Gregg Hurwitz - Minutes to Burn

Savage smirked. "Think you can take care of business, do you?"

"Yes," Cameron said, feeling oddly unnerved by his patronizing grin. "I do."

Szabla tapped the spike twice in the palm of her hand, where it left a streak of dirt. "We can't fuck around with those things metamorphosing. If you see Mitchell and he won't cooperate, you're cleared to use reason-able force." She caught Cameron's eye across the fire pit. "I'm sorry."

"It won't come to that," Cameron said. "If anything, he'll hide. Pro-tect the larva. Even though he's gone off the deep end, he won't want to start fighting us. He'll just disappear."

Savage played with his knife, digging something out of the sole of his boot with the tip. "It's a small island," he said.

"If Derek decided to hide in an elevator, it would take you weeks to find him," Cameron said. "He's a world-class soldier."

Savage squinted in the sunlight. "Doesn't seem to be playing the part on this little cruise."

Rex turned to Diego. "We should collect a few more water samples from the coast, hope they're all normal under the microscope." He looked at Cameron with concern. "A microscope analysis is probably not going to be sufficient for the final reckoning, but for now, it'll have to do."

"The rest of us'll go into the forest," Cameron said. "Szabla, Savage and I'll carry the flares. We only have three, so don't burn 'em unless you mean it. Justin, you and Szabla are the only intact team at this point, so you should recon together and I'll go with Tank and Savage."

"I'd rather you, Justin, and Tank teamed off," Szabla said.

"I don't think-"

"Didn't realize you were the OIC here," Szabla said.

Cameron bit her lip, debating whether it was worth getting into right now. "You're right," she finally said. "I'm not."

"Okay," Szabla said. "I pair with Savage."

"I'm sure you do," Justin muttered.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"What the fuck do you think it means, Szabla? Keep your dick hol-stered."

Szabla lunged for Justin, but Cameron caught her around the waist and threw her back. Savage seized Cameron's arm, and she grabbed his wrist, stepping back with his momentum and yanking him off balance. As he stumbled forward, she locked his arm by snapping the heel of her other hand to the back of his elbow. She drove him down onto his knees, then his chest, pressuring the elbow so it was almost hyperextended.

Savage grunted, his cheek against the ground, a swirl of dirt kicking up with his breath. Cameron kept the pressure on to prevent him from reaching for his knife.

Cameron stepped across Savage's arm, twisting it and holding it firmly between her legs as she faced the others. Though her hair was hooked behind her ear, it curved forward, forming a point just under the side of her mouth. Szabla started forward but froze when Cameron tightened her hold on Savage's arm.

"We are not pulling this Lord of the Flies bullshit," Cameron said. "Because it's stupid, because it doesn't make sense, but most of all because we don't have the fuckin' time." She twisted Savage's arm with each phrase, and he strained even harder not to yell, the veins on his neck standing out like fingers. "Are we all clear?"

The wind sucked across the shed atop the watchtower and it moaned softly in the distance. Tank was up on his toes, arms tensed.

"We ousted Derek, but that does not mean there are no rules now," she continued. "As former AOIC, Szabla is acting senior officer and we will fall into line under her." They all nodded. Cameron looked down at Savage, as if just remembering him, and released his arm. She pulled him up to his feet. Rotating his arm painfully, he grimaced.

"Nice move," he said, not insincerely.

Derek carried the larva pressed to his chest, and when he got tired, he bore it on his shoulders, looping it across so he could piggyback it. At first, it seemed uncomfortable being carried-he could feel its seg-ments squirming and readjusting around his neck-but soon it calmed, adjusting to the rough ride.

He stopped once so that the larva could feed, and it did so energeti-cally, working its way through a newly fallen branch in minutes. Sitting on the hot forest ground, he watched it, amazed by the unrelenting action of its mandibles. When it had finished, he leaned over to kiss its forehead but changed his mind. Pulling himself to his feet, he dusted his hands on his cammies, picked up the larva, and continued up the forested slope.

There was no plan, at least none he could think of. Keeping the larva safe was his only intention. He'd figure something out before the scheduled extraction tomorrow night; he just had to keep the larva secure until then. They'd want to take it back, study it-that much he knew.

All the ambiguities of his life took shape in a single goal: preserving the life of this creature. If he did that, maybe he could take back the rest of it. Maybe he could take back what he'd discovered that night. The Night Of.

The forest was even more dim than he had remembered. When he looked up at the sky, the rain started, as if on cue. And then it was ham-mering down, the leaves and twigs dancing with its descent. He took his bearings, gauging how far he had moved into the forest and up the vol-cano's wooded slope. He was close to the middle of the Scalesia zone. He could rest here and regain his energy.

A fat cedrela had snapped in the earthquake, the sharp shaft of the stump sticking up in the air. The trunk had fallen to the side, where it lay in a smashed heap of branches. The fallen tree was still attached to the stump by a hinge of bark and pulp, creating a small triangular area of shelter.

Derek left the larva beside the tree and gathered branches and broad leaves, which he wove loosely together to shield the shelter from both sides. He finished building the little hut and worked a splinter out of his palm. Pinching it until it stuck out from the bead of blood, he removed it with his front teeth, then spit it out. He turned to the larva and stepped back in surprise.

It lay beside the shell of its old cuticle, its sides barely expanding and contracting as it drew breath. It appeared to be exhausted.

He turned his mind away from the darkness he felt encroaching, from the dangerous reality he sensed but refused to admit. Picking up the larva, he moved it into the small shelter, curling up behind it. The heat made the larva uncomfortable, so it squirmed away from him but rested its head near his. He pulled the sheet of branches and leaves down across the front of the shelter and lay back, losing himself in the sticky webbing of his thoughts.

Voices pulled him from his delirium. He recognized Szabla's, coming from no more than fifteen feet, and he peered through a gap in the leaves and saw Savage's face, his eyes sunk in shadows. Even though they were close, he could not make out what they were saying.

As always, Savage was carrying his blade. He said something to Szabla, his voice a murmuring hum, then headed directly for the shelter. Derek froze, one hand hovering protectively above the larva's head. He prayed it wouldn't stir.

Savage thunked his boot down on the stump, inches from Derek, and assessed the terrain. Rainwater ran down the rubber surface of his boot, dripping onto Derek's cheek. Derek could practically feel the heat coming off Savage's body. He moved not a muscle.

Savage sheathed his knife, patting it on the side for good measure, and walked back to Szabla. They disappeared into the underbrush, their crackling footsteps fading away.

Derek exhaled. Though he hadn't realized it, he'd been holding his breath for nearly a minute. The larva shifted with the sound, seeking his body, as if for reassurance. It nuzzled into the hollow of his neck, and a flash of fear ran through him, but its mandibles remained retracted.