Nate quickly explained. “Indians use crushed ayaeya vine to fish.” He remembered the small fishing scene he had witnessed as he canoed with Tama and Takaho to São Gabriel: a woman dusting the river with a black powder, while downstream the men gathered stunned fish with spears and nets. “The vine contains a potent rotenone, a toxin that literally chokes and suffocates the fish. The effect is almost instantaneous.”
“So what are you proposing?” Waxman asked.
“I’m familiar with the compound. I’ll take the satchel upstream and poison the stream. As the toxin flows down this fork, it should stun any and all of the creatures in the river.”
Waxman’s eyes narrowed. “This powder will do this?”
Kouwe answered, digging in his pack. “It should. As long as the creatures are true gill-breathers.” The professor glanced to Manny.
The biologist nodded, clear relief in his eyes. “I’m sure of it.”
Sighing, Waxman waved Okamoto and Manny away from the stream. As the captain turned back to Nate, an explosion sounded behind them.
Dirt, leaves, and branches blew high into the air. Someone had fired a grenade. “They’re breaking through!” Sergeant Kostos yelled.
Waxman pointed to Nate. “Move!”
Nate turned.
Professor Kouwe pulled a large leather satchel from his pack and tossed it to Nate. “Be careful.”
Nate caught the bag of powder one-handed, swinging around with his shotgun in the other.
“Carrera!” Waxman called and pointed to Nate. “Cover him.”
“Yes, sir.” The private backed down the slope with her flamethrower, leaving her post to Okamoto.
“When you first start to see fish float to the surface,” Nate instructed the others, “haul ass across. Though the current here is slow, I’m not sure how long the effect will last before the toxin is swept away.”
“I’ll make sure we’re ready,” Kouwe said.
Nate glanced around the group. Kelly’s eyes met his, a fist clutched to her throat. He offered her a small, confident smile, then turned away.
Together, he and Private Carrera sprinted upstream, keeping a wary distance from the water.
Nate trailed behind the soldier as she strafed the way ahead with continual bursts from her flamethrower. They crashed through the smoking underbrush and raced ahead. Nate searched behind. The encampment of his fellow teammates had dwindled down to a green glow in the forest.
“The buggers must know something’s up,” Carrera said, gasping with exertion. She pointed a free arm toward the stream. A couple splashes marked where creatures were beginning to hop out of the water in pursuit of the pair.
“Keep moving,” Nate urged. “It’s not much farther.”
They rushed on, accompanied by tiny splashes and the sound of crashing bodies hitting the underbrush.
At last they reached the place where the main stream forked into the northern and southern branches, encircling the knoll. Here the channel was narrower, the current swifter, rumbling over rocks in a frothy white foam. More of the creatures leapt from the current, slick bodies glistening in the glow of the firelight.
Nate stopped as Carrera laid down a protective spray of flame. Creatures sizzled in the muddy bank, some fleeing back into the river, skin smoking. “Now or never,” Carrera said.
Shouldering his shotgun, Nate slipped in front of her, the satchel of powder in hand. He quickly loosened the pouch’s leather tie.
“Just lob the whole thing in,” the Ranger recommended.
“No, I have to make sure it disperses evenly.” Nate took another step nearer the river.
“Careful.” Carrera followed, jetting bursts of flame around them to discourage the predators.
Nate reached the edge of the stream, standing now only a foot away.
Carrera half knelt and strafed fire over the water’s surface, ready to incinerate anything that dared pop out. “Do it!”
With a nod, Nate leaned over the stream, extending his arm, his fingers clutching the satchel. Attracted by the movement, something sprang from the water. Nate jerked his arm back in time to miss getting bitten. Instead, the creature latched its razored teeth into the cuff of his shirt sleeve, hanging there.
Nate whipped his arm back, fabric ripped, and the creature went flying far into the woods. “Damn it!” Not waiting, Nate quickly powdered the river with the crushed ayaeya vine, sprinkling it slowly, ensuring a good spread.
Behind him, Carrera was busy protecting their rear. The beasts from the stream were now converging on them.
Nate shook the last of the powder from the satchel, then tossed it into the stream. As he watched the pouch drift downstream rapidly, he prayed his plan would work. “Done,” he said, turning.
Carrera glanced over to him. Past her shoulder, Nate spotted bodies leaping from branches in the deeper jungle. “We have a problem,” the Ranger said.
“What?”
The Ranger lifted her flamethrower and shot a jet of fire toward the jungle. As he watched, the line of fire drizzled back to the weapon’s muzzle, like a hose draining after the spigot had been turned off.
“Out of fuel,” she said.
* * *
Frank O’Brien stood by his twin sister, guarding her. At times, he swore that he could read her mind. Like now. Kelly stared at the river, watching with Kouwe and Manny for any sign that Rand’s plan might work. But he noticed how she kept peering into the jungle, her eyes drawn to the path the ethnobotanist and soldier had taken. He also saw the glint in her eyes.
An explosion momentarily drew his attention around. Another grenade. The rain of debris rattled through the canopy. Gunfire was now almost continuous, all around them. The line of Rangers was slowly being driven back to the cluster of civilians. Soon they would have no choice but to retreat toward the stream and closer to whatever skulked in its watery depths.
Nearby, Anna Fong stood with Zane, guarded by Olin Pasternak, who stood with a 9mm Beretta pistol in hand. It was a poor weapon against such small, fast-moving targets, but it was better than nothing.
A growl suddenly rumbled behind him, from Manny’s jaguar.
“Look!” Kelly called out.
Frank turned. His sister stood with her flashlight pointed toward the stream. Then he saw it, too, lit by the reflection of her flashlight. Small glistening objects began to bob up from the water’s depths, floating, drifting with the current.
“Nate did it!” Kelly said, a smile on her face.
At her side, Professor Kouwe stepped nearer the streambed. One of the piranha-frogs burst from the water toward him, but landed on its side in the mud. It flopped for a couple seconds, then lay still. Stunned. Kouwe glanced to Frank. “We must not lose this chance. We must cross now.”