Counterflood [antikvár]

PrologueThe tiny high-pitched whine filled the stifling darkness. It was the only sound, and it came and went uncertainly, like a motor on the wind, hesitating, then surging onwards with renewed confidence.Tenuous as the sound had been, when it stopped there was nothing to replace it. The night air was still and empty, as if waiting breathlessly for something, anything, to happen. Heavy on the horizon, a full moon cast a jaundiced light on an untold acreage of cerrados, scrubby trees, and a small collection of houses made from stones, plaster board and corrugated iron.The room was small, without furniture. The moon's meagre light showed shapes, nothing more. There was the shape of the room itself, four walls, a ceiling, a closed door. There was the shape of a bed pushed hard up against the wall furthest from the door. And on the bed was the shape of a figure, lying still under a single sheet.The mosquito made a delicate landing at a point midway between the sleeper's right ear and mouth. Senses alert for the slightest movement, it sank its proboscis into the skin, piercing with ease the fragile cell walls, eager to gorge itself on the blood within.But the blood wouldn't come.The mosquito was a creature of instinct, and it drew no conclusions. Only one thing was certain: the smell of blood was strong on the air. Easily, it moved down onto the right wrist,i