Dinosaur World Omnibus

by Adam Carter

  Suddenly it all made sense to Hudson and she retracted the knife, falling upon her backside to rest her arms across her knees. She laughed heartily, and Torrance jumped at the sound. “You’re criminals,” Hudson said. “You crashed here, raided whatever you could, and when you stumbled upon us you just lied. There aren’t any more of your unit out there, are there? It’s just you three.”

  “When we found you,” Torrance said, “we thought we could use you to help against that creature. We thought with so many people we might at last be able to overpower it.”

  “You might have mentioned it then,” Hudson said.

  “We were going to. Cartello wanted to get a good night’s rest in first. Hunter ... Hunter’s a psychopath. I’ve no idea why she was being transferred but I can bet it was because she was too dangerous to stay where she was.”

  “So you were being transferred,” Hudson said, “and you took control of your shuttle. Killed the crew?”

  Torrance looked away. “That was Hunter. It’s why we can’t afford to get recaptured. I don’t know what Cartello was in for, but I was put away for theft. My boyfriend had me cover for him when the cops got him. Stashed a load of stuff with me and made me say it was mine. I didn’t know it was stolen or anything. Anyway, my point is I’m not a murderer or anything, but the instant Hunter killed the crew she made me an accomplice.”

  “Well we’re all in the same boat, it seems,” Hudson said, still finding intense amusement in the situation. “Just how many prisoners can this world take?”

  “We weren’t being transferred here,” Torrance said. “We were being moved to one of the outer moons. When we took control of the shuttle, this was the closest place we could reach.”

  “Which means,” Hudson said, “anyone who comes looking for you will come straight to us.”

  “The world’s quarantined,” Torrance reminded her. “No one’s coming looking for us.”

  Hudson looked to Whitsmith then. It was all good information, but it did them no good if they couldn’t get back to the prison. “Once the storm lets up a bit we’ll head out. See if you can find Torrance here a pair of shoes in one of these crates.”

  The smile vanished from Hudson’s face as something struck the roof. The noise reverberated through the entire shack: it sounded as though a branch had broken loose in the storm.

  “It’s found us,” Torrance whispered in terror.

  “The shed’s coated with a scent to repel animals,” Whitsmith whispered. “It can’t possibly have found us.”

  “I get the impression,” Hudson said, retrieving her rifle, “we’re not dealing with an ordinary animal. Stay with her.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m taking a look outside.”

  “If you go out there it’ll kill you.”

  Hudson frowned at the genuine terror in Whitsmith’s eyes. Showing fear was a weakness, everyone knew that, but she could see Whitsmith was not afraid for herself. Yes, she was being left without a protector, but that was not why her eyes were pleading with Hudson to stay. Whitsmith was afraid for Hudson’s life, and Hudson could not fault that kind of fear. Another word for it would have been loyalty.

  “I’ve fought more creatures in the pits than anyone,” Hudson said, surprised to find her voice full of compassion. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  “Doesn’t take two of us. We have what we need from Torrance and we know no one would miss her. It’s your call whether to shoot her or leave her tied up here or whatever.”

  “We’ll decide that together. When you come back.”

  Hudson said nothing more and headed outside. She had never allowed herself to grow close enough to anyone in the prison to actually call them her friend, but it was nice to think that someone cared for her. Hudson was too happy when she was beating people up to ever make any real friends, and it felt strange to think Whitsmith cared about her at all.

  The storm was raging fiercely and as Hudson stepped out in it she threw aside any of the foolish inhibitions of character she may have been growing in the shed. The rain was cold, but the swamp air was warm, and the resulting effect cast a cleansing shower upon her. Hudson closed her eyes, raising her face to the dark heavens, the orange/red glow of Jupiter ever present through the trees. Water cascaded down her face, plastered her clothes to her skin, ran off her weapons harmlessly. The rain was where Katie Hudson felt most at home, and she knew whatever this creature was chasing them it could not survive when facing her in her element.

