“Right,” the Armorer replied as he downshifted and hit the brakes of the sturdy little vehicle, slowing to turn off the pavement and onto the grass. Everyone stepped out of the wag, stretching and circulating blood back through their bodies. All were cramped from the close conditions.
As Ryan did a deep knee bend and was rewarded with the sharp crack of both knees popping, Jorge squatted next to him. Ryan knew from the expression on the muscular Puerto Rican’s face the man hadn’t cared much for camping so soon. “We should continue while the sun is still up. Night is the chupa-cabras’s friend, Ryan Cawdor.”
Not used to having his orders questioned, Ryan felt his temper start to flare, until he got a good look at Jorge’s face, open and innocent. The statement hadn’t been a challenge, merely a fact. “If so, Jorge, that’s the best time to go hunting for them, right?”
The Puerto Rican looked puzzled. “Yes, I suppose, but I’m not sure I like your logic.”
“I do,” Jak said stepping next to Ryan. “Take battle to them, they make first move.”
“If that’s the way they want to play it. Either way, we’ve been traveling all day. We need to get some rest, let our bodies cool off. We’ve still got a few hours before dark. It’s best to grab some sleep and’ downtime before going into the rain forest any farther.”
Jorge slapped at a flying insect that resembled a mosquito. “If you say so. You are the one with experience in such affairs, not I.”
“That’s right, Jorge. Now get some shut-eye.”
THE LIGHT WAS DIM. It was time to move out and into the forest proper.
Ryan had chosen to ignore his own advice, keeping watch over the small party. After an hour or so of trying to sleep while swatting at the swarms of mosquitoes and other winged insects in the heated air, J.B. had done likewise, getting quietly to his feet and joining his comrade.
Neither of them had spoken as the Armorer took up position across from Ryan, enabling each man to watch the other’s back as they guarded their resting friends.
After consulting his wristchron, Ryan had walked softly among the others, shaking them gently awake. All had come to alertness slowly, except for Jak, whose warrior senses were ready to go the instant Ryan tapped his shoulder.
Luis had stood, moving more slowly than the others but not noticeably so. When erect, he bent to pick up his weapon and promptly fell forward on his knees, dropping his retrieved long blaster as both hands went frantically to his throat.
Noticing his plight from the comer of her vision, Krysty was at his side first, kneeling as she tried to determine what was wrong. Her strong hands grasped him by the shoulders, trying to stop the frantic spasm creeping through the Puerto Rican’s tanned body. A coating of sweat had spread across his skin as if he’d walked through a fine mist.
“Luis? What is it? What’s wrong?” the redhead asked, her eyes narrow.
By that time, Soto and the others had joined Krysty and Luis, surrounding the kneeling pair. Soto made a series of clipped inquiries in English, then Spanish. Luis didn’t respond to either language. The big man looked at them, panic in his eyes, and tried to speak, but all that came forth was a thick grunting sound from deep within his barrel chest.
“Can’t breathe,” Luis wheezed, the two words an effort. He tried a third. “Hurts.”
“He some kind of epileptic?” Ryan asked suspiciously. “Going to throw a fit?”
“We need to get him down if he is,” Krysty said. “I saw Mildred deal with an epileptic once and that’s what she said to do.”
Then came a shrill shriek, an inhuman sound that poured forth like water from a pitcher, poured forth in a sonic fury from Luis’s entire being. The skin on his face was taut and cherry red as he shrieked again and again. He pulled free of Krysty’s hands and fell on his side, the unearthly wailing still coming from his mouth until the sound was cut short and replaced by a bubbling of crimson. Dark, nearly black blood splattered on his shirt and face as he thrashed in the dirt.