by Adam Carter
Valentine wished he could figure this woman out. In the one sense she seemed to want nothing less than to make him so distracted he could not think straight, yet with every little slip-up she seemed less and less impressed with him. It was as though she had been ordered to press for information but was disappointed whenever he gave any of it up. Valentine had never really understood women and had always tried to steer clear of them. They upset his natural order of things. The sooner Torrance’s unit arrived and they did whatever it was they wanted to do and got out of there, the happier Valentine would be.
“Zebadiah?” Torrance asked while they walked, and Valentine realised he had been staring.
“Zebadiah,” he said, setting his jaw firm in determination to get this over and done with. Soon, he decided, would not be soon enough.
CHAPTER FIVE
“So,” Hudson asked while the two women had stopped for a rest, “what’s between you and Valentine anyway?”
Whitsmith glanced sharply at her. Hudson was sitting casually upon a log, munching on a chocolate bar as though the swamp would sit back and wait for her to finish before it became dangerous again. Whitsmith had once asked her why she did that, and Hudson had merely replied that since their chocolate supply was almost gone she didn’t want to waste the experience by being afraid of the local wildlife. If something was going to get her it would get her, but at least she would die with chocolate in her mouth. It was an odd philosophy, and Whitsmith had never asked again.
Hudson also seemed to think that just because she was taking the time for a break, it meant she could pry into Whitsmith’s affairs.
“There’s nothing between us,” Whitsmith snapped, perhaps a little too late. “Dex is my boss, that’s all.”
“Well technically he’s my boss too, only I don’t call him Dex.”
Whitsmith decided she would do the adult thing and simply ignore her.
Hudson crunched loudly on her chocolate, which Whitsmith fancied contained some form of biscuit or honeycomb. She did not have any herself and tried not to think about where Hudson may have got hers. Another crunch and Whitsmith felt her own stomach growling since the only thing Whitsmith had brought with her were some bad-tasting energy bars someone back at the prison made out of swamp reeds or something.
“I’m willing to share,” Hudson said, and Whitsmith looked to her then to see the heavy-set woman holding out a finger of chocolate. Whitsmith glanced from the hand to Hudson’s face, knowing there would have to be a catch. “No catch,” Hudson said, knowing precisely what she was thinking. “Just trying to bond.”
Whitsmith did not want to bond with this woman, but another crunch made her mind up for her and she reached for it.
“It’s just,” Hudson said, pulling back to wave the chocolate finger in a measured pace that showed she was only pretending not to have realised she had retracted it at that precise moment, “if we’re bonding like this, we should really open up to each other. You know, about our feelings for certain people. People like ... I don’t know. Dex maybe?”
Whitsmith straightened her back and looked into the swamp once more, biting down harshly on her energy bar. Hudson chuckled and leaned back against her tree rest while she ate.
It was only a couple of minutes later that the two women returned to their work. For Whitsmith, however, the break had been far from relaxing. She was angry and did not even know why. Her personal life was none of Hudson’s business, and even if she was involved with Valentine it certainly would not be something she would be ashamed of. Dexter Valentine was many things, a lot of them bad, but he was also the man who had kept their little community alive for all this time. If someone else had taken charge, Whitsmith was willing to bet the dinosaurs would have moved in by now.
She caught Hudson smirking her way and raised her chin slightly, wishing Hudson would just mind her own business. Besides, it wasn’t as though there was a lot of choice in the prison.
No more was said about it as they resumed their search. Hudson would have been happy if they just returned home with the news that the crocodile had been identified and turned away, if not actually dealt with, but she was willing to allow Whitsmith to play out her hunch. Whitsmith had to admit even to herself, however, that this was all it was. She had nothing concrete to go on, yet her gut instinct about this sort of thing was always right. She knew there was something out here other than a crocodile and she intended to prove it.
