by David Meyer
The crumbling concrete gave way to crumbling schist, damp moss, and flies. They hiked a little farther and Caplan caught sight of the Vallerio Forest. Ancient pine trees stood firm, impenetrable columns of Mother Nature’s most wicked city. Their gnarled branches stretched to the cloud-covered sky, as if preparing an onslaught on the heavens themselves. Black corridors, laced with horrible secrets and desperate monsters, pulsed between the trees. A stream, furious and opaque, twisted in and out of the blackness like a slithering snake.
A familiar energy, malevolent and older than time itself, washed over Caplan. It swept away his newfound emotions, replacing them with anguish, fear, and revulsion.
Morgan stopped on the cusp of the cave. “Where to?” she asked.
Caplan gazed upon the ravine. “48A,” he replied.
She gave him a questioning look.
“We have to get to Corbotch’s helicopter,” he said. “It’s the only way out of this hellhole.”
She nodded and took a hesitant step into the ravine. She slipped a bit on soft mud, but quickly got control of her footing.
Caplan’s gaze drifted to Morgan and he didn’t see Tony’s sister. Instead, he saw her as a lover, a friend, a heroine, and many other things. Her complexity, like a die with infinite sides, staggered him to the core. His mistake was all too apparent. Five months ago, he’d reduced this outstanding woman to a cardboard cutout. She’d become nothing more than Tony’s sister to him, with utterly predictable emotions and thoughts.
Well, no more. He still yearned to protect her, still hoped to earn her forgiveness. But no longer would he view her as a one-dimensional being that, if soothed correctly, could salvage his soul.
A seed sprouted within him. His dark emotions withered a bit, making room for something else. Something new.
Something good.
Chapter 49
Date: June 19, 2016, 6:46 p.m.; Location: Sector 48A, Vallerio Forest, NH
Caplan inhaled sharply as he caught sight of the sheared wires, the trampled metal bars and posts, and the crumbling concrete blocks. This particular section of giant fence, once a mighty beacon of man’s control over nature, had been reduced to mere rubble and scrap metal.
He walked out of the forest, still recuperating from the difficult trek through Sector 12, and stood before what remained of the curving fence. Two metal posts, fifteen feet long and painted to look like trees, had been heavily scratched and ripped out of their respective concrete blocks. Now, they lay on the mud alongside bent metal bars and long strands of wire.
Looking past the fence, Caplan saw familiar evergreen trees, dripping with rainwater and framed by the inky black sky. The pines, cedars, and hemlocks triggered something in his subconscious and he shuddered. The landscape was just as picturesque as he remembered.
And just as evil as well.
The next few seconds felt like hours. And as he stared at the forest, all the old memories and feelings came rushing back to him. He recalled the crunching snow, the nightmarish roars, the pulsing corridors, and the snarling, frenzied, living darkness. But most of all he remembered the screams. Those ungodly, anguished screams of insanity.
“This is the place,” he said softly. “This is where he died.”
Morgan looked at him, then at the conifers. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.” Caplan stepped over the mud-embedded posts, bars, and wires. He saw scattered footprints of different sizes. Clearly, numerous creatures had escaped 48A. That fact should’ve made him feel better, but it had the opposite effect.
He stopped at the edge of the former fence line. Again, he looked at the dense columns of evergreen trees, at the black corridors, at the streets of mud and green needles. Was it sheer coincidence he’d come to this exact spot? Or had his subconscious driven him to it?
Taking a deep breath, he stepped across the fence line. Paranoia hit him hard and he began swinging his rifle in arcs, searching for signs of pulsing blackness.
He made his way to the tree line and checked his heading. Then he slid into one of the dark corridors. For several minutes he hiked, heading deeper and deeper into the bowels of the strange, ancient city.
“Wait.” Morgan tugged his arm. “Over there.”
Caplan’s gaze—and rifle—shot to the southeast. His heart skipped a beat as he caught sight of a large silken mass nestled within a clump of trees. Although the incubator was still in one piece, he noticed numerous cracks lining its dirt-stained side.
