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Nate stared at the dissected ruins. What the hell was out there?

  A call arose from Private Carrera. Her sentry post faced the northern slope of the knoll. "They're on the move again!"

  Nate straightened. The rustling from her side of the forest had grown louder. It sounded as if the entire jungle were stirring.

  Carrera flamed the lower slope. Her fiery jets pushed back the darkness. Reflected in the fire were hundreds of tiny eyes, covering both the forest floor and the trees. One of the creatures sprang from its perch on the limb of a palm tree and bounded into the fire zone. There was a short chatter of automatic rifle fire, and the creature was shredded to a bloody mush.

  "Everybody back!" Carrera called. "They're coming!"

  From the trees and underbrush, small bodies started to leap and bound toward them, oblivious to the fire and bullets. The creatures were determined to overrun them with their sheer numbers.

  Nate flashed back on the Indian massacre site. It was happening all over again. He swung his shotgun from his shoulder, aimed, and blasted a creature in midair as it leaped from a branch over Carrera's head. Gobbets of flesh rained down.

  As a group, they were forced to vacate the knoll's summit and retreat down the southern face. Gunfire and flames lit the night. Flashlights danced, making every shadow shift and jerk.

  Leading the charge down the southern slope, Corporal Okamoto swathed jets of fire before them. "It still looks clear this way!" he called out.

  Nate risked a peek his way. Distantly through the forest, he could make out the other fork of the stream below as it swept around the southern flank of the hill.

  "Why aren't any of the creatures on this side of the hill?" Anna asked, her face flushed.

  Zane answered, his eyes wide as he kept glancing behind him. "They probably rallied all their numbers on the far side for this final assault."

  Nate stared toward the stream below. It was wide, smooth, and quiet, but he knew better. He remembered the large capybara rodent flushed from the forest and racing along the river, where it was set upon by the predators. "They're herding us," he mumbled.

  "What?" Kelly asked.

  "They want us close to the water. The pack is driving us to the river."

  Manny heard him. "I think Nate's right. Despite their ability to move on land for short distances, they're basically aquatic. They'd want their meal as close to water as possible before taking it down."

  Kelly looked behind her to the line of Rangers flaming and firing along their back trail. "What choice do we have?"

  Down the slope, Okamoto slowed as they neared the river, clearly suspicious of the water, too. The corporal turned to Captain Waxman behind him. "Sir, I'll try to cross first. Like last time."

  Waxman nodded. "Careful, corporal."

  Okamoto headed for the stream.

  "No!" Nate called. "I'm sure it's a trap."

  Okamoto glanced to him, then to his captain, who waved him forward again.

  "We have to get off this island," Waxman said.

  "Wait," Manny said, stepping forward, his voice pained. "I...I can send Tor-tor instead."

  The others were now all gathered around.

  Waxman stared at the jaguar, then nodded. "Do it."

  Manny guided his jaguar toward the dark waters.

  Nate's mind spun. It was suicide to enter those waters. He knew this as certainly as he knew the sun would rise tomorrow. But Waxman was right. They had to find a way across. He ran through various scenarios in his head.

  A rope bridge over the stream. He quickly ruled that out. Even if they could somehow string a bridge up, the aquatic creatures were adept at leaping great heights. They'd all just be so much bait strung on a line.

  Maybe grenades tossed in the water to stun them. But the stream was long. Any creatures killed by the concussion would be quickly replaced by those upstream. They would sweep down the sluggish current, attacking the team as they tried to rush across. No, what was needed was something that could strip this entire fork of the creatures--but what could do that?

  Then it dawned on him. He had seen the answer demonstrated just a few days back.

  By now, Manny and Tor-tor were only a couple of yards from the stream. Okamoto was with them, flames lighting the way.

  "Wait!" Nate called. "I have an idea!"

  Manny paused.

  "What?" Waxman asked.

  "According to Manny, these things are basically fish."

  "So?"

  Nate ignored the captain's glare and turned to Kouwe. "You have powdered ayaeya vine in your medicine kit, don't you?"

  "Certainly, but what--?" Then the professor's eyes grew rounder with understanding. "Brilliant, Nate. I should've thought of that."

  "What?" Waxman asked, growing frustrated.

  Behind them, up the slope, the line of Rangers held the creatures momentarily at bay with rifles and fire. Down slope, Okamoto stood ready by the river.

  Nate quickly explained. "Indians use crushed ayaeya vine to fish." He remembered the small fishing scene he had witnessed as he canoed with Tama and Takaho to Sao Gabriel: a woman dusting the river with a black powder, while downstream the men gathered stunned fish with spears and nets. "The vine contains a potent rotenone, a toxin that literally chokes and suffocates the fish. The effect is almost instantaneous."

  "So what are you proposing?" Waxman asked.

  "I'm familiar with the compound. I'll take the satchel upstream and poison the stream. As the toxin flows down this fork, it should stun any and all of the creatures in the river."

  Waxman's eyes narrowed. "This powder will do this?"

