by Stuart Keane
“We should call for help.”
“Who’s going to help us? The police hardly made a scratch on that thing. We need to lie low, wait until this blows over.”
Bethany nodded. Said nothing.
They turned, and stumbled upwards on the ramp, headed towards what remained of Wembley Stadium. The front of the landmark was no more, a pile of obliterated glass and brick that had collapsed around the remaining walls. The arch above was mangled and twisted, deformed by the weight of its crumbling moorings.
As they approached, a fine mist of brick dust tickled their throats and made them cough. Through the gaping crevice, Matthew made out a flurry of scattered seats and structural debris. A large glass screen hung on its final cables, the flickering display cobwebbed from left to right with cracks. He noticed a giant footprint in the centre of the football pitch, brown against green. Several figures lay inert on the ground, their mutilated bodies gnawed and incomplete. Splashes of vivid red peppered the immaculate grass, the terrible slaughter all the more horrific in the patient glare of the intact floodlights that overlooked each corner of the football ground.
“It ran straight through Wembley,” Bethany started, before she noticed the same destruction on the other side of the stadium. Both could peer straight through, see the illuminated backdrop of London beyond. “Shit. We don’t stand a –”
Movement.
Matthew froze. Bethany continued onwards until she noticed. She turned, holding her ribs. “What?”
“In there.” He pointed. “On the centre circle.”
Bethany strained her eyes.
Then she saw it.
The duo merged together, both fascinated and horrified by the slow reveal. She lifted her phone from her pocket, and edged forwards. She held it up, steadying for a shot. Matthew hissed at her, “No, we need to go. Now!”
“Just one photo. We’ll need something. Just one…”
Bethany clicked the camera. No flash. The floodlights saved her the need.
She punched the air and moved forward. “This will put us in the mainstream.”
Her foot nudged against a fallen lamppost. The glass tinkled as the broken bulb skittered across the concrete. The scraping sound was loud and harsh in the silence that preceded it. They both froze.
And they were both being observed.
Matthew shrivelled at the sight of the twin dinosaurs that appeared in the gap of Wembley. A second and third Tyrannosaurus Rex, smaller than the previous beast but both as deadly. They stomped into the street, shaking the ground with their introduction, their hunter eyes steeled on the reporters, their blood-slathered mouths eager for more sustenance. They flanked with immeasurable speed, one either side, cutting off any possible escape and surrounding their prey.
Matthew and Bethany backed into one another, remaining silent.
"Stay still, right?" Bethany hissed.
Matthew leaned back. "What?"
"Like in that movie, they can only see us if we move," Bethany replied. "Right?"
"I don't think that's true … and I think we're about to find out."
Bethany watched the predators inch closer. They circled, closing in on their prey. Their eyes were centred, locked on. She gulped. "It's … it's been a pleasure, Matthew."
Matthew said nothing as a dual roar shattered the silence around them.
*****
“Mr Murray, it’s good to hear from you. How’s things?”
“They … the dinosaurs … they’re … they’re out.”
Richard narrowed his eyes and sat forward. “I beg your pardon?”
“They’re out. They escaped. All of them.”
“Really?”
Murray coughed, spraying his front with rich blood. “You sound … sound surprised…”
“I didn’t expect such incompetence from you. Or my team, for that matter. I hear the animals weren’t taking to their habitat. Paul kept me updated and advised you on what to do. He’s on a flight back as we speak because you ignored his orders.”
“You … you killed us all.”
“No, you did that. Everything on the dinosaur front was peachy before you poked your nose in. You breached your contract too … remember, you worked for me, not the other way around. You were instructed to follow my lead, not ignore it.”
“Fuck you, Richard. People have died. More people will die unless we contain –”
“There’s nothing to contain. You fucked up, not me. As of this moment, all documents that pertain to our agreement are null and void, not to mention shredded and burnt. Paul retrieved your copies. No evidence of our deal exists in any form. I can’t afford for my business to see the public eye. Especially not for you.”
“Fuc … fuck …”
“Goodbye, Mr Murray.”
The line went dead.
Neville Murray dropped the phone to the floor and chuckled. He tasted copper on his lips as he leaned back in his favourite chair. A bowl of Murray’s Turkey Dinos sat on his desk, half-empty. The idea stolen from another manufacturer, one that made him a millionaire – for a short time, anyway. His eyes glistened with tears as he remembered that first glorious taste, the growing addiction, the love of his favourite food that followed him from young child to mature adult. The softness of the meat when dunked in baked beans, the crunch against the sharpness of chunky chips.
Murray nodded, placed a piece on his tongue, and sighed.
He closed his eyes, pain turning his body numb, and drifted off into a deep sleep.
There’s something about dinosaurs that should be very humbling to human beings.
- Colin Trevorrow
Atonia
All Tied Up With String #6
Available July 2017
Free Range
All Tied Up With String #7
Available September 2017