“Lana, Lana?” Rob heard Harriet crying above the din of the storm.
“Is everybody alright?” Nattie asked, limping over the debris to join Rob, Caroline, and Christopher.
“Where’s Lana?” Harriet asked.
“Where is Wesley?” Caroline added, looking around.
The rain whipped into the lab, soaking them to their skin in a matter of moments as they scurried about, moving piles of broken lab equipment, dry wall sheets, bricks and mortar.
Nattie found Wesley. His body lay beneath a pile of rubble, crushed by the weight which fell on him as the dinosaur charged into the building. His eyes stared at Nattie, glazed over by death, but wide with fright nonetheless.
Harriet and Rob found Lana, alive, but just barely, her wounds already sealing her fate. Her legs had been crushed by the stampeding triceratops, squashed to the point of bursting, like a trodden-on piece of fruit.
Her pale skin turned white with shock, and she stuttered her words, speaking a stream of nonsensical syllables as her brain attempted to process everything going on around her.
She died with a whimper, a dribble of dark red blood flowing from the corners of her mouth.
“We need to move,” Christopher said, his attention not on the scene around him, but on the bigger picture at large.
“I’m not leaving her,” Harriet snapped in response.
“If you don’t want to end up like her, then you will have to. I don’t want to be the hard ass, that was Hunter. Those things killed him. They would pick us apart like we did not even exist.” Christopher knew people were scared, and he understood that they were not trained soldiers. Even he found himself struggling to maintain his composure. Had he been alone then, he was certain it would be a different story.
“What do you suggest?” Rob stepped up to ask.
“There is a shelter on the next island over. If we could get up to the walkways …” Chris paused, to gather his thoughts.
“What if those things are already up there?” Remi asked. “They will eat us like candy.”
“They are not here exploring. They are machines. Made for the kill. They are hunting, nothing more than that. If we beat them up there, we can seal it off,” Christopher reasoned, hoping to avoid a drawn-out debate on the subject.
“How do we know the same has not happened over there?” Charlotte asked with a whisper.
“Well, then we are royally fucked, so let’s worry about that if it happens.” Chris felt his patience running thin.
The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the terror at their situation threatened to cripple him if he took too long to think about things.
“But what—?” Remi began.
“We don’t try, we die here, in this lab. Don’t you understand? We need to try something. Now we can think as we move, but we are not staying here any longer,” Chris yelled, his voice rising above the storm, his anger cancelling out their trepidation. “Now help me get this door open.”
The emergency power still controlled the door, but it had been damaged during the initial assault from the triceratops. Rob gripped the dented door and pushed with all his body weight. His sweat-drenched hands made it difficult to find purchase on the rain-slicked door. Twice his grip had failed, his hands slipping. The second time, he sliced open his thumb in a wound almost identical to Caroline’s, which remained wrapped in the makeshift bandage Rob had applied.
“Come on, try one last time,” Christopher said as he pulled on the door.
It creaked and groaned, opening a fraction. Rob grunted, pushing from his knees. The door opened with a sudden spring.
Rob caught himself before fell on his face. He stood up, looked in the doorway, and screamed as the raptor’s mouth opened in what he swore to be a grin.
The head exploded a moment later, and Rob’s world descended into an ear-splitting wail as the sound of the rifle’s automatic fire deafened him momentarily.
The raptor fell to the floor, its skull cracked open like a coconut. Behind it, however, more things moved in the shadows.
“Close the damned door,” Christopher called, putting his weight into pushing the reinforced door shut again.
They didn’t make it.
The next dinosaur to attack them hit the door just before it closed.
The creature stood as tall as a man, but its head was covered in spikes. They rose from either side of its skull and the underside of its jaw. They even curled outside from its nose. To look at it, Rob thought dragon, but he did not take the time to consider it any more than that. He turned and ran.
Christopher opened fire. Rob grabbed Caroline and pulled her away from the door, turning to face the carnage. Bullets spewed from the M16 and pummelled the spiny creature’s face. Even with its jaw blown half off and his throat all but slashed, it continued to fight. Blood sprayed from its wounds until almost empty, collapsing on the raptor, successfully blocking the exposed doorway.
It proved to be a temporary reprieve, for a number of snouts appeared, forcing their way through the doorway, snapping at the air. They scratched and clawed at the bodies on the floor as they tried to force their way towards the fresh meat in the lab.
“I’m out. We need to move,” Christopher called.
“Where?” Henri screamed.
“Outside, now move.” Christopher ran, hustling the others along.
Rob followed, with Caroline clinging to him. They ran out of the lab, sprinting through the triceratops-shaped hole in the wall and out into the whirling, snarling midnight of the storm.
Thunder roared, and even the lightning seemed to be losing the battle against the darkness.
Rob squeezed his hand around Caroline’s. He called to her but his voice was drowned out by the sounds of Mother Nature’s anger to the point that even he could not hear it.
The compound, the island, nothing existed. The storm created a void, a space of deafening noise and violence that permeated an ever-powerful gust of wind.
