Part 34 (2/2)

”d.a.m.ned bugs,” Manny griped, slapping his neck. ”I've had it with fly-ing insects making a meal out of me:”

To make matters even worse, Okamoto began to whistle again, tune-lessly and without the vaguest sense of rhythm.

Nate sighed. It would be a long trip.

After an hour, the little muddy islands vanished around them. In the swamp's center, the water was deep enough to drown away most of the tiny bits of land and jungle. Only an occasional hummock, mostly bare of trees, dotted the smooth expanse of the swamp's heart.

Here the sun, scorching and bright, shone incessantly down on them.

”It's like a steam bath,” Camera said from the raft's port side.

Nate had to agree. The air was thick with moisture, almost too heavy to breathe. Their speed across the swamp slowed as exhaustion set in. Can-teens were pa.s.sed around and around the raft. Even Tor-tor lounged in the middle of the bamboo planking, his mouth open, panting. The only consolation was being temporarily free of the jungle's snug embrace. Here the horizons opened up, and there was a giddy sense of escape. Nate glanced frequently back the way they had come, expecting to see a tribesman on the bank back there, shaking a fist. But there remained no sign of the Ban-ali. The trackers of the ghost tribe remained hidden. Hopefully the group was leaving them behind and getting a few days head start on their pursuers.

Nate was tapped on the shoulder. ”I'll take a s.h.i.+ft,” Kouwe said, empty-ing his pipe's bowl of tobacco ash into the water.

”I'm okay,” Nate said.

Kouwe reached and took the paddle. ”I'm not an invalid yet:”

Nate didn't argue any further and slid to the raft's stern. As he lounged, he watched their old campsite get smaller and smaller. He reached back for the canteen and caught movement to the right of their raft.

One of the bare hummocks, rocky and black, was sinking, submerging so slowly that not a ripple was created.

What the h.e.l.l?

Off to the left another was sinking. Nate climbed to his feet. As he began to comment on this unusual phenomenon, one of the rocky islands opened a large gla.s.sy eye and stared back at him. Instantly Nate knew what he was seeing.

”Oh, c.r.a.p!”

With his attention focused, he now recognized the armored scales and craggy countenance of a crocodilian head. It was a caiman! A pair of giants. Each head had to be four feet wide from eye to eye.

If its head was that big . . .

”What's wrong?” Private Camera asked.

Nate pointed to where the second of the two caimans was just slipping under the surface.

”What is it?” the Ranger asked, eyes wide, as confused as Nate had been a moment before.

”Caimans,” Nate said, his voice hoa.r.s.e with shock. ”Giant ones!”

By now, his entire raft had stopped paddling. The others stared at him.

Nate raised his voice, yelling so all three rafts could hear him. He waved his arms in the air. ”Spread out!

We're about to be attacked!”

”From what?” Captain Waxman called from his raft, about fifty yards away. ”What did you see?”

As answer, something huge slid between Nate's boat and its neighbor, nudging both rafts and spinning them ever so slightly. Through the swamp's murk, the twin lines of tail ridges were readily evident as the beast slid sinuously past. Nate was familiar with this behavior. It was calledb.u.mping. The kings of the caimans, the great blacks, were not carrion eaters. They liked to kill their own food. It was why drifting motionless could often protect some-one from the predators. Often they would b.u.mp something that they con-sidered a meal, testing to see if it would move.

They had just beenb.u.mped.

Distantly, the third raft suddenly bobbed and turned. The second caiman was also testing these strange intruders.

Nate yelled again, revising his initial plan. ”Don't move! No one pad-dle! You'll attract them to attack!”

Waxman reinforced his order. ”Do as he says! Weapon up. Gre-nades hot!”

Manny now crouched beside Nate, his voice hushed with awe. ”It had to be at least a hundred feet long, over three times larger than any known caiman.

Camera had her M-16 rifle in hand and was quickly fitting on her grenade launcher. ”No wonder Gerald Clark circled around the swamp:”

Okamoto finished prepping his rifle, kissed the crucifix around his neck, then nodded to Professor Kouwe. ”I pray you have another one of your magical powders up your sleeve:”

The shaman shook his head, eyes wide, unblinking. ”I pray you're all good shots:”

Okamoto glanced at Nate.

Nate explained, ”With their armored body plating, the only sure kill shot is the eye:”

”No, there's also through the upper palate,” Manny added, pointing a finger toward the roof of his mouth. ”But to take that shot, you'd have to be d.a.m.n close:”

”Starboard side!” Camera barked, kneeling with her rifle on her shoulder.

A rippling line disturbed the flat waters, ominous and long.

”Don't take a shot unless you're sure,” Nate hissed, dropping beside her. ”You could provoke it. Only shoot if you've got a kill shot:”

With everyone dead quiet, Waxman heard Nate's warning. ”Listen to Dr. Rand. Shoot if you have a chance-but make it count!”

Rifles bristled around the periphery of each raft. Nate grabbed up his shotgun with one hand. They all waited, baking in the heat, sweat dripping into eyes, mouths drying. Around and around, the caimans circled, leaving no sign of their pa.s.sage but ripples. Occasionally a raft would be b.u.mped, tested.

”How long can they hold their breath?” Camera asked.

”Hours,” Nate said. ”Why aren't they attacking?” Okamoto asked.

Manny answered this question. ”They can't figure out what we are, if we're edible:”

The Asian Ranger looked sick. ”Let's hope they don't find out.”

The waiting stretched. The air seemed to grow thicker around them.

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