Tank withdrew his hand, and Justin made to strangle her from behind, but she caught a pressure point under his elbow, and he released his grip quickly.

"Ouch!"

"Yeah, ouch. There's more where that came from, too." A breeze brought them the scents of the forest. "I'm feeling a little hopeless look-ing for these things," she conceded. "Needles in haystacks."

"We should head back," Justin said. "Help them with the hole."

Despite her earlier complaints, Cameron leaned back slightly into her husband.

Before them, the water stretched clear and endless to the horizon. It whispered against the base of the cliff beneath Cameron's feet, stirring in swirls of white, frothy bubbles. Fronds dipped in the breeze next to them, bowing politely.

"You're pregnant," Tank said. "Aren't you?"

Cameron sucked her bottom lip. It was salty from the air. "When did you know?"

He shrugged. "When I picked you up at your house."

They sat quietly for a few moments.

"I won't let anything happen to you," Tank said.

His voice was low and steady as ever, but something in it made Cameron bite her lip to keep back the emotion. After a moment, she reached for his hand, but Tank hesitated and looked at Justin, as though he'd been caught doing something wrong.

Justin nodded at him, as if to say, go ahead.

Tank's hand was large and warm-it enveloped hers easily. Cameron leaned between the two men, letting herself feel calm and safe, if only for a moment.

Tank pulled his hand back and the three sat again in silence. The blue-footed b.o.o.bies plunge-dived to the waters and popped to the surface. American oystercatchers hopped along the rocky coast, their bright-red bills and yellow eyes standing out against the dark lava.

"In another life," Tank said, "this would be a beautiful place." He leaned back on his hands, the red skin of his scalp visible through his thin, bristling hair.

Cameron looked from the stunning view to the spike lying beside her, the end still stained with the larva's fluids.

"Yeah," she said. "It would."

CHAPTER 61.

--------------------- he sky drained quickly of color. Derek murmured and dozed in fits, the leaves soft against the side of his head. He was back outside his house The Night Of, his legs weak and fluid beneath him, knowing something was dreadfully wrong. The house had looked like a church, a demonic church.

Panic had seized his guts, gripping him like a cramp, but he'd fought it off, refusing to run, refusing to lose his head. The front door hadn't been hot to his touch, not hot as he'd imagined it would be. It had swung open slowly, uncreaking, a coffin standing on end. He'd managed to choke out his wife's name once, and then again. When she'd answered, her voice had been light and airy, like silk afloat on wind. "In here," she'd called. Her voice had seemed to issue from the dining room.

He'd staggered through the kitchen, knocking over a chair, leaning on the countertop to gain his balance. The knife block had been on its side, a black slit where the largest blade should have been.

He'd paused just short of the doorway to the dining room before shuffling weakly forward, sucking air, his chest heaving, his face blotched crimson.

He'd seen Jacqueline standing at the head of the table like a high priestess over an altar, a ghost in the blurry movement of her night-gown. He'd seen the curtains fluffed behind her with the night breeze. He'd seen the smudge of blood across Jacqueline's cheek. He'd seen the small flaccid limb, the arch of the tiny dough-soft fingers on the lac-quered rosewood, four slivers of crescent moon. He'd felt his heart beating in his temples, his hands, his eyes. He'd looked at her, transfixed, unperceiving. He'd known what she was going to say before her mouth moved, before he'd heard the words.

"No bugs," she'd murmured.

Suddenly he was yelling and shuffling backward on the forest floor on all fours, slapping at his face, swiping at the cobwebs of the memory. He slammed into a tree before realizing where he was, within a small ring of Scalesias in the highlands of Sangre de Dios.

His breath caught in his chest when he saw the thing woven between the two trees across from him. A pupation chamber. About five feet tall, cylindrical, and horizontally striated, the coc.o.o.n was a dull beige. A sticky substance ran up along the trunk on each side, securing the coc.o.o.n to the tree. It bulged near the center, like a body bag.

It was pulsing.

Derek tried to crawl backward, again hitting the tree trunk behind him. He stood, gazing at the coc.o.o.n in horror and amazement. His lips trembled, trying to form sounds.

The coc.o.o.n seemed to float in the shadows, framed by the dark trees stretching up around it. It looked almost holy, the circle of moss, like the apse of a cathedral. Derek felt as he had as a boy when he'd stepped forth from his confirmation, surrounded by a group of relatives. Their eyes had all been on him, and for a fleeting moment, he'd felt he must have been something holy for so many adults to be staring at him in his too-tight suit.

Derek's knees jarred the ground when he fell, bringing him back to the forest. He felt wetness on his cheeks and realized he was crying, though he wasn't sure why.

A grumbling creak came from within the coc.o.o.n.

Though the sun had already slipped beyond the horizon, the sky was still lit with its distant glow-a light shade of purple. A heap of c.u.mulus clouds drifted, barely visible through the treetops. Derek was crying so hard the world seemed to streak before his eyes-the trees, the purple sky, the light sheen of the coc.o.o.n.

He turned to his shoulder and it took him three tries to say the name so his transmitter could read it. "Cameron," he finally sputtered. "Pri-mary channel."