  Kouwe answered, digging in his pack. "It should. As long as the creatures are true gill-breathers." The professor glanced to Manny.

  The biologist nodded, clear relief in his eyes. "I'm sure of it."

  Sighing, Waxman waved Okamoto and Manny away from the stream. As the captain turned back to Nate, an explosion sounded behind them.

  Dirt, leaves, and branches blew high into the air. Someone had fired a grenade. "They're breaking through!" Sergeant Kostos yelled.

  Waxman pointed to Nate. "Move!"

  Nate turned.

  Professor Kouwe pulled a large leather satchel from his pack and tossed it to Nate. "Be careful."

  Nate caught the bag of powder one-handed, swinging around with his shotgun in the other.

  "Carrera!" Waxman called and pointed to Nate. "Cover him."

  "Yes, sir." The private backed down the slope with her flamethrower, leaving her post to Okamoto.

  "When you first start to see fish float to the surface," Nate instructed the others, "haul ass across. Though the current here is slow, I'm not sure how long the effect will last before the toxin is swept away."

  "I'll make sure we're ready," Kouwe said.

  Nate glanced around the group. Kelly's eyes met his, a fist clutched to her throat. He offered her a small, confident smile, then turned away.

  Together, he and Private Carrera sprinted upstream, keeping a wary distance from the water.

  Nate trailed behind the soldier as she strafed the way ahead with continual bursts from her flamethrower. They crashed through the smoking underbrush and raced ahead. Nate searched behind. The encampment of his fellow teammates had dwindled down to a green glow in the forest.

  "The buggers must know something's up," Carrera said, gasping with exertion. She pointed a free arm toward the stream. A couple splashes marked where creatures were beginning to hop out of the water in pursuit of the pair.

  "Keep moving," Nate urged. "It's not much farther."

  They rushed on, accompanied by tiny splashes and the sound of crashing bodies hitting the underbrush.

  At last they reached the place where the main stream forked into the northern and southern branches, encircling the knoll. Here the channel was narrower, the current swifter, rumbling over rocks in a frothy white foam. More of the creatures leapt from the current, slick bodies glistening in the glow of the firelight.

&
nbsp; Nate stopped as Carrera laid down a protective spray of flame. Creatures sizzled in the muddy bank, some fleeing back into the river, skin smoking. "Now or never," Carrera said.

  Shouldering his shotgun, Nate slipped in front of her, the satchel of powder in hand. He quickly loosened the pouch's leather tie.

  "Just lob the whole thing in," the Ranger recommended.

  "No, I have to make sure it disperses evenly." Nate took another step nearer the river.

  "Careful." Carrera followed, jetting bursts of flame around them to discourage the predators.

  Nate reached the edge of the stream, standing now only a foot away.

  Carrera half knelt and strafed fire over the water's surface, ready to incinerate anything that dared pop out. "Do it!"

  With a nod, Nate leaned over the stream, extending his arm, his fingers clutching the satchel. Attracted by the movement, something sprang from the water. Nate jerked his arm back in time to miss getting bitten. Instead, the creature latched its razored teeth into the cuff of his shirt sleeve, hanging there.

  Nate whipped his arm back, fabric ripped, and the creature went flying far into the woods. "Damn it!" Not waiting, Nate quickly powdered the river with the crushed ayaeya vine, sprinkling it slowly, ensuring a good spread.

  Behind him, Carrera was busy protecting their rear. The beasts from the stream were now converging on them.

  Nate shook the last of the powder from the satchel, then tossed it into the stream. As he watched the pouch drift downstream rapidly, he prayed his plan would work. "Done," he said, turning.

  Carrera glanced over to him. Past her shoulder, Nate spotted bodies leaping from branches in the deeper jungle. "We have a problem," the Ranger said.

  "What?"

  The Ranger lifted her flamethrower and shot a jet of fire toward the jungle. As he watched, the line of fire drizzled back to the weapon's muzzle, like a hose draining after the spigot had been turned off.

  "Out of fuel," she said.

  * * *

  Frank O'Brien stood by his twin sister, guarding her. At times, he swore that he could read her mind. Like now. Kelly stared at the river, watching with Kouwe and Manny for any sign that Rand's plan might work. But he noticed how she kept peering into the jungle, her eyes drawn to the path the ethnobotanist and soldier had taken. He also saw the glint in her eyes.

  An explosion momentarily drew his attention around. Another grenade. The rain of debris rattled through the canopy. Gunfire was now almost continuous, all around them. The line of Rangers was slowly being driven back to the cluster of civilians. Soon they would have no choice but to retreat toward the stream and closer to whatever skulked in its watery depths.

  Nearby, Anna Fong stood with Zane, guarded by Olin Pasternak, who stood with a 9mm Beretta pistol in hand. It was a poor weapon against such small, fast-moving targets, but it was better than nothing.

  A growl suddenly rumbled behind him, from Manny's jaguar.

  "Look!" Kelly called out.

