Amazonia

Kelly sensed it a moment before it struck: a sudden welling of the water under their raft. “Hang on!”

“What—”

The raft exploded under them—not just bumped up, but driven skyward. Shattering up from the center of the raft jammed the massive armored snout of the angered caiman.

Kelly flew, tumbling through the air. She caught glimpses of the others falling amid the rain of bamboo and packs. “Frank!” Her brother splashed on the far side of the monster.

Then she hit the water—hard, on her stomach. The wind was knocked out of her. She spluttered up, remembering Nate’s warning to remain as still as possible. She glanced up in time to see a chunk of the raft’s log dropping through the air toward her face.

Dodging, she missed a fatal blow, but the edge of the flying log clipped the side of her head. She collapsed backward, driven underwater, darkness swallowing her away.

From the far side of the dead caiman’s bulk, Nate watched Kelly get hit by debris and go under—dead or unconscious, he didn’t know. All around the ruined raft, people, packs, and bits of debris floated. “Float as still as possible!” Nate called out, frantically searching for what had happened to Kelly.

The caiman had vanished underwater again.

“Kelly!” Frank called.

His sister bobbed to the surface on the far side of the debris field. She was facedown in the water, limp.

Nate hesitated. Was she dead? Then he saw one arm move, flailing weakly. Alive! But for how long? As dazed as she was by the blow, she risked drowning.

“Damn it!” He searched for some plan, some way to rescue her. Just beyond her body was one of the small hummocks of land with a single large mangrove tree sprouting up from it. Its thick trunk sprang from a tangle of exposed buttress roots, then fanned out into a branched canopy hanging over the waters. If Kelly could reach there…

A shout arose from the waters, drawing back his attention. The caiman’s head appeared, rising like a submarine amid the debris. A large eye studied its surroundings. Shots were fired toward it, but it remained low in the water, blocked by the debris and the people. Then it sank quickly away.

Frank finally spotted his sister. “Oh, God…Kelly!” He turned, ready to swim to her aid.

“Frank! Don’t move!” Nate called. “I’ll get to her!” He dropped his shotgun to the bamboo planking.

“What are you doing?” Manny asked.

As answer, Nate leaped across the gap between the raft and the dead caiman. He landed on its exposed belly, landing in a half crouch, then ran down the length of the beast’s slippery bulk, trying to get as close to Kelly as possible.

A scream rose on his right. He watched Corporal Yamir, struggling—then suddenly Yamir was yanked under the water, large bubbles trailing down into the depths. The caiman was picking off the survivors in the water.

Time was running out.

Nate ran and leaped from the belly of the floating caiman, flinging his body with all the strength in his legs. Flying out, he dove smoothly for Kelly, reaching her in a heartbeat. He rolled her face out of the water. She struggled weakly against him.

“Kelly! It’s Nate! Lie still!”

Something must have registered, for her struggling slowed.

Nate kicked strongly toward the nearby hummock. He scrabbled through the debris. His hand hit something: a black dinner plate decorated with blinking red lights. One of the dead corporal’s bombs.

Instinctively, Nate grabbed it up in his free hand and continued to kick.

“Behind you!” Sergeant Kostos called from across the water.

Nate glanced back.

A rippling wake aimed in his direction, then the tip of the snout broke the surface, then more of the bull’s black-scaled head. Nate found himself staring eye-to-eye with the beast. He sensed the intelligence behind that gaze. No dumb brute. Playing dead wouldn’t work here.

He turned and kicked and paddled with the napalm bomb toward the swamp island. His feet hit muddy ground.

With a strength born of fear and panic, he scooped Kelly under his arm and hauled them through the shallows, climbing the banks.

“It’s right on top of you!”

Nate didn’t bother to turn. He ran toward the tangle of mangrove roots, shoved Kelly between them, then dove in after her. There was a cramped natural cavity behind the main buttress roots.

Kelly groggily awoke, coughing out gouts of water and staring around in panic. Nate fell atop her in the small space.

“What…?”

Then, over his shoulder, she must have spotted their pursuer. Her eyes grew large. “Oh, shit!”

Nate rolled around and saw the monster hurling itself up out of the lake, scrabbling up the short bank. It struck like a locomotive hitting a car on the tracks. The whole tree shook. Nate was sure it would crash atop them. But the tree held. The caiman stared at Nate between the roots, mouth gaping open, teeth glinting with menace. It paused, glaring at him, then backpedaled and slid into the waters.

Kelly turned to him. “You saved me.”

He glanced to her, their noses almost touching in the cramped root prison. “Or almost got you killed. It’s all perspective, really.” Nate pushed to his knees. He grabbed one of the roots to haul himself to his feet. “And we’re not out of the woods yet.”

Nate studied the waters, watching for any telltale ripple. It seemed quiet. But he knew the caiman was still out there, watching. Taking a deep breath, he squeezed back out between the roots.

“Where are you going?”

“There are still others in the water…including your brother.” Nate shoved the napalm bomb under his shirt and began to climb the mangrove, a plan slowly forming. Once high enough, he picked a good branch, clambered atop it, and slowly crawled down its length to where it hung over the water. As the branch thinned, it began to bend under his weight. He moved more cautiously.

At last, he could risk going no farther. He glanced down and around his perch. This would have to do.

He called to the other raft while pulling out the bomb. “Does anyone know how to arm one of these explosives?”

Sergeant Kostos answered, “Type in the time delay manually! Then hit the red button!”

Waxman yelled from where he floated in the water. Nate had to respect how calm the captain’s voice was as he added a warning. “It’s got an explosive radius of a couple hundred meters. Blow it wrong and you’ll kill us all!”

Nate nodded, staring at the bomb. A simple sealed keyboard glowed atop it, not unlike a calculator. Nate prayed it hadn’t been damaged by the dunking or abuse. He set the timer for fifteen seconds. That should be long enough.