Drake turned slowly. The jungle in this place was like being on another planet. He was no botanist, so nearly everything was unidentifiable. But here, nothing was even recognizable — large fronds like green dining tables hung over scrambling plants that shot out curling hair-like strings to cling to the stalks of hardier plants to lift themselves higher. Large flowering growths that smelled like old gym socks bloomed open, and fungus of all shapes, sizes, and colors fed on rotting logs, each other, and in one case, the skeleton of some gargantuan fallen beast.
“What’s the hold-up?” Chess asked from the rear.
“Stinks like shit in here,” Shawna repeated for the 10th time as her mouth turned down. “And worse than that dino-poop.”
“It’s the swamp methane,” Chess replied. “I thought you liked that stuff. That biker boyfriend of yours reeks of it.”
She returned a short hoarse laugh. “I dumped that ass-wipe long back. Got my eye on something younger and prettier now.” She turned and winked at Nicolás who blushed and looked away quickly.
Ben turned with his teeth bared and waved them to quietness. Shawna continued to guffaw, and Drake knew it’d be impossible to close them down completely. And it would stay like that until they saw something that freaked them out, or one of them got dead—education the hard way, he thought grimly.
“Hey.” Francis walked a few paces across a small, shallow pond. “Looky here.”
“Whatta you got, big guy?” Chess tried to see around him but Francis’ shoulders were like a wall of muscle.
“Got the biggest, ugliest frog I ever seen.” He half turned and chuckled. “It’s all head.”
“Lemme see! I love frogs.” Buster began to slosh toward him.
“Slow down,” Helen said, also moving toward Francis.
“Ah, goddamnit.” Ben looked to Drake, and then nodded to the mercs.
Drake knew what he meant—they were his buddies, so do something about them. He followed.
Francis pulled a long blade from a scabbard on his belt and crouched. “This thing is massive.” He began to hold it out.
As Drake approached, he could make out what was capturing Francis’ attention. There was some sort of frog or toad that looked like an upturned brown and green bucket. On each side of its head over its eyes were horn-like protrusions, and a pair of large glassy eyes was fixed on Francis… and the guy was right, it seemed to be all freaking head.
“Is it alive?” Shawna asked.
“Let’s see.” Francis reached forward with the blade.
Helen moved quickly. “Don’t… ”
She went to grab at Francis’ shoulder. But just as she lunged, the toad opened its mouth and sprayed Francis’ hand and arm with something that immediately pitted his clothing and the acrid smell of it stung the eyes.
Francis dropped his knife and recoiled. “What the hell?”
“Fuck you.” Buster kicked out, landing a boot into the center of the amphibian that sent it flying into the bushes with a soft thud.
“It’s burning.” Francis’ normal baritone had gone up a few octaves.
“Put it in the water, quickly,” Helen said.
The man did as he was told and grimaced. He lifted it, and Helen came in closer. Her hands hovered just over his arm. The glove he wore and his tough jungle-proof sleeve was all abraded, and the dark flesh on his arm underneath was red raw.
“Interesting,” Helen said as she craned forward.
“You think?” Francis shot back. “That damn thing just spat acid at me.”
“That looked like a Beelzebufo ampinga… otherwise known as the devil frog. And it’s interesting because their fossils have only ever been found in Madagascar from the Cretaceous Period. But we always thought they might have existed here.” She looked up. “And now I know they do.”
“So damn happy for you,” Francis grimaced.
She opened her canteen and let more fresh water run over his wounds. “You’ll need to dress that.”
Francis nodded. “It still burns.”
Helen looked to where the giant frog had been. “Yeah, hydrochloric acid — because it has such a large mouth, it eats big prey whole. I guess it needs a strong acid in its gut to break them down quickly. Never knew they could spit it.”
“Lemme guess, and now you know that too.” Francis’ brow furrowed.
She smiled up at him and nodded. “Their closest living relative lives right here in South America. This is proof that these things crossed over land bridges.”
“Fuck it.” Francis half turned to look over his shoulder. “Buster, shoot that damn thing.”
“It’s already gone, buddy.” He lifted his gun. “But I’ll shoot the next one.”
“Is it bleeding?” Ben asked from their rear.
“Not now,” Helen said.
“Does it smell like raw flesh?” Ben pressed.
Helen sniffed, and then Francis. Francis shook his head, but Helen just looked at him.
Ben grunted. “Like the lady said, bathe it, and then bind it, thickly. Many of the things in here hunt by scent.” He turned to look at the man. “And you just made yourself very interesting to them.”
Francis stood. “Hey, listen, man… ”
“Shut up.” Ben shot back and looked along each of their faces. “You touch nothing in here. This is no jungle you’ve ever been in. You wise up right now, ‘cause I don’t give a shit if you get yourself killed. But if you put me and mine at risk, I’ll kill you all myself.” He glared. “Clear?”
Chess held up his hand. “Be cool, asshole, we get it.”
Drake doubted it.
Ben worried about Emma and Zach with every step he took. The world was changing, animals were changing, and people were changing and even disappearing. New animals were emerging like some sort of conjuring trick, and everyone just seemed to remember them as though they’d always been there and suddenly recalled the oddities.
The landscape was altering, and he wondered what would happen if they failed to find Andy. What would they be heading back to? It was telling that when they’d last flown into Caracas 10 years ago, the city had a population of two million people. Now it was little more than a town with no airport, no buildings over two stories, and a few thousand people living behind a high wall.
Ben didn’t know whether the jungle consumed them, or if the town just never got a chance to exist as they knew it.
Please don’t let that happen to Ohio, he silently prayed. Or anywhere back home.
His thoughts stayed with home. Emma was the smartest and toughest woman he had ever known, and he had confidence she could deal with anything. But knowing that just didn’t make him feel any better about being here while she was back there.
His lips flattened as he thought about it — back there? Did he mean back there in America? Or back there, 100 million years in the future. It didn’t matter; it was just a long, long way away.
They’d been trekking for three hours now, and he’d stop soon for a break. He’d already laid down the rules: you have something to eat, you bury the wrappers. You take a piss or shit, you dig a hole first, and cover it over — the deeper the better — and you better be damned quick. The smell of fresh feces was something he had learned the hard way that brought the predators running.
If anyone ever wondered why dogs look at you real strange when they’re taking a dump, it’s because they know for that few seconds they’re hunched over, they’re vulnerable. And they’re looking to you, their pack leader, to check you have their back.