“We should destroy it.” Morgan’s jaw hardened. “Before whatever’s in there has a chance to come out.”
The proposition would’ve tempted the Caplan of several hours ago. But that Caplan no longer existed. “Why go to all that trouble? Why not just kill ourselves and be done with it?”
She glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’d have to be suicidal to mess with those things.” He hiked forward, skirting well clear of the incubator. “Trust me. I should know.”
Morgan hesitated for a split-second before hurrying to catch up. For a minute, she tried to match his quick pace and quiet gait. Failing that, she settled for speed over silence. “You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?” He arched an eyebrow. “That you’ve got a death wish?”
“The gene sequencing, the incubators, the 1- and 2-Gens … I’m responsible for all of it.”
“Not by yourself.”
“Maybe not, but everyone else is dead.” She exhaled. “That makes it—all of it—my responsibility. I have to fix this, Zach.”
“Getting yourself killed won’t fix anything.”
She inhaled a deep breath of air. “What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “How do I make this right?”
Her questions jostled Caplan’s brain. He thought back to his own failure all those months ago. He thought about how he’d reacted to Tony’s death, then and now. And he thought about what he’d do if he could go back to that moment in time, when the whole world seemed to be crashing down upon him. “First, you forgive yourself and get your head straight,” he replied. “Then you go with your gut.”
A roar, soft at first, erupted from the southeast. It quickly gained decibels, rising to howler monkey levels. Then lion levels. Blue whale levels.
And beyond.
Ground tremors sprung up under Caplan’s shoes, sending tiny vibrations through his body. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of a juniper for support. The ancient wooden column quaked and trembled against his fingertips. Needles and scaly green leaves shook loose and dropped to the earth.
A few seconds later, the disturbance ceased. Releasing the tree, Caplan cast a wary glance at Morgan. “Please tell me you didn’t make dinosaurs,” he said.
She gazed southeast with wide, confused eyes. “No, just Pleistocene megafauna. James was very strict on that point.”
“Then what was that?”
“It definitely wasn’t a woolly mammoth. And it was way too loud to come from one of the sabers.” Her face twisted in thought. “It must’ve been one of the newly expelled 1-Gens. Only …”
“Yeah?”
Tearing her gaze from the forest, she looked at Caplan. “I can’t imagine any of them having the vocal chops to pull it off.”
Great, just what we need, Caplan thought. Another mystery to solve.
Kicking his speed up another gear, Caplan trekked deeper into Sector 48A. The forest thickened. Evergreen branches stretched toward other branches, forming enormous arches and blocking out the inky, cloud-covered sky.
The Vallerio played tricks with Caplan’s mind, trying to throw him off course. But his internal compass rose to the occasion. And so he continued onward, hiking toward Corbotch, Perkins, and the Rexto 419R3 corporate helicopter.
With each step, he felt himself drawing closer to ancient and otherworldly evil. At the same time, he felt his true self—the one he’d lost five months ago—shed its shackles and take its rightful place at the forefront of his
consciousness.
The archaic columns of gnarled wood began to transform into ordinary evergreen trees. Black corridors morphed into somewhat-welcoming pathways. He spotted footprints and animals trails. Heard quiet chirps and snapping twigs. Felt the breeze and the pulsing of distant creatures. The Vallerio was still ancient, still evil.
But he no longer viewed it solely through lens of fear.
A strange sensation ran through him. He veered off-course, acting solely on instinct. Morgan hurried to keep up with him. As he hiked in this new direction, he observed his surroundings. He smelled feces in the air. He saw scratching posts and drag marks. But that wasn’t what drove him onward. It was something else. Something he couldn’t quite explain.
He stopped at the foot of a giant pine tree, easily some 200 feet tall. His heart began to pound against his chest. Kneeling down, he studied the soil. Then he swung his rifle to his side and carefully cleared away the top layer of wet dirt. Underneath, he found a bed of brown pine needles and dead grass. And underneath that, he found exactly what he knew he’d find.
Morgan stared at the dirt-smeared objects. “What are those things?”
