Rex placed a hand against the wall as he rounded the corner, Cameron at his heels. "Well, let's hope that's the-"
A screaming face met him, an ax whistling through the air at his head. Rex yelled and raised his arms protectively just as Cameron hit him from behind, taking him down hard. The ax sliced just above his head and stuck in the side of the house, sending a spray of mortar back into Derek's face. Derek shoved Diego clear, and Diego tumbled to the soft grass. Cameron sprang up to a crouch, one hand protectively pressing down on Rex's head, the other instinctively slapping her hip for a pistol, though there was none.
Ax still raised, the dark-skinned man looked at them with confusion just as Derek struck him beneath the ribs with a stun blow to the solar plexus. The air left him in a deep bark, like that of a seal, and he tumbled to his knees, clutching his gut. Cameron had him bent forward in a choke hold when a pregnant woman stepped heavily from the doorway, crying, waving her hands, and yelling in Spanish. Rex stood, feeling slightly queasy.
"It's okay!" Diego shouted, pulling himself to his feet. "He didn't mean it."
"Okay, my ass," Cameron yelled. "He came at Rex with a fucking ax." She bent the man's head forward even more sharply, and his face darkened a few shades. His mouth was working open and closed, trying to find air.
The pregnant woman continued to chatter in Spanish, and Diego talked over her, translating for the others as quickly as he could. "You scared them… they thought the island was abandoned… there's danger here, something that's been picking off the villagers…stalking their live-stock…"
The woman stepped forward, pleading with Cameron, and Cameron shook her head, clearly not keeping up with the Spanish. Cameron released the man, who fell onto all fours, vainly trying to suck air in. Finally his lungs loosened, inhaling in a deep screeching rush, and he almost convulsed, his shoulders heaving. "Lo siento," he said between breaths. "Lo siento, lo siento."
Derek looked at Cameron, and she stepped back, her arms loose at her sides. "He says he's sorry," she said.
They all sat around the wooden table in the small house, Floreana bustling near the sink gracefully, despite her enormous belly. Diego was pleased to make the connection between Ramon and his son, and he conveyed that Ramoncito was doing well at Puerto Ayora. At the mention of her son's name, Floreana stopped pumping the spigot handle abruptly. She took a moment to gather herself before returning to washing the dishes.
She had served them encebollado, a native tuna soup laden with onion and yuca. Cameron watched the bulge beneath Floreana's apron, scratching her forehead at the hairline. "Are you nine months?" she asked in Spanish.
Floreana shook her head nervously and held up six fingers.
"Jesus," Cameron muttered. "She's huge for six months."
Ramon said something, and Diego nodded. "He said he wishes they'd left like the others, but he doesn't think he can move her safely now given how big she is. He thinks she'll deliver early."
Floreana reached over to clear Cameron's plate, and Cameron laid a hand on her arm. Their eyes met, Floreana a bit surprised.
"When we leave," Cameron said, "we'll take you with us. Get you to a hospital where you'll be taken care of." She spoke slowly so that Diego could translate.
Floreana smiled, her eyes filling with emotion. She placed her hand over Cameron's and squeezed it once tightly.
Derek tapped his spoon against the edge of his bowl. "I'm not sure you can make that promise, Cam," he said softly.
Floreana cleared several more of their bowls and stood washing them, hunching forward so that her stomach didn't press up against the basin. Cameron watched her for a moment, then lowered her eyes to the table. She ran a hand through her hair, troubled.
"You're right," she said. "I'm sorry."
"I'm having a bit of trouble with the accent," Rex said to Diego. "Ask them if they knew Frank."
Diego spoke with Ramon, and Ramon smiled at the mention of the man. "Si," he said. "El huevo gordo." He pointed at his wife, and when Cameron looked puzzled, he held his arms out to indicate a big stomach.
"Yes," Rex said in Spanish. "He was a touch on the heavy side."
Ramon spoke slowly, so Cameron was able to keep up with his Span-ish. "He came here a few times, trying to get me to come look at some-thing he'd put in that big freezer of his. He always seemed upset, his face sweaty and red, and he stumbled through his Spanish, so it was difficult to understand him. Finally, I told him I was busy with my crops and ani-mals and I had no time for his fancy toys and ideas. I told him nosing around like that was bad luck. And I was right." Ramon sat back and folded his arms, a sad expression on his face. "At first I thought he'd just gone home and left his things behind because that's how Norteameri-canos are."
"But now?" Rex asked. "Now what do you think happened to him?"
Ramon spoke rapidly for a few minutes, losing Cameron. She waited patiently, catching a phrase here and there. Ramon finally finished and Diego stared at the table, tracing a ridge with his index finger.
"What'd he say?" Cameron asked. "What's that last phrase mean?"
Diego raised his hand and let it fall to the table with a slap. "Tree monster," he grinned.
Rex slowed as he approached Frank's deserted camp, letting Cameron and Derek catch up to him. Diego had stayed behind to discuss with Ramon the ecological considerations of the mostly deserted island.
Something in the emptiness of Frank's camp made it seem haunted. Maybe it was the incessant flapping of the loose tent canvas, the omi-nously large specimen freezer, or the canteen dangling from one of the tent posts, as though Frank had just hung it there and gone for a hike. Some trash was scattered near the entrance to the first tent-jars and books and tools. A black Gore-tex slicker lay on the grass, blown, Rex figured, from the post. It was eerie seeing these things, objects stripped from the dead.
The ground was extraordinarily soft underfoot. Though the sun had dried the dew quickly, a few beads of water still clung to the little spider-webs threading the lush grass. Nearby, several giant tortoises lay retracted into their shells, their high-domed backs rising from the grass like boul-ders.
The loose canvas flap on the tent snapped in the breeze, its rope swaying as they approached. Cameron fisted the cord, pulling it tight. The noise ceased immediately, leaving a sudden silence. She looped the loose end through a hole in the canvas, knotting it. The wind kicked up again, filling the fresh silence with a low whistle as it carried through the shack atop the watchtower down the dirt road.
The sun bounced off the specimen freezer so strongly it made them squint. Derek raised an arm against the glare as Rex strode to it and examined the thick lock that jutted out from the door just beneath the handle. The size of a shoe box, the lock had a jagged mouth of a key slot. Around back, there was a vent for the humidor, which cleared the moisture from the freezer so as to preserve the specimens. The vent's grate caught on steel teeth if it was forced inward, locking it into place to prevent scavengers from getting in and devouring the specimens.
Rex tapped the lock with his fingers, swearing under his breath. "We'll search for the keys, but I'd bet Frank kept them on his person."
Derek checked the freezer door, testing it with his fingers. Pressing his ear to the door, he knocked twice with his fist, gauging its thickness.
"Tucker packing any C4?" Cameron asked. Derek backed up, shaking his head.
"Even if we did have some, there'd be no way to reseal the freezer," Rex said. "The heat would turn the specimens to Jell-O in about five minutes." He groaned, banging his forehead lightly against the alu-minum. It sent a tinny echo through the interior. "And there's no way we can haul this whole thing back to civilization."