Amazonia

“Leave ’em. Right now, I don’t want anyone out there.”

Kostos nodded and turned to obey.

In short order, everyone was shouldering packs. Two Rangers dug a shallow grave for Corporal Conger’s body.

Carrera stood crouched by the doorway. She wore night-vision goggles and stared out toward the river and jungle. “The commotion by the river’s died down, but I hear rustling in the brush.”

Beyond the walls, the jungle had grown silent.

Nate crossed to the door and knelt on one knee beside Carrera. He was already packed and ready, his stubby-nosed shotgun clutched in his right hand. “What do you see?”

Carrera adjusted her goggles. “Nothing. But the jungle is too dense to see far.”

Nate leaned out the door. He heard a branch snap. Then a small forest deer, a spotted fawn, shot out of the jungle and dashed past where Nate and the Ranger crouched. Both gasped and ducked inside before realizing there was no danger.

“Christ,” Carrera said with a choked laugh.

The deer paused near the edge of the roundhouse, ears pricked.

“Shoo!” the Ranger called, waving her M-16 threateningly.

Then something dropped out of the trees and landed on the fawn’s back. The deer suddenly squealed in pain and terror.

“Get inside!” Nate ordered Carrera.

As she rolled through the door, Nate covered her with his shotgun. Another creature pounced from the jungle’s edge toward the deer. A third leaped from the underbrush. The fawn skittered a few steps, then fell on its side, legs kicking.

A single motion sensor blared from the direction of the side stream.

“They’re here,” Nathan mumbled.

By his side, Carrera had torn off her night-vision goggles and clicked on her flashlight. The brightness spread down the jungle trail to the river. The jungle to either side remained dark, blocking the light. “I don’t see—”

Something plopped into the trail, only a few yards away.

From this angle, the creature appeared to be all legs with a long finned tail dragging behind it. It took a small hop toward them. From under two globular black eyes, its mouth gaped open. Teeth glinted in the bright light, like some cross between a tadpole and a piranha.

“What the hell is it?” Carrera whispered.

It leaped toward her voice.

Nate pulled the trigger of his shotgun. The spray of pellets shredded the creature, blowing it backward. That’s what Nate appreciated about a shotgun in the jungle. It didn’t require precision aim. Perfect for small threats—poisonous snakes, scorpions, spiders—and apparently against venomous amphibians, too.

“Get back,” he said and swung the small door shut. It was no more than a woven flap of banana leaves, but it would temporarily block the creatures.

“That’s the only way out,” Carrera said.

Nate stood and unhooked his machete with his left hand. “Not in a shabano.” He pointed the blade toward the far wall, the side opposite both river and stream. “You can make a doorway wherever you want.”

Frank and Captain Waxman joined him as he crossed to the central yard. Waxman was folding a field map.

“They’re already out there,” Nate said. He reached the far wall, raised his machete, and began hacking through the woven palm and banana leaves. “We have to leave now.”

Waxman nodded, then shouted and waved an arm in the air. “We’re hauling out! Now!”

Nate cleared a ragged hole through the rear wall, kicking debris aside.

Waxman waved Corporal Okamoto to take the point. Nate saw an unusual weapon in the soldier’s hands. “Flamethrower,” Okamoto explained, hefting the weapon. “If necessary we’ll burn a way through the bastards.” He pressed the trigger and a steam of orange fire shot from the muzzle like the flickering tongue of a snake.

“Excellent.” Nate patted the corporal’s shoulder. After so many days on the river, Nate had grown fond of his boat’s motorman, although the Asian corporal’s off-tune whistling still drove him crazy.

With a wink to Nathan, Okamoto ducked through the arch without hesitation. As he passed, Nate spotted the small fuel tank strapped to the corporal’s back.

Another four Rangers followed: Warczak, Graves, Jones, and Kostos. All had outfitted their M-16s with grenade launchers. They spread to the right and left of their point man. New alarms blared as the Rangers tripped the perimeter’s motion-sensor lasers.

“Now the civilians,” Waxman ordered. “Stay close. Always keep a Ranger between you and the forest.”

Richard Zane and Anna Fong hurried through. Next Olin and Manny followed, trailed by Tor-tor. Last, Kelly, Frank, and Kouwe passed.

“C’mon,” Kelly said to Nate.

He nodded, glancing back to the shabano. Waxman oversaw the last of the Rangers, who would guard their rear. Two soldiers were gathered over something in the middle of the yard.

“Let’s move, ladies!” Waxman ordered.

The Rangers stood. One, a corporal named Samad Yamir, gave a thumbs-up sign to Waxman. The corporal seldom spoke, and when he did, his voice was thick with a Pakistani accent. There was only one other fact Nate knew about Yamir. He was the unit’s demolitions expert.

Nate eyed the device left in the yard with suspicion.

Waxman found Nate staring. The captain pointed his rifle toward the opening. “Waiting for a personal invitation, Dr. Rand?”

Nate licked his lips and followed after Frank and Kelly.

Again he found Private Carrera marching behind him. She was now outfitted with a flamethrower, too. She studied the dark forest with narrowed eyes. Beyond her, Waxman and Yamir were the last to leave the shabano.

“Stay close!” Waxman yelled. “Frag or fry anything that moves.”

Carrera spoke at Nate’s shoulder. “We’re going to make for a knoll about five klicks ahead.”

“How do you know it’s there?”

“Topographic map.” Her voice sounded unsure.

Nate glanced over his shoulder questioningly.

Carrera lowered her voice and nodded to the side. “The stream wasn’t on the map.”

Kelly glanced over, looking sick, but she remained silent.

Nate sighed. He was not surprised at the inaccuracy of the map. The waterways through the deep jungle were unpredictable. While the boundaries of lakes and swamps varied according to the rainfall, the smaller rivers and streams were even more changeable. Most remained unnamed and uncharted. But at least the knoll was on the map.

“Keep moving!” Waxman ordered behind them.