Philip Dick - The Science Fiction Anthology

They were all silent. They had moved into a circle near the copra shed, and while they talked they watched the jungle for any sign of insect or animal life.

Sorensen said, “We’d better radio for help.”

“If we do that,” Recetich said, “somebody’s going to find out about the Santa Teresa treasure. We’ll be overrun in no time.”

“Maybe so,” Sorensen said. “But at the worst, we’ve cleared expenses. We’ve even made a small profit.”

“And if we don’t get help,” Drake said, “we may be in no condition to take anything out of here.”

“The problem isn’t as bad as all that,” Byrnes said. “We’ve got guns. We can take care of the animals.”

“You haven’t seen the bug yet,” Drake said.

“We’ll squash it.”

“That won’t be easy,” Drake said. “It’s faster than hell. And how are you going to squash it if it comes into your hut some night while you’re asleep? We could post guards and they wouldn’t even see the thing.”

Brynes shuddered involuntarily. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe we’d better radio for help.”

Eakins stood up. “Well, gents,” he said, “I guess that means me. I just hope the batteries on the ketch are up to charge.”

“It’ll be dangerous going out there,” Drake said. “We’ll draw lots.”

Eakins was amused. “We will? How many of you can operate a transmitter?”

Drake said, “I can.”

“No offense meant,” Eakins said, “but you don’t operate that set of yours worth a damn. You don’t even know Morse for key transmission. And can you fix the set if it goes out?”

“No,” Drake said. “But the whole thing is too risky. We all should go.”

Eakins shook his head. “Safest thing all around is if you cover me from the beach. That bug probably hasn’t thought about the ketch yet.”

Eakins stuck a tool kit in his pocket and strapped one of the camp’s walkie-talkies over his shoulder. He handed the other one to Sorensen. He hurried down the beach past the launch and pushed the small dinghy into the water. The men of the expedition spread out, their rifles ready. Eakins got into the dinghy and started rowing across the quiet lagoon.

They saw him tie up to the ketch and pause a moment, looking around. Then he climbed aboard. Quickly he slid back the hatch and went inside.

“Everything all right?” Sorensen asked.

“No trouble yet,” Eakins said, his voice sounding thin and sharp over the walkie-talkie. “I’m at the transmitter now, turning it on. It needs a couple of minutes to warm up.”

Drake nudged Sorensen. “Look over there.”

On the reef, almost hidden by the ketch, something was moving. Using binoculars, Sorensen could see three big gray rats slipping into the water. They began swimming toward the ketch.

“Start firing!” Sorensen said. “Eakins, get out of there!”

“I’ve got the transmitter going,” Eakins said. “I just need a couple of minutes more to get a message off.”

Bullets sent up white splashes around the swimming rats. One was hit; the other two managed to put the ketch between them and the riflemen. Studying the reef with his binoculars, Sorensen saw an anteater cross the reef and splash into the water. It was followed by a wild pig.

There was a crackle of static from the walkie-talkie. Sorensen called, “Eakins, have you got that message off?”

“Haven’t sent it,” Eakins called back. “Listen, Bill. We mustn’t send any messages! That bug wants—” He stopped abruptly.

“What is it?” Sorensen asked. “What’s happening?”

Eakins had appeared on deck, still holding the walkie-talkie. He was backing toward the stern.

“Hermit crabs,” he said. “They climbed up the anchor line. I’m going to swim to shore.”

“Don’t do it,” Sorensen said.

“Gotta do it,” Eakins said. “They’ll probably follow me. All of you come out here and get that transmitter . Bring it ashore.”

Through his binoculars, Sorensen could see a solid gray carpet of hermit crabs crawling down the deck and waterways of the ketch. Eakins jumped into the water. He swam furiously toward shore, and Sorensen saw the rats turn and follow him. Hermit crabs swarmed off the boat, and the wild pig and the anteater paddled after him, trying to head him off before he reached the beach.

“Come on,” Sorensen said. “I don’t know what Eakins figured out, but we better get that transmitter while we have a chance.”

They ran down the beach and put the launch into the water. Two hundred yards away, Eakins had reached the far edge of the beach with the animals in close pursuit. He broke into the jungle, still clinging to his walkie-talkie.

“Eakins?” Sorensen asked into the walkie-talkie.

“I’m all right,” Eakins said, panting hard for air. “Get that transmitter, and don’t forget the batteries!”

The men boarded the ketch. Working furiously, they ripped the transmitter off its bulkhead and dragged it up the companionway steps. Drake came last, carrying a twelve-volt battery. He went down again and brought up a second battery. He hesitated a moment, then went below for a third time.

“Drake!” Sorensen shouted. “Quit holding us up!”

Drake reappeared, carrying the ketch’s two radio direction finders and the compass. He handed them down and jumped into the launch.

“OK,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They rowed to the beach. Sorensen was trying to re-establish contact with Eakins on the walkie-talkie, but all he could hear was static. Then, as the launch grounded on the beach, he heard Eakins’ voice.

“I’m surrounded,” he said, very quietly. “I guess I’ll have to see what Mr. Bug wants. Maybe I can swat him first, though.”

There was a long silence. Then Eakins said, “It’s coming toward me now. Drake was right. It sure isn’t like any bug I’ve ever seen. I’m going to swat hell out of—”

They heard him scream, more in surprise than pain.

Sorensen said, “Eakins, can you hear me? Where are you? Can we help?”

“It sure is fast,” Eakins said, his voice conversational again. “Fastest damned bug I’ve ever seen. Jumped on my neck, stung me and jumped off again.”

“How do you feel?” Sorensen asked.

“Fine,” Eakins said. “Hardly felt the sting.”

“Where is the bug now?”

“Back in the bush.”

“The animals?”

“They went away. You know,” Eakins said, “maybe this thing doesn’t work on humans. Maybe—”

“What?” Sorensen asked. “What’s happening now?”

There was a long silence. Then Eakins’ voice, low-pitched and calm, came over the walkie-talkie.

“We’ll speak with you again later,” Eakins said. “We must take consultation now and decide what to do with you.”

“ Eakins! ”

There was no answer from the other end of the walkie-talkie.

IV

Returning to their camp, the men were in a mood of thorough depression. They couldn’t understand what had happened to Eakins and they didn’t feel like speculating on it. The ravaging afternoon sun beat down, reflecting heat back from the white sand. The damp jungle steamed, and appeared to creep toward them like a huge and sleepy green dragon, trapping them against the indifferent sea. Gun barrels grew too hot to touch, and the water in the canteens was as warm as blood. Overhead, thick gray cumulus clouds began to pile up; it was the beginning of the monsoon season.

Drake sat in the shade of the copra shed. He shook off his lethargy long enough to inspect the camp from the viewpoint of defense. He saw the encircling jungle as enemy territory. In front of it was an area fifty yards deep which they had cleared. This no man’s land could perhaps be defended for a while.