Gregg Hurwitz - Minutes to Burn

Rex took Savage and Tucker to sweep the northwest quadrant of the island. Between the dark lava beach, the 103-meter rift, and the wide lava plain, he hoped to locate at least two sites. The hike from the Scalesia zone down the western coast was a gradual one. The transition zone slowly faded into the parched browns and grays of the arid zone-the stout plugs of Candelabra cacti, the dry, chalky ground underfoot.

At one turn, a land iguana lay across the trail. Rex stepped carefully over it, but as Savage passed, he flipped it over with the toe of his boot. It landed on its back and squirmed over to find its feet before beating a sluggish retreat. Tucker laughed, and Rex turned and looked at Savage angrily.

Rex signaled Savage forward, and Savage came, tossing the Death Wind at a cactus. It stuck with a thunk, and he pried it out, twisting it and sending a chunk of spines flying.

"What the hell was that?"

Savage lifted the bandanna off his head and used it to mop his brow. "Survival of the fittest," he said. He flexed, curling an arm up Popeye-style.

Rex could feel anger flushing his face, and he fought to keep his voice steady. "That animal is the most magnificently adapted creature on this island."

Savage cleaned beneath his thumbnail with the end of the blade, tracing it gently along the darkened line. "Not anymore," he said.

Rex shifted the bag on his shoulder. "Maybe it took two, three hun-dred thousand years for a land iguana to be born with longer claws. A random mutation. The thing is, with longer claws, the land iguana can pull the spines out of cactus pads. That meant it could eat the pads, so it had access to a wider range of food. This mutation was passed along to its offspring, which also enjoyed the benefits of these claws. Soon, they outcompeted the normal iguanas for the limited food resources on the island. They thrived, the older iguanas died out, and land iguanas with more substantial claws became the norm for the species." His cheek quivered with anger. "That, my friend, is survival of the fittest. Kicking a defenseless animal to show how big your dick is, is not."

Savage kept his eyes on the tip of the knife beneath his fingernail. "Been thinking about how big my dick is, have you?"

"Yes. Of course. Since I'm a homosexual, I want to copulate with every male in the vicinity. I have nothing better to do on this survey but devote my thoughts exclusively to you and your penis."

Tucker took a step back, his foot sliding on the gravelly slope. "Whoa," he said. "You're a butt stabber?"

Rex raised his hands. "Where the hell have you been?"

"But you didn't…No one said anything." Tucker rubbed his hands together, squeezing his fingers.

Rex turned around, heading down the slope toward the steaming rift. "Don't ask, don't tell," he called over his shoulder.

The curved scar of the rift followed the island's contour, spewing sul-furous gases. The ground itself consisted of an ashy sand, which gave way here and there to sheets of newly hardened lava. The only vegetation that had taken hold were Tiquilia plants-small gray herbs growing in humps like tiny mounds of cobwebs.

Rex stopped a good distance from the rift, studying the ornate inlay of hardened lava. Some regions were ropy and fluid, indicating a more recent flow, but others had been smoothed by thousands of years of wind and erosion. He could feel the heat rising off the lava even through his shoes. Tapping the ground with the rock hammer, he assessed its consistency.

Savage shifted from foot to foot. Tucker squirted a dollop of sun-block into his palm and smoothed it across his face, then tied his T-shirt around his head to cut the sun.

"I'm getting mighty tired of this shit," Savage said.

Rex raised the Brunton compass and glanced at the reading. "That's not really my concern."

"'Not my concern,'" Savage grumbled. "It should be your fucking concern. You got Navy SEALs here. If we wanted to lug gear and fold underwear, we would've been swabbies on USS Fuckstain. If someone's gonna pull my ass out of a nice comfortable jail cell, it could at least be for some goddamn action."

Rex tapped the rock with his hammer, gauging the vibration. "You think you're so forceful, all of you," he said. "With your guns and your combat training. As if that does any good in a time like this. The earth is rearranging itself in Biblical proportions, and you're standing by with a handful of bullets. Correction: with no bullets." He laughed, low in his throat, and looked up. "I'm a doctor, Savage. You're a fucking Band-Aid."

Savage stepped forward, but Tucker blocked him, laying an arm across his chest. Rex stood quickly, his arms raised defensively, glowering at Savage.

"Don't take the bait, buddy," Tucker whispered to Savage. He patted him on the chest, and Savage took a step back.

Savage's upper lip quivered, itching to curl up into a snarl. "Fuck this," he said. He turned, storming off down the slope past the rift.

"FREEZE!" Rex yelled.

Savage halted. He turned slowly, facing Rex. "What now?"

Rex crouched and picked up a baseball-sized lump of basalt. He tossed the rock once and caught it, then threw it in a high arc toward Savage. It struck the ground about five feet past Savage in the direction he'd been heading. Breaking the thin crust of the lava and leaving a black outline in the ground, it continued down into the earth, falling through the deep cavity left where the underlying rock had dissolved and retreated. Savage waited to hear a thud when the rock struck bottom. There wasn't one. He stared at the small black hole in the ground, a pin-point opening to a massive underground cavern.

Rex began to walk off in the opposite direction. "This way," he said.

Cameron gasped when they crested the hill and the lagoon came into view, a disk of water nestled within a craterous swoop on the south-west margin of the island. Inlaid a mere fifty yards from the ocean, the deep green waters struck a sharp contrast to the blue beyond the narrow barrier beach. She rested her hands on her head, taking in both the breadth of the lagoon and the endless sheet of the ocean in a single glance.

Diego paused beside her, amused, and Derek brought up the rear, lugging two canteens and wearing a kit bag like a backpack.

"I thought Navy SEALs were not supposed to gasp," Diego said.

The lagoon had been formed six and a half years ago, the result of a tsunami caused by the Initial Event. Its eighty-five-percent salinity was double that of the ocean, caused by the continuous evaporation of the trapped waters. Due to the high salt content, only algae and shrimp sur-vived there.

Striped with layer upon layer of compressed volcanic ash and dark black lava, the walls of the lagoon had eroded in twists and divots, leaving them dappled with smooth, rippling formations. A few pink flamin-gos stood in the shallow reaches, heads dipped upside down in the bright green water, inverted jaws sifting for food as their tough, bristled tongues suctioned water.

The mud around the lagoon had hardened and cracked, giving it a shattered appearance-myriad pieces of a puzzle fitted but slightly spread. Between the venous cracks, the mud was smooth and white.

A flamingo lumbered over to its young, opened its mouth, and regurgitated milk from its stomach. Cameron opened her mouth, then closed it.

"It is difficult to get to Galapagos," Diego said. "But once you're here, it is easy to want to stay." Removing a sample jar from his pack, he hiked slowly down to the lagoon, leaving Derek and Cameron with the view.

Cameron watched him skillfully navigate the incline before turning back to Derek. From the mats of brush to their right, a farolete rose, a four-foot orange cone of prefabricated modular rings. A navigation aid that functioned like an unmanned lighthouse, it had the seal of the Insti-tuto Oceanografico painted on its side, along with the precise geo-graphic bearings of the unit-Latitude: -0.397643, Longitude: -91.961411.