Minutes to Burn

The creature pivoted, striking the base of a tree roughly and bringing down a scattering of leaves over Savage. He held his arm tight around her neck, locking up the wrist with his other hand, and nuzzled his face into the union of his fists under the knife, smelling mud and the scent of his own warm flesh.

Something crunched, a seam bursting in the cuticle, and the creature paused, only for a moment, but that was enough. Yanking the head to the side with all his force, Savage ripped the knife through her neck, dig-ging so deep he could feel the ooze against his knuckles. The creature's hissing went silent in a whistle of air that bubbled wetly from the sev-ered trachea in the gash. Shaking and twitching, she fell, her front legs folding so she looked as though she were kneeling. Her back legs gave out and she collapsed, Savage riding her down into the mud like a cow-boy, his legs forked over the spot where her thorax met her lengthy abdomen.

He flung the head aside, and it flapped limply from the sheet of flesh hinged on the intact cuticle at the back of the neck. His boots sank in mud almost to the ankles when he slid off the abdomen.

The rain had cleared some of the mud from his body, but he was still filthy. His hair was heavy, tangled with grime. He sheathed his blade, pat-ting it once affectionately.

He recognized the sour taste in his mouth. Combat juice, they used to call it, the saliva that flooded one's tongue along the sides. Some water had collected on a frond, and he poured it over his mouth and chin, drinking. Crouching to rest by a tree, he plucked a granadilla from the mud and split the shell with his thumbs, scraping his bottom teeth along the lining of the skin to get at the meat.

Once he no longer felt his heart moving in his chest, he rose and faced the dead creature. He grabbed her back legs and tugged, and the large body slid easily in the mud. She was surprisingly light given her size. She'd had a good fighting build-large body surface in proportion to bulk, low weight to leverage her strength.

It had taken him nearly an hour to get out there; it would be at least three more pulling the thing back to base camp. He began the trek, clenching the back legs between his biceps and sides and dragging the corpse behind him. The wings crumpled up under the body, their slick-ness helping him move it through the mud.

Time passed in a crawl. He heard rats rustling around him, and when he glanced back he saw them there, feeding on the head and the tender flesh of the neck in droves. At first he paused and shooed them off, but eventually he grew too tired. As long as they didn't take the head off altogether, he no longer cared.

At one point, he noticed the red top of Tucker's thermite grenade, half-buried in the mud. He picked it up, stuffing it into a pocket, before returning to the body.

The body caught in bushes and branches and more than once between tree trunks. He'd have to back up and reroute, his breath coming like fire from his lungs, his face pounding with the heat.

The creature's legs wore blisters under his armpits and along his biceps and the ridges of his palms, but he dragged his kill onward with the dull, plodding determination of a machine, afraid to rest in case the pain set in.

When he reached the edge of the forest, a vicious fatigue overcame him. The creature's head was still there, lolling behind the body, but one of the eyes had been eaten out, an antenna chewed down to a nub. His knees almost buckled when the body caught the friction of a band of rocks, but he had come too far to drop now, so he pulled on toward the flickering light of the fire.

They watched him approach with large horrified eyes. Derek rose from the log, but the rest couldn't move. Cameron took a halting step back. Szabla's mouth was wide-open, and Justin looked as though he'd just swallowed something live. Diego slid from the log onto his knees.

They didn't even dare to blink as Savage pulled the mangled body into the ring of logs around the fire and released it, his arms going to knots and his legs cramping the instant he stopped. Rather than thumping to the ground, the creature's legs stayed right where he'd let go of them, sticking out like the arms of a wheelbarrow. The body stretched before them on the grass like a dropped buffalo, the fire reflecting off its shiny cuticle.

Savage moved slowly to face Derek. "There's your fuckin' proof," he said.

Turning his back, he staggered to his tent.

Chapter 45

John Mako's voice betrayed his annoyance, sounding sharp and tinny as it echoed through Derek's transmitter. "This better be something goddamn important, Mitchell, to pull my tired ass out of bed again," he barked. "You're a fully functional half-platoon of Navy SEALs. I send you on a mission that involves mostly equipment hauling and ass-wiping, and you've all been calling in every five minutes with your panties in a knot."

Surprise flickered across Derek's face. "Who else has been-?"