Primeval Waters

by William Burke

  The little girl didn’t look convinced, so Catalina added, “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll take good care of your dad.”

  “Can I go visit the monkeys?”

  Micah said, “I need you to stay in the cabin. But when I get back, we’ll visit all your poop-flinging pals.”

  Catalina knelt down. “And maybe we can give them all names. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  Faye grinned and said, “Yeah.”

  Growing impatient, Santos snapped, “Family time’s over, we don’t have all night.”

  Micah tussled Faye’s hair and shooed her into the cabin.

  Santos pointed to a thirty-foot tender boat moored alongside the Valentina. “Let’s go.”

  Hans was leaning against the deck rail, waiting for them.

  Micah asked, “Why do you need us to tag along on a refueling stop? Are you making us pump gas too?”

  Hans said, “No. Our original geologist only managed to get this far on his own. He was half dead by then, so a floatplane evacuated him to Mr. Batista’s yacht.”

  “So?”

  “He told us he’d been carrying a satchel with additional samples, but in the confusion, our men didn’t send it along with him. It was a happy accident that he had the one sample in his pocket. We haven’t been able to contact anyone at the depot, so we need you to locate the missing bag and bring it back, along with any other relevant materials. I won’t be coming along.”

  Off in the distance Micah saw Batista standing on the deck of his yacht. “I take it the big boss isn’t coming either?”

  Hans said, “Why should he? It’s a simple refueling stop.”

  Micah thought, At a remote site you’ve lost all contact with.

  Leaning closer than necessary, Santos said, “Get in the boat.”

  Before Micah could reply, Catalina gently grabbed his arm and steered him to the tender, whispering, “Not the best time for a confrontation.”

  The tender boat made its way towards the depot, allowing time for Micah to mull over what he’d been told. Why did they lose contact, and what the hell are we wandering into?

  Santos sat a few feet away, blank faced.

  No surprise, Micah thought, the guy could probably take a nap in a tiger’s cage.

  From a distance, the fuel depot looked like any one of hundreds of fishing villages along the Amazon. There was a roughly hewn floating dock lit by strings of yellow bulbs. A dozen stilt houses dotted the riverbank. As they drew closer Micah could see larger structures set further back from the riverbank—likely fishermen’s bunkhouses and mess halls.

  He asked Santos, “Is this a fishing village?”

  “It was. Mr. Batista took it over as a fuel depot ’cause we’ll be moving a lot of boats through here.”

  Micah could only imagine what “took it over” really meant. He noticed a network of steel towers clustered around the buildings with reflective plates mounted on them. “Are those solar arrays?”

  Santos nodded. “It’s cheaper than running the generators all night. Once we establish the outpost, those solar arrays will get transported there. Mr. Batista thinks of everything.”

  The tender boat pulled alongside the dock. Santos was already shouting orders before it was even tied off. The men climbed out, making straight for rows of fifty-five-gallon drums.

  Minutes later, the Multi Cat barge pulled alongside the dock. Men shouted back and forth as hoses were spooled out from the barge’s large fuel storage cubes.

  Micah asked, “Problem?”

  Santos said, “The pumps aren’t working. The main generator must be down.” He strode off into the compound. Glancing back, he shouted, “Come on!”

  Micah and Catalina jogged to catch up.

  Looking around, she asked, “Aren’t there supposed to be people here?”

  Santos spat on the ground, muttering, “The assholes are probably all drunk.”

  At the far end of the compound, they found an industrial generator surrounded by jerry cans of gasoline.

  Micah aimed his flashlight at the fuel gauge and said, “It’s bone dry.”

  Santos kicked the generator, shouting, “Ramerrão,” then grabbed a jerry can. Without looking up, he shouted, “That green building’s the infirmary, so start looking in there. Get to work!”

  Catalina said, “You heard the man,” while steering Micah towards the green building. She whispered, “I don’t want to spend an extra thirty seconds around that Franken-psycho. Plus, who knows, we might find something lying around that’ll help us.”

  Santos shouted something. Seconds later, one of the deckhands jogged over to join Micah and Catalina.

