Alien Jungle (10 page)

T
race froze. Wilde’s cries still echoed through the com. He stared at the green, oil-fed flames, gaped as a blazing person burst from among them. Several onlookers rushed to assist the victim.

“How? Why?” He’d had everything under control.

Beside him, Anselmi shook his head.

Then howls seeped into his awareness. Moss men lined the hill. Alarm shot through him. “We need a plan. We have to get this fire out, get to our people on the other side.”

Anselmi studied him as if he were a talking monkey. “How?”

That one word stung more than any accusation he might have uttered. Trace staggered, hands against his ears, trying to block out the surrounding turmoil. There had to be a way, he had to find a way to save them. An image of the wide, barn-like doors on the garages surfaced from his muddled thoughts.

He pointed at a group of people. “You men come with me.”

<<>>

I
mpani peered from the stack of mushroom trunks. An inferno engulfed the pathways between the trenches. The workers in the back of the pack retreated unscathed, but others weren’t so lucky. She saw several people roll on the ground and struggle to remove their burning jackets.

“We’ve got to help them,” Natica said beside her.

“How did they get down from here?” Impani glanced about. “What did they do, jump?”

“We can’t jump with an injured man.”

Impani looked at the worker between them. His eyes were closed, and a thin line of blood dribbled from his lips. She looked toward Wilde who perched atop the mushroom stalks several meters away. Their two groups had spread out on the trek up the mushrooms to keep the trunks from rolling. As luck would have it, his portion of the stockpile had a forklift parked nearby. He was already inching over and down, reaching his boots toward the raised fork.

Impani waved her arm. “Robert!” When he didn’t respond, she keyed her com. “Robert, when your group is down, can you drive that rig toward us?” He glanced her way.

At that moment, a fireball emerged from the trenches. A burning man, she realized in horror. He ran directly into the stockpile beneath her. She felt the jolt as he hit the wall, saw his body crumple. Then, with an explosion of brilliant heat, the pile of mushrooms she sat upon caught fire.

<<>>

T
race’s shoulder muscles burned as he and several colonists tilted the cumbersome garage door on end and let it fall over the trench. A cheer rose, and Trace grinned, believing they had created a bridge over the fire. But almost immediately, the door smoked and sagged.

Trace stomped a foot and bellowed, “It’s supposed to be fireproof.”

“Evidently, not melt proof.” Anselmi clasped his long arms behind his back.

Trace paced the edge of the trench. The door melted into slag, smothering the logs beneath it. The fire was out, but the trench was still impassable. What was he going to do? His team was over there.
Impani
was there.

Bitter anguish filled his mouth. He looked around at panicked, running people, at the medical team performing triage. They were his responsibility. All of them. He’d been charged with their safety. Would he now be charged with their deaths?

<<>>

I
mpani leaned forward and searched the logs for handholds. She scrambled over the top. Green flames raged up the pile beside her. They lapped the air.

Natica seized her arm. “We’ll break our necks if we jump from this height.”

“Better than roasting.” But the ground appeared disturbingly far away. “After I’m down, roll him over the edge. I’ll catch him.”

“I can’t!” Natica cried. “I’m not strong enough.”

Impani dangled from the mushroom peak and gaped at her friend. She wanted to shake her, wanted to shout
I’m not strong enough either
but at least I’m willing to try.

Then over the crackle of fire, she heard a loud snap. As if in slow motion, the fire-damaged pile caved in on itself. The log beneath them tilted and slid, slipping into the hungry mouth of the blaze. Burning logs spilled onto the ground.

Natica screamed.

Impani grabbed the support piling then latched onto her friend’s arm. “Hang on!”

“I’ve lost him!” she wailed. “I’ve lost him.”

The unconscious man rolled along with the logs, carried far out of reach. Impani watched, horrified, as flames swallowed his body.

<<>>

T
race shouted at Anselmi, “Go ahead, say it! You think I should never have been named team leader.”

“That would be stating the obvious.” Anselmi’s eyes flashed. “You have no sense of teamwork. You can’t rely on someone else’s strengths because you don’t take time to learn what strengths they possess.”

“How can you talk to me about teamwork when none of you follow my orders?”

Anselmi swung his arm at the chaos around them. “Are these the orders to which you’re referring?”

Trace’s face heated. “It was a good plan.”

“Poorly executed.” Anselmi strode away.

Trace clenched his fists and glared at his receding back. Then he noticed his father watching.

<<>>

I
mpani looked away from the sight of the fire consuming the injured man. There was nothing they could have done.

Natica sobbed. “I couldn’t hold onto him. I let him go.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

She clung to her friend, trying to secure them both as the mushrooms continued to slide. Flames leaped higher with each addition. Even the stalks not yet ablaze cracked and burst with the heat. Several logs escaped the pilings. They bounded to the ground and drew a line to the burning trenches. Fire burst anew. The burning mushrooms roared. The panicked workers screamed in one horrified wail.

