Amazonia Page 46

  Eighteen

  The Last Hour

  7:01 P.M.

  AMAZON JUNGLE

  As Louis's band took a rest break, he checked his watch. It was an hour before the explosion would turn the upper valley into a whirling firestorm. He focused his attention on the swamp lake ahead. The setting sun had turned the water a tarnished silver.

  They were making good time. Skirting to the south of the swamp, where the jungle was thickest and the river channels many, they would easily slip away through the dense forest. He had no doubt of that.

  He sighed contentedly, but with a trace of disappointment. Everything was downhill from here. He always felt this way after a successful mission. Some form of post-coital depression, he imagined. He would return to French Guiana a much richer man, but money didn't buy the excitement of the last couple of days.

  "C'est la vie," he said. There will always be other missions.

  A small ruckus drew his attention back around.

  He saw Kelly being shoved to her knees by two men. A third was on the ground a couple of yards away, rolling, cursing, clutching between his legs.

  Louis strode over to them, but Mask was already there.

  The scarred lieutenant pulled the moaning guard to his feet.

  "What happened?" Louis asked.

  Mask thumbed at the man. "Pedro reached a hand down her shirt, and she kneed him in the groin."

  Louis smiled, impressed. One hand settled to the bullwhip trophy at his waist.

  He sauntered over to Kelly, now on her knees. One of her two captors had his fist tight in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her long neck. She snarled as the two men taunted her with the vilest innuendoes.

  "Let her up," Louis said.

  The men knew better than to disobey. Kelly was yanked to her feet.

  Louis took off his hat. "I apologize for the rudeness here. It won't happen again, I assure you."

  Other men gathered.

  Kelly fumed. "Next time I'll kick the asshole's balls into his belly."

  "Indeed." Louis waved off his men. "But punishment is my department." He tapped the bullwhip on his side. Earlier he had struck the woman as a lesson. Now it was time for another.

  He turned and struck out with the whip, splitting the twilight with a loud crack.

  Pedro screamed, covering his left eye. Blood spurted through his fingers.

  Louis faced the others. "No one will harm the prisoners. Is that understood?"

  There was a general sound of agreement and many nods.

  Louis replaced his whip. "Someone see to Pedro's eye."

  He turned back around and saw Tshui standing near Kelly, one palm raised to the woman's cheek.

  As he watched, he noticed that Tshui had wrapped her fingers around a curl of fiery auburn hair.

  Ah, Louis thought, the red hair. A unique trophy for Tshui's collection.

  7:05 P.M.

  In the flashlight's glow, Nate noticed that the passage beyond the handprinted door was similar to the main tunnel, but the woody surfaces were of a coarser grain. As he walked, the musk of the tree flowed thick and fetid.

  With Dakii at his side, he led Anna and Kouwe down the tunnel. It narrowed rapidly, twisting tighter and tighter, causing the group to crowd together.

  "We must be in the tree's taproot," Nate mumbled.

  "Heading underground," Kouwe said.

  Nate nodded. Within a few more twisting yards, the tunnel exited the woody root, and stone appeared underfoot, interspersed with patches of loam. The tunnel headed steeply downward. They now ran parallel to the branching root system.

  Dakii pointed ahead and continued.

  Nate hesitated. Strange lichens grew on the walls, glowing softly. The musk was almost overpowering, now rich with a more fecund odor. Dakii pushed on.

  Nate glanced to Kouwe, who shrugged. It was encouragement enough.

  As they continued forward, the root branch that ran overhead split and divided, heading out into other passageways. From the ceiling, drapes of root hairs hung, vibrating ever so gently, rhythmically swaying as if a wind blew softly through the passage. But there was no wind.

  The top of Nate's head brushed against the ceiling as the tunnel lowered. The tiny root fibrils tangled into his hair, clinging, pulling. Nate wrenched away with a gasp.

  He shone his flashlight overhead, wary.

  "What is it?" Kouwe asked.

  "The root grabbed at me."

  Kouwe lifted a palm to the root branch. The smaller hairs wrapped around his fingers in a clinging embrace. With a look of disgust, Kouwe tugged his hand away.

  Nate had seen other Amazonian plants demonstrate a response to stimulation: leaves curling if touched, puff pods exploding if brushed, flowers closing if disturbed. But this felt somehow more malignant.

  Nate fanned his flashlight across the path. By now, Dakii was waiting several yards down the passage. Nate urged the others to catch up. Once abreast of Dakii, Nate studied the splitting roots that now turned riotous, dividing and cross-splitting in all directions. Small blind cubbyholes dotted the many passages, each choked and clogged with a tangle of roots and waving hairs. The little cubbies reminded Nate of nitrogen bulbs, seen among root balls of many plants, that served as storage fertilizing sites.

  Dakii stood before one such alcove. Nate shone his light into the space. Something was tangled deep inside the mass of twining branches and churning root fibrils. Nate bent closer. A few wiggling hairs curled out toward him, questing, waving like small antennae.

