Primeval Waters

by William Burke

  He muttered, “Shit!” The line wasn’t connected to the solar panels—it was the direct feed from the generator, carrying enough voltage to kill them both.

  Catalina reached for the line.

  Micah yelled, “Don’t! There’s still current running through it.” Grabbing the line would electrocute him, but he noticed that the dangling junction box cover was lined with rubber. After a few hard tugs the ancient glue gave way, allowing him to rip out the rubber liner.

  Wrapping it around his hand, he grabbed the electrical line and yanked hard. It tore loose, creating a momentary Tesla coil of electricity. The disconnected wire swung in the air, spraying sparks.

  Micah said, “We’re good now, but that wire’s not strong so we’ll go one at a time. Get moving.”

  Catalina went hand over hand down the descending wire. Micah watched her progress while glancing down at the oncoming ants. They were already two thirds of the way up the wooden pole and climbing fast.

  He muttered, “Come on, come on,” but even if he started climbing down immediately, the ants would be on the wire within seconds.

  Catalina reached the other building and jumped down onto the roof.

  Micah grabbed the wire and swung off the pole just as the first ants reached his level. Hanging by one arm he reached back, grabbing the sparking power cable and pressing it against the wooden pole. A blast of sparks singed his hand, but he managed to hang on to the cable. The high voltage coursed through the rain-soaked wood, jolting the ants loose. The highest ones fell by the dozen, knocking the lower ones loose like dominos.

  Micah released the live power cable and began descending, hand over hand, his upper back muscles screaming. Once he was level with the other building he swung off, landing flat on the roof. The impact tore the aged shingles loose. He slid down, scrabbling for something to grab. Catalina latched on to his wrist, digging her heels into the mushy tar roof.

  Micah saw ants already traveling single file along the cable and yelled, “The scalpel!”

  Catalina tossed it to him. Micah sawed at the cable while watching the approaching ants moving along it like tightrope walkers. After some frantic cutting he severed the line. It fell away, taking the ants with it.

  Looking around, Catalina said, “There are no ants up here.”

  “That’s ’cause there weren’t any people to chow down on. Give ’em time.”

  Micah looked out at the river, so near yet so far away. One of the gunboats launched a series of aerial flares into the night sky. The brilliant red flares slowly drifted down on parachutes, illuminating the hell scape awaiting them.

  Looking down at the hordes of ants on the ground, Catalina said, “Those bastards must be starving.”

  “No. There’s plenty to eat here. There were even bags of sugar in the kitchen. They’re not here to eat.”

  “What then?”

  “They’re here to kill. Oh, and that nasty smell was formic acid. Colony odor. I should have recognized it and run like hell.”

  “Nobody’s perfect.”

  Micah had hoped there’d be a second line from this building that they could shimmy down, but there was just an electrical conduit pipe running to the ground. “We’re trapped,” he said.

  Roof shingles behind them began to tremble, until one crumbled inward.

  Catalina said, “Here they come.”

  Chapter Seven

  Santos finished pouring enough gas into the generator to get the job done. Then he jogged back to the pier, thinking, Let these drunken assholes fill it up when we’re gone.

  The fuel pumps were already running when he arrived. Drums of fuel were being loaded onto the Multi Cat’s deck, while its internal storage tanks were being filled. The men were working hard, but Santos tossed in some verbal abuse for motivation.

  He stood on the Multi Cat’s deck, observing the operation while avoiding any physical work.

  That’s when he heard the first screams.

  Two men had been rolling drums over towards the pier when they released the drums and started screaming. Both dashed towards the water until one fell to the ground.

  Santos panned the Multi Cat’s searchlight onto the men. The running man was covered in some kind of reddish mud. A second later, Santos realized that mud was alive.

  A man on the dock fell to the ground, screaming. His body was covered in huge red insects—at least a dozen of them. The man managed to stand and charge up the ramp onto the Multi Cat. As soon as Santos saw the insects he raised his AK-47, slamming the butt into his chest. The screaming man tumbled into the water.