Rob had no idea where the others were. He thought he saw a flash of gunfire in the distance, but he could not be sure.
“Keep moving. Stay close to me,” Rob yelled, unsure if anybody could hear him.
The ground rumbled. Rob caught movement in the darkness. All around them, the island had come to life.
Something roared, a high-pitched, powerful sound. It cut through the storm, identifiable as another sound within the thunderous din. The wind changed, becoming a downward force. Unseen wings beat against them. Something jabbed at Rob. He swatted out in the darkness. Pain engulfed him and suddenly, the ground was gone.
He felt Caroline pulling him as pain exploded in his right arm. He could feel blood flowing as whatever latched on to him tried to take flight.
The air around Rob caught fire. Caroline fell away. Something rushed passed him. Bullets. Someone was shooting at him, at the creature attacking him. Blood sprayed in his face, and the pressure on his arm was gone.
Suddenly, Rob was in mid-air. He fell to the ground. Unable to see anything clear in the darkness, he could not brace himself for the impact. He hit the ground, and after a flash of lightning at the moment of impact, everything went dark.
Chapter 16
Johan Krauss sat in his library, musing over the mounds of paperwork that had accumulated over the years.
Many might consider the old man a hoarder, but he knew better. Hoarders never knew what to get rid of and so kept everything. Johan was different. He knew what to keep, and he got rid of everything else.
Paperwork was important. The right paperwork was priceless. Over the years, he had developed a fine art out of conducting his business practices, each one of them appeared fully legitimate. Many were, becoming the means by which he acquired knowledge for his other business dealings. That was where the line between right and wrong became blurred. Those situations called for the right paperwork to be kept and the selected right paperwork to be filed.
Black Arrow Security had many layers, many levels. Onl
y Johan, and a few trusted comrades, men who had shared the foxhole with him, knew the full extent of the company’s reach. It was a secure empire he had built, and everything was filed away with the tax authorities, in some form or another.
Yet something was troubling him.
There was more going on out on the islands than his secret allies in the US government were letting on. While he had no right to demand full disclosure on the basis of his curiosity, his men were dying, and that did not sit well with him.
Until now, all of Johan’s attempts to contact Director Werkhoven had resulted in shut doors, varying messages depending on which level of security he reached. The excuses ranged from him being in a meeting, to being out of the country, for business and pleasure, depending on the call he made. One person even claimed that he did not exist and tried to convince Johan of this.
With each dead end he found, Johan’s frustrations grew. Three of his men were dead, and while everything had a simple explanation, it did not sit right with him.
Johan learned at an early age to trust the feeling in his gut. It never failed him, and now, it screamed that something was wrong.
Reading through the paperwork again, a coffee in one hand, and a cigar smouldering within reach of his other, his head starting to spin as the words shifted on the page, forming a jumble of nonsense.
Johan did not know the last time he slept. Two, maybe three days ago. When his instincts tugged at his subconscious, he was but a slave to their voice. Draining his cup, he filled it again and returned to his studies.
The first death had been an accident, explained and accounted for. The man’s family had been informed, and a generous donation had been made into their bank account; more than enough to set them up for life.
The next three had been outside of the compound. Johan trusted the reports, and while everything seemed unfortunate, he found nothing damning in the statements. These families also received notification and reimbursement for their losses.
Johan was not necessarily one of the good guys, but he was not a complete monster. He knew that those that worked for the Black Arrow group were, for the most part, hard-working men and women.
What troubled Johan was how little he knew about the experiments the Americans were conducting on the islands. He had received mixed signals from his men. They also knew very little about the islands.
The last communication with anybody had been a week ago. A long-standing agreement with his teams around the world was a twice-weekly check-in. Johan did not oversee each and every one, but received feedback on them.
The last word from the islands had been that a storm threatened to hit them that afternoon. Since then, it had been radio silence, as if they no longer existed.
Finally, as the clock hit four in the morning, Johan closed the file and placed his head on the desk, just to rest for a second.
When the feeling of queasiness had passed, he stood and picked up the telephone.
“Good morning, come to my office, I have a job for you,” he spoke into the receiver.
Johan rarely introduced himself on the phone. When he called someone, they knew who it was calling. Johan liked control. He controlled everything in his life, even the way his telephone conversations played out.
***
It took three days before Amare and Clarke made it to California. Combined, they had circumnavigated the globe in order to answer the call of their employer.
Now they stood in his study, surrounded by literature and paintings. Tall ceilings and long windows were framed by heavy drapes. The room was old school and did not suit either man’s taste, but neither could deny that their boss belonged in such a room. It fit his character perfectly.
“Thank you for joining me, gentlemen.” Johan’s voice carried through the room, as he walked up behind them. “Please, don’t stand on ceremony here. Take a seat.”
“It must be important if you’re gonna buzz us from across the globe,” Clarke spoke, his Australian accent stronger than ever.