  Tapping the AK-47 slung over his shoulder, he said, “Santos told me to keep an eye on you.”

  Catalina muttered, “Fucker doesn’t miss a trick.”

  The gentle breeze picked up, blowing leaves and dust along the dirt laneway.

  Catalina said, “At least there’s a breeze.”

  Micah said, “That means there’s a storm coming in. That’s why Santos is in such a rush to get out of here.”

  Lightning flashed across the sky, brilliantly illuminating the surrounding rainforest.

  Micah counted the seconds before they heard the low rumble of thunder. “It’s about an hour out.”

  Sniffing the air, Catalina asked, “You smell that?”

  Micah caught a whiff of something that stung his nostrils. “Whew, smells like blue cheese and Drano, but it’s not coming from anything here.”

  Pointing at the rainforest, Catalina said, “No, it’s blowing in from the trees.”

  Micah sniffed again. He couldn’t place the caustic odor, but there was something familiar about it.

  The strands of yellow lights strung along the laneway flickered, growing dimmer by the moment.

  Micah said, “The solar batteries must be running low.”

  “So the crew’s drunk, the generator’s empty and the batteries are dying. Our man Batista runs one tight operation.”

  The deckhand either didn’t understand her, or didn’t care.

  Micah heard a metallic squeak and rhythmic knocking coming from their left. Panning his flashlight, he said, “This must be it.”

  A wooden sign swinging in the breeze read Enfermaria. The dirt walkway led to a green clapboard stilt house.

  In Portuguese, the deckhand said, “Go ahead, I gotta piss,” and jogged off towards the trees.

  Catalina watched the infirmary’s open screen door blowing back and forth on squealing hinges and said, “Looks inviting.”

  #

  Faye sat on the cot, trying to read her book, but couldn’t stop worrying about her father. Being alone was scary, but it was still better than having that weirdo Hans hanging around. He reminded her of the creepy principal in Vampire High School.

  Lightning flashed outside the porthole and she instinctively counted the seconds before the thunder rolled.

  It’s just lightning, she told herself, nothing to be scared of, but her vampire book suddenly lost its appeal. She sat on her cot, knees to chest, hugging her pillow, wishing she was brave like Catalina. The thunder rolled in. Five seconds, still miles away.

  The cabin was silent. Then she heard a soft tapping sound coming from somewhere in the room.

  Faye yelled, “If you’re a mouse, go away!”

  The tapping started again. Growing curious, she got up, following the sound to the big work table. The black-and-silver mineral fragment lay there, shaking like a cell phone on vibrate. There was another flash of lightning outside. Faye ignored it, leaning in closer, watching the sliver dance in place.

  She whispered, “Are you alive?”

  The vibration stopped and the fragment went still.

  “Why’d you stop? Are you scared of the lightning?”

  Thunder boomed and Faye nearly jumped out of her skin. She retreated back to the cot, hugging her pillow while keeping an eye on the fragment.

  #

  Micah took a few tentative steps
into the infirmary and heard something crunch beneath his boots. Panning his flashlight down, he saw that the floor was littered with broken glass. Catalina flicked a light switch, but the ceiling fluorescents barely flickered. It was just enough light to see that the place was a shambles. Tables were overturned, and the beds had been pushed against another door. The mattresses looked like they’d been fed into a tree shredder, and the weird chemical odor permeated the room.

  Catalina whispered, “Everything about this place is wrong.” She bent down and plucked a scalpel off the floor, tucking it into her boot.

  Micah whispered, “No shit. Let’s get out of here,” and headed for the door.

  As soon as he stepped off the porch, he stopped and whispered, “Listen.”

  “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Yeah, no crickets, no birds … nothing.”

  “Maybe it’s the storm.”

  “No, the night critters don’t shut up till the rain’s right on top of them.” Micah walked closer to the tree line, the black mud sucking at his boots. He played his flashlight along the trees, but all he saw were branches swaying in the rising wind.

  There was a sharp bang, followed by a low rumble. Micah jumped then realized it was only the generator lurching to life. The dim strands of yellow bulbs sprang to life, illuminating the area. The noxious jungle odor grew stronger.

