Gregg Hurwitz - Minutes to Burn

Diego entered, holding a test tube filled with dinoflagellate DNA, a wild type sample known to be normal and uninfected; he could use it as a control against which to test the seventeen samples from around San-gre de Dios.

"I'm pelleting at two thousand g," Rex said.

Diego picked up a sample jar and weighed its heft in his hand. "Fine. Next we'll need to do genomic preps to pull the DNA away from the rest of the dino molecules." He headed for a storage closet and removed a stack of kits.

"How long do those take?"

Diego shrugged. "One and a half, two hours. Let's fly through them, get as many as possible running simultaneously."

Diego walked over to the minus-twenty freezer and checked inside, locating the test tubes containing the enzymes they'd use to do restriction digests, which would cut specific sections of the dinoflagellates' code once they got the DNA separated.

Working at a furious pace, they began to set up the genomic preps. Rex glanced at his watch. It was already 9:20, and they still had so much work to do.

Out on the empty boat, Ramoncito stirred beneath the tarp, Rex's Panama hat crooked over his face. He pulled it back, squinting into the morning light. Looking around, he realized they had arrived back at Puerto Ayora, and he pulled himself stiffly to his feet and stretched.

Pressing his fingertips to his sunburnt cheeks, his head still spinning with all that he'd been told earlier, he headed for the lab, where he knew Diego would be needing his help.

Cameron raised her head from Justin's back and peered around. The base camp stood deserted twenty yards to their right. For the time being, they were safe. She rolled her husband onto his back and exam-ined his wound. He opened his eyes, blinking hard. Some of the haze had lifted from his eyes.

"Hey, baby," he said. "Did I rescue you?" He tried to smile but couldn't. "I seem to remember taking out the butt of your knife with my head."

"Stay still," Cameron said. She noted that he didn't ask about Tank; she must have looked worse than she thought.

The mantid's hook had swiped a chunk of flesh from his left shoul-der. His collarbone was exposed and shattered, but it had managed to absorb the brunt of the blow, protecting the subclavian artery beneath. The mantid had not cut deep enough to reach the axillary artery.

Staring at the exposed muscle and tissue, Cameron realized that Justin would be unable to help her. The plexus of nerves on his left side was compromised; his arm would be useless until he received real medical attention. Plus, his transmitter was missing-they had no way to contact anyone. She was on her own against the creature.

Justin read her face. "I know. I've lost so much blood, I'm probably hypovolemic." He tried to raise his arm but could not. "Check my heart rate."

Cameron took his pulse, pulling back the top lip of her pants so she could time it using the small digital clock face sewn into the material. Her lips tightened when she saw the reading. "One twenty-four."

He cursed. "My resting's fifty-five. I'm tachycardic." He blinked hard, focusing. "You're gonna have to clean the wound for me. Apply pressure."

Cameron retrieved an old cammy shirt from Szabla's tent and ripped it in half. She poured two salt packets into her canteen and shook it, then poured the water from the canteen over the rags. Returning to Justin, she leaned over him, the rag dripping salt water. It would help clean the wound. Justin blocked the open wound on his shoulder protectively with his good hand.

"This is gonna be bad," he said.

She nodded.

He moved his hand and grimaced. "All right, Nurse Ratched."

Cameron pressed the salty cloth to the open wound, and Justin's breath came in hard gasps, though he didn't cry out. Once the wound was clean, she ripped strips of material from the remainder of the cammy shirt and tied them tightly to secure the makeshift pressure dressing over the wound. Beads of sweat stood out along Justin's hairline. His forehead was red and peeling. For once, he didn't even attempt to joke.

"There," she said, standing back to examine her work. "Hopefully it'll clot. Justin. Justin."

Justin's head lolled back, and Cameron caught it. He blinked once, lazily. "It's all right," he said. "I'm all right. You're gonna have to stick me now. I think I threw some Lactate Ringer's in my kit bag."

She retrieved the IV bag, then tied a strip of cloth around his arm as a tourniquet. Justin flexed his right fist, trying to swell his antecubital vein at the crook of his elbow. She inserted a large bore needle with his guid-ance, then spiked the IV bag. He lay back as she stood over him, squeezing the bag to push the fluids.

Twenty minutes later when the bag was drained, she removed the nee-dle. Justin tried to struggle up to a sitting position, but she pushed him back down. He grunted in pain.

"You're a liability, Justin. The minute I leave your side, the mantid will come after you, because she'll sense you're easy."

"I am not easy," Justin said. He tried to move his injured arm and cried out. Scrunching his face up, he rolled on the grass, waiting for the pain to subside.

Some blood had seeped through the cloth. Cameron pressed down on the bandage and Justin winced. "We need to get you out of the man-tid's sight. If she sees you as vulnerable prey, she might brave the sun to get you."

"Okay. I'll just hide out in the ambulance." His lips were moving less and less when he spoke. His moan sounded like a door creaking open. "What do you want to do?"

"Bury you."

She couldn't help but notice that the hole she was digging for her hus-band looked like a shallow grave. It was about ten yards behind the base camp, the remaining tents blocking it from view of the forest in case the mantid was watching. Cameron held the pain at bay while she worked, refusing to let it set in until she finished. Her arms ached so much they finally went numb.

Justin lay on his stomach, watching her work and doing his best to remain conscious. Cameron had already hydrated him as best she could. He would be going into the hole for a long time, until their 2200 pickup.

If they lived that long.

When she stepped aside, Justin rolled into the hole, lying on his back so his face was nearly level with the ground. His breath quickened as Cameron packed dirt over his legs, his stomach, his chest, obscuring them from view. Finally, only his face remained, an oval of flesh sunk in the dirt.

"You gonna be all right?" Cameron asked.

Justin nodded weakly. He glanced at the side of her shirt, moist with rotting hemolymph. "Good color for you." He closed his eyes and Cameron felt her heart quicken.

"Don't you fucking die on me."

"Please," Justin managed. "I have dry cleaning out."

Cameron leaned over her husband and kissed him tenderly on the lips, then fitted into his mouth a short length of camel bak tubing she'd found in Savage's kit bag. She smoothed dirt over his face until it was gone from view. The tubing protruded from the dirt a few inches, but aside from that, the ground above Justin was perfectly flat.

Since the gash hadn't compromised any major arteries, he would sur-vive if he didn't lose any more blood. And she'd made a point of digging deep enough so that he'd be buried in cool earth, protected from the pounding sun.

Cameron rose and stood near the overturned soil for a moment, then placed her hand near the top of the tubing, wanting to feel Justin's breath on her palm. The person whom she cherished most in the world was buried alive at her feet, and she would have to leave him there for a good long time.

Turning, she headed back to the base camp. She changed her cam-mies, rinsed with water from the canteen, and applied the last of the antibacterial gel, smearing it liberally over her cuts. She didn't want to waste time now hiking down to the beach for a more thorough washing-it would have to wait until she figured out a plan.