ISLAND RAMPAGE
Alex Laybourne
Copyright 2017 by Alex Laybourne
This book is dedicated to my wife Patty, and our five wonderful children, James, Logan, Ashleigh, Damon and Riley
Chapter 1
The clouds broke, and the islands came into view. Three of them in all; a larger central location with two smaller siblings in close proximity.
Johan Krauss stared at them and smiled. His mind already spinning, ideas flying left and right. He looked down at the uninhabited oasis and saw potential. He looked at it, and he saw money.
Perhaps the most important thing in Johan’s life, money made up for everything he did not have as a child. He worked hard, earning the fortune behind his name. He did not need family, nor the love of a good woman. He could buy loyalty wherever he went in the world, and to him, that was an even greater bond than anything emotional.
Women could be purchased. Memories and experiences bought, and pleasure guaranteed. The same could not be said for an emotional connection.
“Set her down on the main island, I want to take a look around,” he spoke into the microphone.
“Sir, we do not have permission to land here,” the pilot responded, sounding almost sheepish.
“Nonsense, Godfrey. I own these islands now, and if I want to land on them, then I will do just that.” Godfrey knew better than to argue with his boss. The man always had a plan, and when all else failed, even Godfrey understood that every man had a price.
They descended, dropping closer to the small archipelago, a patch of recently discovered, unclaimed land. The race to pinpoint to exact coordinates heated up fast. In the distance, Johan could make out three different yachts, both heading in the same direction, both intent on claiming the land for themselves.
Too bad they would be trespassing on his private property the moment they stepped foot on the shore. Hell, Johan added the water surrounding the islands to his property list. He needed it if the vision in his head became reality.
“Sir, with your permission, I would like to land on that rocky outcrop among the trees, rather than on the beach. We do not know the area, and having a solid base beneath us would be imperative should we be required to exit, post haste,” Godfrey spoke, as they circled the island one last time.
“Agreed. Besides, it will be a nice surprise when my competitors arrive, and find me king of the mountain.” Johan smiled, rubbing his hands together as his mind played out the varying forms of rage and disappointment he expected to see on the faces of the men he had beaten.
The light cloud base did nothing to lessen the force of the weather on the island. Once beyond the protection of the chopper, the heat had free-reign to beat down on them. Combining with the moisture-rich ground, it created a sweltering, humid atmosphere, making the island feel hostile and unwelcoming. Exactly what Johan wanted.
The blades of the helicopter fell silent and the natural sounds of the island began to rise. The rustle of the trees, the hum of the ocean, and the distant, muffled sound of life.
“This way,” Johan said, pointing down the rocky outcrop. He spotted the perfect location as the helicopter descended. It would serve as the foundation for the construction he had planned.
Godfrey offered no response, but swapped his pilot mentality for that of a bodyguard. A man of many talents, he had performed any job requested by Johan for almost twelve years. Without hesitation. He understood the correct order of things in life. The chain of command existed for a reason, and knowing where you stood was imperative. He tucked the 9mm pistol into the waistband of his trousers, and grabbed the machete from inside the chopper.
“Follow me, sir,” he said.
When no clear path became visible, Godfrey to set to creating his own, hacking and slashing at the dense vegetation. Grasses and vines, flowers, and wild bushes blocked their path, yet they all fell victim to the blade swung in their direction.
Making slow, but steady progress, Godfrey pressed on without complaint. He swapped arms when one grew tired, and used both when the need arose.
His body was drenched with sweat when they broke free of the vegetation and entered a large clearing.
“Is this not just ideal?” Johan asked, knowing that agreement would come from his most trusted associate.
“Yes, sir, this place is full of potential,” Godfrey replied, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. It proved to be as useful as trying to extinguish a house fire with a thimble of water.
“You are a good friend, Godfrey. I can always count on you. I will not forget your loyalty,” Johan spoke without so much as casting a glance in the direction of the man he spoke to. His eyes held a distant gaze, staring at the spot he chose to be the cornerstone of his vision.
The laboratories would be free from the confines of the modern world. Here, they would be free to work in any way necessary to achieve results.
The same thick vegetation surrounded the rocky plateau on all sides. Above them, mountainous terrain rose into the sky, the trees thick all to the way to the flattened top.
Below them, the land sloped away, dropping down to the base level where the island stretched out with a mixture of dense forest, rocky outcrops, and a beach that rivalled anything ever captured on a postcard.
Untamed and wild, the island had the potential for anything and everything. The air buzzed with it. There was an energy to the land that could not be ignored.
To find a space, untouched by man, not yet tainted by humanity, in the modern world could be called a miracle. Johan knew this, and as he watched the approaching yachts, his heart sang. The taste of victory was sweet.
“We need to get down to the beach. I have claimed this land, and I will pay handsomely for it, if needed. Let’s not let these fools get their hopes up,” he spoke to Godfrey. His bodyguard stood with his back to him. His eyes set on the trees, and the mountain above them.
“Sorry, boss, did you say something?” he asked, turning.
