Amare arrived at the meeting spot. Clarke signalled him from his hiding spot, and the man came, moving like a ghost through the trees. Next came Blankenstijn, who held a knife in both hands, ready for anything. Clarke had given him the nickname of wolverine many years earlier. The man always seemed to produce a blade at the right moment.
Davies came soon after, his movement through the trees noisy and attention grabbing. He moved with a slow, brashness that only came from years of being the top dog in any situation.
The four men waited for Trevor, but when he did not show after a few minutes, they agreed to move in search of him. They would need his good eyes to watch the guard posts while Dennis scurried over the wall with Clarke. Amare and Davies would stay back and lay down covering fire if all things went to shit.
“This is where I came down,” Dennis whispered, pointing to a spot to their left. “I dumped my chute in a hollow stump ten paces to the further back.”
“Did you see Trevor coming down out of the helo?” Davies asked, his eyes sweeping the darkness for any signs of trouble.
“Yes, he jumped before me. I saw him coming down, must have been, well, due east from here,” Clarke answered. “He can’t be far.”
They carried on searching a few minutes, wandering further from the main compound.
“I’ve got something,” Dennis spoke up. The men had spread out through the trees, sweeping the forest like a team of volunteers looking for evidence.
Dennis bent down and picked up a knife. A distinctive weapon, they had all watched Trevor sharpening it, slow and methodically during their flight.
“There’s blood on it,” Dennis said. “There’s blood everywhere, fucking litres of the stuff.”
As if to prove his point, Dennis stamped up and ground on the wet floor, making the dirt squelch beneath his feet.
“A big ass storm just moved through. Probably got the natives restless. If one of those things came across Trevor, it will be regretting it right about now, that’s for damn sure,” Clarke said, taking the Rambo-style hunting knife and sliding it into the back of his pack. “Let’s spread out, and stay alert. Those things could be everywhere.”
They found Trevor a few moments later. Half of him at least. His body had been split through the middle, the skin sliced open and pulled apart. His upper body lay in a twisted heap, his skull sliced through the middle. A trail of still warm intestines dangled from his body like tentacles.
Amare bent down and felt the pile of innards. “Warm. Whatever did this is still here.” No sooner had he spoken than something came crashing through the trees.
In the dark, nobody got a good look at what attacked them. The dinosaurs were small, not much larger than chickens. They moved liked greased pigs, slipping through the group of men without so much a noticing they were there.
“What were they running from?” Dennis asked, curious.
“I don’t think we want to know,” Clarke answered, just as the ground started to rumble. “Run.”
The group set off. Marcus stood his ground for a moment, but turned to run when the creature burst into view, with what remained of Trevor embedded onto the curved spines that extended out from either side of its head. The size of a large bull, with tough, plated skin, it charged at them, grunting as it closed the ground.
“We need to head to the compound. Our cover is blown. Head to the front gate. They will have to let us in,” Clarke ordered as they moved.
“What is that thing?” Davies asked. He turned and fired on the move. The bullets bounced off the creature’s horned shoulder plates without so much as slowing it down.
“Don’t know, don’t fucking care, mate,” Clarke answered.
The group tore through the trees, stumbling in places, leaping over the debris they caught sight of in time. The compound came into view, but Clarke felt the momentary hope of respite fade away. The compound was in ruins. It looked as if a war had been waged there.
The wall was broken in several places. Whatever caused the damage charged through the electrified fence without care or caution. Inside the compound, the main building was a burned-out shell of what it had once been.
“Don’t stop. Get inside, spread out. There is a corridor to the left and to the right. Split up. Davies. You packing something good, mate?” Clarke asked.
“You know it,” Marcus answered, pulling a grenade from his trousers like a magician pulling a coin from behind some kid’s ear.
“Good. Wait for it, and then blow that fucker away.” They reached the main building and split.
Clarke moved to the right, along with Blankenstijn and Amare, while Davies spun to the left. He stopped and the turned, the grenade armed and ready to the throw.
The beast charged full speed into the building, crashing through the fractured remains. The walls crumbled beneath the weight of its charge, and it soon powered its way from sight, driving deeper into the building.
“This place won’t stay standing for very long,” Blankenstijn said as the walls began to groan around them.
“This is fucked up. Davies, take care of that thing. Amare, we need a way out.” Under most circumstances, Amare would hate being bossed around, especially by Clarke, but even a man such as him understood that survival became the sole important thing to consider.
Davies moved toward the path carved by the beast. The creature had turned, and much like a bull in a Spanish ring, as it turned, it prepared to charge them again.
The beast ran with its head lowered to the floor, horns primed. At some point, Trevor’s tattered remains had fallen free, leaving the horn blood-smeared and even more menacing.
“That’s right, come on, big boy,” Marcus shouted as he launched the first grenade with a strong trust of his arm.
Without waiting, he conjured another explosive, and in a fluid motion, primed the weapon and rolled it down through the building.
Turning to the others, he had time to smile before the first explosion tore the carcass of the main building apart. The blast ripped through the walls, covering the men in a shower of bricks and mortar dust.
