by David Meyer
The pod yawned open and Caplan ducked behind it. He caught a glimpse of the black box’s small plaque. It read, Megalonyx jeffersonii. The name, which he assumed to be a combination of genus and species, meant nothing to him.
The pod rustled and stretched. Then a large beast, covered in brown fur and a thick mucus-like substance, slid out of it. It shook itself, as if arising from a deep slumber, and rose on all fours. With a strident screech—AHHEEEEE—it shuffled away from the pod.
The bear twisted around. Catching sight of the beast, it rose to its full height and clawed viciously at the air.
The beast, not to be outdone, rose upon its hind legs as well. It was shorter than the bear by a foot or two, but outweighed it thanks in part to a short, powerful tail. It possessed a rodent-like snout and a strange jaw filled with oversized teeth.
The bear strode forward on its hind legs. Then it threw itself at the beast. Snarling, the beast fought back, snapping at the creature’s visage and clawing at its chest. They tussled for several seconds, broke apart, and then slammed into each other again.
Caplan took his gaze off the titanic struggle and locked eyes with Morgan. Her brow tightened. Then she hurried toward the staircase.
Caplan slipped away from the pod and melted into the shadows. Slinking along the wall, he made his way back to the entranceway where he found Morgan waiting for him. She frowned, gave him a quick once-over. Then she led him into the checkpoint area.
High-pitched screeches and furious roars rang in Caplan’s ears. Turning around, he cast one last look at the epic struggle. The giant bear held the beast down with one front paw and wailed at it with the other one. Blood was everywhere.
Caplan picked up his backpack and donned it. Then he glanced at Morgan. Oh, how he’d waited for this moment. A moment to apologize, to tell her the full truth of her brother’s horrible death.
“Are you, uh, okay?” he asked.
Smooth one, Zach, Caplan thought. Real smooth.
Morgan stared at him. “You shouldn’t have come here, Zach.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she reached for a rung and hoisted herself onto the ladder. Then she began to ascend the shaft.
Caplan grabbed a rung and took one last look at the battle. The beast lay dead on the ground, its head twisted in an awkward direction. The giant bear towered over it, continuously pounding the corpse into fleshy pulp. “What is this place?” he called out as he started to climb.
“It was supposed to be Eden,” Morgan said without looking down. “But it turned out to be hell instead.”
Chapter 35
Date: Unknown; Location: Unknown
“Come on,” Renjel called over his shoulder. “We’re almost there.”
“Would you shut up already?” Toland snapped between breaths. “We’re going as fast as we can.”
For once, Mills agreed with Toland. While Renjel seemed to have no problem scaling the slippery hillside, she found it far more challenging. Her body begged for rest. And she hurt all over, from her cut-up feet to the tangled mess of hair lumped atop her head. Worst of all, she was positively ravenous. Her stomach ached for food, specifically Sake and Sushi’s Furious Dragon Rolls. Oh, how she loved those rolls. Her mouth watered just thinking about the tender white rice, the not-too-crunchy shrimp tempura, the oh-so-succulent avocado, the spicy sauce, the fresh jalapeno, and the rich, smoky eel. Given the chance, she would’ve gladly traded her convertible for a couple of rolls. Or even just one roll. Or maybe even just a bite.
“I’m so hungry.” Elliott’s voice was whisper-like. “If we don’t find food soon, I’m going to eat worms.”
The word gross came to mind. But it died in Mills’ throat. Truth be told, she was of a similar opinion. Forget the Furious Dragon Rolls. She’d eat worms, bugs, mud, bark, whatever … anything to fill her belly. “I don’t suppose you know how to hunt,” she said.
Elliott shook her head.
“I do,” Brian Toland said. “I’ve hunted all over the world and I’ve got the trophies to prove it.”
Elliott’s face reflected disgust. “Hunting should be outlawed.”
“You eat meat?” he asked.
“As if. I’m a strict vegetarian.”
“So, you’re a plant killer.”
“If you think that’s the same thing as murdering an animal, then you’re dumber than I thought.”
