Minutes to Burn

The terminal was all but deserted. A flat open building with visible rafters and three-quarter-height walls composed of large porous brown slabs. The west wall had fallen over, but since it wasn't directly connected to the ceiling, it had dragged nothing else down with it. It left an open block of air, looking out over low, scrubby vegetation. Dirt had blown in, scattering across the concrete floor. The emptiness, in addition to the barren landscape and abandoned souvenir shacks, made the place seem haunted. The squad walked silently through the building. A wooden sign with grooved white lettering hung on the nearest wall: Bienvenidos, Parque Nacional Galapagos, Ecuador. To its left was a crudely painted blue map of the archipelago. Poorly drawn pictures of turtles, iguanas, and an impos-sibly elongated flamingo hung on the walls. A thin film of red dust cov-ered everything.

Cameron stepped forward, kit bag slung over one shoulder. An enor-mous cardboard cutout of a short, stubby penguin lay on the ground, the beady black eyes staring up at her dumbly. Savage put his foot on its beak. Setting a boot on one of the dilapidated benches, Cameron glanced at the old jitney terminal behind the airport. Just beyond it, a metal dolphin with chipped blue paint had fallen on top of a tortoise sculpture, giving the distinct impression that it was humping it.

Savage flipped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it, taking in the scene around them. "This place is a fucking zoo," he grumbled.

The French soldiers went behind the disused TAME ticket counter and Szabla waved the squad over. "Let's get our shit down on the mani-fest and head out of here."

The soldiers lined up and filled out the information, each listing name, rank, and company, completing a Park form, and showing the French soldiers military ID. Savage dawdled over by the wall, gazing at the cardboard cutouts. He put his cigarette out in a tortoise's eye. Tank and Derek loaded the gear onto a dolly they'd found in a back closet.

The two-mile road to the Itabaca Channel was split with scarps, earth-quake wounds where the ground had cracked and then clamped shut again. They'd have to heft their gear over felled telephone poles and wires to get to the dock. Cameron gazed at the strip of water. It was apparent that the channel had been created by water filling the crack of a seismic fault.

Rex tapped her shoulder with the clipboard, and she took it from him. He pointed to a small, flat-bottomed panga moored at the dock. Stretched out on the pontoon, a man slept in the shade afforded by the makeshift ramada of palm fronds that he'd propped overhead using two fishing poles. His hat was over his face, Huck Finn style. "The seismolo-gists at the Station said they'd have someone waiting," Rex said. "I arranged it a few weeks ago." He smiled, pleased with himself. "The roads across the channel are a mess, so we're going to have to take the panga around the island to Puerto Ayora."

He noticed Tucker mishandling a comms box and scurried off. The others had already headed out behind the airport and circled up, waiting for them. Cameron finished at the clipboard and handed it off to Sav-age, the last one left. He took it with some hesitation, and when Cameron glanced back, he was still standing over it, an uncomfortable expression on his face. He stared at the form, chewing the end of the pen. He set the pen down and followed Cameron, but the French soldier called out in heavily accented English, "This not eez complete."

Cameron backtracked and checked the forms. Though he'd written his basic information in the manifest, Savage had left the complicated Park form blank. He took out another cigarette, coughed into his fist, and put the cigarette away.

"You gotta do this shit," Cameron said. "We don't want a hassle."

Savage shrugged. "Fuck it." He raised a hand and ran it over his ban-danna. His face softened a touch, and Cameron thought she caught a glimmer of vulnerability in it.

"Move it!" Derek yelled from outside.

Savage cleared his throat. "Just a touch rusty, that's all," he said.

Cameron looked at his handwriting more closely. She glanced from his dyslexic scrawl to his face and picked up the pen. "Come here," she said. "I'll help you."

Chapter 20

Samantha lay back on her bed, resting her legs straight up the wall. Lagging behind a guided tour of the facilities, a four-star general paused at the slammer window, double-taking at Samantha's posture. He stopped, crossing his arms in disapproval. Out of the corner of her eye, Samantha saw him looking at her. Thrashing around on the bed, she feigned a seizure, rolling her eyes and moaning. The general quickly turned and scurried away.

She sat up on the bed and rubbed her face. Suddenly, she recognized her children's laughter down the hall, and she rose and crossed to the window, waving as her three kids made their way toward her.