A call came in across her radio which told her one of the perimeter guards had found something. The swamp cut out most of the man’s speech, but she had a location and that was all that mattered to her. Whitsmith wished they could send up a satellite so they could bounce signals around a little more easily, but if they had the means to launch anything into space she reckoned they would all have left long ago.
Hudson did not complain at all as they trudged their way back to the guard, did not even snidely mention the fact they had been moving around in circles this whole time. Whitsmith did not like to think they had been wasting time, especially because it would give Hudson even greater ammunition to consider her useless, but the truth was it was very difficult to track anything through the swamp.
Whitsmith spoke briefly with the guard once they found him, and she was informed that he had spotted something lurking within the rushes and that when he had taken a step towards it the thing had scarpered. That made Whitsmith consider she wasn’t tracking a dromaeosaurid at all, and that it was some small herbivore instead. Certainly if there were any raptors in the area they would not be running away from a border patrol.
“Go take a look,” Hudson said tiredly, “since we’re here anyway.”
Whitsmith did not like taking orders from Hudson, especially since she was intending to take a look regardless. Without even acknowledging her, Whitsmith moved into the rushes the patrol guard had indicated. They rose to her knees and could easily have hidden a crocodile, but Whitsmith was determined not to show her fear. She had her pistol in her hand once more, although hoped Hudson had her rocket launcher primed just in case it turned out to be another deionosuchus.
Swiftly Whitsmith located an area of the reeds which had been pressed flat, indicating something heavy had been lying there. Crouching, affording her a view of what the creature would have seen, Whitsmith looked back to where Hudson waited. Whitsmith could see her very clearly and suddenly realised just how good a point of concealment this was. Whatever had been hiding here, she did not think it would have been a herbivore, yet if it was indeed a predator why would a man taking a step towards it frighten it away? It might retreat to a safer distance, but surely it would not simply flee entirely? And if it had not fled, where was it?
Rising, Whitsmith glanced about her, trying to fathom where the thing might have got to. The swamp was still, the winds providing a gentle sway to the reeds and leaves, but otherwise drawing out nothing amiss. The soft sounds of chirruping insects drifted through the air. Nothing seemed amiss at all.
And then her eyes caught something and she frowned. Ahead of her, almost hidden by the rushes and a nearby tree, she could just make out what appeared to be a dark green head, and an eye staring out at her. Whitsmith could not from this distance identify the species, but the eye seemed large and rounded, which would indicate some form of troodont. There had been a byronosaurus supposedly spotted in the swamp a couple of years back, and, while it had never been confirmed, it was the only form of troodont Whitsmith had ever known to even be suggested living here. Troodonts supposedly did not live in swampland, their long legs far more suited to open lands where they could run like the emus and ostriches they resembled. This world was nothing if not odd, however, and some days Whitsmith even expected the trees to get up and walk away.
The great eye blinked once and Whitsmith felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew she was being watched, but more than that it was as though she was being observed. It was as though the creature was assessing her, and she shivered with the thought that she was
naked before its gaze. Troodonts were hunters which reached to an average of around two metres. They were dangerous, certainly, although their prey would not have been large animals the size of humans. Besides which, with Hudson and her guns handy Whitsmith did not really fear attack too badly. If the creature, whatever it was, had fled when the guard had taken a single step towards it, she could not see it would be prepared to launch an attack upon her with Hudson so close by.
Whitsmith continued to stare at what she could see of the head, wishing so much was not obscured by the foliage. The more she stared, the more she frowned. And the more she frowned, the more she began to determine that the thing she was watching was no troodont. Certainly the eye and the texture of the skin were indicative of such a creature, but there was something strange about the cranial structure. It was almost too rounded, and she could see very little indication that the creature even had a beak.
Suddenly the thing was moving. Whitsmith did not know whether she had spooked it or whether it had finished its viewing of her, but for whatever reason the rushes rustled as the creature tore off through the swamp. Whitsmith shouted to Hudson and gave pursuit, determined not to lose the creature. It was keeping low and moving very quickly, suggesting it was running upon four legs. If the thing was indeed a species of troodont she could not see how it was keeping itself so well concealed from her with the rushes being so low.