“Plants might not have central nervous systems,” he retorted. “But they’re still living entities.”
Mills arched an eyebrow. “Are you really trying to tell us you care about the plight of plants?”
“Wow,” he said in a mocking tone. “I didn’t think your vocabulary was broad enough for a word like plight.”
Mills’ fingers curled into fists. Being stuck in this place, this time was hard enough. But being saddled with a self-important windbag to boot? That was sheer torture.
While Toland and Elliott continued to bicker over food ethics, Mills focused on walking. Soon, the pines and spruces began to thin. Then they gave way altogether.
The air smelled of fresh dew. The wind, a little stronger now, felt hot against her bare skin. Glancing up, Mills saw a thick array of dark clouds. A few raindrops fell here and there, hinting that the storm had another chapter left to write.
The hill steepened. Her leg muscles groaned as they adjusted to the new reality. She continued onward, barely keeping her footing in the wet grass.
Renjel offered her a half-hearted smile as she and the others joined him at the highest part of the hill. “Nice work.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Toland, breathing heavily, bent over at the waist. “So, how’s the view?”
Telling,” replied Renjel in a defeated tone.
Mills turned in a slow circle and saw what he meant. Close up, she noticed coniferous forests of pines, spruces and larches. Farther back, she observed a section of temperate broad-leaf woods full of beeches, elms, maples, and oaks. And she saw temperate grasslands as well as something that looked like tundra in the distance. But there was one thing she didn’t see.
Civilization.
Nature, as pure and pristine as she’d ever seen, surrounded her on all sides. It took her breath away.
But it took her last shred of hope, too.
“Damn,” Toland said, summing up their thoughts quite nicely. “I mean … well, damn.”
“No, no, no,” Elliott’s voice lifted to a scream. “No!”
“Keep it down,” Renjel cautioned. “We need to—”
“We need to what?” Her eyes flashed. “We’ve got no supplies, no food, no way out. Might as well bring on the animals. Let’s put an end to this once and for all.”
“If you want to kill yourself, go right ahead,” Toland said. “But do it somewhere else.”
She glared at him. “I hate you.”
“Oh, no.” His hands flew to his cheeks in mock horror. “Whatever will I do?”
“Listen,” Renjel said, desperation evident in his voice. “Does anyone have any experience in the outdoors? Hunting, fishing, camping? Anything like that?”
“He knows how to hunt,” Mills said with a nod at Toland.
Renjel gave him a hopeful look. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” Toland replied. “With a gun. But as you can see, I’m lacking in that department.”
“That’s not the only department you’re lacking in,” Elliott muttered under her breath.
“Stop it,” Renjel said. “Both of you. We need to work together if we’re going to make it through this.”
Toland crossed his arms and Elliott looked away. Meanwhile, Mills turned in another circle. She grieved for her former life. For the cocktails, the parties, the boys. And most of all, for the fame. Like all self-respecting celebrities, she claimed to hate fame. But if she was completely honest with herself, she secretly loved it. She loved it when people did a double take as they recognized her in passing. She loved the endless stream of smooth-tongued men w
ho accosted her at every turn. And she loved teenage girls running up to her on the street, saying they adored her and oh, could she please pose for a selfie?
Her mind worked in overdrive as she processed her new reality. How was she going to live without fame? Without the lovers, the clothes, and the lavish getaways?
“What’s the point?” Elliott said. “Work together, don’t work together … either way, we die.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Renjel’s visage twisted in thought. “We’ll use the cave as shelter. We can stack wood in front of it to keep out the animals. And we can make beds out of dirt and leaves.”
“That could work.” Toland nodded slowly. “And we’ve got the stream for water.”
“Exactly,” Renjel said. “For food, we'll eat berries and leaves. Animals too, if we can figure out how to catch them.”