Cameron was in the vesicle when Derek's voice clicked through. Tank had been shoveling like a back-hoe, clearing out the excess rock at the bottom. They were all working now, using the light of the hastily made torches that Justin had stuck in the ground at the edges of the hole. "Yeah?" she said. "Derek? Derek?"

"Are you private? Get private."

Cameron threw her shovel aside and scrambled out of the hole, using a knotted rope they had tied to a spike up top. She was careful not to bring more rock tumbling down beneath her feet. She felt Szabla's angry eyes on her as she ran toward the camp, and she knew her secrecy prob-ably upset Justin as well, but she owed Derek at least that. She ran until she was clear of the others, leaning over with her hands on her knees. For a moment, she thought the transmitter had cut out, but then she realized that the wavering noise was Derek sobbing. "Derek," she said. "What's up?"

Derek wiped his eyes and stared at the coc.o.o.n. It was wiggling now, and he could see something moving beneath the surface. It was creaking as it stretched.

Cameron tried to be patient, but her voice wouldn't allow it. She heard a noise in the background, like the supports of a bridge groaning. "Derek, what's going on there?"

An image moved through him-four tiny, lifeless fingers curved on lacquered rosewood. "It was my fault, Cam," he said. "I should've known it was going to happen."

"What's there, Derek? What's going on?"

"I don't know. I think ...I think she's changing."

"Is there a coc.o.o.n?" He didn't respond, so she forged ahead. "Derek, listen to me very carefully. Find a branch, a rock, anything. You have to protect yourself. You saw that thing Savage dragged back here."

Weighted with grief and exhaustion, Derek searched the area for a suitable branch. He finally found one. It was a bit thicker than he had hoped for, but he could still get his hands around it well enough to swing it with some force.

Shoving himself up to his feet, he clutched the branch tightly, search-ing for rage. He stepped forward, raising the tree limb above his head, but became nauseously weak. He crouched, his head bowed as if in sup-plication, his shoulders heaving with sobs.

"She's just a baby, Cam," he said. "She's just a baby."

Cameron looked frantically at the forest. Somewhere in the dark patch of trees this was all taking place, and she was unable to do any-thing about it. "Derek, listen to me. If you don't pull your head out of your a.s.s ASAP, we're all gonna be in a f.u.c.kload of trouble. Now toughen up! Do it!"

Derek stumbled to his feet, moving toward the coc.o.o.n. It swayed and convulsed, something pumping beneath its surface. He drew back the branch like a baseball bat, flexing his arms and his shoulders and throw-ing his full force into the swing. He struck the side of the coc.o.o.n, rock-ing it between the trees. It was hard, and much denser than he'd expected. He was just drawing back the branch again when a ma.s.sive splitting sound filled the air. A seam had opened straight down the pupa-tion chamber.

"It's hatching," he said. He stepped back in horror. "Jesus G.o.d."

"Run, Derek! It's too late-we're gonna have to deal with it later. Get the f.u.c.k out of there. Come back to base. Just run!"

Derek fought through the weakness. Closing his eyes, he felt anger return slowly to him, felt his soldier's instincts quickening his heart. When he opened his eyes again, the world was back in focus. "And leave everyone else to pay?" he said, his voice thick with mucus and tears. He shook his head. "Not again."

He clicked out as Cameron screamed into her transmitter.

The others ran toward her from the hole, Justin leading the way. She was still yelling when they got there, and then she fell silent. They stood around her expectantly. It was impossibly silent.

Derek saw a head rear through the slit and burst the sh.e.l.l of the coc.o.o.n like a melon. Pieces of hardened silk clung to the mantid's face in slimy strips as it slowly emerged. The new head was an open maw- sawing mandibles, yawning labrum, quivering maxillae. The face was alive with motion.

He snapped the head to one side with a swing of the branch.

The mantid's body slowly followed the fearsome head. First, a pair of snapping legs, then the thorax, then the orb of the abdomen. The man-tid unfolded from the white pupation chamber like a phoenix rising. Her head lifted on a high, towering neck, a ring of crusted silk clinging to her throat like a gory necklace. She rose unsurely on her legs, then shook herself like a wet dog, freeing her limbs from the slime and drawing out her ma.s.s.

It seemed inconceivable that the larva could have metamorphosed into such a large and terrible thing. The mantid was expanding still, like a chick fluffing itself out after hatching. Derek darted forward and struck its back with a solid blow, but the wing didn't crumple. He aimed for the thin neck and swung, but the mantid reared up and he hit only her armored thorax. He ran quickly out of range before she could focus on him.

Her raptorial legs practiced a few quick s.n.a.t.c.hes at the air, jackknifing shut like a steel trap. She approached him, leaving the husk of her coc.o.o.n clinging to the trees.

When her front legs lowered, Derek lunged forward, hammering her head with a flurry of blows. The attack seemed to confuse her, and it kept her from striking. Sometimes. .h.i.tting the head, sometimes the thorax, he continued his a.s.sault as the mantid adjusted to her new body and the onslaught. Finally, she raised a front leg, blocking a blow, and the branch snapped. Derek hurled the remaining piece at her, his arms aching.