  He kept back.

  Deep in the root pack, wrapped and entwined like a fly in a spider's webbing, was a large fruit bat. Nate straightened in disgust.

  Kouwe leaned in and grimaced. "Is it feeding on the bat?"

  Anna spoke behind them. "I don't think so. Come see this."

  They both turned to her. She knelt by an even larger cubby, but one similarly entangled. She pointed into its depths.

  Nate flashed his light inside. Entombed within was a large brown cat.

  "A puma," Kouwe said at his shoulder.

  "Watch," Anna said.

  They stared, not knowing what to expect. Then suddenly the large cat moved, breathed. Its lungs expanded and collapsed in a sigh. But the movement did not look natural, more mechanical.

  Anna glanced back at them. "It's alive."

  "I don't understand," Nate said.

  Anna held out her hand. "Can I see the flashlight?"

  Nate passed it to her. The anthropologist quickly surveyed several of the other alcoves, moving through the neighboring, branching passages. The variety of animals was impressive: ocelot, toucan, marmoset, tamarin, anteater, even snakes and lizards, and oddly enough one jungle trout. And each one of them seemed to be breathing or showing some signs of life, including the fish, its small gill flaps twitching.

  "They're each unique," Anna said, eyes bright as she stared down the maze of passages. "And all alive. Like some form of suspended animation."

  "What are you getting at?"

  Anna turned to them. "We're standing in a biological storehouse. A library of genetic code. I wager this is the source of its prion production."

  Nate turned in a slow circle, staring at the maze of passages. The implication was too overwhelming to contemplate. The tree was storing these animals down here, learning from them so it could produce prions to alter and bind the species to it. It was a living, breathing genetics lab.

  Kouwe gripped Nate's shoulder. "Your father."

  Nate glanced to him in confusion. "What about my--?" Then it hit him like a hammer to the forehead. He gasped. His father had been fed to the root. Not as fertilizer, Nate realized, swinging around, aghast, but to be a part of this malignant laboratory!

  "With his white skin and strange manners, your father was unique," Kouwe said in a low voice. "The Ban-ali or the Yagga would not want to lose his genetic heritage."

  Nate turned to Dakii. He could barely speak, too choked with emotion. "My...m
y father. Do you know where he is?"

  Dakii nodded and lifted both arms. "He with root."

  "Yes, but where?" Nate pointed to the closest cubby, one with an enshrouded black sloth. "Which one?"

  Dakii frowned and glanced around the maze of passages.

  Nate held his breath. There had to be hundreds of passages, countless alcoves. He didn't have time to search them all, not with the clock running. But how could Nate leave, knowing his father was down here somewhere?

  Dakii suddenly strode purposefully down one passage and waved for them to follow.

  They hurried, winding deeper and deeper into the subterranean maze. Nate found it increasingly difficult to breathe, not because of the sickening musk, but because of his own mounting anxiety. All along this journey, he had held no real hope his father was still alive. But now...he teetered between hope and despair, almost panicked with trepidation. What would he find?

  Dakii paused at an intersection, then stepped to the left passage. But after two strides, he shook his head and returned to follow the trail to the right.

  A scream built up inside Nate's chest.

  Dakii continued down this new passage, mumbling under his breath. Finally, he stopped beside a large cubby and pointed. "Father."

  Nate grabbed the flashlight back from Anna. He dropped to his knees, shining his light inside, oblivious to the questing root hairs that wrapped around his wrist.

  Within the mass of roots lay a shadowy figure. Nate moved his light over its form. Curled in a fetal position on the soft loamy floor was a gaunt naked frame, a pale man. His face was covered by a thick beard, his hair tangled with roots. Nate focused on the face hidden beneath the beard. He was not entirely sure it was his father.

  As he stared, the man inhaled sharply, mechanically, and exhaled, wafting root hairs from his lips. Still alive!

  Nate turned. "I have to get him out of there."

  "Is it your father?" Anna asked.

  "I...I'm not sure." Nate pointed to the bone knife tucked in Kouwe's belt. The professor passed it over to him.

  Nate stood and hacked into the root mass.

  Dakii cried out, reaching to stop him, but Kouwe blocked the tribesman. "Dakii, no! Leave Nate be."

  Nate fought through the outer cords of woody roots. It was like the husk surrounding some nut. Beneath this layer was a mass of finer webbings and draperies of rootlets and thready hairs.

  Once through, Nate saw the roots penetrated the man's body, growing into it as if it were soil. It must be how the Yagga sustained its specimens, feeding them, supporting organ systems, delivering nutrients.

  Nate hesitated. Would he harm the man, kill him, if he hacked the root's attachments? If this was indeed some type of suspended animation, would its interruption trigger a massive systems failure?

  Shaking his head, Nate slashed through the roots. He would take his chances. Left alone, the man would surely die a fiery death.