Charging through the strange grass, Whitsmith kept track of her prey only by the movement of the rushes ahead of her. At one point the movement stopped, presumably as the creature got its bearings, and then it was off once more. Whitsmith plunged ahead at this point, hoping to catch up to the thing, but it was ahead of her too quickly.
“Come on,” she urged Hudson, and then stopped, aghast. Hudson was no longer behind her. Whitsmith had charged ahead so quickly that she had lost her protection.
Her eyes turning back to the rushes, which she noticed had become much thicker and taller now, Whitsmith suddenly realised how clever this animal had been. Like the stories of the ancient Will-o’-the-wisps, the creature had drawn her deeper into the swamp with the intention of pulling her away from any help she might have received. And now it had her just where it wanted her.
Whitsmith froze, realising she was in trouble but refusing to lie down to die. She listened for any sound which might help; the insects were still buzzing and the wind was still rustling the rushes, but if it was creature movement and not wind she could not say. Nor could she see anything, could catch no further glimpses of dark green scales or large staring eyes. As her heart thumped soundly within her she half-hoped the thing had taken the opportunity to flee.
But she knew a strategic genius did not draw out the enemy without moving in to finish it off.
A shrieking hiss emanated from the brush to her right and Whitsmith snapped her pistol around in trembling fingers. The wind continued soughing through the long rushes; taunting her, trying to angle the blades for a better view of her upcoming demise. Whitsmith could hear her heart hammering through her eardrums, the incessant pounding of a primitive rhythm foretelling her death.
And suddenly something was leaping at her. Whitsmith raised her pistol and cracked off a shot, the report sounding loudly through the swamp and sending up a shower of birds from somewhere nearby. Whitsmith stood staring at the rushes once more, for whatever had come for her was no longer in her sight. She could not for one moment believe that she had managed to shoot the thing; all she could think was that it had dropped back into cover. And why would it not? It had drawn her so meticulously into this trap and had no need to show its hand until it was ready.
Whitsmith knew she had to get away. She had lost all sense of direction by this point, but even stumbling about in fear would be better than just standing there waiting for the creature to make its move. Selecting the direction she felt most likely to be her point of entry, Whitsmith broke into a run. All she could see were the parting rushes before her; all she could hear was the hammering of her own terrified heart; all she could think of was how easily a drowning woman fighting for the surface would push herself even deeper into the black ocean.
She went tumbling, her leg having snagged on something, and cursed her clumsiness. Ending on her backside, she struggled back to a sitting position. It was then she saw the wound to her leg. There were two deep slashes in her shin, as though a massive claw had torn at her leg even while she ran. Whitsmith had no idea why she could not feel the pain and put it down to the adrenalin pumping furiously around her body. But the pain was irrelevant. If the creature had been able to predict her path with such accuracy it meant it would be watching her even now, waiting for her next move.
Raising her pistol with shaking hands, Whitsmith knew she had no chance of making any shot connect; but she would not die without a fight. Her mind struggled to put a name to the creature stalking her. It was no crocodile, of that much she was certain. But nor could she think of any dinosaur with intelligence enough to be doing what it was doing. That left only one possibility that she could think of. Whatever was stalking her was human.
A low growl rumbled through the rushes then and Whitsmith saw a form stepping through. It kept itself hunched so the rushes would conceal it more fully, but Whitsmith could see it clearly enough.
The thing was thin and tall; with its back straightened it would have stood at around seven feet. It was a pale green in colour, its skin the rough, coarse texture of leather. Its arms were long, gangly almost, while its legs were thick and strong. The creature had a short, almost useless tail protruding from its back, but this was not used for counterbalance as with most carnivorous dinosaurs. For this creature walked upon two legs, with a straight back as though it thought it was some kind of human. The naked creature stared down at Whitsmith with large, bright eyes almost filling its green, rounded face. It bore a large gash of a mouth within which Whitsmith could see the promise of mutilating teeth.
