At that, the alien slowly walked back into the time pool’s mouth.
Lightning crashed; thunder rolled; the spinning vortex vanished.
Matt turned and looked at everyone’s stunned expressions. His brain still processed the events of the past several minutes. He felt like a pawn in some grand theater—no—more like a puppet on a string.
“Let’s get the hell out of Dodge,” Bats called out.
“Roll Tide,” Ron, Don, and Suge said in agreement.
Alex turned to Matt, leaned toward him, and said, “Matt, before the alien showed up, you were concerned with something. Something that Lear had said. What were you about to tell me?”
Matt smiled big enough to show teeth. “It doesn’t matter now, Alex. We’re all here and alive. Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
Five Years Later
The dim lighting in Henry Lear’s office reflected his current state of affairs; of that of the United States of America; of the whole world.
A large TV on the wall gave constant updates of the turmoil brewing in the Eastern Hemisphere.
Another glass of Scotch wouldn’t change anything, but he poured a tumbler half full anyway.
Ace Corporation’s business had boomed after his expedition returned from Patagonia with rare diamonds and proof dinosaurs still lived. Lear knew who to bribe and who to coerce—finding more diamonds and rare minerals and farming out prehistoric creatures. Dinosaur parks had sprung up in thirty-three countries all over the world. Dinosaurs laid an abundance of eggs and incubator mortality neared one hundred percent. Being the middleman and a wise investor had netted Ace Corporation over twenty billion dollars over the past five years. Henry Lear had exceeded his personal goal of wealth over tenfold—with no end of future earnings in sight.
Except global war threatened to choke his business to death. Global war threatened the existence of mankind.
Russia had declared rule over Poland, Romania, and the Baltic States. Massive forces waited at the borders for the final order. NATO promised to defend the allied countries at any cost. With superior, modern tactical nukes in Russia’s arsenal, they believed a quick and victorious war would be theirs by launching first-strike.
To make matters worse, a U.S. nuclear sub had gone missing in the South China Sea in waters claimed by the People’s Republic of China. This happened directly after a final warning issued by the Communist government. China, too, believed NATO and the West were too weak to impose its limits on them any longer.
Lear had the TV’s volume set on mute. The pretty blonde reading the news was in bad need of touching up her makeup. Apprehension showed on her face. A message scrolled across the bottom of the screen that the President of the United States had set the Defcon state to 2—Armed Forces ready to deploy and engage in less than 6 hours.
The intercom on his desk beeped, and a female’s voice said, “Mr. Lear, you have a call from the research center.”
With doomsday around the corner, Lear thought it stereotypical that the lab nerds kept working uninterrupted. But he knew Mark Johnson led the team and loved his work more so than the pay. If the man had something important enough for him to call directly, Lear at least should give him an ear for a few minutes.
“I’ll take it,” Lear said. The red light on the phone blinked, and he answered, “Lear.”
“Mr. Lear, Mark Johnson.”
“Hello, Mark. I’m used to reading your reports. I don’t believe we’ve ever spoken on the phone before.”
“We’ve made some important discoveries in the last seventy-two hours. Doing some random tests on a Compsognathus, we found an enzyme in its mucus membranes that has the biological ability to degrade radioactive isotopes—iodine-131, barium-140, strontium-90, caesium-137—essentially rendering them harmless.”
“Really? How on Earth is that possible?” Lear asked.
“It’s too early to say. The enzyme works on an atomic level. If we can learn how to mass produce this enzyme, then we can eliminate the world’s nuclear waste. The nuclear energy industry will flourish, and Ace Corporation will hold the patents.”
“The irony is palpable,” Lear said. “The day we discover a solution to our nuclear waste problem we find ourselves on the eve of nuclear annihilation.”
“It gets even stranger. We discovered the skin is made up of a strange array of biopolymers—unlike any other living creature on Earth. We subjected the skin of a test animal to a laser capable of reaching ten thousand degrees. Mr. Lear, the skin didn’t sustain any recordable damage.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Well, you wouldn’t think so. But an inventor several years back created a plastic made up of organic material that proved in the lab it could withstand heat created in a nuclear blast. It’s possible nature created a similar type material of its own.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, though. I’m no scientist, but I know how deadly radiation is to animal life.”
“I admit, it’s uncanny. If there is nuclear war tomorrow, I don’t know what the fate of mankind will be. But the thousands of dinosaurs staged around the world will survive. They all have the same enzyme, and their skin is made up of the same biopolymers. It’s like the dinosaurs were genetically engineered to survive a nuclear holocaust.”
The phone line went dead. The TV picture went blank.
Lear stepped away from his massive oak desk. His twelve-hundred-dollar shoes carried him over by the window as he looked into the night sky.
The darkness cracked open in a blinding light that cut through his eyes like plasma from the sun. His world went dark. A growing vibration rose from the Earth and rattled his teeth. A force unimaginable ripped him apart, mixing his molecules with the debris of a failed species.
The Earth would heal, and the terrible lizards of eons past would once again have dominion over the planet.