  One of the insects fell onto the deck. Santos saw the huge ant and brought his rifle butt down on it hard, but it kept squirming. It took two more hits to crush its thick exoskeleton.

  The pier had descended into chaos. At least three men were under attack, while others were scrambling to get to the tender boat.

  Santos turned to the Multi Cat’s crew, yelling, “Turn on the drafting pumps, and unhook those fuel hoses, now!”

  The drafting pumps kicked in, sucking river water into the boat’s fire suppression system.

  Santos unspooled the thick black fire hose from its gurney, feeling the pressure rumbling inside. He opened the nozzle, unleashing a three-hundred-PSI stream of water. The high pressure line washed back the first wave of ants coming up the gangway while also knocking down the men trying to escape.

  Despite the spraying hose, two men managed to crawl onto the deck, where they lay screaming.

  Santos threw down the fire hose, drew his knife and slashed the mooring ropes, shouting, “Pull out, pull out!”

  One of the crew disconnected the fuel lines running from the pier. The Multi Cat pulled away, leaving the hoses pumping gasoline into the river.

  Santos looked back from the departing Multi Cat. The men on the dock would probably die, but at least he’d managed to get the storage tanks half full.

  Batista would approve.

  #

  Micah stood on the roof, searching for a way to escape. The drifting aerial flares illuminated what lay between them and the water—a hundred-yard gauntlet crawling with ants. The entire run would only take twenty seconds, but the ants would be on them before they’d gotten halfway.

  Catalina shook the conduit pipe leading to the ground and said, “What if we just shimmy down and run like hell?”

  “Trust me; that’s a bad idea.” He slapped his forehead, muttering, “Come on, dumb shit, think.”

  Catalina glanced over the side of the building and said, “Hey, why’s the ground right under us clear?”

  Micah heard the generator rumbling below. “They must not like that little patch ’cause the ground’s saturated with fuel.”

  One of the aerial flares drifted to the ground, landing about forty yards in front of them, its magnesium core still burning brightly.

  Micah’s mind flashed back to the rows of gas cans around the generator. He wondered, How many did Santos use? He turned to Catalina and said, “Okay, we shimmy down.”

  “But—”

  “But we don’t run till I say. I’m going first.”

  Micah grabbed the conduit pipe, half shimmying, half falling. He hit the ground hard, already scrambling for the generator.

  Catalina landed, shouting, “You’re going the wrong way!” But she followed anyway.

  Micah kicked the line of eight jerry cans. The first four were empty, but the rest were full. He unscrewed the cap, picked up another full can, and said, “Grab one more!”

  He kicked furiously at the generator’s fuel tank until the feeder hose ruptured. Gasoline gushed out onto the ground.

  He ran back the way they’d come, pouring gas onto the ground as he went. Using his running start, he lobbed the open gas can. It landed, bouncing across the ground, spraying gasoline in every direction. But it stopped, falling yards short of the burning flare, alerting the ants to their presence. Now they were approaching from both directions.

  Catalina hurl
ed her can. It landed halfway between them and the first can.

  Micah muttered, “Way short!”

  Catalina said, “No it wasn’t,” then reached under her shirt, drawing a handgun.

  Micah said, “Where the hell—”

  She fired twice, hitting Micah’s jerry can. Unlike in the movies, the bullets didn’t ignite the gasoline but the impact launched the half empty can over to the dwindling flare. It burst into flames. A trail of fire rolled across the ground, heading towards them. The running flames enveloped the jerry can Catalina had thrown.

  She grabbed his arm, shouting, “Take cover!”

  Both huddled beside the building as the jerry can detonated in a mini fireball. The trail of flame continued across the ground, running past them, straight for the leaking generator.

  Micah noticed a tall rain barrel and knocked it over, dousing them both in water.

  He watched the ants in front of them inching back from the flame and yelled, “Fire-walking time!”

