KRONOS RISING: After 65 million years, the world's greatest predator is back.

by Max Hawthorne

  Replacing his radio, Jake stared up at the two helicopters, his soot and bloodstained arms folded across his chest. He was so infuriated at the two pilots he barely noticed Amara move next to him.

  “What are they doing?” she whispered, wiping the half-dried tears from her face with the back of one hand.

  “They’re trying to get additional footage of your pliosaur. It’s worth a fortune right now.”

  “Is it out there?”

  “Probably.”

  Jake’s radio squawked loudly as Molly’s voice blared out of it.

  “Jake, I called the stations,” she said. “One chopper is not responding, but the other’s radio is set to channel 11, if that helps.”

  “Thanks,” Jake replied. He switched frequencies and raised the Motorola to his lips.

  “Attention news helicopter 415, this is Sheriff Jake Braddock. Come in please.”

  There was a frustrating moment of silence before the pilot radioed back. “Sheriff Braddock, this is chopper 415, read you loud and clear.”

  “This area is dangerously off limits. I need you to clear out.”

  “With all due respect,” the pilot explained, “your authority extends to the ground and the surrounding waters. You can’t order us out. Sorry, sheriff.”

  Jake emitted a low growl of frustration. “Fair enough,” he replied. “Just remember, it’s your ass. Any sign of the creature?”

  “Are you kidding?” the pilot radioed back excitedly. “The damn thing’s right below us, hanging out just below the surface. Man, you gotta see the size of this thing! He’s as big as a battleship!”

  Jake scanned the water directly below the two circling craft. He could make out a shadowy form, suspended beneath the swells.

  “It’s out there alright,” he said to Amara, then radioed the pilot. “Listen fella, you’re flying kind of low. You don’t want to get too close to that thing. What’s your altitude?”

  “Now, don’t go worrying about us, sheriff. We’re a hundred feet up. I’m sure we’re fine. I . . . damn, it disappeared.”

  Jake cast an alarmed glance at Amara and pressed his talk button again. “Hey, fella. Maybe you ought to call it a day?”

  “Are you out of your frickin’ mind?” The pilot laughed. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime. My kids are gonna go nuts when they see this stuff, not to mention . . . holy shit!”

  The pliosaur exploded up from the depths like a ballistic missile, its monstrous body nearly clearing the water. The startled pilot – staring straight down its throat – panicked and heaved back on his joystick, trying to distance himself.

  Careening wildly out of control, the sleek red and white chopper went into a dizzy tailspin, plowing sideways into its rival agency’s aircraft. The whirling propellers of both helicopters intersected at a forty-five degree angle, their silver rotors shattering into scores of smaller pieces. The lethal shards scythed through the air, slicing through the fragile aluminum walls of both fuselages like a hot knife through cheese.

  Mesmerized by the spectacle, Jake stared powerlessly as the two stricken helicopters began to drop, their twisted metal frames molded into one another.

  Frustrated at having missed, the pliosaur settled back down. As it gazed hungrily upward, the two aircraft plummeted toward it, their crumpled hulks poised to crash into the heaving swells below. A moment before impact, their fuel tanks exploded.

  Wincing at the resultant fireball, Jake said a silent prayer for the pilots and their families. There was no surviving such a conflagration.

  “Molly, this is Jake.” The lawman shook his head in disgust. “Come in, please.”

  “I’m here, Jake,” Molly called back. “I’m on with the Coast Guard right now.”

  “Good,” Jake said. “I need you to get on the phone with the FAA, too. We just lost both news helicopters. We’re going to need a no-fly zone established. I don’t want any more accidents involving this thing.”

  “Oh God . . . will do.”

  Jake turned and stalked back toward the Harbinger. Behind him, Amara stared at the fallen fireball in horrified fascination. The burning wreckage of the two choppers lay smoldering atop turbulent seas, spewing dense clouds of smoke and steam until they sank from sight.

  The pliosaur was nowhere to be seen.

  Visibly shaken, the raven-haired cetaceanist shivered and pulled herself away. Her head bowed, she turned and followed Paradise Cove’s beleaguered town sheriff back toward the shelter of her vessel.

