The child sidled in closer, seeking the comfort of the mother’s body. But without thinking, she bit him on the ear, harder than she had ever bitten him before. He responded with a cry of pain, and the release of fear pheromone.
The mother scrambled up through the top of the trunk, intent to begin a search for the twins, but the search was thwarted even before it began. The air directly overhead had become a confused and crowded maelstrom of insects in flight. Moths of all sizes were descending from the treetops, whirling past each other and warping the mother’s echolocation calls with close-up reflections from every direction. Adding to the confusion was the sudden arousal of miniature, insect-eating bats, scores of them; their echolocation calls were making it harder to interpret the information returning from her own sonar pings. The mother had experienced such swarms many times before and knew that communication would be difficult. This time, though, she decided that she could not wait.
FOLLOW, the mother signaled to her child, then scrambled upward.
The child emerged through the top of the dead tree and launched himself into the disorienting cloud of insects and their noisy hunters. His ear still stung from her bite; and now anger and pain were spilling over into a new emotion—defiance. Probing ahead with calls of his own, he could sense his mother’s panic as she stiffened her wings and glided below the maelstrom, searching in vain for the twins. There was nothing to be seen below the reflective moth layer.
The child had also come down below the swarm, but suddenly his signals, radiating from behind her, ceased abruptly. The mother executed a tight roll and flew back into her own slipstream but the child was no longer following her. Without any warning or cry, without any signal at all, he simply disappeared.
CHAPTER 20
The Hungry Earth
Whence do you come, slayer of men; or where are you going, conqueror of space?
—GOSPEL OF MARY (APPROXIMATELY FIRST CENTURY A.D.)
Nostromo Base
January 28, 1944
8 A.M.
The seven soldiers, standing in a rough cluster, snapped to attention as Colonel Wolff approached. He acknowledged them with a nod, then ordered them to stand at ease.
Beside each man sat a heavy field pack and Wolff knew that in addition to their normal supplies, his team would have tucked away some rather specialized equipment—lamps designed by the local Indians and enough Nazi firepower to slaughter every living creature larger than a squirrel within a two-hundred-meter radius.
“According to our indigenous friends,” Wolff announced, “our men were attacked by demons that townspeople refer to as chupacabra. These ‘monsters’ are said to inhabit a cave deep within the plateau. It seems that they have taken exception to our presence here.”
The colonel paused, scanning the group, looking into each man’s eyes. He took satisfaction from the fact that, as absurd as his statement might have sounded, none of them had so much as flinched, nor did they raise a single question. Schr?dinger . . . Vogt . . . these are not men who would question anything I have deemed important enough to tell them.
Wolff gave another nod, barely perceptible this time, before continuing. “According to our terminally obnoxious American guest, the locals are mistaken. The creatures that killed our countrymen are not demons; they are blood-feeding animals the size of large cats. Animals possessing no more supernatural abilities than those of a leech or a tick.”
Wolff continued. “As much as it pains me, I find that I must agree with the American, a zoologist as it turns out. In truth, he seems to know something about these creatures.” Then he turned toward the increasingly haunted Kessler. “And like you, Corporal, he has apparently seen them.”
Haunted or not, the colonel never considered leaving Kessler behind. In addition to the man’s firsthand “experience” with the creatures, he also spoke fluent English. This would come in handy, since the American would be accompanying them and, together, Wolff and Kessler could play the old American trick, called “good cop, bad cop,” all the way to the chupacabra lair. On a one-way trip, Wolff thought, having already spoken to Sergeant Schr?dinger about that particular arrangement, once MacCready successfully led them to the creatures.
“Our mission is a simple one,” the colonel went on. “With the aid of two local guides, we will find this cave, collect one of these animals, several if possible, and return them here, alive.”
Wolff watched Kessler shift his weight uncomfortably, and once again he addressed the man directly. “Since the success of the entire mission may depend on our ability to procure these specimens, we cannot fail.”
They exchanged “Heil Hitlers,” but Wolff did not dismiss his men. “There is one more thing,” he continued. “Something of equal importance. As far as our prisoner knows, this is a mission of extermination, not capture. And it must remain as such, in his mind.”
Then the colonel locked eyes with his longtime underling. “Sergeant Schr?dinger.”
The giant came to attention.