“Bones.” He dug a little deeper, revealing some shredded orange fabric. He touched it and memories flooded through him. “Tony’s bones.”
Chapter 50
Date: June 19, 2016, 6:51 p.m.; Location: Sector 48A, Vallerio Forest, NH
Morgan stared at Caplan, her eyes filled with the deepest imaginable horror. “How can you be sure?”
“The bones belong to a man. Plus, they’re big.” Caplan gently maneuvered the dirt-smeared objects to give her a closer look. “Eyeballing them, I’d say they’re a good fit for his frame. But that piece of orange fabric is the kicker. Tony was wearing an orange jacket that day.”
“I remember that jacket …” Her voice, tinged with sadness, trailed off into the night.
“The bones are picked clean.” Extending his fingertips, Caplan carefully pried a ribcage out of the soil. He brushed off the ribs, revealing deep puncture marks. “But whatever got him had long, sharp teeth. You know, I saw wounds like these earlier today. On some of the bodies near the Blaze’s wreckage.”
Morgan inhaled. “Cats made those,” she said. “Saber-toothed cats.”
“Why do you keep calling them that?”
“Saber-toothed tiger is misleading because they’re not closely related to tigers. Though now that I think about it, they’re not closely related to modern cats either.”
“How can you be sure it’s a saber?”
“Because of their long upper canines. From our tests, we know that’s how they like to kill. They’re ambush predators who hold down prey with their forelimbs. Then they use their neck muscles to drive their upper canines into soft flesh, usually the throat or abdomen.” She exhaled. “Besides, it’s the only thing that makes sense. We know James took sabers, woolly mammoths, and the incubators here. The incubators didn’t start opening until the full expulsion sequence was initiated a few hours ago. And if a woolly mammoth had killed Tony, the bones wouldn’t be in such good shape. So, that leaves sabers.”
A howl, vicious and bloodthirsty, rose out of the forest. Caplan clenched his jaw. He knew that howl all too well. Well, well, well, he thought. Look who’s back for round two.
A large creature, cloaked in shadows, stepped out from behind a thick cedar trunk. It was over six feet long with shoulders rising more than four feet off the earth. Its right shoulder blade slumped a bit and Caplan saw a small hole, ringed by dried blood and matted fur.
It’s the same wolf, he thought, his eyes narrowing to slits. But it’s at least a foot longer and taller. What the hell is going on around here?
Chapter 51
Date: June 19, 2016, 6:54 p.m.; Location: Sector 48A, Vallerio Forest, NH
Caplan felt a twinge of fear pass through him. But this time, it didn’t originate from the Vallerio. Instead, it came solely from the strange beast. Not from its existence, but from its unexplained growth. How could any animal grow so much in such a short span of time? It was unthinkable, impossible. And yet, undeniably real.
“That’s a dire wolf,” Morgan whispered. “It looks exactly like our sketches. All but the coat, that is. We thought its fur would be more like that of a gray wolf.”
Caplan studied the dire wolf from afar. Its golden brown coat, streaked with black, shimmered in the dim light. Its savage, orangish eyes flicked back and forth between him and Morgan. Its tongue licked its lips over and over again. All in all, it looked similar to how he remembered it. It was just a taller, longer, and bulkier version of itself.
“That’s the one I cut out of the incubator,” Caplan said. “See that bullet hole? James’ guy shot it when it attacked me. He saved my life.”
Morgan lifted her pistol, took aim at the wolf. “This is the same guy that infected you?”
“The very one.” Memories of Julius Pearson weighed heavily on Caplan’s mind. What had happened to him anyway? Did he venture into the Lab with the big shots? Did he get his comeuppance? Or was he still out there somewhere? “By the way, how big do these wolves get?”
“I don’t remember. Why?”
“Because that one’s hit a growth spurt since I last saw it. At least a foot in height and even more in length.”
Her gaze hardened. “That’s impossible.”
“Tell me about it.” With slow, fluid movements, Caplan placed his rifle and backpack on the ground. Then he grabbed hold of his twin axes and carefully removed their head covers.
