a way around the insects, or they’d have to go through them. Peering over the ledge at the flamethrower with its slashed shoulder straps, several others thought the solution lay within reach.
Before Duncan could open his mouth, Bob Mitchell pointed to the valley below and asked loudly, “What about the flamethrower?”
“What about it?” Boyd asked loudly, as Mitchell approached. Everyone had gathered around Duncan.
“Well, wouldn’t that help, if we had it?”
“It might,” Duncan said, “But we don’t have it. And don’t even think about doing something stupid. You’ll die and the only thing we’ll do is throw rocks at you, if we’re still here, which we won’t be.”
Duncan outlined what to expect and what he planned to do, namely run across the field and hope for the best. He suggested they cover their hair, keep their mouths closed and use their backpacks as shields by waving them about as they ran.
“You want to knock them down if you can, but you can’t stop, not for anything or anybody. Somebody falls, keep running.”
“So, it’s every man for himself, is it?” Gruber interjected.
Duncan saw that most didn’t like what he’d said. Robinson seemed fine with it, as were Boyd and Suarez.
“How can we just abandon people?”
“Do you think the insects are gonna call a time out? They’ll disable you and then they’ll take their time eating you. You’d have to be extremely lucky to stop even a few seconds without being attacked. You understand you won’t see them until you’re right on top of them, right? And the first thing they’ll do is go for your hair and your eyes. And when the pain makes you scream, they’ll scuttle down your throat. The only thing working in our favor is that this is not the main colony.”
“You know for sure it’s not the main colony?” one of Thomas’s assistants asked guardedly.
“Yeah, that’s what it looks like.”
“So, you’re not sure?”
“I’m seeing what you’re seeing. They’re still a good fifty yards away. I think we’d be seeing a lot more of them jumping if it were the colony. Obviously, I can’t know for sure. All I’m saying is that if you stumble, if you let them get to your mouth or your eyes, you’re done. Any questions?”
“Maybe we should vote on it,” someone suggested.
“Vote on what?” Boyd argued testily. “We stay here and we’re dead. You stop to help someone and you’re dead. Those are your choices.”
“Dr. Duncan,” Nolan Thomas said, “You and your colleagues are the only people who have dealt with these creatures, I defer to your wisdom. We should prepare to run for our lives.”
Duncan nodded gratefully as Thomas pulled his staff aside, each of them swearing that if he fell they’d stop to help him, to which he shook his head and told them to save themselves and that he would do the same.
Murphy and his staff continued the debate as Duncan, Boyd and Suarez prepared themselves to run the gauntlet. Using Boyd’s binoculars, Duncan scanned the field, trying to determine whether the scouts had left any gaps in their coverage. Although they didn’t cover the entire field, groups on the end were already performing a flanking maneuver that in a short time would close off escape at either end. Now the question was how deep they were. Would they be able to sprint through them, or would there be more of them at the edge of the tree line? Is that where the colony was? Were these scouts associated with the scouts from the valley? Were there multiple colonies? Should they run single file or line up shoulder to shoulder? Duncan kept these questions to himself to avoid pointless bickering. If it turned out they escaped the scouts only to find themselves surrounded by the colony, then the game was over. What if they could somehow retrieve the flamethrower? He found that his resolve stood up only until the next question. But he couldn’t let anyone know that. Time was running out.
96
EACH MAN DID his best to cover his face and steel himself for what lay ahead. They shook hands, embraced and wished each other success. The front line scouts were within seventy feet as the men assembled on the bluff, facing their nemesis.
Several men mouthed quiet prayers. Everyone covered his mouth with bandanas. One and then another shouted at the insects, pumping themselves up. Adrenaline had cut in and they looked at each other with courage and defiance, cheering one another like men preparing for battle. Emotions were high, tears flowed on some of their faces. Robinson held a can of insect repellant like a sword. Everyone around him laughed.
“Remember,” Duncan shouted, “keep your mouths closed and run like hell and keep running until you get to the trees.”
“What if that’s where the colony is?” Someone asked.
“Climb a tree,” Boyd shouted.
“What if someone falls?”
“Give yourself up for dead, boys,” Robinson said. “Fight the good fight.”
“It’ll be a miracle if any of us survives.”
“Thanks for reminding us,” someone chirped.
“Don’t look around you,” Duncan commanded. “Keep your eyes focused on what’s in front of you. This is the most important moment of your life, don’t blow it.”
“All right, you bastards,” Walker shouted, shaking his fist. “It’s your turn to die.”
“On my mark,” Duncan roared. “One. Two. Three. Run like hell.”
97
THE BRAZILIAN JOURNALISTS raced to the village, having watched helplessly as their colleagues fell victim to the man-killing insects. One of them kept his camera operating on the chaotic scene until it became apparent that his friends were not going to escape. Because of their wild gesticulations, he had first thought they were putting on an act. But it was clear when they started screaming that they were not acting. He was at once ashamed for having filmed it and for not trying to intervene, though to have done so would have meant certain death. None of them was prepared for what had happened and now, having reached safe haven at the administration building, they broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.
Silvio Santiago, upon seeing the two ATVs bouncing into the village at full speed, cursed the men as they braked at the last moment, sending clouds of fine red dust into the open air building.
“What are you doing?” he bellowed. “No more rentals for you. If there’s any damage…”
The three men made their way past Santiago, slumping onto bench seats under the huge, thatched roof. One of them was bawling as his companions sought to calm him.
“What’s wrong with him?” Santiago asked. “Is he worried about losing his deposit? Because that could happen after I inspect the vehicles.”
“Shut up, old man,” one of the journalists barked.
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
“Listen, two of our colleagues are dying in the forest,” one of them said frantically.