  They ran full tilt, staying perilously close to the burning line of fire—so close that steam billowed from Micah’s wet pants leg. Burning ants rolled across the ground in front of them, while others shrank back from the flames.

  Glancing back, Micah saw a regiment of ants swarming past the generator, heading straight for them. The blazing trail of fire reached the generator, igniting the fuel gushing from the tank.

  Without slowing down, Micah opened the last jerry can and threw it ahead of them. It was already burning by the time it left his hand. The cartwheeling ball of fire extended their flaming path to the pier.

  The generator’s gas tank superheated, exploding in a ball of fire. A blanket of flames swept across the ground, engulfing the pursuing ants.

  Micah kept running full tilt for the rough-hewn pier, yelling, “Don’t even stop; just dive into the water!” Then he realized Catalina had passed him.

  Both of them bolted across the burning pier, launching themselves over the edge. Micah sank under the pitch-black water, surfacing a moment later. Catalina came up a few feet away.

  Micah saw the tender boat drifting to their right. A lone sailor stood inside, waving his arms frantically. They swam towards it.

  One of the distant gunboats launched another aerial flare, lighting up the area.

  Micah realized the frantic sailor was covered in ants. The screaming man leapt into the water and never surfaced.

  Micah turned to Catalina, shouting, “That boat’s an ant farm,” then looked back at the burning dock. Most of the ants had been consumed by the fire, but the next ranks were crawling across their smoldering bodies and tumbling into the water. And they weren’t sinking—they were swimming.

  Micah said, “I forgot, ants can swim.”

  Catalina yelled, “So can you! Get moving!”

  They both swam towards the distant flotilla. The descending aerial flare lit up the water’s surface in a glittering rainbow, meaning the water was coated in a layer of fuel.

  Micah glanced back at the burning dock thinking, If it’s diesel we’re fine, but if it’s gas…

  The burning pier collapsed into the river. The surface of the water ignited into a rolling sheet of flame.

  … we’re fucked.

  Micah yelled, “Dive!”

  Catalina dove straight down. Micah followed. Rolling onto his back he saw the surface above them burst into flames. He kicked hard. Catalina swam a few feet to his right. The fire raged above them, spreading faster than they could swim.

  Micah kept moving, the mantra, Got to get back to Faye, repeating in his mind.

  Catalina tugged his arm, pointing up. The water above them was dark, showing no sign of fire. Three hard kicks got him to the surface, gasping for air.

  Two sailors who’d somehow escaped the carnage bobbed in the water ahead of them.

  Micah took a final look back at the depot. The water was a sheet of flames, but at least that fire had killed the pursuing ants. The depot itself was an inferno. Turning towards the flotilla, he was relieved to see the two sailors being hauled into a rescue boat. Catalina treaded water while waving her arms and shouting to the boat.

  Micah swam over to her. After coughing up a mouthful of water, he asked, “Where’d you get that gun?”

  “I picked it off those skeletons. They weren’t using it. But let’s keep it to ourselves till we can put it to good use.”

  After a few minutes of treading water, they were hauled into the boat. The two shell-shocked sailors were huddled inside, glazed eyes locked on the burning depot.

  Catalina asked, “How many got away?”

  Staring into the distant flames, one said, “Santos took off on the fuel barge with two wounded guys. Those things killed everybody else.” He turned to Catalina, his face a mask of terror. In a near whisper he said, “I’ve been on this river all my life and there’s nothing like that… They are o diabos.”

  Catalina recognized the Portuguese word for demons.

  Micah tallied the numbers in his head. Batista had lost at least eight men, his reserve fuel and at least one boat.

  Catalina whispered, “Maybe Batista will stop and regroup or just turn the hell around.”

  The tender boat passed Batista’s yacht, now moored near the Valentina. Micah saw the big man himself, standing on its deck, watching the inferno while holding a glass of wine. Not the posture of someone planning to turn back.

