Her arms flared in shock when she saw the distinctive green head, the rings of the abdominal segments. Rising like steam from a grate, the larva drifted into view, its back to Cameron. Moving its body side to side like a sea snake, the larva coasted forward, its shadow rippling along the bottom of the sand like a strange, dark organism. It broke the surface a few feet behind the marine iguana, which was still clumsily churning the waters. The larva's mouth opened wide, mandibles spreading. The iguana was gone and the larva dipped back below, mouth working. It slithered through the inner ring of the atoll, heading for the open waters beyond.
Cameron kicked to the surface, pausing only to fill her lungs once, and then she swam toward the larva, taking long, fluid underwater strokes. Her hand went to the knife tucked into the band of her pants and slid it from its sheath. She moved without hesitation.
The larva did not sense her approach. Its head rotated as it tracked a brilliant moorish idol swimming before it, and its gills rippled as they expelled water.
Arcing her arm like a javelin thrower, Cameron guided the knife, releasing it gently so as not to upset its course. It sent silvery disks of light through the water as it coasted, seeming to vibrate as it caught the sun.
It approached the unsuspecting larva from behind, nearing its head. As the larva's gills flickered wide, the blade disappeared through one of the slits, burying itself in the larva's head to the hilt. The larva jolted as if it had been shocked, bubbles steaming from its spiracles. A gorgeous cloud of hemolymph spread from the three gills like a blossoming rose, and Cameron tried not to think of the virus moving through the waters around her.
The larva's mouth opened, the tip of the blade visible between its mandibles. Even underwater, Cameron could hear the screech emanating from its spiracles. The larva bent to face Cameron, too stunned to thrash about, though its prolegs squirmed in slow circles. The greenish liquid continued to pour from the slits of its gills.
Cameron's eyes narrowed as she closed in on the larva, her teeth clenching until she felt the grind deep in her head. She fisted the knife stock and turned for shore, the impaled larva turning with the blade. The larva snapped along her side as she kicked back to the beach, surfacing occasionally for air.
She pulled herself from the water, the knife still embedded in the larva's gills. The larva's terminal segment skimmed along the surface of the waves as she sloshed to shore. The larva emitted squeals, still strong, though it had lost so much of its fluids. It bucked and kicked, bouncing along her side, its head twisted by the blade's intrusion. Cameron kept its body tilted so that the infected hemolymph would run off the body rather than down the knife onto her hand.
Cameron headed up through the cliff and then along the trail that led to the road. She passed the watchtower and went directly to the speci-men freezer, dragging the larva as it shrieked and struggled. Yanking the door open, she ignored the fetid air, the puddles of ooze, the rotting corpses. Her boot struck Tank's head as she stepped forward, knocking over his bustlike remains. She angled her knife hand and the larva slid from the blade, thumping to the floor.
She seized the empty hook dangling from the ceiling and impaled the larva on it, jerking the barbed end through the bottom of its chin until it curved from its mouth like a pointed tongue. Squealing emanated from its whole body.
Gripping the end of the hook in a fist, Cameron raised it above her head like a fisherman, holding the shaking larva right before her. She viewed it neither with anger nor with the pleasure of vengeance; it was merely a tool to be used as she'd used Savage's knife and the TNT.
The sun was low in the sky as Cameron stopped by base camp and scooped up the three flares, ramming them into her back pocket where they protruded like a rolled newspaper. Swinging the larva at her side, she started down the road, the trees rising on each side of her. Ahead, the howling watchtower continued its laments.
The splintering wood of the ladder hurt her sore hands, but she pulled her body up, paying no attention to the larva as it dragged along beside her, shaking and squealing. The shed was a dark, gaping hole atop the watchtower, a screaming mouth. She swung the hook up into the shed first, using it to pull the rest of her body up. Impaled on the hook, the larva crashed against the floor, leaving a wet stain. The squealing grew even louder.
As Cameron pulled herself onto her feet, the wind resonated within the shed, and she felt the sounds as vibrations in her bones.
A ruler-thick strip of wood had come free from the plywood of the roof, and Cameron threaded it through the eyelet at the top of the hook.
It wedged deep and firm, the larva swinging from the ceiling like a tor-tured chandelier when she let go.
She yanked the flares from her back pocket, holding one in her mouth as she ripped the strikers from the other two. They fizzled with a bright-red glow. Cracking the top of the third flare, she lit it also, the red lights dancing in the walls of the shed.
Her front pocket held the last inches of tape from the demo box, and she looped it around the flares as the larva dangled and squirmed behind her, trying to free itself from the hook. The hook had torn through the cuticle of its chin, stopping at the firm line of its jaw.
Cameron tossed the flares to the floor beneath the larva and walked past it without so much as a look. She had to return to base, rinse her hands with canteen water, and see if she could squeeze a bit more anti-bacterial gel from the bottle. The sun had dipped to the horizon, casting an orange glow through the tops of the trees and turning the forest to a sea of waving flames.
It was dusk, she noticed, as she started the climb down. The creature would soon appear.
Chapter 73
Fourteen of the water samples were clean. Only the three that had been taken from directly over the deep- sea core holes remained. They'd saved them for last, since they were the most likely to show traces of the virus. Polaroids of the DNA bands in the agar lay on the counter-top, including a control shot from the wild type sample that they knew to be normal.
'All right,' Diego said. 'We'll each check one result.'
Ramoncito looked first, comparing the sample Polaroid to that of the control and checking for differences. There were none. 'Clean,' he said. Diego glanced over his shoulder, double-checking that the banding pat-terns of the sample and the control matched.
Steeling himself, Rex took the control Polaroid from Ramoncito and raised the second sample photograph up beside it. He exhaled deeply. 'Clean,' he said.
The final Polaroid sat in the middle of the counter, holding the key to Sangre de Dios's fate. Diego gazed longingly at the joint, snubbed out in a beaker. He picked up the photo and held it before his face, his eyes closed. He opened his eyes. Looked from one photo to the other. Slowly, he set them down, his cheeks trembling.
'What?' Rex asked, trying to contain his panic.
'Clean,' Diego whispered. 'Clean, clean, clean.'
He lowered his head to the countertop and they all stayed quiet for a few moments. 'Well,' Rex said. 'That's step one. We still need to check in with Everett to see if the squad has taken care of the accountable virus reservoir.'
He pulled the transmitter from his pocket and placed it on his open palm, leaning toward it as he asked to be put through to Slammer Two at Detrick.
Samantha's voice came through clearly. 'Yes?'
'It's clean,' Rex said. 'The water system is clean. Every last sample.'
There was a silence.
'That's good news,' Samantha said slowly. 'But we've been unable to contact Cameron. Either her transmitter is down or she's… ' She declined to finish the sentence.
Rex noticed that she'd only mentioned Cameron. He closed his eyes, pushing away his concern, fighting to stay focused.
'What does that mean?' Diego asked. 'About the bombing?'
'Without confirmation that the virus reservoir is exterminated, there's not much we can do,' Samantha said. 'Unfortunately. They're going to send a medevac at 2200 to look for survivors.'
'And the B1 departure is 2300?' Rex asked.
'Yes.'