  Bringing the rifle to her eyes, Hudson investigated the roof, but there was no sign that the creature was still up there, even if it had ever been there at all. She wandered about the exterior of the shack, keeping her rifle trained upwards, searching for any signs that the creature had ever been here. She saw something then, brushing against the roof in the wind. The thick leaves of a tree, still attached to the branch, were scraping the roof fiercely. Hudson smiled. Their monster had been nothing more than a few leaves.

  She lowered her rifle, deciding she would take a look around the area while she was out here. She knew she would not be able to find any tracks through the storm, but perhaps she could find something of importance regardless.

  A sound came from the trees and she dropped into a crouch, her rifle coming to her shoulder. The howling wind was throwing off her hearing, and as rain dripped into her eyes and flashed across her face she could not even see clearly. If there was something in the trees, it was not moving, however, and she debated whether it would be best for her to return to the shed. It would offer her no protection, but at least in there her senses would not be blasted to oblivion by the raging storm.

  Backing away slowly, she judged the distance to the door as being around ten further paces. If there was something out there watching her she only needed for it to remain where it was for another few moments and she would be back with the others. Whitsmith could not be relied on to shoot straight, but Torrance was an extra body. Hudson knew trusting Torrance might prove a very bad idea, but if that lizard was still tracking them it was also something Hudson was willing to risk.

  A series of sounds snapped her attention around: a swift slap of feet in mud. Hudson swung her gun about but a powerful arm slammed into it before she could pull the trigger. The rifle flew away from her and disappeared in the night, and Hudson felt something slam into her throat. She gasped as she was lifted from the ground, barely making out the form before her. The creature was tall, with dark mottled scales for skin. She could see precious little of its body, for the darkness was stealing everything from her, but its grip was powerful and as Hudson struggled, clawing at the hand with both her own, she realised the creature was also far more powerful than she.

  The beast hissed, a waft of misty breath washing over her. She could see twin slits in the creature’s head, staring out at her, threatening. A flash of teeth appeared in the pale light and Hudson knew if she allowed her imagination to run away with her she would die.

  Keeping her left hand upon the claw attempting to throttle her, Hudson flailed with her right, dropping down the side of her body, grasping for her hunting knife. The creature squeezed more tightly and Hudson tasted blood in her mouth even as her brain began to haze. Then her fingers clasped about the hilt of her weapon and she stabbed horizontally with the blade, sliding the knife easily through the creature’s ribs.

  And suddenly Hudson was in the mud, hacking and wheezing and at last breathing. Her fingers went to her throat and came away bloodied where the claws of the monster had torn into her flesh, and she sat upon the wet ground staring in all directions, her heart racing, her breathing haggard, as she tried in vain to find her enemy.

  Slowly she rose, drawing a pistol from her belt and wishing she had not lost her rifle. She could see nothing of the creature. While it was possible she had killed the thing, she could not expect it and desperately she now wanted to return to the others at the marker. She had no doubt that Torrance
had been telling the truth when she said the creature had killed some of her colleagues, and Hudson tried to fathom just what this creature could be. On an unnatural world it seemed there were far more unnatural horrors than any of them understood.

  Hudson took a single step back towards the shed before something howled to her side. She trained the gun in its rough direction and fired, the explosion swallowed by the strength of the storm. The creature collided with her, her shot apparently having gone wide, and Hudson felt pain shoot through her chest and underarm as the beast clamped its teeth through her flesh. For the first time in her entire life, Hudson screamed, but the sound was muted by the winds laughing at her predicament.

  She angled her gun at the creature’s head, but its hand shot out and encompassed the firearm, crushing both weapon and hand. Hudson screamed again as she felt her bones break, and fell once more into the mud as the creature released her, bounding back into the darkness.