  Sniffing the air, Micah said, “I’ve smelled that before, but I just can’t place it.” He looked out at the trees again.

  Pointing her flashlight at the ground, Catalina shouted, “Holy shit!”

  The dark mud was littered with gleaming white bones. She focused the beam on a pair of human skulls.

  Micah knelt down closer and said, “They’re perfectly clean, like the meat was boiled off. Looks like they went down fighting too.” He pointed the flashlight at some pistols still clenched in the skeletal hands. “I wonder if it could’ve been those cannibals.”

  Catalina said, “Well, they were pretty damn hungry,” and pointed at the ground ahead.

  There were more bones, all picked clean. At least five human skulls were littered among the remains. It was a killing field spanning from their position out to the rainforest.

  Micah said, “We need to get out—”

  Then something burst out of the trees, barreling towards them. Micah snatched up a leg bone to use as a club.

  The charging shape let out a shrill scream. A flash of lightning revealed it to be the deckhand, his body drenched in blood. He ran toward them, stumbled and collapsed at their feet.

  Micah bent down to help then jumped back. The deckhand’s body was covered in huge red insects—each at least seven inches long. Two of them were latched on to his face, peeling the flesh away as he screamed. Another was burrowing into his throat.

  Something flashed in Micah’s mind—the smell. He looked out at the trees blowing in the wind. In a flash of lightning the rainforest floor came alive. A writhing carpet of red insects was bearing down on them.

  Micah grabbed Catalina’s arm, shouting, “Driver ants!”

  He spun around, ready to run for the dock. Another wave of ants emerged from the rainforest behind them, cutting off their escape.

  Pointing to a cluster of buildings, he yelled, “This way!” and ran. After a few seconds he glanced back. Catalina wasn’t with him. He raced back to find her picking through the bones—the writhing mass of insects closing in.

  He ran over, grabbing her arm. “What’re you doing?”

  She stood up, holding an arm bone. “I needed to do something!”

  “What, die?”

  He tried to pull her away when the screaming deckhand reached out, clamping his hand around her ankle. A stream of the monstrous ants crawled along his outstretched arm, making a beeline for her leg. Micah slammed his foot down onto the man’s wrist, breaking it, along with his grip. An ant leapt off his arm, latching on to Catalina’s pants leg. Micah kicked it free before it could get a grip. It rolled off onto its back, legs thrashing furiously.

  Micah stared at it in amazement. It was clearly an ant—but unlike anything he’d seen before. The insect was easily seven inches long with vertical serrated pincers.

  Staring in disbelief, Catalina asked, “Are there really ants the size of rats?”

  Grabbing her arm, Micah shouted, “Sure looks that way. Move!”

  They ran, with the wave of ants only yards behind them. Micah weaved through the cluster of buildings, hunting for a clear path to the river.

  Screams echoed in the distance.

  Catalina said, “They’re already at the docks.”

  “So much for that plan.” Micah saw a faded yellow building with the word Refeitorio stenciled on it. Grabbing her arm, he yelled, “There!” and charged up the stilt building’s stairs, kicking his way through the front door.

  Without slowing down, Catalina shouted, “Why here?”

  “Trust me!”

  Micah ran through what appeared to be a mess hall, straight into the kitchen. A dozen ants swarmed through the open doorway and stopped. An instant later, their ranks swelled to twenty, then a hundred. Then, almost as one, they marched towards the kitchen door, ignoring the bounty of food around them.

  Micah slammed the kitchen door closed and scanned the room—a long, narrow space with a stainless steel island running down its center.

  Catalina said, “Can we hide in the refrigerator?”

  “They’ll chew their way in, or we’ll suffocate.” Then he saw a large pantry and ducked inside.

  Catalina asked, “What can I do?”

  Micah emerged carrying a ten-pound paper sack labeled Pimento-de-caiena. “Grab more of these!”

  The bottom of the door buckled inward as the first wave of ants crawled under the doorjamb. Micah tore the top of the bag open and shook it out, covering the base of the doorway in black pepper. His eyes burned as if he’d been riot sprayed.