Then there came the whine of an engine. Impani looked down to see Wilde lurch through the flames on the back of the forklift.

<<>>

T
race ran his hands over his face. He stared at the blaze. Flames rose so high, he could not see the hilltop, could not tell if the moss creatures were still there or on their way down to attack. He only knew that Impani was in danger. He had to do something.

“Get out of the way!”

Trace leaped at the command and turned to see his father upon a bulldozer. Aldus ground by at top speed. He led two other dozers toward the trench. With their blades lowered, they scraped a load of dirt onto the smoldering door. Smoke and dust billowed upward.

Trace swore softly, both relieved and chagrined.

The dozers dumped more dirt into the pit. Trace paced while they made another pass. Then he barreled into the half-filled trench and across the steaming dirt.

Footfalls pounded behind him—other rescuers following his lead—but he outpaced them. He scrambled up the other side and searched for Impani.

<<>>

I
mpani closed her eyes as Natica climbed down her body and made her way to the forklift. Her arms shook with the excess weight. Smoke sifted into her mask and made her chest heavy and her head light. The piling shifted. Her stomach swooped.

“All right. Your turn,” Robert told her through the com. “Easy does it.”

With her knees hugging the piling, she struggled to unlock her fingers. Her hands seemed frozen in place. Slowly, she shimmied down the post, eyes still closed, reaching blindly with her boots. At last, she touched the forklift. She shifted her weight then slid into a crouch, coiling her aching muscles, just wanting to bawl, to sleep for a hundred years.

She slipped into Wilde’s arms and melted into his embrace, allowing his strength to enfold her, to keep her safe. Into the com, she said, “What would I do without you?”

Looking up, she saw Trace standing behind them.

I
mpani stepped back from Wilde’s arms, staring at Trace, struck dumb with surprise.

Trace turned from her and yelled, “Get everyone across the trench.”

At once, people swarmed forward to help the injured. She heard the pop-hiss of fire extinguishers and saw others clear a path through the blaze. The workers trapped on her side of the flaming pit picked their way through smoke and logs.

Impani noticed Trace’s father among them. He cut against the flow, his face stony as he caught the eye of each person he passed. What a cold, unfeeling raffer.

She revised her opinion when he drew near enough for her to see his expression. He appeared apprehensive. Almost panicked. But wasn’t the crisis over?

Trace approached him with a lowered gaze. “Thanks for what you did. If it hadn’t been for you and your bulldozers—”

“Have any of you seen Cole?”

Trace’s face reddened further.

Natica said, “He was on top of the hill. With Impani.”

Impani scowled. Had they expected her to keep watch over the man? “I lost track of him in the confusion. He must have gone down with the first group of workers.”

But Mr. Hanson had already turned away. He walked backward as if trying to see above the fiery wall behind them. At last, he joined the injured on the path.

Trace glared at Impani and walked off, leaving her with silent accusations.

I was in Robert’s arms.

Impani flushed in embarrassment and then in anger. She’d done nothing wrong. It was Trace who should be apologetic—for risking all their lives. She ought to ring back home and tell everybody what a mess he’d made of the mission. Maybe that was why they each had their own Impellic ring.

With a final glance to make certain she left no one behind, she followed Wilde and Natica down the path through the blaze. Smoke obscured her vision, and heat tightened like a clamp upon her lungs. She noticed that even smothered by extinguishers the mushroom logs continued to burn. The weakened flames grew stubbornly stronger.

Dirt filled one of the trenches, and colonists filed through the break in the inferno. Impani and her teammates brought up the rear. As she stepped down into the smoking ditch, heat radiated through her boots. She wondered how long it would be before the dirt itself caught fire.

Above the heads of the people in front of her, she saw Anselmi rush to meet them. Her team was safe and back together. With a relieved sigh, she climbed up again into camp.

The sigh died in her throat. She stared at the injured people upon the ground and at the medical personnel moving among them.

“So many hurt,” she said.

“It’s a total loss.” Anselmi motioned toward the burning stockpile behind the pilings. “Your efforts were wasted.”

“At least the fire will keep away those monsters,” Natica said.

“Some plan, eh?” Wilde took on a mocking tone. “I have an idea. Let’s go knock down the mushrooms.”

Trace whirled about. “It was a solid plan. It should have worked.”

“Those plant things are sentient,” Wilde shouted. “Did it occur to you they might retaliate?”

“Security was
your
assignment.”

Wilde stepped up, shoulders squared, fists balled. “So, now it’s my fault?”

