Annabelle wasn't listening anymore, lapsing instead into less specific chatter with Loren.
"I did my OCS bivouac training out here," Trent commented. "Had to live on this island for two weeks. Here's where we camped." He'd taken them to another clearing that caught a welcome breeze. "There's plenty of room in the center if we feel like having a campfire."
"Sounds like fun," Annabelle said. "I should've brought marshmallows."
Nora groaned.
Trent pointed up to a tree. "And there's something else we can roast, for any of you who feel adventurous."
Annabelle squealed and began snapping pictures. Lounging on a branch was a long, scaly iguana.
"That's pretty much all I lived on during my survival training."
"Tastes like chicken?" Loren asked.
"Nope. Tastes like… crap."
Loren stepped closer to the trees. "Well now, what have we here?" A tall spiky plant was growing out of a patch of sawgrass. "A nettle plant from the Canna- baceae order, more specifically Cannabis sativa, I do believe."
"What?" Nora said.
Annabelle squinted. "You mean-"
"A great big pot plant," Loren said of the blooming, six-foot-tall specimen.
"What's a great big pot plant doing on a tropical island?" Nora asked.
Trent walked up to it. If that's not the damnedest thing…"
"I don't know much about marijuana," Nora offered, "but I'm pretty sure it's not indigenous to tropical environments."
"It's not," Loren said. He looked to Trent. "But, Lieutenant, didn't you tell us earlier that kids sneak out to the island a lot to party?"
"Not a lot. More like once in a blue moon, when they're lucky enough to have the tides just right. But, yeah, they do get out here every so often."
"Mystery solved. Some kid was rolling a doobie and a seed fell out. By the looks of this plant, it's been growing for some time." Loren grinned, eyeing the others. "Hey, I won't tell if you all won't."
"Sorry, Easy Rider, but no one's touching the plant," Trent said. "I'll have to report this. Christ, that would look great in the papers, wouldn't it? Marijuana farm on army property. The damn air force would have a field day."
"Shucks," Loren laughed.
"I've never smoked pot in my life," Annabelle said. She giggled. "I'm too afraid of the munchies. That would ruin my body."
Nora wanted to gag.
Trent shook his head at the tall plant. "Well, it'll give me something to do while you guys are worm-hunting. I'll have to look around to see if any more of these things are growing here."
They headed back. What's wrong with me? Nora wondered. She knew she was letting herself become aggravated by Annabelle; she also knew it was a juvenile and unsophisticated emotion. Then I guess I'm juvenile and unsophisticated! she finally unloaded on herself, still forced to walk behind the photographer and be reminded that she was purely and simply more attractive than Nora.
Floozy. Thinks she's hot shit with her big boobs and designer bikini. The more Nora tried to let it go, the more she realized she couldn't. Back at the landing pad, the crew had off-loaded all the supplies. The peninsular-jawed warrant officer announced to Trent, "I guess we're done, Luey. Just give my top a call on the radio when you want us to pick you back up."
You got it. Thanks for the lift. I guess we'll be here a week," Trent figured. He looked to Nora. "How long will it take you to find this worm for Annabelle to photograph?"
Nora sat down exhausted on another field case. "It'll take as long as it takes. The scarlata lives at depths of up to sixty feet but prefers clear, shallow intertidal zones. If we're lucky we'll be able to make do with just snorkeling. Loren and I are experienced divers."
"Oh, don't worry, Professor," Annabelle bulled in. "You won't have to show me the ropes. I'm certified to three hundred feet and even have an instructor's license." She flipped her hair in the sun. "Do you have an instructor's license, Professor?"
Nora sighed and looked up at her. "No, Annabelle, I don't, but-"
The blonde grinned at Loren and Trent. "So who knows? Maybe I'll be the one showing you where the worms are."
And maybe when you do, Nora thought, too tired now to even be mad, I'll be the one to shove the worms up your ass.
"The worms are all yours," Trent said. "I'm not going in the water, and I'm not looking for worms. Not in my job description. I'm just here to show you all around."
"It's gonna be fun," Loren promised. "An adventure!"
"Whatever," Nora said.
Loren grabbed armfuls of rolled tents. "I'll take these to the campground. Then we can start setting up our lab."
"Okay by me." Nora looked around, depressed at the remainder of their gear: diving equipment and several more field cases, weighty stuff for a 110-pound woman. I can't carry all this junk. She looked to the warrant officer and the two pilots. Maybe if I ask nice…
Annabelle rushed ahead, her body blaring in the string bikini. "Oh, sir? Do you think you and your men could help me carry my dive gear and equipment?" She stood erect, hands on hips, giving the helicopter crew an eyeful. "I'd really appreciate it."
"Aw, sure," the warrant officer said. "Come on, boys. Let's give the lady a hand."
A minute later, Annabelle was leading a caravan back toward the head shack.
Nora sat alone now on the shore, mortified. "Well, fuck you all very much!" she said. Eventually, she grabbed a pair of cases and began to drag them toward the access trail.
CHAPTER TWO
(I)
"Zero-one, this is zero-zero. Repeat."
"Zero-zero, I repeat. Four more have entered the perimeter. Two male, two female.'
A calculative pause came over the transmission. "A third party?"
.Affirmative, zero-zero."
"So that's a total of eight on the island now still alive?"
"Correct, zero-zero. Eight that we've observed. The first party-three weeks ago I'm pretty-sure are all dead."
"These latest four-they're all civilian sector?"
"Negative, zero-zero. One of the males is military."
Another, longer, pause. "Other observations?"
"I've found one of the dead females from three weeks ago. There appears to be positive stage two gravidity. Transfection success appears to be positive."
"Roger, zero-one." The major sounded pleased now. "Terminate all transmissions and return to base. Bring one sample."
"Roger, zero-zero. Out."
Radio silence now. This should be interesting, the sergeant thought. At least until they found out about this new military presence on the island…
Shards of sunlight stabbed down through the overbrush. The sergeant looked down.
The woman's nipples seemed to float atop the bags of liquefied rot that were now her breasts. Of course, the sergeant thought. In this environment? It would be considered tropical. It made dead things rot faster.
The sergeant was not repulsed. He'd seen many, many dead things during his duties. He was fascinated by them.
Ah, heat, he thought to himself. He much preferred the warmer monitoring posts. His last assignment had been the equivalent of ten below at the hottest marks. That mission seemed to last forever, he remembered, but at least the project had proved a success. The heat here-the blazing heat day after day-made him feel alive even in the protective mask.
His eyes flicked back down to the corpse.
The kids sure liked to party here. Three boatloads so far. They came to the island in spite of the warning signs and the rock-strewn beachless shore, to imbibe in every chemical and carnal indulgence. This one had been the prettiest of the first bunch, until the things had gotten her.
A few vestiges of her sexuality remained printed on the gray, putrefactive skin. The brown circles of nipples on once-sumptuous breasts, the groove of her sex, even the ghosts of tan lines. She was a skeleton dressed in flesh-tone rags that were falling off the bones.
Yet even looking at it this close left the sergeant unfazed.