  Hudson half lay in the mud, her life fluids pouring from her side, her right hand a crushed pulp. Her heart was on the verge of exploding while she panicked, trying to think of something she might do, anything which might save her. She had been outfought and she had no doubt the creature would not let her return to the shed. It was playing with her, goading her to try, and she knew whatever she did she would be playing into its claws.

  Taking a firm hold of her knife, Hudson forced herself to her feet. Her body was screaming in pain, she could feel blood bubbling within her throat and suspected the teeth may have punctured her lung. Scanning the area, still could she see no sign of the creature. In all the pit fights she had ever won, Hudson had always been able to see her prey, hear its approach. But this creature was canny and had awaited the coming storm before striking. It had stalked them and bided its time. The pit fights had all been forced and fought on terms Hudson had favoured. Now she was in the territory of this animal and she was being taught the meaning of not fighting fair.

  Suddenly she could see it, standing before her and making no pretence of hiding. It stood taller than Hudson: at the moment it even stood straighter. She could make out the knife wound she had inflicted upon its side, but the animal ignored the pain, focusing its attention upon her. The thing walked upon two legs, just as Whitsmith had claimed. It walked with a straight back upon two legs as though it thought it was a human being.

  Just what the hell it was Hudson could not say, and she knew she would never find out.

  Summoning all her courage and strength, Hudson roared in bestial fury and charged with her knife. The creature simply stood there waiting for her, and as she reached it she stabbed down with the knife, attempting to strike the animal in the chest. But it dropped in that split second, spinning on its heels to slam an elbow into Hudson, allowing her own momentum to carry her through. It was an all-too-human reaction, one which had been trained into it. Hudson spun, slashing horizontally with her knife, but the creature caught her hand, twisting and almost snapping her arm. Hudson fell to one knee, gritting her teeth as she stared up into the coldly curious face of the monster.

  Its teeth flashed once more as it grinned, before snapping its maw about her head.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  There were people who called Zebadiah strange, sometimes even to his face. He did not care what people thought of him, especially since everyone in his life now was a convicted criminal. It was why he preferred the company of his caged creatures to real people. People could think what they liked about him: it did not bother him in the slightest. Conversely, he did not think much of anyone else, did not form opinions of anyone else. He had some dealings with Valentine and found him concise and utilitarian, which was good considering it meant he left Zebadiah alone more often than not; and Whitsmith was the only other person with whom he had any prolonged contact. Whitsmith was a nice woman who was vastly underrated by her employer. There had been a time when Zebadiah had thought he was actually starting to like Whitsmith, but had then reminded himself that there was a reason she had been in the prison as well. For all he knew she had committed multiple counts of homicide. He did not know and did not want to know.

  However, Zebadiah was beginning to form an opinion of someone, and that opinion was not very good.

  Private Tana Hunter had taken him to the roof. Zebadiah did not believe he had ever been to the roof, and what with the storm he wished he was not there presently. Thankfully the roof was not a single flat level but formed of many sloping surfaces and hidden alcoves. Whoever had designed the prison had known about the storms, clearly, and had created an intricate system of runoffs for the water, and shelter for anyone who was posted as sentry up there.

  He was frozen to his bones and his clothes were damp with a fine spray, but at least he was sheltered from the worst of the foul weather. It was a stone hut-like structure he presently sat within, although was not much larger in volume than a phone booth and only had three walls. He did not like it on the roof, although in truth he would not have been all that bothered were it not for the company.

  Hunter sat on her haunches, watching him. She was an extraordinary young woman, for she had such old eyes. That she was a psychopath was becoming more and more evident, and Zebadiah was under no illusion that she would not put a bullet in his head if he refused to cooperate. Her armour was tough, her weapons numerous, and her body close to the peak of human perfection. There was no way Zebadiah was going to chance attacking her directly.

  They had remained there together for the better part of fifteen minutes now: one sitting, the other crouching. Hunter stared at him blankly, as though a zombie awaiting orders from her master. It was an incredibly unnerving experience for Zebadiah, but everything he thought to say somehow seemed foolish once it almost made it to his lips and he discarded such thoughts.

