A shout of triumph arose from the others.
Nate climbed down the tree and retrieved Kelly. "Are you okay?" he asked her.
She nodded, fingering a gash at her hairline. "Head hurts a little, but I'll be fine:" She coughed hoarsely. "I must've swallowed a gallon of swamp water."
He helped her down to the water's edge. While Kostos's raft went to collect the swimmers and packs, Nate's own raft, manned by his friends and Ranger Camera, glided over to the pair to keep them from having to swim.
Camera helped pull Kelly aboard. Manny grabbed Nate's wrist and hauled him up onto the bamboo planks. "That was some pretty fast thinking, doc," Manny said with a grin.
"Necessity is the mother of invention," Nate said, matching his expression with a tired smile. "But I'll be damned glad to be on dry land again.
"Could there be more of them out there?" Kelly asked as the group paddled toward the other raft.
"I doubt it," Manny said with a strange trace of regret. "Even with an ecosystem this large, I can't imagine there's enough food to support more than two of these gigantic predators. Still, I'd keep a watch out for any offspring. Even baby giants could be trouble:"
Camera kept watch with her rifle as the others paddled. "Do you think that the Ban-ali sent these after us, like the locusts and piranhas?"
Kouwe answered, "No, but I would not put it past them to have nurtured this pair as some de facto gatekeepers to their lands, permanently stationed guards against any who dared to enter their territory"
Gatekeepers? Nate stared at the far shore. The broken highlands were now clear in the afternoon brightness. Waterfalls were splashes of silver flowing down cliffs the color of spilled blood. The jungled summits and valleys were verdant.
If the professor was right about the caiman being gatekeepers, then ahead of them stretched the lands of the Ban-ali, the heart of their deadly territory.
He stared at the other raft, counting heads. Waxman, Kostos, Warczak, and Camera. Only four Rangers remained of the twelve sent out here-and they hadn't even crossed into the true heart of the Ban-ali lands. "We'll never make it," he mumbled as he paddled.
Camera heard him. "Don't worry. We'll dig in until reinforcements can be flown here. It can't take more than a day."
Nate frowned. They had lost three men today, elite military professionals. A day was not insignificant. As he stared at the growing heights of the far shore, Nate was suddenly less sure he wanted to reach dry land, especially that dry land. But they had no choice. A plague was spreading through the States, and their small party was as close to an answer to the puzzle as anyone. There was no turning back.
Besides, his father had taken this route, run this biological gauntlet. Nate could not retreat now. Despite the deaths, the dangers, and the risks, he had to find out what had happened to his father. Plague or not, he could only go forward.
Waxman called as they neared the far shore. "Stay alert! Once we pull up, move quickly away from the swamp. We'll set up a base camp a short distance into the forest:"
Nate saw the way
back to his computer and typed. "Based on this new basophil data, I ran an extrapolation model. Here is what the disease picture will look like in two weeks:" He pressed the ENTER key.
The entire southern half of the country went red.
Lauren sat back in shock.
"And in another month:" Hank struck the ENTER key a second time.
The red mottling spread to consume almost the entire lower forty eight states.
Hank glanced at her. "We have to do something to stop this. Every day is critical:"
Lauren stared at the bloodstained screen, her mouth dry, her eyes wide. Her only consolation was that Dr. Alvisio's basis for this model was probably overly grim. She doubted the basophil spike was truly an early marker for the disease. Still, the warning here was important. Every day was critical.
Her pager vibrated on her hip, reminding her that the war against this disease had to be fought with every resource. She glanced down to her pager's screen. It was Marshall. He had followed his numeric code with a 911. Something urgent.
"Can I use your phone?" she asked.
"Of course:"
She stood and crossed to his desk. Hank returned to his computers and statistical models. She dialed the number. The phone was answered in half a ring.
"Lauren. . :'
"What is it, Marshall?"
His words were rushed, full of fear. "It's Jessie. I'm at the hospital:"
Lauren clutched the phone tighter. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Her temperature is up again:" His voice cracked. "Higher than it's ever been. And three other children have been admitted. Fevers, all of them:"
"Wh . . . what are you saying?" she stammered, but she knew the answer to her own question.
Her husband remained silent.
"I'll be right there," she finally said, dropping the phone and scrabbling to replace it in its cradle.
Hank turned to her, noticing her reaction. "Dr. O'Brien?"
Lauren could not speak. Jessie . . . the basophil spike . . . the other children. Dear God, the disease was here!