The End
Read on for a free sample of K-Rex
Chapter 1
The water in the stream was crisp, clear. It wasn’t much deeper than two feet. The rocks and sand below were visible. There wasn’t much of a current. The most dangerous aspect was the slippery rocks. Barefoot, the man let his toes curl over whatever he stood on for balance. His back hurt most. Standing bent forward for hours took a toll. He stood and stretched every few minutes. The pain hit the lower back. The muscles twisted into knots. The heat and humidity didn’t help. If he were under the canopy, it wouldn’t be as hot. Thankfully, a splash from the stream now and then cooled him off.
The jungle was alive around him. As the sun set, it would get louder. The chimps and bonobos shouted back and forth, working themselves up. The grunts and screams became more high-pitched and aggravated. That was normal. Owls hooted. Branches snapped now and then. The lions and hyenas were out, but they stepped carefully. It wasn’t them breaking twigs.
Where the stream turned, and became slightly swifter, he panned for coltan. He swirled water and sand around, letting them drain leaving only chunks of minerals for picking through. He wore a canvas bag over his shoulder, and filled it with the coltan found. He kept the bag close. The militia robbed him often, or paid rates less than what the dig was worth. Either way, he and his family lost out. It didn’t stop him, and although annoyed, he didn’t let the theft make him angry. There was plenty of coltan. He could make up the lost money just adding extra working hours to his day.
Or evening.
He didn’t like being away from home for long. Walking home in the dark was less than ideal. There was more than militia to fear. He’d never seen the giant Kasai Rex. The stories told sounded fabricated. He knew dinosaurs existed. The crocodiles in the rivers were proof of that. The crocs, however, were the only prehistoric animals he’d ever seen. Night-time was funny, though. After spending the entire day under the sun, the mind cooked. His imagination was like the nocturnal animals around him. Awake.
There was no fast way of moving through the jungle. Slow and safe was best. The moss
-covered rocks were slippery. The thick vegetation needed machete cutting every few feet. Any temporary paths made were swallowed back up by the rainforest within days, overgrown and difficult to find to get through within a week. Tree roots existed simply to cause stumbling. They snaked across the covered ground, and were large enough that falling over them seemed likely. Low branches, usually wrapped up by snakes, or webbed by giant spiders forced people to bend lower, ducking left and right. And there were always things crawling around under fallen tree limbs and behind large plant leaves. Best way to prevent injury was giving yourself enough time so you have some daylight left to walk under, without feeling the urge to run.
He swished the water and sand out of his pan. The dull black mineral inside was coltan. It was just a few pebble-sized pieces. It was always just a few pieces, but once added with the others in his bag, the pieces became handfuls. A handful was equivalent to a couple of days’ pay.
Those who mined deeper into the earth rather than panning streams found larger quantities of coltan, and larger sized chunks. Except land where coltan was excavated was bought up by companies from all over the globe. Men with guns protected the parcels. Even if a section of land wasn’t owned, it didn’t mean someone wasn’t mining it. While he wouldn’t mind bigger finds, he wasn’t greedy.
The rustle came from several yards inside the forest. He looked toward the trees. The leaves, vegetation and setting sun was far too thick. He could barely see further than a foot into the thicket.
It was time to go. The nocturnal animals hunted this time of night. His wife would have dinner waiting for him at home. He would much rather have dinner with his family, than become dinner for a pack of hyenas.
He pulled open the strings on his bag, and fit his large, round and thin pan inside with the small amounts of coltan collected.
The rustle came again. Closer.
He pulled the machete from the sheath on his belt. Quick movement was never a good idea when being watched.
It happened fast. He saw the head of a female lion as the ground cover parted.
His breath caught in his lungs. His heart sank into his stomach.
The second lioness popped out of the trees beside the first.
The rustling must have been them running. They came at him, sprinting. Their paws were so large. The animals’ eyes were opened so wide.
He tried not imagining the takedown. He planned on defending himself. He raised the machete with one hand. His other arm wrapped around the bag, as if the lionesses wanted his panning. He wasn’t protecting the mineral. He was hugging himself.
He screamed as he began slashing the air with his long, curved blade.
The lionesses never made eye contact. They splashed through the stream, crossing it in two leaps and one bound. They were on the other side of the bank and back into the forest.
He stared at the tree line they’d entered. His machete lowered beside him, and breathed out a long, loud sigh. And laughed. Those lions were after prey. They had tunnel vision when it came to hunting. They weren’t after him.
His laugh became a little louder, as relief passed through his entire body, and his muscles relaxed some. He had no intention of telling the family this story. His wife didn’t like him panning anyway. It was one of the few ways of making a solid living in the Congo, just not one of the safest.
Turning around, he stopped.
It stood on the west bank, staring at him. He didn’t move. His mouth went dry. He couldn’t swallow.
When it blinked, the pupils became larger.
Lack of sunlight.
Its three toed claws looked sharp, like talons.
A noise came to his left. He turned his head slowly, and stopped when he saw what made it.
Peripherally, standing just in front of a tree was another one.
He had never seen them before.
There were the rumors and stories about the Kasai, but this. . .
The lions weren’t after him because they’d been running away from something else. The lions were the prey. How often did that happen? Didn’t matter if they were at the top of the food chain. When something chased them, they didn’t hesitate. Instinct kicked in and they ran.
