Minutes to Burn

The forest had a freshness from yesterday's rain. In the cups of leaves, nooks of logs, and footprints in the mud, the rainwater pooled in twin-kling disks. The air was hot and humid, scented so sharply Szabla could taste it in the back of her throat.

Justin moved in the direction of the yelps, thin branches bowing out of his way. Szabla hooked his shoulder with a hand, pulling him to a stop. "I'll take point," she said.

She passed him and started ahead. She couldn't help looking around in wonder at the varied flora-mint with purple flowers, vines with leathery leaves, the occasional white orchid flowering from a Scalesia trunk. A brown finch wove through the tree trunks, making a soft shushing call. Justin imitated it, turning to watch it disappear.

Szabla stopped when they reached an area where the forest floor was disturbed, leaves and dirt kicked up in a recent struggle of some sort. She sniffed the air. "Something smell funny to you?"

"Well, I wasn't gonna say anything, but-"

She cut him off quickly. "Kates. For once in your life be serious."

Justin looked at her sheepishly. "It was such a good setup, though."

Tilting back her head, Szabla inhaled, flaring her nostrils. Justin wrin-kled his nose at the odor. "Something is rotten in the state of Sangre de Dios," he said.

Szabla noticed the shiny stock of the mandible hidden among a mat of decomposing leaves. She picked it up, holding it out in a shaft of light that broke through the canopy. "Looks like a mandible," she said. "From another larva."

Justin stepped forward into a patch of ferns, and one of his legs shot out from under him. There was a whispering sound and then he was gone. Into thin air.

Szabla stood dumbfounded, staring at the ferns and fallen leaves woven together on the forest floor. She approached them slowly, reaching out a boot to test the ground.

Justin's laugh scared her half to death; it was deep, resonant. "I gave the Lion his courage, the Tin Man a heart, but what would you like, dearie?" his voice bellowed, echoing within the ground. "A new set of dumbbells?"

Szabla yanked back her leg, almost falling over. "Justin, knock it off." Her voice was less stable than she would have liked. "Where the fuck are you?"

"I don't know," his voice boomed. "In some kind of cave. I would get up and look around, but I kind of landed on my head."

Szabla swept back the ferns, revealing the gaping entrance to the lava tube, which sloped gently down into a horizontal shaft. Justin blinked against the light. He had only rolled in a few feet. He glanced up, then shot to his feet, scrambling toward the entrance.

The ootheca pulsed on the roof of the lava tube, strung along the thick Scalesia root just above where Justin's head had been. The remaining closed chamber was writhing, wiggling the rest of the mighty egg sac. The cords that had lowered the other larvae were shriveled up; it looked as if the ootheca had sprouted curled wood shavings.

"What the fuck is that thing?" Szabla asked.

"A quiche. Why don't you try it?"

"You scrambled out of there pretty fast for a goddamn quiche."

"Well, you know. The whole 'real men' bit." Justin grimaced. "Looks like we found our larva's happy home."

Szabla started for the ootheca, then thought better of it. "Jesus," she said. "Each of these chambers is bigger than a human womb." She took one last look before ducking back out through the ferns, swearing softly to herself.

With annoyance, Savage watched Tucker pace around the fire pit.

"So why aren't they back?" Tucker checked his clunky Iron Man watch again. "Over twenty minutes past muster, and Justin and Szabla are never late."

Suntan lotion smeared thickly across their burnt faces and necks, the other soldiers stood, even as they dug into their MREs. A few dark clouds had begun to gather. Though they cut some of the glare, they did nothing to stifle the heat. Tank did a deep knee bend and grimaced. Straightening up, he bit his lip, wincing through obvious pain.

Diego had set the larva loose on the mound of firewood. It was con-tentedly working its way through a fresh Scalesia branch that was still weeping from the severed end. It stopped its mastications from time to time to track the movement around it. Rex refilled the hurricane lamps from the sole white-fuel bottle, holding the cap in his mouth.

Tucker stood up and paced abbreviated circles. "Relax," Cameron said through a mouthful of cookie bar. She bent back her front pants pocket and glanced at the digital clock face sewn into the cloth. "It's fine.

They probably stumbled across something."

"Like a complete set of Russell Wright dinnerware?" Rex asked.

"Why aren't you more worried about it?" Tucker said. "You are his wife."

Cameron's eyes were flat when she looked at him. "Not here," she said.

Savage rolled his eyes, stabbing his fork into a pouch of scalloped potatoes. "This fuckin' crew," he muttered. "Faggots and couples."