  A mile away from the devastation, the creature sounded, angrily scattering its accompanying flock of seabirds. Its attempt to crush the noisy insects hovering above its head had resulted in its scaly snout getting singed by scorching flames.

  Infuriated by its burns, the prehistoric titan dove steadily deeper. Soon, the numbing effects of the icy sub-thermocline took hold, the frigid temperatures serving as a cooling salve to ease its discomfort. The searing sensations that afflicted its armored skin quickly subsided. As the pain vanished, the creature’s savage temperament stabilized.

  Now calm, it made its way to the surface to bask in the warmth of the soon-to-be-setting sun. Its belly full, it floated tranquilly upon the surface. Imperious, it closed its gleaming eyes and drifted off into a state of self-induced slumber.

  With his six-foot-two frame draped across a leather recliner like some two-hundred-and-thirty pound mountain lion, Karl Von Freiling seemed more a part of his collection than a man. He shifted position, remote in hand, and extended one arm to raise the volume on the wide-screen LCD TV.

  Above him, the mahogany-lined walls of his trophy room were saturated with past conquests. There were African lions, Bengal tigers, polar bears, elephants, and an endangered white rhinoceros. All wore expressions of primal ferocity, their frozen grimaces silent testimony to their violent deaths at the hands of a skilled hunter.

  With his powerful physique and hawk-like features, Von Freiling had the look and mannerisms of a true predator. The assorted scars that decorated his tanned limbs were further accentuated by his shockingly colored eyes, and added to his thoroughly unnerving appearance.

  He nodded almost imperceptibly as a buxom brunette tiptoed into the room and handed him a fresh bottle of ale. He gave the scantily-clad girl a quick smile, followed by a playful smack on the rump as she bent down to grab his empty. He watched her leave, then took a swig of the ice-cold brew, savoring it. Though he appeared unfazed and relaxed, the big game hunter was paying rapt attention to the astonishing broadcast that had enthralled not only him, but the entire world.

  “ . . . And, as impossible as it may seem, the marine dinosaur that attacked the coastal town of Paradise Cove, Florida today, once again made its prehistoric presence felt. Seen from a passing helicopter, the huge animal leapt clear of the water, destroying both the helicopter filming it and another nearby. Both pilots and crew were lost . . .

  In a related story, the governor extended his support to the besieged coastal community, dispatching hundreds of troops from the National Guard. It is believed the giant reptile that attacked Harcourt Marina this afternoon is the same animal that killed Senator Dean Harcourt’s son yesterday. The governor’s office conveyed its heartfelt sympathies to the senator. Any and all aid has been pledged . . .”

  Muting the oversized set, Von Freiling reached for the antique-styled telephone, resting on a stand next to his recliner.

  “Hello . . . operator?” He spoke smoothly into the receiver, a malicious grin appearing on his raptor’s face. “Yes, I need the phone number for Florida Senator Dean Harcourt’s office, please . . .”

  CRETACEOUS OCEAN

  65 MILLION YEARS AGO

  The pliosaur queen surfaced for air, her mighty lungs swelling before she continued to glide through her undersea domain. She moved with carefree grace, imbued with the supreme confidence that came from being the world’s greatest predator. When she was smaller, she viewed others of her kind – in particular the dominant bulls – as a threat.
Now, in the prime of her life, she feared nothing. No male could challenge her.

  Ironically, she now sought their attention. The powerful pheromones she exuded into the surrounding sea sang forth an irresistible siren song. This, coupled with her species’ innate olfactory capabilities, gave her the power to attract every sexually mature male within a hundred square miles.

  And that was exactly what had happened.

  Something akin to rage filled the male pliosaur. He had competition. Approaching from the southeast, he spotted four other mature males. The rival jacks were all following the giant female at a respectable distance.

  Wheeling in for a closer look, he sized up his competitors. The males ranged in size from an ambitious adolescent, barely forty-five feet in length – who wisely kept to the rear – to the frontrunner, a battle-scarred, one-eyed giant at least one hundred years old, who was even larger than the big bull.