Lions ran fast.
His legs felt stiff, frozen. Every muscle in his back screamed in pain. He’d been standing, and bent over the last eleven hours. He was nearly forty years old. How fast could he run?
He backed up a step.
They watched him. Looked at each other. Looked back at him.
He knew his lips moved, but no words came out. He wanted to tell them to stay where they were. Everything was okay. He was just going to leave them alone now.
Not a sound escaped him.
Another step backward. His heel slipped on a rock. His boots were old. The traction was worn away. He lost his balance and his arms shot up, reaching out far left and far right. It worked, though. He didn’t fall. Somehow he kept his feet. Smiling, he looked up. The smile vanished.
They were gone. Both of them. He looked around. Slow at first, and then his confidence built. They weren’t anywhere around. The two lionesses would make a much better meal, he imagined. Maybe they just became curious seeing him straddling the stream. An anomaly is all. He’d confused them. They weren’t interested in eating something new.
No one liked eating something new. Tried and true was always best. You eat something you never had before and you risk getting sick and upsetting the whole digestive process.
He couldn’t help it. He felt good. Damned good. He had absolutely no idea what those things were, but he was going to be alive to talk about it. He’d lived in Africa all of his life. Moved to the Democratic Republic of the Congo seven years ago and spent most every day since in the forest panning for coltan. Countless times he now recalled scoffing the locals and their legends.
In the morning, he wasn’t panning for coltan. He needed a gun.
The high-pitched squawk, followed by a guttural growl came from behind him. He didn’t stop, nor did he look back. He just picked up the pace. He looked at his feet. He made each step carefully. He was not going to trip. He refused to fall.
If he didn’t stop, he was all set. He walked with pure confidence.
His left had held onto the machete so tightly his black skin looked ashen, white. He knew he breathed too fast. His breaths were quick and shallow. The heat and humidity had nothing to do with the way his body perspired.
It was behind him. Its claws splashed in the water as it followed close behind.
Everything inside of him wanted to turn around. He would not give in. He did not look, would not look. He wanted whatever it was to think he didn’t care, and that he wasn’t afraid.
He was petrified.
The things he saw were not giants, like locals warned. It only meant they might be babies. If they were babies, where were the mothers? Worse, the fathers?
What if they were in their teen years?
Hormonal and crazy.
Did these things have puberty?
He was losing his mind. He knew it. The randomness of thoughts couldn’t be stopped. They just filled and cluttered his mind. He had no way of sorting through them. Best he could do was push them aside after having thought them.
He almost screamed. His mind was berating him for having random thoughts.
He needed to focus on whatever was behind him.
He stopped walking.
Listened.
Waited.
He turned around.
They were matched in height. Head to head, and nose to nose.
It breathed heavily through its nostrils.
Something splashed into the water. He felt suddenly nauseated, and worried he might vomit. Moving just his eyes, he looked down into the stream. It was filled with blood, and intestines. The current attempted pulling it downstream.
He put his right hand over his stomach.
It was gone. A hole was there.
The thing had slashed him, disem
boweling him. Strength gone, he fell to his knees. The creature in front of him shouted up at the darkening sky. He would have covered his ears with his hands. Instead he tried gathering guts and stuffing them back inside his body.
He knew something had bitten him.
His machete fell into the water beside him. It splashed cool water onto his leg. When he looked down, he knew he would not be picking it up. His hand was still attached to the machete handle, along with half of his arm. His head felt woozy. His balance teetered. Both legs became weak, as if his kneecaps had turned into jelly.
Looking to his left, he saw the second monster. Part of his body and cotton clothing was stuck between its teeth.
He opened his mouth to scream. It lunged for him, eating his face. He saw down the thing’s throat as it bit into the sides of his head. He felt teeth crush skull, and finally the popping of his temples, and then. . .
Chapter 2
Louis Powell straightened the knot in his tie. He used his reflection on the closed elevator doors as a mirror. His stomach sank as the car rose. The bosses were on the twenty-second floor. He worked on the third. Except during orientation, he’d never been this high in the tower before. The message was on his desk. “Gary Brunson wants to see you in his office as soon as you get to work.”
At first he thought it was a prank; one of the engineers pulling his leg. He checked with the software secretary since the note was in her delicate handwriting. She was a woman born lacking a sense of humor. A smile now and then was as far as it ever went. When asked, she confirmed the message’s authenticity.
He wasn’t relieved. A joke at his expense would have been better. Flying under the radar was how he preferred it. Come in, do his work, go home.
The elevator let out a soft ding. The car stopped. He looked ahead as the doors opened. The twenty-second floor lobby out-shined the street-level foyer. There were white marble floors, and spiral pillars. Floor to ceiling windows provided an exceptional view of the city skyline, and three rivers. The receptionist was in her fifties, pretty. Her blond hair was tied up in a bun. Light brown glasses sat on the end of her nose. The tan v-neck sweater was over a starched white dress shirt. “Mr. Powell, thank you for coming up. Mr. Brunson and Ms. Warwick will meet you in the conference room.”
Lost World II: Savage Patagonia Page 21