The Lost World - Michael Crichton [11]
Standing by the thigh, he saw the epidermis was split open, no doubt from the gaseous subcutaneous buildup. But as Levine looked more closely, he saw that the split was in fact a sharp gash, and that it ran deep through the femorotibialis, exposing red muscle and pale bone beneath. He ignored the stench, and the white maggots that wriggled across the open tissues of the gash, because he realized that—
“Sorry about all this,” Guitierrez said, coming over. “But the pilot just refuses.”
The pilot was nervously following Guitierrez, standing beside him, watching carefully.
“Marty,” Levine said. “I really need to take pictures here.”
“I’m afraid you can’t,” Guitierrez said, with a shrug.
“It’s important, Marty.”
“Sorry. I tried my best.”
Farther down the beach, the white helicopter landed, its whine diminishing. Men in uniforms began getting out.
“Marty. What do you think this animal is?”
“Well, I can only guess,” Guitierrez said. “From the general dimensions I’d call it a previously unidentified iguana. It’s extremely large, of course, and obviously not native to Costa Rica. My guess is this animal came from the Galápagos, or one of the—”
“No, Marty,” Levine said. “It’s not an iguana.”
“Before you say anything more,” Guitierrez said, glancing at the pilot, “I think you ought to know that several previously unknown species of lizard have shown up in this area. Nobody’s quite sure why. Perhaps it’s due to the cutting of the rain forest, or some other reason. But new species are appearing. Several years ago, I began to see unidentified species of—”
“Marty. It’s not a damn lizard.”
Guitierrez blinked his eyes. “What are you saying? Of course it’s a lizard.”
“I don’t think so,” Levine said.
Guitierrez said, “You’re probably just thrown off because of its size. The fact is, here in Costa Rica, we occasionally encounter these aberrant forms—”
“Marty,” Levine said coldly. “I am never thrown off.”
“Well, of course, I didn’t mean that—”
“And I am telling you, this is not a lizard,” Levine said.
“I’m sorry,” Guitierrez said, shaking his head. “But I can’t agree.”
Back at the white helicopter, the men were huddled together, putting on white surgical masks.
“I’m not asking you to agree,” Levine said. He turned back to the carcass. “The diagnosis is settled easily enough, all we need do is excavate the head, or for that matter any of the limbs, for example this thigh here, which I believe—”
He broke off, and leaned closer. He peered at the back of the thigh.
“What is it?” Guitierrez said.
“Give me your knife.”
“Why?” Guitierrez said.
“Just give it to me.”
Guitierrez fished out his pocketknife, put the handle in Levine’s outstretched hand. Levine peered steadily at the carcass. “I think you will find this interesting.”
“What?”
“Right along the posterior dermal line, there is a—”
Suddenly, they heard shouting on the beach, and looked up to see the men from the white helicopter running down the beach toward them. They carried tanks on their backs, and were shouting in Spanish.
“What are they saying?” Levine asked, frowning.
Guitierrez sighed. “They’re saying to get back.”
“Tell them we’re busy,” Levine said, and bent over the carcass again.
But the men kept shouting, and suddenly there was a roaring sound, and Levine looked up to see flamethrowers igniting, big red jets of flame roaring out in the evening light. He ran around the carcass toward the men, shouting, “No! No!”
But the men paid no attention.
He shouted, “No, this is a priceless—”
The first of the uniformed men grabbed Levine, and threw him roughly to the sand.
“What the hell are you doing?” Levine yelled, scrambling to his feet. But even as he said it, he saw it was too late, the first of the flames had reached the carcass, blackening the skin, igniting the pockets of methane with a blue whump! The smoke from the carcass began to rise thickly into the sky.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Levine turned to Guitierrez. “Make them stop it!”
But Guitierrez was not moving, he was staring at the carcass. Consumed by flames, the torso crackled