“It is, and I need men I can trust,” Johan answered, getting down to business.
“Tell us,” Amare spoke, his gruff voice serious and curt.
“There is something wrong on the islands. I have no had contact with the team there for ten days.” Johan paused to take a drink from his coffee.
“You think something happened to ‘em?” Clarke asked.
“I don’t know. Our friends within the US government have disappeared and are refusing to give me anything to go on.” Johan sat back in his chair, relaxing a little as he spoke with his most trusted hands.
“I told you not to trust the Yanks,” Clarke answered quickly.
“I don’t care about them. There are other countries, other governments that will see the benefit of working for me,” Johan answered, lighting a cigar.
“Then why do you want us?” Amare asked, his grumpy persona no less than what either man had expected.
“I want you to go back, to head to the islands, find out what is going on. There are secrets within those compound walls, and I want you to find out what it is.” Johan looked from one man to the other.
Neither showed any sign of hesitance. Neither man would admit fear, especially not in the company of one another. That was why they made such an effective team. While they would never be best friends, there was a level of respect that could not be broken.
“What sort of team are we taking in?” Clarke asked, sitting forward in the leather armchair.
“I want something small. Get in, get out. I’m talking covert. We will drop you outside the compound, and I want you in and out before anybody know what has happened,” Johan said.
“Even our own guys?” Clarke asked, his interest in the operation piqued.
“Even our own guys. I don’t want anybody to know. Who knows what is going on.” Johan sat back, allowing his words to sink in.
“You don’t trust them, the Americans, or the men you put there,” Amare spoke, as blunt as ever. In all the years, he had worked for Johan, all of the meetings and discussions he had been privy to, tact was something he never developed.
“I think those islands are more dangerous than we thought. Isolation like that, it can do funny things to a man, and no, I don’t trust the Americans as far as I can spit.” Johan smiled. “Take three guys, you choose. Godfrey will fly you in. You will make the jump and rendezvous on the third island. Use the walkway, and the chopper will pick you up from the roof. Got it?”
There would not be a second run through of the plan. Orders like this were given once, and once only. The two men nodded, looked at each other, and glared. It was as close to a handshake as they would get, but the meaning behind it was the same.
Chapter 17
The ride was smooth, and the helicopter close to silent. The men on board knew what they needed to do, and none of them were there for their conversational skills.
Clarke and Amare sat behind the cockpit, staring down the belly of the chopper. A new state-of-the-art design, it was a quiet ride.
The three men they had chosen sat along the wall. Their faces were blacked out with camo cream, their expressions set with stony determination.
Dennis Blankenstijn was a small man with a crop of messy blond hair. His green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the cabin. Despite his small stature, he was as ferocious as any man twice his size. His skills in hand-to-hand combat were second to none. Clarke chose him for that reason. The pair went back a long way. Having been through hell together on an ill-fated mission in the jungles of Cambodia, they had remained in contact ever since.
Beside him, Marcus Davies sat staring out of the open chopper door. Strong as an ox and bull-headed, he was a force to be reckoned with. Once he got on the ground, he became a juggernaut. All they needed to do was point him in the right direction, and he would just not stop. Armed with more weapons than a person could physically carry, and what could only be described as a fetish for grenades, he was everything you would not wan
t on a covert mission. Loud, and proud of it, Marcus did not care for the subtle approach, and never would.
The third member of the team, hand-picked by Amare, was a grizzled, scarred man by the name of Luther. He had no second name, at least not that he shared with anybody. He was missing two fingers on his right hand, and his face and body were badly scarred. Nobody asked him about them. Somebody did once, and Luther cut his throat in front of the group. A terrifying man, Clarke did not like having him around, but Amare insisted, and with his pick already included, he could not say no. A lethal shot, Luther could shoot the asshole of a gnat in mid-jump from five hundred yards.
For all intents and purposes, the group did not belong together, yet they would have to work together in order to get the information they needed.
“We jump in five minutes.” Clarke gave the order. Nobody answered, or even looked his way in recognition.
“Are you seeing this, mate?” Clarke whispered to Amare.
“Yes,” he answered.
“It’s dark. That compound should have the perimeter lights running twenty-four seven,” Clarke said, not in question but to give voice to his thoughts.
Amare said nothing, but his eyes were fixed on the shark shadows beneath them. His knuckles whitened as he clutched his rifle.
The jump was easy, but the darkness was disorienting.
The men landed within a small radius of one another, but the lack of perimeter lighting had not featured in their plans.
“Regroup, we move as a unit. I’ll lay down the marker. Reach it and wait for my signal to move,” Clarke whispered into his radio. He pulled a thermal generator out of his pocket, placed it on the ground, and took a step back.
The device would allow the other members of the group to find his location, but would also show up on any sensors running inside the compound.
Clarke knew the risk of such a move, but so far, nothing had gone according to plan with the island. He knew first-hand what creatures lived there and would rather answer questions of fellow Black Arrow employees than wander aimlessly into the den of God knows what.
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