  Once the body was free of the root hairs, Nate tossed the knife aside, grabbed the man by the shoulders, and hauled him into the passage. The last clinging roots broke away, releasing their prey.

  In the tunnel, Nate collapsed beside the man. The naked figure choked and gasped. Many of the tiny rootlets and hairs squiggled from his body, dropping away like leeches. Blood flowed from some spots where larger rootlets had penetrated. Suddenly the man seized, contracting, back arching, head thrown back.

  Nate cradled the man in his arms, not knowing what to do. The thrashings continued for a full minute. Kouwe helped to restrain the man and prevent further injury.

  The figure jerked into a final convulsion, then collapsed with a mighty gasp.

  Nate exhaled with relief when the man's chest continued to rise and fall. Then the eyes fluttered open and stared up at him. Nate knew those eyes. They were his own eyes.

  "Nate?" the figure asked in a dry husky voice.

  Nate fell atop the figure. "Dad!"

  "Am...am I dreaming?" his father asked coarsely.

  Nate was too choked to speak. He helped his father, who was light as a pillow, all skin and bones, to sit. The tree had been sustaining him, but just barely.

  Kouwe bent down to help. "Carl, how are you feeling?"

  Nate's father squinted at the professor, then a look of recognition spread across his face. "Kouwe? My God, what's going on?"

  "It's a long story, old friend." He helped Nate get his father on his feet. Too frail to move on his own, Carl Rand clung to Nate and Kouwe. "Right now, though, we have to get you out of this damn place."

  Nate stared at his father, tears streaming down his face. "Dad..."

  "I know, son," he said hoarsely and coughed.

  There was no time for a proper reunion now, but Nate wasn't going to let another moment go by without saying the words he had regretted withholding the day his father left for this expedition. "I love you, Dad."

  The arm around his shoulder tightened, a small squeeze of affection and love. A familiar gesture. Family.

  "We should fetch the others," Anna said. "And head out of here."

  "Nate, why don't you stay with your father here?" Kouwe suggested. "Rest. We can collect you both on the way out."

  Dakii shook his head. "No. We not come back this way." He waved his arm. "Other way to go."

  Nate frowned. "We should stay together anyway."

  "And I can handle myself," Carl argued hoarsely. He glanced back to the cubbyhole. "Besides, I've been resting here long enough."

  Kouwe nodded.

  With the matter settled, they began to climb toward the surface. Kouwe gave a thumbnail sketch of their situation. Nate's father only listened, leaning more and more heavily upon them as they walked. The only words his father spoke during the discourse were at the mention of Louis Favre and what he had done. "The goddamn bastard."

  Nate smiled, hearing a bit of the old fire in his father's voice.

  When they reached the surface, it was obvious the two Rangers had been busy. They had all the Ban-ali gathered. Each bore packs full of nuts and weapons.

  Nate and his father remained in the entrance, while Kouwe explained about the addition to their team and what they had found below. "Dakii says there's an escape route through the root's tunnel."

  "Then we'd best hurry," Sergeant Kostos said. "We have less than thirty minutes, and we want to be as far away from here as possible."

  Carrera joined them, her weapon on her shoulder. "All set at our end. We have a couple dozen of those nut pods and four canteens of the sap."

  "Then let's haul ass," Kostos said.

  7:32 P.M,

  As they wound through the root tunnels, Kouwe stayed with Dakii, periodically glancing back at the trail of Indians and Americans. Watching Sergeant Kostos help Nate with his father, Kouwe wished he had had time to rig up a stretcher, but right now every minute was critical.

  Though Sergeant Kostos believed the subterranean tunnels would shield them from the worst of the napalm's fiery blast, he clearly feared the maze's integrity. "The rock here is riddled and weakened by the roots. The explosions could bring the roof down atop our heads or trap us here. We need to be well clear of these tunnels before those bombs go off."

  So they hurried. Not only for their own sake, but for the world. Inside their packs, they carried the fate of thousands, if not millions--the nut pods of the Yagga, the suppressant for the virulent human prion. The cure to the plague.

  They could not be trapped down here.

  Glancing over a shoulder, Kouwe again checked the party. The dark tunnels, the softly glowing lichens, the dreadful cubbies with their captured specimens...all made Kouwe nervous. This deep in the system, both walls and ceilings ran wild with roots, zigzagging everywhere, crossing, dividing, fusing. Everywhere were the mounds of ubiquitous root hairs, waving and probing toward any passerby. It made the walls look furry, like a living thing, constantly moving and bristling.

  Behind Kouwe, the others looked equally wary, even the Indians. The line of
men and women ran out of sight around a curve in the twisting passage. Back at the end, pulling up the rear, was Private Carrera. She kept a watch behind them--where Tor-tor and the giant black jaguar followed. It had taken some coaxing to encourage the two cats inside, but Nate had finally been successful in luring Tor-tor. "I'm not going to leave Manny's cat here to die," Nate had argued. "I owe it to my friend to save him."