Morgan kept her pistol aimed at the dire wolf. Her gaze shifted to him, then back to the wolf. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Let me get back to you on that.” He brandished the axes like weapons. Like it or not, the situation called for patience, not power.
He’d fended off wolves in the past. The trick was to establish dominance, usually by yelling, throwing rocks, and making oneself as large as possible. But this wolf, well, it was a different story.
According to Morgan, the 1-Gen sabers and woolly mammoths had come out of their incubators violent and thirsty for blood. And the 2-Gen creatures had shown similar characteristics. With the exception of the short-faced bear, they’d fought almost mindlessly. Like rabid animals, they’d attacked anything with a pulse. So, there was every reason to expect the same thing from the dire wolf.
Last time, Pearson had driven it off with gunfire. But that was right after it came out of the incubator and before its recent growth spurt. This time, Caplan suspected, would be different.
This time it would fight to the death.
And that made it especially hard to forgo his rifle. Unfortunately, gunfire would attract too much attention. The last thing he needed was for the rest of the 1-Gen newborns, drawn by the loud noise, to come sniffing around.
The dire wolf snarled and bared its teeth. Its paws scraped the ground. Then it sprinted forward.
“Zach …” Morgan’s gun hand quivered and she took a step backward.
“Don’t shoot.” Caplan whirled the axes in his hands. “And don’t turn your back on it.”
The wolf’s black legs pumped furiously, blending in and out of the darkness. Its golden coat turned into a blur of shifting, twitching muscles.
Caplan ignored the creature’s sharp, gnashing teeth. Instead, he zeroed in on its legs.
Fifteen feet out, the creature’s gait began to change. It ran another five feet before launching itself into the air. Its orangish eyes blazed holes in Caplan’s face. Its jaws snapped wildly, eager to bite, to kill.
But Caplan was ready and sidestepped the attack. As the wolf hurtled past him, he slashed its side with the left axe. The blade struck hard and unexpected reverberations shot through Caplan’s arm. It felt like he’d chopped at concrete rather than flesh and bone. Even worse, the blow did little damage, opening the smallest of slits in the wolf’s tough hide.
The wolf twisted in mid-air before smacking to the ground. Its head
curled sideways, toward Caplan. Its jaws snapped at him, narrowly missing his legs.
Still clutching his axes, Caplan leapt on top of the creature. The dire wolf squirmed out from under him and bit his leg. Caplan clamped his mouth shut, barely avoiding a scream. Okay, that does it, he thought. You don’t mess with the Holocene.
Caplan adjusted and pinned down the wolf. Then he dropped the axes, pushed its snout to the ground, and wrapped his arms around the creature’s head. Leaning back, he squeezed with all his might.
The wolf, snarling and yipping, struggled to escape the headlock. But Caplan maintained a vice-like grip. “The axes.” He looked at Morgan. “Kill it.”
Morgan stuck the pistol into her waistband and hurried to his side. She picked up the axes and hesitated. “How?”
The dire wolf wriggled and snapped its jaws. It took all of Caplan’s strength to hold it down. “Just do it!”
Morgan’s right arm reared back. Seconds later, she sent the axe slamming into the creature. The blow opened a small cut on its belly. But it also jolted her and she slipped, falling to the ground.
Frowning, she scrambled back to her feet. Using shorter strokes, she attacked the cut, causing it to widen and deepen.
As its blood began to flow freely, the wolf’s movements turned frantic. Caplan, in turn, dug deep into his reserves and managed to keep his grip on the creature’s head.
The dire wolf’s movements grew even more frantic. But it quickly began to lose energy. And after another two minutes of steady blows, it finally died in Caplan’s arms.
Morgan dropped the axes and fell to her knees, physically spent. Caplan released the wolf’s limp head and stretched his sore arms. Then he gathered up his axes, rifle, and backpack.
Morgan took a few long breaths of air. Then she stood up again, clutching the bandages on her side. Her blonde hair, soaked with sweat and grime, hung limply from her head. Her eyes looked distant and sad.
“First time?” Caplan asked quietly.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.