  The shell-shocked sailor just sat, staring into the distant flames, muttering, “O diabos,” again and again.

  Micah watched Batista take a sip of wine and muttered, “You got that right, brother.”

  #

  The moment the boat came alongside the Valentina, Micah was off and running for the cabin, Catalina only seconds behind him.

  As soon as the door opened, Faye raced over to Micah, shouting, “Daddy!”

  Micah held her tight, relief washing over him. “I told you we’d be back, honey. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Catalina stood in the doorway watching them.

  Micah asked, “Can you stay with her? I need some answers.”

  Catalina nodded, and Micah was out the door. He heard screams coming from the deck below and followed the sound.

  After pushing past a cluster of deckhands he barged into a large cabin. Hans leaned over a shrieking deckhand laid out on a wooden table. A squirming seven-inch ant was clamped onto the man’s forearm. Hans alternated between studying the insect and flipping through an iPad.

  In Portuguese, the man screamed, “It burns, somebody kill that little bastard!”

  Another man wielding pliers was poised to dislodge the ant.

  Micah yelled, “Stop! If you kill it with the pincers embedded the bite will go gangrenous. Somebody run to the mess and grab some vinegar. Now!”

  A deckhand scrambled for the galley.

  Micah noticed Santos seated at the far end of the table, shirtless, looking bored.

  The wounded man shrieked, “It burns!”

  Hans leaned over to Micah, asking, “What’s causing the burning?”

  “Ants inject formic acid. We’re just lucky these aren’t giant bullet ants.” He leaned in closer, studying the monstrous insect. “This ain’t my first rodeo in the Amazon, and I’ve seen some crazy shit out here but never ants the size of my shoe.”

  Hans scrolled through an iPad encyclopedia. “You’re correct. The Amazon giant ant is the largest, but that’s an eighth of this one’s size. I think we’re looking at a Titan ant.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “That’s because they only exist in fossils.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Paleontology is kind of a hobby of mine. Here, look for yourself.” He handed the iPad to Micah.

  Onscreen was a photo of a fossilized ant, placed next to a ruler for scale—it was roughly six inches.

  Hans continued, “A million or so years ago, there were ants like this, back when everything in the Amazo
n was bigger. These must be an aberration, some kind of holdover.”

  Micah tossed the iPad back to him, shouting, “Where’s that vinegar?”

  The deckhand pushed through the crowd blocking the doorway, holding up a bottle of vinegar.

  Micah grabbed the bottle and said, “Be ready to grab it with those pliers.”

  He poured vinegar over the ant, sending it into spasms. After a few seconds it released its grip and lay wriggling on the table. The deckhand clamped the pliers around its head and held it up high. The deckhands crowding the doorway muttered in amazement.

  Hans found an empty mason jar and they dropped the ant inside, clamping the lid tight.

  Micah examined the injured man’s wound and said, “Flush the bite with clean water till the burning stops; then get some antiseptic on it.”

  He turned to Hans. “Here’s what doesn’t make sense to me. Those things killed everybody in that fuel depot, stripped ’em to the bone, then went back into the jungle to wait. If they were on the march they should have eaten everything, even the bark off the trees. That mess hall was jammed with food, but they didn’t even touch it. I want to know where they came from and why they have such a sweet tooth for people.”

  Hans stared at the ant, furiously throwing itself against the glass jar, and said, “I have no explanation. It can only be an aberration that we’ve never seen before, perhaps something forced out of the deep rainforest by deforestation.”

  The PA system crackled with feedback then Batista’s voice rang out. “Now hear this. We’ve suffered an unfortunate setback, but be assured we have enough fuel to reach our destination, where additional supplies and boats are waiting. So we will press on. That is all.” After a burst of static, the PA system went quiet.

  Micah thought, That’s it. Not a moment of silence or even a mention of the men who died.

  He glanced over at Santos, sitting placidly at the table, and said, “Hey Santos, thanks for all your help back there.”