Minutes to Burn

Cameron eyed the length of the road. Aside from the trees along the sides, there wasn't much cover in which the creature could be lurking. They walked slowly, dragging the branches behind them in the dirt. To their right, they could see Frank's specimen freezer standing out in the field, a silver block. When they were about halfway to the watchtower, they cut left through the line of trees into the field and trudged past camp toward the others.

Cameron adjusted the branches in her arms as they arrived at the hole. Szabla took one look at the collection of branches and shook her head. "That one's not gonna be long enough," she said, pointing. "We'll need one more."

"Not long enough my ass," Justin said. "It's long enough."

Szabla walked over and hoisted the thick branch. She stared at Justin, holding the branch horizontally over the hole, her muscles flexed. "Grab the other end, Kates."

From the opposite side, Justin took the branch and lowered it to the lip of the hole. With painstaking care, Szabla set her end of the branch down, where it just missed the last inch of ground. She threw the branch aside.

"Fuck it," she said. "Maybe we'll only need five."

She jumped down into the hole and laid the block of TNT on the ground, dead center. The wire ran up and out of the hole to the Clacker, which lay in the grass about five feet from the edge of the hole. Using the knotted rope, she climbed out.

Savage notched the remaining five branches deeply in the middle to ensure their breaking under the mantid's weight, then they laid them across the hole and smoothed wide fronds on top of them. One end of the hole remained exposed, showing the blackness beneath.

"We're gonna need one more branch," Savage said.

Tank patted Cameron on the shoulder, angling his head toward the forest.

"All right," Cameron said. "We'll be right back."

"I'll go instead," Justin said.

"No, it's fine. We got it."

Justin started to protest, but she raised an eyebrow to silence him. Tank leaned over and plucked the freezer bolt off the ground. It was at least a thirty-pound bar, but he carried it like a Wiffle-ball bat, tapping one end casually against his palm.

They walked in silence to the edge of the field. Cameron scanned the forest, hoping to see the end of a fallen branch peeking out from beneath the leaves, but there was nothing. Except for mounds of leaves, scattered twigs, and the husks of a few rotting oranges, the ground was bare. The forest receded into blackness between the tree trunks. The noises of living things echoed from the void.

There was never silence in the forest, Cameron had learned. Birds cackling, rain pattering, rats scampering, but never silence. Even the air seemed to be alive, seemed to move and feel and whisper all around them.

"We're gonna have to go farther in," she said. "I don't see any here."

Tank raised the bolt from his shoulder, gripping it by the knob like a nightstick. The spike Cameron held against her thigh seemed delicate in comparison.

She started into the darkness, Tank following closely behind.

The mist turned slowly to rain again; they heard it first in the treetops. Drops danced along the leaves, bending them under their weight until they dipped at the stems, spilling. The rivulets darted through openings, drizzling down in streams around them.

"Gimme a six-pace lead," Cameron whispered loudly. She had to raise her voice; the sound of the rain was amplified beneath the canopy.

The strength of the downpour increased until it sounded as if they were under fire. Despite his size, Tank was incredibly graceful, moving through the undergrowth with the agility of a deer. Cameron had to turn and make sure he was following. Were he Derek, she would have known exactly where he was at all times. She wouldn't have had to check his location, wouldn't have had to point to direct him. Tank was excellent, but Derek had been the best. Derek had been like a part of her.

Floreana's deformed baby clawed its way back into her thoughts and she drew her head back slightly at the image. She noticed her fingers trembling and she balled her hand into a fist, clenching it until her fin-gernails dug painfully into her palm. When she opened her hand, her fin-gers were still trembling, so she slapped herself once across the face, hard. Tank saw her halt, heard the ring of the slap, and waited unquestioningly for her to move again.

She inched forward, fighting desperately to clear her mind. There would be time to mourn, she hoped, for Derek and for other things lost. Now was not the time to go limp with grief or weak with horror. Cameron was trained precisely not to mourn or pity, not to cower at times when she most should. She had already let it in, the softness of her emotions. And now, as she stalked through the forest, bending aside fronds with her arms, chest, and face, she swore it would not happen again.