“We need to get down to the beach,” Johan repeated, a conversational practice he abhorred.
“Sure thing, anything you say.” Godfrey let out a long breath. He would never admit it, but the island gave him the creeps. He could not shake the feeling that they were being watched.
His life story involved a number of unsavoury characters, and a great many unsavoury situations. In that time, Godfrey learned to trust his gut. Call it intuition, precognition, or whatever. Godfrey believed he could smell danger. It tainted the air with its presence. Not necessarily a noticeable taint, but something subtle.
Standing there, in the open, surrounded by dense forest, the stench could not be ignored. His entire body tingled with anticipation, the kind that lead directly to fear. Godfrey considered himself a brave man, a tough man, a man who would act without hesitation. Given the choice, right then and there, the only thing he would do without said hesitation, would be to leave the island and head back to the mainland. Rather, head back to the anchored yacht, which in turn, would bring them back to the mainland.
***
Charles Gallway watched the island rise up on the horizon. By his calculations, they would reach land within an hour. That gave him just enough time to brief his men, leaving the yacht in the capable hands of his first mate, a burly Irishman, known to all but Charles, as Tiny. Charles first met Eamon way back when. Two years older but close to two feet shorter, Charles took Eamon under his wing. A giant of a man, with a simple mind, it did not take much for Charles to mould Eamon to his will. Becoming inseparable as they aged, the two became a formidable force. The brains and the muscle, most people knew well enough to leave them be. Those that did not, only needed to be told once.
> Below deck, the team of five sat waiting. Hired hands, brought onboard with the simple task of ensuring success. Charles had plans for the islands, and the means with which he could take control.
The five men sat in silence, the need for conversation long since passed. Having worked together for so long, the men knew their jobs, understood their role, and revelled in the thrill of the chase.
“Remember,” he addressed the group, “these islands are supposed to be uninhabited. They are mine to claim. Your services are only required should we find anybody trying to claim rights ahead of us.”
A disgruntled murmur rushed through the group, who, when all squashed together made the galley of the luxury yacht seem much smaller.
“Don’t worry. You will be paid either way. Bloodshed or not, your presence will be rewarded. You have my word on that. I am sure you have heard the rumours, but my word is my bond, and I would never betray it.” Charles looked from one man to the next, and smiled at the cold, ruthless expressions that gazed back at him.
The yacht skirted around the first of the three islands. Everybody knew that the islands were a package deal, and bragging rights revolved around claiming the large central mass.
Interest was high. Charles had already faced off against several other figures, several from Eastern Europe. They cost him three of his own man. His reasoning behind hiring the mercenaries being that he considered them expendable. His own men, not so much.
“Bring her around into the bay, Eamon,” Charles instructed as they fell into the long shadows of the island’s green peaks.
Charles watched the helicopter pass overhead, but a man like Johan Krauss did not concern him. A rich and devious man, Krauss was, first and foremost, a businessman, unlike the other men interested in taking up residence on the islands. Let him arrive first. It will only make his death all the sweeter, Charles thought as the helicopter disappeared behind the island.
Having studied the satellite photos, Charles knew that the north side of the island offered a somewhat hidden bay, set between the rocky cliffs that formed the northern shore. It offered the perfect place to make land, because nobody would expect them to come from that direction.
The Swedes would almost certainly go for the long beaches of the southern and eastern walls. Not that they were a threat. Even less so than Krauss. The Swedes were just after the money, looking to claim the land simply to take a payday for leaving it again.
“Remember, anybody else on this island is a fair target, but shoot at nothing, and I will cut your balls off and hang them from the railings of my boat,” Charles growled as the small landing party prepared to disembark.
The seven man, five mercenaries, Charles and Eamon, looked almost comical in the two dinghy’s take took them from boat to shore.
“Keep together. I want us to move around this hill and claim the beach. We will meet the Swedes as they land. Hunting Krauss down will be fun,” Charles spoke to the group.
“What if he flies away?” Eamon asked.
“Well, that is where you come in, Eamon. You still have that thing I gave you before we left?” Charles responded, turning to address his friend.
“Oh, yes, I do. I do have it,” Eamon said, reaching back into the boat. He picked up a handheld RPG.
“Great. If that chopper takes to the sky, for any reason, I want you to handle it for me.” Charles laid his hand on his friend’s muscular shoulder.
“Alright, Charles.” Eamon smiled.
“Get a bit closer and you can lick his asshole, Tiny,” one of the mercenaries spat, much to the amusement of the others.
Charles moved like the wind, driving a balled-up fist into the gut of the laughing hired gun. The man doubled over, coughing and choking. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.
Charles grabbed the man by the throat, squeezing harder and harder until his frantic gasps for breath fell to a reasonable level. “One more word like that about my friend, my brother, and I will rip out your tongue and shove it up your asshole. Do you understand me, you prick?”
The man could not answer, the grip on his throat too tight to allow anything but a gurgled whistle to escape his lips.
“Good.” Charles let go, and the man fell to the floor.
Nobody said anything, they simply fell into formation and set off around the base of the mountain.