She reared up, towering over him, rank and fetid. He stared up into the black pools of her eyes. Her mandibles spread slightly as her rapto-rial legs drew back. In the brief stillness before the strike, Derek drove himself up at the mantid, a whirlwind of fists and elbows.

The soldiers stood around Cameron on the dark gra.s.s, the distant torches at the hole flicking above the shadowy outlines of their faces like infernal halos. Cameron was shuddering all over, though it wasn't more than cool, and she crossed her arms against her chest to keep them from trembling. She opened her mouth to speak, but her jaw was shaking, so she closed it.

They stood in silent rank, waiting for something, though no one knew what.

Echoing from the darkest folds of the forest came a petrifying scream. It circled them once, twice, then departed, leaving only the wind whispering against the gra.s.s.

CHAPTER 62.

--------------------- amantha couldn't remember the last time she'd slept. Despite the continuing activity at the makeshift work station outside the slam-mer, she dozed off, forehead pressed to the window. Donald came over, amused, and tapped lightly on the gla.s.s. She awoke with a start. "I didn't do it," she said.

He smiled, cuffing his sleeves. "I feel we conveyed the environmental and medical complications quite admirably to your superiors."

"First time I've offered expert testimony through a window."

"I'm relieved Rex and Diego made it off the island." Donald crum-pled his shirt in a fist and released it, admiring the new folds and wrin-kles. "I hope the others will be all right." He brought his lips together, his white beard bristling. "A courageous bunch."

"I like that Cameron," Samantha said. "Smart and tough. That's how I want to be when I grow up." She heard the clicking footsteps that announced Colonel Douglas Strickland's approach, and when she looked, she was shocked to see Secretary of the Navy Andrew Benneton at his side. On his way from a Senate subcommittee meeting, Benneton wore a sharp, well-tailored suit. Donald stood nervously, fingering the back of his chair.

The men shook hands, and Benneton nodded to Samantha through the gla.s.s.

"I'm glad to hear Rex is safe," Benneton said. "We're going to be able to get the rest of the squad off the island in a little more than twenty-four hours."

"How about the air strike?" Donald asked. "Is it called off?"

Benneton shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Donald, but the team here feels that the risk of the Darwin virus's spreading is unacceptable."

Samantha banged her head gently against the gla.s.s. "'The team here.' I trained half the G.o.dd.a.m.n 'team here.'"

"As soon as the squad extraction is complete, we're going to send in a B1 from Baltra. Neutron bomb," Strickland said. His tone was smug, almost proud. He removed his beret, pressing it to his side with his left elbow. "We received UN approval this morning."

"That's a surprise," Samantha muttered.

His legs shaking, Donald eased himself down into his chair. "A neu-tron bomb. That'll kill all the terrestrial island life. Boil the surrounding waters and send out a shock wave. Everything within miles...dead."

Strickland ran his tongue neatly across his lips. "That is the point, Doctor."

Benneton looked away, annoyed with Strickland's tone. Samantha sensed that there was no love lost between the two.

"Andrew," Donald said. "If I could inform you that the known virus reservoir was exterminated, and the island's water system was no longer infected, would you be willing to hold back the air strike?"

"Can you inform me of that?"

"No," Donald said. "Not yet. But Rex and the Acting Director of the Darwin Station, Dr. Diego Rodriguez, are heading to the Station to test water samples as we speak, and it is my understanding that the soldiers are hunting down the remaining carriers."

Strickland shook his head. "I don't think that's sufficient grounds to-"

"Dr. Everett," Benneton said, cutting Strickland off. "Do you think we will have reached a plane of reasonable security if these criteria are met?"

"Yes," Samantha said. "Of course, we never know when this virus could resurface, but if Sangre de Dios's water system is uncontaminated and the accountable virus reservoir exterminated, that provides us with as much guarantee as we're ever going to get." She glared at Strickland. "Certainly as much as a bombing will give you."

Benneton mulled this over. "Given our current lack of manpower, how can we monitor the island for a future reemergence?"

"A lot easier than if it's been irradiated," Samantha said.

Donald made a calming gesture. "Dr. Rodriguez has offered to moni-tor the ecological activity there on a regular basis, as well as keep an eye on the unicellular phytoplankton in surrounding waters. We can also take steps to quarantine the island."

Benneton pursed his lips, as though lost in an internal debate. "If you can give me those a.s.surances," he finally announced, "then I will call off the strike."

Strickland inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring. "I'm not sure-"

"If and only if those conditions are met," Benneton said. He ticked them off on his fingers. "The water system clean, the accountable virus reservoir exterminated, and continued supervision of the island. I'm sorry, Donald, but that's the most slack I can free up."

"Can't you delay the bombing?" Donald asked.

Strickland snickered. "Oh sure. I'll just ask the Air Force to permit the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to proceed to the Caracas summit without flight escort. Maybe pull air support from the three battalions we're shifting down the coast to Guayaquil." His usual grimace returned. "Given our limited resources, we need to find the most efficient means of neutralizing the situation."

"I don't think you comprehend the gravity of what's happening on that island."