The first explosion tore the creature apart. Its belly burst and hindquarters blossomed outward like a blooming flower. The rear legs became meaty stumps, blood and bone crushed and fused together like some hideous, skinless sculpture. Blood splattered in all directions, but the beast did not stop. Its powerful front legs continued to drag its mutilated body forward.
The second grenade detonated and blew the thing’s head apart. The two cranial mounted horns flew to the left and the right, spinning like death stars launched in a final attempt to fight for survival.
The creature’s hulking body came to a rest, collapsing inward upon itself. Meat, blood, and brain juices covered the floor and walls of the hall, and the aroma of roasted meat filled the wrecked building.
“You want to try some?” Amare said, prodding the cooked flesh as they all stood around the beast.
“Fuck off with that,” Clarke spat in instant response.
“You like a barbeque, no?” Amare said, cracking a joke for the first time in all the years Clarke had known him.
“Well, didn’t you pick a perfect fucking time to find a sense of pissin’ humour,” Clarke added, watching the cold-blooded African man. He regarded him with an increased trepidation, given how calm he seemed to be under the circumstances.
“What do we do now, Skippy?” Blankenstijn asked Clarke.
“We get the fuck out of this place. This building ain’t going to survive long. Who knows what else is out there. We are sitting ducks, and sure as fuck are not prepared to wage a war. The mission was in and out. That’s what we do.” Clarke was resolute in his words. He hated the island, always had, and he did not plan on spending any longer on any of them than he needed to.
The men moved through the building together, their weapons raised and ready for a fight. They didn’t talk. They watched and studied every nook and cranny.
Power cables hung loose from th
e gaping holes blown into the ceiling. A desk lay suspended by one leg above their heads. The computer that belonged to it lay shattered on the floor.
A steady tick and hiss echoed around them. The building was dying, bleeding out, while they wandered around in awe of the damage.
The stairwell was still intact, but only just. Moving slowly, they reached the second floor, and started to head towards the walkway that would bring them to the third island.
“Guys, hold up,” Clarke said as they moved through the building. An enormous hole had been torn into the wall, and from the upper level, they looked out over the jungle.
“We need to move,” Amare said, his good humour of earlier long gone.
“No, look.” Clarke pointed out into the darkness.
“I don’t see anything,” Davies said dismissively.
“That’s because you’re a blind dingo,” Clarke snapped. “Take a proper fucking look.”
The four men stood and stared at the orange glow lighting up a patch of the darkness.
“What is that?” Dennis asked.
“I think it is the remainder of the people stationed here. I don’t know how it happened, but they got chased away by the creatures on this island.” Clarke turned to face the others.
“Good for them. We got what we needed to get. Now we leave,” Amare said, the cold-hearted killer back in control.
“You can’t be serious.” Clarke looked at the man with open eyes.
“This was not a rescue mission. In and out. We came, we got in, and now we get out. It’s simple.” Amare turned and walked away.
“No, we are going to help them. They are alone out there, with these … these … dinosaurs,” Clarke spat the word, which felt strange and stupid on his tongue, especially when used in the context of a real, viable threat.
“Bollocks to that. I love a good scrap, but I’m not getting involved in some rescue mission. That’s not what I’m getting paid for,” Marcus snapped, moving to follow Amare over the walkway.
Clarke and Dennis stood side-by-side. They looked from one another, to the figures disappearing down the walkway, and over to the orange glow from what he could only assume was the survivor’s fire.
“You are really going to walk away?” Clarke called after the pair and set off in a run after the pair.
Reaching the two, he grabbed Amare by the shoulders, spinning the man around. “I never took you for a coward,” Clarke roared at him.
Amare said nothing, but his balled fist connected with Clarke’s jaw in a spurt of motion so fast it belied belief. Stung by the blow, Clarke shook it off, much to Amare’s surprise.
The Australian threw a series of shots in response, the first one a feint, the second a tap to set up the third. His crushing blow to Amare’s sternum doubled the man over.
Clark moved in closer, missing with a knee to the side of Amare’s head. The African man was fast, jumping out of range and back into fighting distance in a fluid motion. Thrusting his head forward, he connected with Clarke’s head, opening up a long gash in the Australian’s eyebrow.
Clark let out a cry, throwing an elbow in response. Both men grappled and fell to the floor, rolling over one another.
Watching for a moment, Marcus moved to get involved and found a knife at his throat.
“Don’t even think about it, buddy,” Dennis growled. The knife’s blade was razor sharp, drawing a pink trickle of blood along the contact point.
“Fuck you. I’m getting off this place. I don’t want no part of it,” Marcus said, raising his hands in submission.
He backed away and disappeared down the corridor while Amare and Clarke continued to grapple on the floor.
“Coward,” Dennis said under his breath.
On the floor, Amare gained the upper hand in their fight. Clarke’s bloodied face hindered his fighting abilities, and when the blade pressed against his throat, he knew to call it a day.
“You are not so tough,” Amare snarled, breathing heavily. “Try it, boy, and I will gut you like a beast.”
