Warren Fahy - Fragment

“Yes,” Geoffrey said. “That’s cool!”

Cane glared at each of the others. “Does everyone else understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Dr. Cato nodded.

“You got it,” Nell said.

“Very well, Sergeant,” Thatcher sighed.

“Yup” came from Zero.

“Good!” the sergeant said. “So here’s rule number one: do not open any windows. We don’t even want one of those wasps gettin’ in here. Because they will MESS YOU UP. Is that understood?”

“Yes!” everyone said, except for Thatcher.

“Rule number two: do not go near the jungle. Do I hear an ‘OK, Sergeant Cane’?”

“OK, Sergeant Cane,” they all said.

“Does this thing have rubber tracks?” Zero asked.

“Kevlar and steel.” Cane hit the gas and the rescue convoy left the safety of the base.

The signal, which appeared to be reflected sunlight, continued to flash intermittently from the highest visible ledge of the rock stairway. As the sun sank behind the western rim, the shadow it cast across the island spread toward the sunlit ledge. They knew the signal would be doused all too soon.

Thatcher gazed out the window at the swarms of insects flying into and out of the roof of the jungle below, and the strange animals that streaked over the open ground.

“Hey, Helo One and Two,” Cane said into the radio. “Have you guys spotted anyone? Blue One over.” Cane pointed at the two helicopters circling the north ridge.

“Still negative, Blue One, infrared vision shows warm-blooded creatures all over the ledges. We can’t pick out anything human down there.”

“Thanks, guys. The cavalry’s coming.”

The three Hummers rumbled toward the north slope in single file up a curving grade of strata that made a natural road.

“That was quite a power play back there,” Thatcher sniffed. “The President as God! But I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“It seems that either way we’re playing God, Thatcher.” Geoffrey gazed out in wonderment at the green slopes rising to the edge of the bowl. The buckled strata ringing the island gave it the appearance of an enormous ruined coliseum. The broken rows seemed to have been carved for giants.

“Maybe God’s playing God here,” Dr. Cato mused, sadly scanning the landscape around them.

“Geoffrey’s right,” Nell said. “If we don’t do this, we’ll be unleashing Armageddon. It would just be a matter of time.”

Thatcher looked avidly out the window at the jungle below. A pack of four enormous spigers loped over the clover fields with their back legs pumping like locomotives as they tried to head off two Army Hummers along a lower road near the jungle. The lead Hummer opened machine-gun fire and felled one of the beasts. The others immediately turned on their wounded comrade and ripped into its flesh. “That just might be the best thing that ever happened to this planet,” the zoologist murmured.

Geoffrey groaned and Dr. Cato shook his head.

“Excuse me?” Nell said, glaring at Thatcher.

“Armageddon might just save the world from humanity.” Thatcher turned to face her with a paternal smile. “Of course, I’m only joking, Dr. Duckworth. But if what we’ve heard so far is true, no intelligent life could ever evolve in this environment. It’s no wonder this ecosystem has lasted so long, evolving on an unbroken continuum since the Cambrian explosion itself. We may have discovered the perfect ecosystem!”

His eyes twinkled, but Nell looked away in disgust.

Zero turned from the window where he was shooting and gave Thatcher a deadly look. “I think you need a little quality time with the local wildlife, Professor.”

The Humvee climbed the natural road all the way up to the northeast edge of the island. As the vehicle crested the rise at the cliff edge, Sergeant Cane pointed out the right window.

“Check out these critters, Dr. Redmond!”

Thatcher leaned over Nell to see.

Sprawled and tangled on the sheer cliff of the island’s rim, dry tendrils swirled to form what looked like nests, occupied by hundreds of birds’ eggs and hatchlings. Geoffrey saw chicks suckling at appendages that rose from the tangled mass-bulbous pods shaped disturbingly like birds’ heads. “What the…?”

“Hatcheries,” Dr. Cato told him, peering out the window in awe.

Thatcher grunted as he nearly flopped across Nell’s lap to peer out. “Really?”

“Could you explain that?” Geoffrey said.

“Some seabirds migrate here to breed,” Dr. Cato replied.

“The plants eat the parents, and the nestlings hatch and imprint on their new mommies. Later they return here all fattened up as adults to nest, lay their eggs, and get eaten. The circle of life.” Nell smiled darkly at Geoffrey, who looked back at the hatcheries, speechless.

“We’ve even discovered a subspecies of frigates that has adapted its juvenile beak to fit the nipples on these things,” Dr. Cato told them. “So apparently these creatures have been good bird mommies for a very long time.”

“My God,” Geoffrey whispered, his heart racing at the implications. “A predator-prey relationship in which the prey is evolving to improve the predators’ chances? I think I’m going to be sick. These things have hijacked the frigate’s natural selection. They’re fricking breeding their own food!”

“Just like we do,” Thatcher drawled. “Haven’t you seen a chicken? The difference is that this has carefully evolved in tandem with its prey to preserve just what it needs to survive and not expand beyond its resources. You could devote a lifetime to studying any one of this island’s organisms.”

“A short lifetime,” Zero muttered.

Sergeant Cane chuckled sourly as they passed the squawking nesting grounds rimming the high cliff.

Zero videoed intently, cursing when a stream of cloudy juice sprayed the window, obscuring his shot.

Sergeant Cane laughed. “The vines around the nests squirt concentrated salt-juice at your eyes. They can zap wasps right out of the air at twenty feet.”

Geoffrey noticed an adolescent bird flung out of a nest. Each time the bird tried to climb back in, a spring-loaded plant stalk flung it back out.

Thatcher was ecstatic. “Fantastic!” he crooned, leaning fully across Nell now as he looked at the bird breeders.

“OK, enough,” Nell said, shooing Thatcher back into his seat.

The ramp of exposed strata sloped down from the island’s edge as it continued around the island. Cane pushed the throttle, and the train of three Humvees accelerated down the natural ramp.

Geoffrey gripped the back of Zero’s seat and watched Nell, who stared at the shadow of the island’s rim as it reached the ridge and doused the flashing light.

Eventually they reached a flat lower stratum. They continued around the bowl to the north, leaving brown tracks in the clover that gradually turned green again behind them.

The shelves of the high slopes were melted soft by erosion like the terraced hills of the Peruvian Andes, pelted with green, gold, and purple clover.

Ahead, patches of jungle topped the succession of rock ledges that erupted from the slope.

“See that highest ledge there?” Cane said, pointing through the windshield.

“Yep, that’s where I made it out to be,” Zero said.

“Good, no jungle on that ledge.” Cane spoke into the radio: “Blue Two and Three, we’re going to start on the highest shelf. Suggest you guys search the next two down for the survivor. Over?”

“This is Blue Two. We copy you, Blue One.”

“This is Blue Three. Sounds good.”

“Looks like we got a swarm, guys,” the first voice said.