Amazonia

“Those small streams and falls must feed the swamp,” Nate said. “Keeping the area wet year round.”

Frank lowered his glasses and found Captain Waxman studying a compass.

Nate pointed to the tree. “I wager that this marker points to Clark’s next signpost. He must have had to circle around the swamp.” Nate stared at the huge boggy spread of the water. “It would’ve taken him weeks to skirt the water.”

Frank heard the despair in Dr. Rand’s voice. To hike around the swamp would take them just as long.

Captain Waxman lifted his eyes from the compass and squinted across the swamp. “If the marker lies straight across, that’s where we’ll go.” He pointed an arm. “It’ll only take us a day to raft across here, rather than losing a week hiking.”

“But we have no rubber raiders,” Frank said.

Waxman glanced to him condescendingly. “We’re Army Rangers, not Boy Scouts.” He waved to the forest. “There are plenty of downed logs, acres of bamboo, and with the rope we have with us and the vines around us, we should be able to lash together a couple of rafts. It’s what we’re trained to do—improvise with the resources available.” He glanced to the distant shore. “It can’t be more than a couple miles to cross here.”

Nate nodded. “Good. We can shave days off the search.”

“Then let’s get to work! I want to be finished by nightfall, so we’re rested and ready in the morning to cross.” Waxman assembled various teams: to roll and manhandle logs to the swamp’s edge, to go out with axes and hack lengths of bamboo, and to strip vines for lashing material.

Frank assisted where needed and was surprised how quickly the building material accumulated on the muddy shore. They soon had enough for a flotilla of rafts. The assembling took even less time. Two matching logs were aligned parallel and topped with a solid layer of bamboo. Ropes and vines secured it all together. The first raft was shoved through the slick mud and into the water, bobbing in the shallows.

Acheer rose from the Rangers. Nate grinned approvingly as he sculpted paddles from bamboo and dried palm fronds.

A second raft was soon finished. The entire process took less than two hours.

Frank watched the second raft drift beside its mate. By now, the sun was setting. The western sky was aglow with a mix of reds, oranges, and splashes of deep indigo.

Around him, the camp was being set up. A fire lit, hammocks strung, food being prepared. Frank turned to join them when he spotted a dark streak against the bright sunset. He pinched his eyebrows, squinting.

Corporal Okamoto was passing Frank with an armful of tinder. “Can I borrow your binoculars?” Frank asked.

“Sure. Grab ’em from my field jacket.” The soldier shifted his burden.

Frank thanked him and took the glasses. Once Okamoto had continued past, Frank raised the binoculars to his eyes. It took him a moment to find the dark streak rising in the sky. Smoke? It rose from the distant highlands. A sign of habitation? He followed the curling black line.

“What do you see?” Nate said.

“I’m not sure.” Frank pointed to the sky. “I think it’s smoke. Maybe from another camp or village.”

Nate frowned and took the glasses. “Whatever it is,” he said after a moment, “it’s drifting this way.”

Frank stared. Even without the binoculars, he could see that Nate was correct. The column of smoke was arching toward them. Frank lifted a hand. “That makes no sense. The wind is blowing in the opposite direction.”

“I know,” Nate said. “It’s not smoke. Something is flying this way.”

“I’d better alert the captain.”

Soon everyone was outfitted with binoculars, staring upward. The ribbon of darkness had become a dense black cloud, sweeping directly toward them.

“What are they?” Okamoto mumbled. “Birds? Bats?”

“I don’t think so,” Nate said. The smoky darkness still appeared to be more cloud than substance, its edges billowing, ebbing, flowing as it raced toward them.

“What the hell are they?” someone mumbled.

In a matter of moments, the dark cloud swept over the campsite, just above tree level, blocking the last of the sunlight. The team was immediately flooded by a high-pitched droning. After so many days in the jungle, it was a familiar sound—but amplified. The tiny hairs on Frank’s body vibrated to the subsonic whine.

“Locusts,” Nate said, craning upward. “Millions of them.”

As the cloud passed overhead, the lower edges of the swarm rattled the leafy foliage. The team ducked warily from the creatures, but the locusts passed them without pausing, sweeping east.

Frank lowered his binoculars as the tail end of the cloud droned over them. “What are they doing? Migrating or something?”

Nate shook his head. “No. This behavior makes no sense.”

“But they’re gone now,” Captain Waxman said, ready to dismiss the aerial show.

Nate nodded, but he glanced to the east, one eye narrowed. “Yes, but where are they going?”

Frank caught Nate’s glance. Something did lie to the east: the other half of their party. Frank swallowed back his sudden fear. Kelly…

7:28 P.M.

As the day darkened into twilight, Kelly heard a strange noise, a sharp whirring or whine. She walked around the Brazil nut tree. Squinting her eyes, she tried to focus on its source.

“You hear it, too?” Kouwe asked, meeting her on the far side of the trunk.

Nearby, the two Rangers stood with weapons raised. Others stood by the camp’s large bonfire, feeding more dry branches and bamboo to the flames. With the threat of someone stalking around their camp, they wanted as much light as possible. Stacked beside the fire was a large pile of additional fodder for the flames, enough to last the night.

“That noise…it’s getting louder,” Kelly mumbled. “What is it?”

Kouwe cocked his head. “I’m not sure.”

By now, others heard the noise, too. It rose quickly to a feverish pitch. Everyone started glancing to the sky.

Kelly pointed to the rosy gloaming to the west. “Look!”

Cast against the glow of the setting sun, a dark shadow climbed the skies, a black cloud, spreading and sweeping toward them.

“A swarm of locusts,” Kouwe said, his voice tight with suspicion. “They’ll do that sometimes in mating season, but it’s the wrong time of the year. And I’ve never seen a swarm this big.”