  Frank turned. His sister stood with her flashlight pointed toward the stream. Then he saw it, too, lit by the reflection of her flashlight. Small glistening objects began to bob up from the water's depths, floating, drifting with the current.

  "Nate did it!" Kelly said, a smile on her face.

  At her side, Professor Kouwe stepped nearer the streambed. One of the piranha-frogs burst from the water toward him, but landed on its side in the mud. It flopped for a couple seconds, then lay still. Stunned. Kouwe glanced to Frank. "We must not lose this chance. We must cross now."

  Frank turned and spotted Captain Waxman a short distance up the slope. He yelled to be heard above the gunfire. "Captain Waxman! Rand's plan is working!" Frank waved an arm. "We can cross! Now!"

  Waxman acknowledged his words with a nod, then his voice boomed. "Bravo unit! Retreat toward the stream!"

  Frank touched the brim of his lucky baseball cap and stepped to Kelly. "Let's go."

  Manny hurried past them. "Tor-tor and I'll still go first. It was my dissection upon which this plan was based." He didn't wait for a reply. He and his pet stepped to the stream's edge. He paused for half a breath, then waded into the stream. This fork was clearly deeper. Midstream, the water reached Manny's chest. Tor-tor had to swim.

  But shortly the biologist was climbing out the far side. He turned. "Hurry! It's safe for the moment!"

  "Move it!" Waxman ordered.

  The civilians crossed together, strung along the current.

  Frank went with Kelly, holding her hand. By now, hundreds of creatures bobbed in the water. They had to wade through the deadly forms, bumping them aside, avoiding sharp teeth that glistened from slack mouths. Horrified, Frank held his breath, praying for them to remain inert.

  They reached the far side and scrambled, half panicked, out of the water. The Rangers followed next, rushing across in full gear, oblivious to what floated around them. As they clambered up to dry land, the first of the advancing creatures began to appear on the far side of the stream, hurtling out of the jungle. A couple piranha-frogs approached the stream but stopped at the water's edge, gill flaps trembling.

  They must sense the danger, Frank thought. But they had no choice. On land they were suffocating. As if obeying some silent signal, the mass of mutated piranhas fled into the water.

  "Back away!" Waxman ordered. "We can't count on the water still being tainted."

  The group fled from the stream into the jungle-covered heights. Flashlights remained fixed on the water and banks. But after several minutes, it was clear the pursuit was over. Either the waters were still toxic to the beasts or they had given up their chase.

  Frank sighed. "It's over."

  Kelly remained quietly focused beside him, using her flashlight to scan the far bank of the stream. "Where's Private Carrera?" she asked softly, then turned to Frank. "Where's Nate?"

  Upriver, a blast sounded, echoing through the forest.

  Kelly's eyes widened as she stared at Frank. "They're in trouble."

  Nate raised his shotgun and blasted another of the creatures that ventured too close. Carrera had shrugged off her weapon's fuel canister and was bent over it. "How much longer?" Nate asked, eyes wide, trying to watch everything at once.

  "Almost done."

  Nate glanced to the stream at his back. In the glow from Carrera's flashlight, he saw that the poison in the water was working. Downstream, bodies floated to the surface, but the current was rapidly carrying them away. The narrow streambed behind them was empty of bodies and could not be trusted. The current, as swift as it was, had surely swept the powdered poison away from here and down the length of the stream. It was not safe. They needed to backtrack along the trailing toxin in the water and seek a secure place to cross, where the current was more sluggish, somewhere where the poison was still active--but between them and safety lay a small legion of the creatures, entrenched in the forest, blocking their way.

  "Ready," Carrera said, standing.

  She hauled her handiwork from the jungle floor and tightened the canister's lid, leaving a primer cord draping from it. The tank contained only a bit of fuel, not enough to service the weapon, but enough for their purposes. At least he hoped.

  Nate held his position with his shotgun. "Are you sure this will work?"

  "It had better."

  Her words were not exactly the vote of confidence Nate was seeking.

  "Point out the target again," she said, moving beside him.

  He shifted his shotgun's muzzle and pointed at the gray-barked tree about thirty yards downstream.

  "Okay." Carrera lit the end of the primer cord with a butane lighter. "Get ready." She swung her arm back and, using all the strength in her body, lobbed the canister underhanded.

  Nate held his breath. It arced end-over-end--and landed at the foot of the targeted tree.

  "All those years of women's softball finally paid off," Carrera mumbled, then to Nate: "Get down!"

  Both dropped to the leafy floor. Nate fel
l, keeping his shotgun pointed ahead of him. And he was lucky he did. One of the creatures leaped from a bush, landing inches from his nose. Nate rolled and batted it away with the stock of his shotgun. He rolled back to his belly and glanced to the Ranger beside him. "Varsity baseball," he mumbled. "Senior year."

  "Down!" Carrera reached and smashed his head to the dirt.

  The explosion was deafening, shrapnel ripped through the canopy overhead. Nate glanced over. Carrera's trick had indeed worked. She had transformed the near-empty fuel tank into a large Molotov cocktail. Flames lit the night.