  Finally he said something anyway.

  “Your names are made up aren’t they?”

  There was a flicker of curiosity in Hunter’s face, but perhaps even that was wishful thinking on his part.

  Zebadiah cleared his throat and continued. “Tana, Aura and Zara. They’re a little ... similar?”

  The silence lasted another ten seconds or so, his question lingering in the storm-tossed air. And then Hunter’s face broke into a smile which sent chills down her captive’s spine. “You know,” she said slowly, “that never even occurred to me.”

  That confirmed something he had long suspected. “You’re not soldiers.”

  Her smile vanished and she stared into him with piercing eyes. “How do you come by that?”

  “Because you’re wearing stolen armour.”

  Her stare deepened, became almost lethal.

  “Tana, Aura and Zara,” he explained, “are Lustrum call-signs. You Jovians didn’t fight a war with the Lustrum so you wouldn’t have learned things like that. Anyone from Earth with even a passing interest in such things should have picked up on it. Valentine probably would have if he wasn’t so interested in that blonde girl.”

  “Maybe we’re just using call-signs and not our real names.”

  “Maybe you are. But if you were, you’d know what they were. Your armour’s labelled Tana, I can see that much from here. You adopted the names thinking they were people names. Which means you stole the armour. That abandoned facility up north must have been Lustrum.”

  Hunter glanced away and Zebadiah reasoned she had not even known. They had found the armour and stolen it, fabricating their entire life story. Who they really were he neither knew nor cared: he was just making conversation because the silence was killing him. He hoped the truth wouldn’t now kill him just as easily.

  “So you know more about me than I do,” Hunter said, her voice and expression tight. “Torrance or Cartello might have been impressed by that, but unfortunately for you you’re talking to the wrong woman.”

  “Why make Cartello your sergeant?” Zebadiah asked, trying to keep her talking while at the same time mildly curious.

  “Cartello’s built like an oak. The only armou
r we could even vaguely get to fit her had sergeant stripes on it. When we found you people we figured we’d play on that.”

  “Clever.”

  “Any more questions before I get to mine?”

  Zebadiah had been hoping Hunter would have talked long enough for someone to find him. He had watched Hunter release the erythrosuchus and knew it would keep Valentine and his people busy for a while, but had been rather hoping they would have been used to bringing down such creatures by now. If they were competent they would have dropped the beast immediately and returned it to its cell, where they would have discovered Zebadiah was missing. The more time passed the more Zebadiah was coming to realise how incompetent the people in this place truly were.

  Hunter took his silence for permission to continue. “What do you know about the creature stalking us?”

  Zebadiah blinked. “Nothing. Why would I?”

  “Come on, you know about all the creatures here. It’s your job to look after them, feed them, keep them clean and happy. You know more about their behaviour than anyone in this whole prison.”

  “True, but from what I heard about what Whitsmith faced out there, it was a troodont that walked holding its spine vertically.”

  “And?”

  “And? And they don’t exist.”

  “So you’re saying we’re all seeing things?”

  Zebadiah knew he would have to be careful how he answered that. “I’m saying nature could not have created this creature.”

  “Nature didn’t create any of the creatures on this world. Nature didn’t even create the world.”

  “Have you ever wondered why there are dinosaurs here?”

  The question threw Hunter, for she genuinely seemed taken aback in thought. No one knew who put the dinosaurs there, or how, or even why. It was assumed they were cooked up in a laboratory and let loose into the forests and swamps. It had all happened generations before anyone now living had been born, so if there was an answer out there it was long buried. Several theories had been put forward over the years, none of them proven. Many things had simply become accepted over time, as with all legends, from Robin Hood to King Arthur. So many factoids were now ingrained into everyone’s brains that no one sought to question the very fundamentals of those legends.