  He cruised closer, falling in with the other jacks. The rival males bristled at his approach, uttering thunderous grunts that vibrated through the water; their arched body postures and half-opened jaws mirrored their displeasure. The big male wasn’t intimidated, and pulled up parallel to the one-eyed veteran. The older bull snapped his giant jaws together as a warning and immediately shifted position, keeping his good eye fixed on the powerful newcomer.

  Despite all the vocalizations and attempts at intimidation, all of the bulls made it a point to remain a substantial distance behind the object of their affections. Although the female was in estrus, she had shown no indication she was ready to mate with any of her prospective suitors. A bull foolhardy enough to attempt a premature coupling risked receiving a vicious bite from the female’s gigantic jaws. Such a bite could cripple, and a disabled animal of any kind in the violent Cretaceous seas, even a pliosaur, was as good as dead.

  Out in the blackness of space, the asteroid hurtled along its predestined course. For eons the great rock had traveled the galaxy. Over the countless millennia, thousands of smaller meteoroids and other pieces of debris bounced off and pocked its ragged surface. Bereft of atmosphere or inhabitants, it annihilated everything it encountered. Soon, it would reach its final resting place: an inconspicuous little blue and green marble nestled in the cold, black void, only ten thousand miles away.

  At over seven miles in width and weighing trillions of tons, the enormous hunk of space rock, iron, and iridium was the size of a city. It was a planet killer, the destructive energy it harnessed beyond reckoning. As it drew closer, the sunlight struck its jagged black surface at an oblong angle, giving it, fittingly enough, the glowing red and orange appearance of hellfire. Blazing through space at fifty thousand miles an hour, it would reach its target in minutes. As silent as death, the meteor continued on.

  Eternity beckoned.

  The female announced her readiness to mate.

  Raising her giant jaws out of the water, she emitted a mournful bellow that scattered the omnipresent pterosaurs and pealed across the water like a foghorn. Miles away, her roar echoed off the slopes of a volcanic island. The five jacks, waiting a hundred yards off, raised their heads eagerly out of the water and began blinking rapidly.

  The moment was about to arrive. Then, without warning, the pliosaur queen plunged into the depths. Her flippers pushing in unison, she took off at breakneck speed, abandoning her would-be-lovers. The mating chase was on.

  Despite undeniable urges to procreate, the female would not simply submit to any willing suitor. Evolution didn’t create a perfect killing machine without ensuring it was designed to withstand the test of time: the males would have to prove their worthiness to mate. Only the strongest and most powerful would win the queen, ensuring the most ideal genetic combination possible, and the ultimate furthering of the species.

  Of the five male pliosaurs, three quickly assumed the lead. The big bull and the old one-eyed male led the pack neck and neck, sixty yards behind the female’s enticing tail. A third male – a fifty-nine foot powerhouse with a huge bite scar on his muzzle – was right behind them and gaining steadily. The female, powering along at forty miles an hour, gave no indication of slowing or tiring. Though capable of greater speed, her chase was a test of strength, ferocity, and most importantly endurance. She would continue on until only the most dominant male was left. He would be her king.

  Suddenly, the muzzle-scarred male made his move. With a quick burst of speed he rose in the water column, coming down directly between the two frontrunners with the intention of scattering them. It was a bold move, but a miscalculated one. The experienced big bull and the crafty one-eyed oldster simultaneously turned on their disfigured rival, smashing their heads into his cavernous chest and ribs from opposite directions.

  Though not as damaging as their deadly bite, pliosaurs often used their armored skulls as battering rams. The technique was particularly effective during the mating chase, and helped to keep fatalities to a minimum. As it was, the sandwiching attack by the two larger males had devastating results. The muzzle-scarred bull had two shattered ribs on one side, and three cracked on the other. With a water-muffled roar of pain and rage, the injured male dropped out of the race and made his way agonizingly toward the surface.

  As the big bull and the one-eyed male were launching their attack, the youngest of the pliosaur pack saw his opportunity and took it. At only forty-five feet and twenty tons, the adolescent bull was by far the smallest of the group. But he was also the fastest.

  Accelerating to a blinding sixty miles an hour, the agile male looped effortlessly over his distracted rivals and came down exactly where he wanted to be, square on the giant female’s back. Lunging forward, he clamped his powerful nine-foot jaws with their eight-inch teeth directly onto the female’s exposed neck.