The heat beat down on them, and the density of the vegetation worked against them every step of the way. The muddy ground seemed to suck at their feet, while a patch of vines, with thorns as long as fingers, held them up also.
They took turns in hacking a path through the dense foliage, two men leading the group, while they others held back, conserving their energy.
They made no attempts to remain quiet, grunting, shouting, and cursing. They feared nothing, and wanted people to know they were coming.
None of them heard the rustling of vegetation, as the hunters moved in.
“We are almost through,” one of the mercenaries said, as he walked back to take his rest. He was a burly man whose face was a deep red even when not exerting himself in the jungle. His thick muscular arms were covered in tattoos. He crouched down and took a drink of water before announcing. “I need to take a piss.”
He walked away into the trees, his figure disappearing completely the moment he left the trail they had cut.
Peter unzipped, farted, and soon a thick stream of steaming piss hit the ground, splashing off the leaves and plants as it went.
Behind him, something moved.
“Oi, if you want to see my cock, you can just ask, you little bitch,” he snarled over his shoulder.
Nobody answered, but the trees to his left rustled, and a twig snapped.
Peter had a pistol on his hip. Stopping the flow, he grabbed his gun and turned around.
A large orange eye stared at him from the trees. The head appeared, pushing aside the plants. The grey-brown skin and thick snout led on to open jaws, displaying razor-sharp teeth. The creature tilted its head as it regarded Peter.
It gave a growl, a deep resonating rumble. Behind him, Peter heard the trees move. To his left, another face appeared. The creatures closed in.
The flow reopened, and strong smelling urine stained Peter’s trousers.
His gun-wielding hand trembled. He tried to raise it, to at last make a stand, but it was useless. They moved too fast.
They attacked in a wave, moving forward to strike, before darting back again. The first slash came from the rear. Pain exploded in Peter’s head as the sharp claws split the skin down his spine. Before he knew it, the second moved in, powerful jaws snapping at his arm, tearing it from his body in a single effortless snap. Peter opened his mouth to scream, but shock engulfed him. He could not speak; he could not move.
Slowly, the third creature emerged from the trees. At least five meters long, it stood up, rising above Peter, whose bowels emptied. He felt the warm stream of liquid shit travel down his legs, where it mingled on the floor with the deepening pool of blood, mud, and piss.
The creature observed Peter, a strange ticking sound repeating in his throat, steady and rhythmic. It reached forward, a long, curled claw unfurling. It stroked Peter across the chest; the touch was gentle and terrifying.
Peter’s entire body trembled as the claw traced a path up his chest onto his face, running along the contours of his chin. He could hear the sharp edge drag over his skin like a dry razor. He swallowed hard and the creature flinched.
Lowering its head, the creature snorted in Peter’s face. The exhalation was forceful, and the sour stench of its breath made Peter gag.
The beast jerked its arm, and the claw sliced open Peter’s stomach. A rush of blood cascaded to the floor, pulling his internal organs with it.
Peter sank to his knees, trapping a thick strand of sausage-like intestine beneath him, sending even more of his innards hurtling to the floor.
Peter had no chance to warn the others. The three beasts moved on, leaving him to drown in a
pool of his own making. In his final moments, Peter thought about praying, but a large raptor foot squashed his head like a grape before he could start.
The attack happened fast. The beasts broke through the trees with a jump. The shocked group spun around, reaching for their weapons. The two closest mercenaries were decapitated before their eyes could register the identity of the death-dealing creatures.
Large powerful jaws snapped shut, wrenching skulls from bodies in a shower of hot blood. Further back, Captain Droz, the leader of the mercenary force, pulled the trigger on his automatic rifle, firing a long, sustained burst into the chest of the nearest creature. Its lizard-like skin tore open, and blood poured from the fist-sized hole the bullets managed to create.
Rather than go down, however, the creature gave a roar and leaped towards Droz. Landing atop the man, the beast pinned him to the floor, large hooked talons spearing through his shoulders and into the soft ground beneath.
Droz cried out in pain as the creature tore into him with short front arms, flaying his skin in a frenzied attack before succumbing to its injuries. Collapsing forward, the beast crushed Droz beneath it.
The two remaining creatures saw the demise of their brother and turned in unison to the remaining three members of the group. One mercenary emptied the clip of his rifle in a spray of bullets that went high and wide, not even threatening to touch the dinosaurs that stood before him.
Switching for the smaller firearm on his hip, raised it, and pulled the trigger. His head exploded in a puff of skull fragments and globs of steaming brain matter.
“Eamon, forget about the helicopter, fire at them,” Charles said as he turned to run, leaving his friend, his brother, to fend for himself.
For the first time in his life, Eamon did not stop to think about an order. He understood it immediately and raised the RPG to his shoulder. The two creatures stared at him, their heads cocked inquisitively.
Eamon pulled the trigger and the world around him shuddered. The rocket flew from the launcher, the force of it making Eamon’s knees buckle.
Island Rampage: A Dinosaur Thriller Page 1