Mills’ gaze focused in on Renjel. She studied his face, his five o’clock shadow. It was a handsome face, she realized, chock-full of self-assurance. Back home, she wouldn’t have given him the time of day. Not because he was ugly, but because he was beneath her station. And dating beneath one’s station was the kiss of death in her world. But out here, out in the middle of nowhere, things were different. Those old rules no longer applied. And even if they had, who cared?
A small part of her was starting to realize the emptiness inherent in her old life. For the first time, she found herself craving something else, something deeper and more meaningful. Christ, Bailey, she thought. Get your head out of the clouds.
“We still need fire,” Toland said.
“For what?” Elliott asked.
“To keep predators at bay, you dolt.”
“But he—” She nodded at Renjel. “—said we’d stack wood to keep them out of the cave.”
“You really think some measly tree branches are going to keep that saber from chowing down on us?” He gave her a scathing look. “Anyway how do you expect to keep warm without fire? Or cook a meal? Or disinfect water? Or—?”
“You made your point.” Renjel looked around. “Anyone have a lighter or matches?”
Heads shook back and forth.
“What if we scraped rocks?” Mills asked, breaking the silence. “Doesn’t that produce sparks?”
“Only if you’ve got high carbon steel and the right rock.” Toland arched a superior eyebrow. “And this is just a guess, but I’m willing to bet you couldn’t tell flint from slate.”
“No, but I’ve got plenty of time to figure it out,” she replied evenly.
Renjel adopting a calming tone. “Okay, Bailey will work on fire. Now, let’s—”
“Wait.” Mills’ gaze flicked to the side, to a spot just above Renjel’s ear. “Speaking of fire, I think I see one.”
The others turned around and focused their attention on a section of coniferous treetops. Thin wisps of grayish smoke floated above them before disappearing into the stormy sky.
“A campfire.” Elliott smiled broadly. “Thank God.”
“Or a forest fire,” Toland remarked. “If you—”
Mills was first to hear the snarl. Whirling around, she saw a black and orange streak racing up the hillside. She tried to scream, but it struck her side. She twisted, fell to the ground.
The streak continued without pause, racing across the hilltop. Moments later, it smacked into something. Bones cracked. A wail of agony rang out. Then claws sliced into flesh, spilling blood and organs onto the wet grass.
Shaking off the cobwebs, Mills struggled to a sitting position. Ten feet away, she saw the saber, snarling and drooling. It looked taller than she remembered by at least a foot. Meaner, too.
Shifting her gaze, she saw a writhing body underneath its heavy paws. Horror swept through her. No, no, no, she thought, her mind reeling in shock. Not him … not Travis!
Chapter 36
Date: June 19, 2016, 4:24 p.m.; Location: Hatcher Station, Vallerio Forest, NH
“Well, that was interesting.” Caplan, still shouldering his backpack, hoisted himself out of the shaft. “Let’s never do it again.”
Morgan said nothing. But her look spoke volumes about her inner pain, her deep sadness. With a deep sigh, she turned to the gathered brainiacs, technicians and rangers. “Bonnie and Zlata are dead,” she said. “But mourning will have to wait. We’ve got a full expulsion sequence on our hands. And the 2-Gens are just as brutal as the 1-Gens. Maybe more so.”
Faces tensed up throughout the room.
“What about the Arctodus simus?” Amy Carson nervously licked her lips. “Is it—?”
“It’s loose,” Morgan replied to gasps of horror. “It already killed the Megalonyx jeffersonii.”
“Then I say we kill it.” Carson lifted her pistol for all to see.
A few weak cheers rang out and Morgan waited for them to die down. “You know how hard it is to kill those things,” she said. “Anyway we’ve still got six incubators to go. Better to let them reach expulsion. The 2-Gens will kill each other and we can retake the Lab.”
“What if they don’t?” Carson retorted. “What if the Arctodus simus survives? What if it tries to come up here? With those semi-opposable thumbs, it—”
“We don’t have to worry about that. Fortunately, it’s too big to squeeze into the checkpoint area.” Morgan paused. “Look, we’ve obviously got to get back down there to access the communications systems. But in the meantime, let’s play it safe. Get a team together and watch the shaft. If you see anything, start shooting.”