Impani moved between them, one hand on Wilde’s chest. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

Trace bared his teeth as if biting back a scream. “What is it with you people? You’ve fought against me since we got here, going behind my back—”

“Yeah, right.” Impani scoffed. “Like you haven’t been.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We know about the suits.” She lifted her chin and glared defiantly. Then to his blank expression, she added, “The skinsuits? I saw them in your pack.”

“I see.” His voice dropped. “Then you must have figured out the rest of it.”

“We’ve got a pretty good idea.” Wilde sneered. “We figure you’re smuggling the suits off base and selling them to mercenaries.”

“What?” Trace stared from person to person. “Is that what you all think?”

“How can we know what to think when you keep everything secret?” Impani said.

Trace glowered at them then stomped away. “You can all go to hell.”

Wilde shouted, “Looks to me like we’re already there.”

“Trace. Wait!” Impani hurried to catch up. She wanted to understand him, wanted him to understand her. But all the while, her thoughts were organizing into a speech.
I just wanted to be team leader, wanted to be the hero.
Is that so wrong?

He turned to stare at her, his expression raw with disillusionment and bitterness. Like he’d never trust again.

She’d never seen him look that way.

In a low voice, he said, “You honestly can’t think of another reason why I have those suits?”

She shrank back, searching for something to say.

Before she could respond, he said, “I have to choose fifteen people to save and take back with us. It doesn’t matter which fifteen, as long as my father is among them.”

Impani frowned, thinking dully, trying to put it together. “Only fifteen?”
That
was why they had five rings.

“You said my father was the reason they named me team leader, and you were exactly right. They knew I couldn’t refuse. If I did, my dad would die. And the President of the Federation would lose his golfing buddy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your friend.”
Your girlfriend,
her thoughts continued,
and if you try to tell me you were ordered not to say anything—

“I… I was ashamed. Embarrassed.” He looked down. “I should have told them I wouldn’t do it from the beginning, should have set my own terms. But I played along, knowing it would kill me inside. I didn’t want you to see how weak I really am.”

Impani stood stunned. She wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t move. What makes a hero? Being faced with doing something dreadful yet carrying on. Then, who’s the hero—Trace or her? “I don’t think you’re weak,” she murmured, but so quietly, she was sure he didn’t hear.

“Besides, we would lose the integrity of the mission if everybody knew, if everyone thought that no matter what they did only fifteen people were getting out alive.” He shook his head. “I wanted to save all of them, Impani. I really did.”

“I know,” she whispered. How could she have doubted him? How could she let her jealousy of the job—

Mr. Hanson’s accusations crept into her head. She pushed them away, glancing about as if to escape her thoughts. The rest of the team had moved up to listen. They must have heard everything.

She wished they hadn’t. Wished they hadn’t seen how vindictive she’d become. How petty. Heat rose to her cheeks.

Madsen approached on his scooter. He kept his voice low. “Trace, we have five dead, five missing, and twenty-three injured.”

“All right.” Trace looked as if he were reaching deep inside himself for strength. “Retrieve as many of the forklifts as you can and use them to transport the wounded.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned the scooter and whirred away.

Then a soot-faced man ran up. “Mr. Hanson, your father’s gone back up the hill. And he doesn’t have a weapon.”

“Are you serious?”

The man nodded. “He said Cole must still be up there, maybe injured.”

“Drel!” Trace growled. “Wilde, give me your resonator.”

“What for?” Wilde asked as he unhooked the instrument from his belt.

“It should pick up his movements, help me track him down.”

Impani’s mouth fell open. “You’re going after him?”

“Recall the rings.” Trace took off his belt and handed it to Wilde. “This will give you the master control. You and Natica take the worst of the injured back to Central. The skinsuits are in Cole’s tent.”

“But you can’t ring back without your belt.” Natica grasped Trace’s arm. “We’d be abandoning you.”

“Maybe they’ll let you return, seeing as how my father isn’t with you. Maybe they’ll send more skinsuits.”

“We’ll see to it.” Wilde nodded. He and Natica took off at a trot toward the residential area.

Trace turned to Impani. “I want you and Anselmi to go to the original camp and find out if the scientists knew anything about moss men.”

“Research?” Impani blurted.

“That’s your strength,” Trace told her. “No one can talk to a computer like you.”

Anselmi said, “Do you think those scientists had something to do with the creatures’ abrupt appearance?”

“It’s possible. If one of their experiments backfired, or if something got out of hand—”

“But I want to go with you,” Impani said. “I want to save your father and Cole.”
I want to be remembered, want people to say look at that, she was worth something after all.

Trace spun toward her, flaring angrily. “This is my father we’re talking about. I can’t have you showing off or taking risks. He’s in enough danger already.”

His words caved in on her. She remembered Anselmi saying much the same thing, remembered Mr. Arkenstone refusing to make her team leader. “But, I—”

“No. Get to the camp. We need that information.” Armed only with a flamethrower and a resonator, Trace sprinted over the trench and out of sight.