Amazonia

Half blind, he ran past the site before realizing it and doubled back. He fell to his knees beside the spot. “Thank God.”

Jorgensen planted his torch in the soft loam, then leaned over and swept free the dirt and scrabbling bugs from the buried resinous compound. Locusts lay thick over this site. Several bites stung his hand as he brushed them away. Leaning close, the residual fumes from the oil filled his nostrils, bitter and sharp. The professor was right. It certainly attracted the buggers.

Working quickly, Jorgensen continued to uncover the original marker. He didn’t know how much of the black oil should be lit to keep the swarm’s attention here, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He didn’t want to have to return a second time. Crawling on his knees, his hands sticky with the black resin, he worked around the site. He soon had at least half of the serpentine pattern exposed.

Satisfied, he sat back, pulled free a butane lighter, and flicked a flame. He lowered the lighter to the oil. “C’mon…burn, baby.”

His wish was granted. The oil caught fire, flames racing down the twists and curls of the exposed symbol. In fact, the ignition was so fiercely combustible that the first flames caught him off guard, burning his fingers.

Jorgensen dropped the lighter and pulled his hand away, his fingers on fire. “Shit!” The smattering of sticky oil on his hand had caught the flames. “Shit!”

He rolled to the side and shoved his hands into the loose dirt to stanch the fire. As he did so, his elbow accidentally struck the planted bamboo torch, knocking it into a nearby bush, casting embers in a fiery arc. Jorgensen swore and snatched at the torch—but he was too late. The powder stored in the hollow top of the bamboo had scattered into the dirt and bush, sizzling out. The top of the torch still glowed crimson, but it was no longer smoking.

Jorgensen sprang to his feet.

Behind him, the symbol of the Ban-ali flamed brightly, calling the swarm to its meal.

“Oh, God!”

Kelly heard the first scream, a horrible sound that froze everyone in place.

“Jorgensen…” Private Carrera said, swinging around.

Kelly stepped beside the Ranger.

“We can’t go back,” Zane said, shifting further down the trail.

A second scream, bone-chilling, garbled, echoed from the forest.

Kelly noticed the swarm of locusts whisk from around them, retreating back toward the original campsite. “They’re leaving!”

Professor Kouwe spoke at her shoulder. “The corporal must have succeeded in relighting the symbol.”

By now, the agonized cries were constant, prolonged, bestial. No human could scream like that.

“We have to go help him,” Manny said.

Carrera clicked on a flashlight in her free hand. She pointed it back toward the campsite. Fifty yards away, the condensed swarm was so thick, the trees themselves were invisible, swallowed by the black cloud. “There’s not enough time,” she said softly and lifted her own bamboo torch. It was already sputtering. “We don’t know how long a distraction Jorgensen has bought us.”

Manny turned to her. “We could at least still try. He might be alive.”

As if hearing him, the distant cries died away.

Carrera glanced to him and shook her head.

“Look!” Anna called out, pointing her arm.

Off to the left, a figure stumbled out of the swarm.

Carrera pointed her flashlight. “Jorgensen!”

Kelly gasped and covered her mouth.

The man was impossible to identify, covered from crown to ankle with crawling locusts. His arms were out, waving, blind. His legs wobbled, and he tripped in the underbrush, falling to his knees. All the while, he remained eerily silent. Only his arms stretched out for help.

Manny took a step in the man’s direction, but Carrera held him back.

The swarm rolled back over the kneeling man, swallowing him.

“It’s too late,” Carrera said. “And we’re all running out of time.” Punctuating her statement, her own torch cast a final sputter of fiery ash, then dimmed. “We need to get as far from here as possible before we lose our advantage.”

“But—” Manny began.

He was cut off by a hard stare from the Ranger. Her words were even harder. “I won’t have Jorgensen’s sacrifice be meaningless.” She pointed toward the deeper wood. “Move out!”

Kelly glanced back as they headed away. The swarm remained behind them, a featureless black cloud. But at its heart was a man who had given his life to save them all. Tears filled her eyes. Her legs were numb with exhaustion and despair, her heart heavy.

Despite the loss of the corporal, one thought, one face remained foremost in Kelly’s mind. Her daughter needed her. Her mind roiled with flashes of her child in bed, burning with fever. I’ll get back to you, baby, she promised silently.

But deep in her heart, she now wondered if it was a pact she could keep. With each step deeper into the forest, more men died. Graves, DeMartini, Conger, Jones…and now Jorgensen…

She shook her head, refusing to give up hope. As long as she was alive, putting one foot in front of the other, she would find a way home.

Over the next hour, the group forged through the forest, following the path the other half of their team had taken the previous afternoon. One by one, their torches flickered out. Flashlights were passed around. So far, no sign of renewed pursuit by the swarm manifested. Maybe they were safe, beyond the interest of the blind locusts, but no one voiced such a hope aloud.

Manny marched close to the Ranger. “What if we miss the other team?” he asked softly. “Jorgensen had our radio equipment. It was our only way of contacting the outside world.”

Kelly hadn’t considered this fact. With the radio gone, they were cut off.

“We’ll reach the others,” Carrera said with a steely determination.

No one argued with her. No one wanted to.

They marched onward through the dark jungle, concentrating on just moving forward. As hours ticked by, the tension blended into a blur of bone-weary exhaustion and endless fear. Their passage was marked with hoots and strange cries. Everyone’s ears were pricked for the telltale buzz of the locusts.

So they were all startled when the small personal radio hanging from Private Carrera’s field jacket squawked with static and a few scratchy words. “This is…if you can hear…radio range…”

Everyone swung to face the Ranger, eyes wide. She pulled her radio’s microphone from her helmet to her mouth. “This is Private Carrera. Can you hear me? Over.”