  The male’s bite was hardly injurious to the cow. Evolution had insured that the thick scales and skin on her nape and throat were better armored than the rest of her titanic body, solely to withstand such attentions. However, the smaller male was not her first choice, nor was the race over.

  With an eardrum-shattering bellow, the female twisted her gargantuan body into a high-speed underwater roll, shrugging the young bull off. Dislodged and disoriented, the adolescent found himself in the path of the onrushing big bull and his one-eyed rival. Annoyed by his antics, the two came at him with vengeful fury, their jaws agape and eyes ablaze. The young bull opened his mouth to defend himself, just as the older, battle-scarred bull plowed into him with the force of an avalanche, knocking the air out of him. The big bull attacked from the opposite direction, slashing the smaller male’s right fore-flipper with his jaws, and leaving the vulnerable appendage in tatters. Trailing blood, the young bull paddled limply away to nurse his wounds.

  The meteor entered the planet’s atmosphere and began its final descent. With its entire surface a blazing red inferno of molten rock and metal, it truly resembled the hell it was about to create. Below it lay an unsuspecting primordial world, lush and green and filled with wondrous creatures the universe had never before seen.

  Blazing across the skies at a steep angle, the gigantic fireball continued on. Its target was dead ahead, at what would one day be known as the Yucatan Peninsula.

  Relentlessly, it came on. It had no feelings. It had no remorse.

  Its name was Armageddon, and nothing could stop it.

  NINETEEN

  Jake woke with a start. His t-shirt was soaked through, his heart pounding from the nightmare he’d been jolted out of. He gazed wide-eyed at the gray-riveted scenery surrounding him, unsure of where he was or how he got there.

  He shook his head to clear it. He remembered accepting Amara’s invitation to spend the night onboard the Harbinger. Still groggy, he checked his sports watch, fuming silently. It was four in the morning and odds were he wasn’t going back to sleep.

  Suddenly, he heard the call again. It was the same bass bellow that jolted him out of his slumber – a resonating cry, woeful in its tonality, reverberating like distant thunder throug
h the ship’s thick hull. The call was unfamiliar to the coastal town sheriff, who spent many nights as a teenager, laying in his bunk onboard the Sayonara, listening to the deep-throated songs of Florida’s resident blue whales and humpbacks. It was lower in tone, longer in duration, and had an alien ring to it.

  Spewing profanities, Jake leapt out of bed as if his sheets were on fire. He had his gun belt and boots on, and was making his way topside within seconds. As he negotiated the dimly lit corridors of the Harbinger, he overheard voices. He followed them to the ship’s observation room, where he was surprised to find Amara, Willie, and Joe Calabrese huddled around an underlit desk.

  “A bit late ta be wandering da halls, don’t ya tink, mon?” Willie asked as he noticed their disheveled guest standing in the doorway.

  Jake’s reply was short-circuited by another rumbling cry. “That’s the monster, isn’t it?” he asked of Amara.

  “It’s not a monster,” the cetaceanist pointed out. “But it is a creature that has to be dealt with, both for its protection, as well as the public’s.” She reached for a nearby coffee pot, pouring him a cup and gesturing for him to join them. “We have a plan.”

  “A plan?” Jake accepted the proffered mug. “I hope it involves baiting that thing to the surface and tossing the remainder of my dynamite down its gullet!”

  “Not quite . . . I think we can capture it.”

  Jake spat hot coffee back into his cup. “What?” He stared incredulously at them. “Are you people out of your minds? Look doc, this isn’t some porpoise or pilot whale we’re talking about. That thing is way too dangerous to play around with.”

  Amara sighed. “It’s just an animal. We can take it alive.”

  “We have to kill it! Willie, you were on the deck with us. Joe, you saw it too. You know what that thing is capable of.”

  “Yes, we do,” Joe admitted. He folded his tattooed arms, looking grimly down at the table. “Look, I’m not arguing. The thing is beyond dangerous. Personally, I think we should go out and buy a bazooka, but Amara thinks the creature is worth more alive.”