  The first ants stopped, writhing in place.

  Micah yelled, “Ants can’t handle pepper, even these monsters.”

  Catalina ran out with more bags.

  Micah shouted, “Cover the floor!”

  She tore one open, scattering the contents, then backed up against the stove, waiting for instructions. She heard a clanging sound behind her and jumped away. A cluster of ants tumbled out of the ceiling vent onto the stove. Catalina hit the ventilator switch, turning the exhaust fan on. The blades ground up the oncoming ants, momentarily halting their advance. Thinking fast, she twisted the rows of burners to “On.” Ants squirmed, roasting on the flaming burners. She tore open a bag of pepper and released it in the air under the exhaust vent. The black dust was sucked up the exhaust pipe.

  “Huff on that.”

  Micah threw two more bags down, blanketing the floor in black pepper, grateful that the locals used so damn much of it. Ants crawled onto the barrier, only to curl up in agony. But their success was short-lived. While the pepper paralyzed the first wave, the second wave just used their bodies as a walkway.

  Catalina asked, “Where to now?”

  Micah heard mandibles tearing at the wooden walls and saw splinters already falling away. He glanced around and announced, “We’re going up, but first…” He grabbed an industrial-sized jug of vinegar, pouring it over her body then drenching himself. “They hate vinegar, it screws with their sensory stuff.”

  Micah looked up at the vaulted ceiling and its network of horizontal and vertical rafters. “There!” He pointed up at a trap door leading to the roof. Catalina grabbed a chair, placing it on top of the kitchen island. They climbed up. The chair raised Micah high enough to grab the overhead beam and pull himself up.

  A chunk of wall near the stove caved in, unleashing a squirming torrent of ants.

  Micah leaned down and grabbed Catalina’s arm, hauling her up. Ants were already swarming up the steel kitchen island.

  They climbed up the rafters to the ceiling hatch. Micah slammed his shoulder against it three times until it
popped open.

  They crawled out onto the roof, which offered a view of the dock. Micah couldn’t make out what was happening there, but the screams echoing in the night told the tale. The ground beneath them was now covered in ants, some of which were already scaling the building.

  Micah said, “Any ideas are good at this point.”

  Catalina shouted, “Look!” She pointed to the electrical lines running a few feet above the building. They were connected to a junction box atop a wooden pole. From there, the wire ran on a downward slope to another building closer to the docks. “We jump out onto that post, climb it, then go hand over hand down the cable to the next building.”

  They jogged to the edge of the roof. Up close the post was further out than she’d thought.

  She asked, “Do you think you can jump to it?”

  Micah saw a wave of ants erupting from the roof hatch. “I can now.”

  Catalina took a few steps back, ran and leapt off the roof. She barely caught the pole. Using the nodes as handholds, she scrambled up.

  Micah backed up enough to get a running start and charged forward. Just as he reached the edge the roof buckled, almost tripping him. He launched himself forward, latching on to a climbing hold with one arm, swinging back and forth until he got a grip with his other hand. The roof behind him was already blanketed in ants. Climbing up, hand over hand, he reached Catalina. Then he felt something tugging at his boot. An ant was latched on to it, dangling by its mandibles.

  He shouted, “There’s one on my boot,” while kicking at an ant the size of his hand. It hung on like a pit bull.

  Catalina locked her leg around a climbing strut, freeing her hands, then yanked the scalpel from her boot. She slashed at the ant three times, but the blade barely scratched its thick exoskeleton. The enraged ant latched its front legs around Micah’s boot, dislodging its pincers to snap at her.

  She yelled, “Kick it!”

  Micah did. The ant tumbled into the darkness, leaving the side of his boot shredded and bloody.

  Catalina asked, “Did it bite you?”

  “Just enough to hurt like hell.”

  Micah looked down. The bottom half of the pole was covered in a rising mass of ants. He shimmied up further, reaching the top junction box. It took him a few hard pulls to yank the cover off. With the flashlight in his mouth, he examined the connections.