“What if it keeps coming?"
“Then we’ll close and seal the hatch until we can figure out an alternative plan.”
“Easier said than done.” Gino Suarez, one of Hatcher’s brightest technicians, coughed. “Without power, we can’t seal the locks.”
“And the generators are in the Lab.” Morgan rubbed her temples. “Christ, can this get any worse?”
“I’ve got a team working on it,” Suarez said. “We should be able to whip up a new power source, but it could take a while.”
“Amanda.” Caplan opened his pack. “I know you’re busy, but I really need to—”
She gave him a fierce look. “Be quiet.”
“But—”
“I said, be quiet.”
Caplan glanced at his watch and realized he had more than thirty minutes before the full effects of HA-78 began to kick in. It wasn’t a ton of time, but he could afford a few minutes.
“Okay,” Morgan said after a moment. “Suarez, get me that power source. Amy, guard the shaft but be ready to move into the Heptagon if something goes wrong. Everyone else, get your stuff together. If a 2-Gen somehow breaches the hatch, we may need to move outdoors.”
“What should we do with the prisoners?” a voice called out.
“Keep watching them. And be ready to transport them outside at a moment’s notice.”
“What about Zach?” another voice shouted. “He told us he’s working for James.”
“Let me worry about him.” Her eyes flitted to Caplan. “By the time I’m done, he’ll wish he never came back.”
Chapter 37
Date: June 19, 2016, 4:29 p.m.; Location: Hatcher Station, Vallerio Forest, NH
“That’s far enough.” Morgan swung a pistol like a whip, cracking it against Caplan’s head. Dazed, he sank to his knees in a small pool of his own blood. “Why’d you come here?”
Caplan winced as the gun barrel dug into the back of his pounding skull. He’d been relieved of his pack and axes. And none of his skills, none of his tricks could help him now. “I missed the hospitality,” he replied.
Morgan jabbed the barrel against his head. “You’ve still got a smart mouth.”
"And you've still got a temper." He scanned the Galley. Thanks to a couple of battery-powered lamps, he could see a salad bar, empty at the moment, to his right. A coffee station, normally manned by a friendly barista, sat to his left. Numerous long tables, surrounded by metal chairs and outfitted with napkin dispensers and
bottles of condiments, ran zigzag along the floor.
“Why’d you come here?” she repeated.
“To save you. Or maybe to stop you.” He frowned. “To be honest, it’s kind of confusing.”
The air whistled. The gun cracked against Caplan’s skull for a second time. Clutching his head in pain, he slumped to the ground.
“I’m only going to ask you one more time,” she said. “Why’d you come here?”
“Okay, okay.” He climbed back to his knees. Gently, he rubbed his throbbing scalp. “This morning, a guy came to see me. He said his name was James Corbotch and that he owned the Vallerio. That was news to me.”
She nodded. “That’s because you worked in the Eye. Only people in Research were authorized to know about James.”
“It took some convincing, but I ended up believing him. He said terrorists had seized Hatcher. He wanted my help to take it back.”
“Why you?”
“He needed someone who knew the area.”
“Very good.” She pushed the barrel into the back of his neck. “Now, where’s your back-up?”
He wanted to tell her everything. God, he wanted to. But he hesitated. This wasn’t the same girl he’d flirted with all those months ago. She was different now. Colder, harder. What would she do if she found out Pearson, Corbotch, and Perkins were still alive? Would she send a squad of brainiacs to hunt them down?
Would she kill them?
“They’re dead,” he lied.
“Try again.”
“Okay. They’re dead.” A pause. “How’s that?”
Morgan clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “How’d they die?”
“Helicopter crash.”
“You really expect me to believe that?”
“Only if you’ve got a brain. Ask the guys who came looking for it. That is, unless they’re too embarrassed by the beating I gave them.”
"Beating?" Her eyes flashed with sudden understanding. "So, that's why they looked like mud wrestlers."
Caplan smirked.
“Fine," Morgan said. "What caused the crash?”