Dennis froze with his knife moving towards the feral black man. Something in the words forced Dennis’s brain and preservation instincts to kick in.
“I am getting off this island. I will not risk my life for anybody that is not paying me. We did our job. I am done.” His face glistened with sweat, and his wide eyes gave his face a lunatic quality.
Clarke offered no retaliation, even as Amare got off him and backed away. The Australian remained on the floor, watching to see where things would go from there.
“You are really just going to walk away?” Dennis called after the pair.
“Leave them be. They are not worth it,” Clarke said, as he hauled himself back to his feet. “We have bigger problems on our hands.”
As if on cue, a loud crash rang out belong them, followed by a series of cough-like barks.
“We have company.” Clarke looked at Dennis.
“Great. Let’s roll out the welcome wagon.” Dennis patted his rifle and smiled.
“I’ve got a better idea.” Clarke pointed to the floor where two grenades lay.
“Where did they come from?” Dennis asked, bending down to pick them up.
“Marcus must have dropped them,” Clarke answered, taking one from his friend.
Below them, they could hear the creatures moving about. Their heavy footsteps crunching on the debris that littered the ground floor.
“I say we drop these bad boys, and take the emergency exit,” Clarke said, bouncing the explosive up and down in his hands, as if testing the weight.
“Why the fuck not,” Dennis answered.
The two men stood either side of the stairwell. They saw one of the dinosaurs moving around the wreckage. It was a mottled green colour and walked on two legs. Its tail extended out behind it, almost doubling its length. The head was small and ended in a strange hooked beak. From the short glimpse they got, fang-like teeth rose from the thing’s lower jaw as an extra line of both defence and attack.
“How many are there?” Dennis asked.
“At least two by my count, but I would say more,” Clarke answered, his eyes focused on the darkness. “They know we are here.”
He did not have time to consider his words before the first creature leapt out of the darkness. Its jaws snapping shut in a blur of motion. A red stripe ran down either side of the beast’s beak, something they had not noticed on the others in the group.
“Now,” Clarke ordered, and he threw his grenade down the stairs. It bounced twice and disappeared into the darkness.
Dennis followed suit, launching his grenade so that it bounced in the opposite direction. Switching to his rifle, Clarke shot off a burst of fire that struck the leaping creature in the chest, knocking it back down the stairs.
The creature landed just as the dual explosions ripped through the lower floor. Its body caught fire and blazed for a moment before seeming to explode.
Clarke opened his mouth to give another order, but realized it was not needed. Dennis turned and ran towards their intended exit with Clarke following close behind him.
They leapt and crashed through the window as a round of unexpected secondary explosions ripped through the ground floor.
Both men landed hard on the ground. They braced for the impact, and rolled with the direction of their descent, but the ground was hard and unforgiving.
They did not have time to lick their wounds, however, as a burning figure came running from within the building. It screamed in pain, a hoarse, frantic bark, before its legs gave way and it fell to the ground. The flames continued to eat their way through its blackening flesh, the scent of its cooking meat a revolting aroma unlike anything either man had encountered before.
Beyond the creature, the building was burning, collapsing inwards on itself, the fragile skeleton unable to withstand any further attacks.
“Now what?” Dennis asked, as they stared at the burning building.
“Well, I guess we have two option
s,” Clarke said, wincing as he popped his dislocated shoulder back into place.
The flames from the building lit up the night, granting an extended field of vision. Long shadows loomed over the courtyard. There could be no mistaking the shadow of the helicopter as it passed overhead. The group of shapes that moved to meet it, however, were something else entirely.
“What the hell?” Dennis began.
“Get down,” Clarke called as the helicopter bursts into flames with a screech of twisting metal and shower of electrical sparks.
Chapter 18
Amare moved across the walkway without looking back. He heard the footsteps following him and knew they were only one pair. Who they belonged to made no difference to him. Sure, he had his own preferences, but they mattered little in the overall scope of things.
“So where is this chopper going to meet us?” Marcus asked, huffing slightly as he jogged to catch up.
“On the roof,” Amare answered with his usual verbal economy.
“Of course,” Marcus grunted.
A helipad had been built onto the top of each of the three points of the walkway, one on each of the islands. It was a security measure that Johan had insisted on.
The chopper was waiting for them, Godfrey sitting behind the controls as patient as ever. He looked over as the door opened and the two figures arrived. He had heard the gunfire and seen the explosions, his lofted position affording him a view over to the main island. He had tried to radio back to the ship that was waiting for them, but he could not get an answer. They had been assigned an encrypted channel to avoid their presence being detected by those on the island.
Godfrey had a bad feeling about what had happened to them all, given the apparent need for such force on the ground.
“Where are the others?” he asked, turning as the side door to the choppers central cabin slid open.
“They are not coming,” Amare answered, scowling at the pilot.
Godfrey knew better than to question the man. Amare was insane. He could think of no other word to describe the man, and it put him on edge to have him around without Johan there. His boss seemed to have a parent-like influence of the wild African man.
Island Rampage: A Dinosaur Thriller Page 11