The impossible creature stared at her in something which seemed amazingly like curiosity. It made no hostile moves, yet Whitsmith was not fooled for a moment. She could see the claws of its hands were as sharp as razors, while its clawed feet bore the lethal, slashing scimitar of a dromaeosaurid. Just what the thing was, Whitsmith could not say. It was not natural to this world, for nothing like this had ever existed in Earth’s entire prehistory. But then nothing on this world was natural, not even the world itself. No one had ever been able to provide a satisfactory explanation as to how the dinosaurs and other prehistoric life had come to this world, so Whitsmith knew she should not have been so surprised to learn of some kind of dinosaur-man here as well. Perhaps even the origins of this world could be found through this being, whatever it was.
“Whitsmith!”
Whitsmith watched as the thing crouched lower at the shout, cautiousness taking hold once more. Whatever the thing was, it certainly knew that to survive it had to remain hidden. Whitsmith could hear Hudson shouting her name once more as she blundered through the rushes. The creature began to back away, its large eyes focusing on the exact area of Hudson’s approach. Whitsmith could only imagine what senses the creature must have possessed in order to be able to detect Hudson’s precise location.
Slowly the creature began to back off into the rushes and Whitsmith knew she was losing her only opportunity to study the thing. “Wait,” she said anxiously, holding out her hand. “Please, don’t run.”
The creature looked to her momentarily and Whitsmith detected something almost like regret. But then the beast was gone, swallowed once more by the rushes.
“Whitsmith.”
Whitsmith felt the large form of Katie Hudson drop beside her. Hudson held a rifle in one hand, while trying to help Whitsmith with the other. She was kneeling on only one leg, ready to run at a moment’s notice.
“Good idea shooting your pistol,” Hudson said. “Gave me a bearing.”
Whitsmith could not help but laugh. If she hadn’t been so afraid she would not have scared awa
y the creature. But the thing had torn at her leg, there was no denying that. Perhaps it had not meant her harm, perhaps it had. There was simply no way of knowing. Not now anyway.
“Did you get a look at what you were chasing?” Hudson asked, keeping a careful eye on the rushes. “Was it a raptor?”
“I don’t know what it was.” Tentatively Whitsmith tried to stand and found the wound was not nearly as bad as it could have been. If the creature had wanted her dead she would not now be alive to wonder. As she put her weight upon it she felt the pain at last, but only grunted in Hudson’s presence. “I need to talk to Dex,” she determined. “I think after all these years it’s time to explore this swamp properly.”
CHAPTER SIX
Once, long ago, there had been a simple man leading a simple life. And that simple man had one day discovered how to transfer a little money here, a little money there, in order to maximise his potential for profit and interest. Sometimes that money had not belonged to him, and sometimes it did belong to him but some of it belonged to the government in taxes. The simple man had over several years acquired a somewhat large sum of money. Then the police had arrested him and he had ended up in a penal colony far from where his money could have done him any good.
Zebadiah grinned to himself as he held a branch through the stout vertical iron bars of the cell. The creature within, a recent acquisition called an erythrosuchus, snapped at the raw meat he had skewered to the end of the stick. The erythrosuchus was a five metre brute with a bulky body and long, snapping tail. Its head was huge compared with the rest of its body and resembled the classic long-snouted, razor-toothed picture always painted of the tyrannosaurus rex and its kin. It was not, however, a dinosaur, for it walked upon four legs as though it was a jungle cat or a crocodile. Indeed, its name meant ‘red crocodile’, which Zebadiah found amusing since its legs, though thick and powerful, were far longer than any crocodile’s he had ever known. The beast always looked to him like it was a dinosaur; just one that walked on four legs.