by Mark Ellis
Kavanaugh came up beside her during her monologue. “Interesting.”
She lowered the camera, eyes rapt. “Interesting? The Quinterotops is completely fascinating.”
“I didn’t mean that,” he said lowering his voice. “I meant that it’s interesting that Aubrey has had his satphone since yesterday afternoon and has yet to place a call to Jimmy Cao.”
Honoré blinked, trying to shift her concentration to a non-ceratopsian topic. “What do you think that means?”
“Maybe nothing at all. Or it could mean that Aubrey has had a change of heart about partnering up with the Ghost Shadows, or he has business he wants to complete before he meets up with Cao again.”
She nodded reflectively. “That pool…those ruins we saw the pictures of, perhaps.”
They began walking, following the trail of stamped down grass made by the Quinterotops. Everyone else climbed up the slope ahead of them, although Oakshott let them know he closely monitored their progress.
In a voice barely above a whisper, Kavanaugh asked, “What did you mean that Aubrey was afraid of pharmaceutical companies?”
Honoré pushed back the brim of her hat. “Aubrey believes his grandfather discovered the equivalent of a universal panacea here on Big Tamtung. He calls it Prima Materia.”
Kavanaugh frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to be?”
“Prime matter. It’s part pseudoscience, part superstition, and half complete rubbish. There’s a very old belief that all life on Earth sprang from a single source. Darwin referred to it as a warm little pond of ooze. Aubrey believes that Darwin was speaking in code, referring to the pool of prime matter Jacque Belleau found here.”
“And you don’t believe it exists?”
Honoré started to reply, then shook her head in good-natured frustration. “Three days ago I wouldn’t have believed I’d be trailing a living, breathing, defecating Anchiceratops, so I guess I’m not much of a judge on what exists and what doesn’t. However, if there is such a thing as prime matter, there is probably no limit to the kind of medicines that can be processed from it.”
“How so?”
“According to Darwin’s journal, one of their party, a man named Hoxie was mortally wounded by a Deinonychus. Hoxie’s wounds were inadvertently exposed to a sample of the substance and he made a full recovery. It stands to reason one pint of Prima Materia would probably be worth ten times all the rainforest drugs in the world. No limit.”
“No limit on the profits, either,” Kavanaugh said.
“Exactly…as a world-renowned biochemist and botanist, Aubrey could probably put any research on the fast track. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a consultant to Maxiterm pharmaceuticals.”
Kavanaugh smiled thinly “And another piece of the puzzle falls into place. No damn wonder Jimmy Cao is involved so deeply in this.”
“Why so?”
“The triads connected to United Bamboo are always looking to invest in legitimate commercial ventures. It’s one of their policies. That’s why they put money into Cryptozoica Enterprises. But getting in on the ground floor of a whole new kind of drug development is a hell of a lot more profit-heavy than backing a tourist destination resort.”
“That’s a frightening idea,” replied Honoré. She gestured toward Bai Suzhen who had almost reached the top of the hill. “What about her?”
“What about her?”
“Once Bai Suzhen learns about the possibility of reaping pharmaceutical profits, why wouldn’t she throw in with Jimmy Cao? It would be easy to arrange tragic accidents to befall the rest of us.”
Kavanaugh’s thin smile widened. “You don’t know Bai Suzhen very well.”
“Do you?” Honoré challenged.
“I don’t think anyone really does. She’s definitely an enigma-wrapped-in-a-riddle kind of woman. But I know one thing about her—she doesn’t betray people who have put their trust in her. She’d cut an enemy’s throat and take a bath in his blood if she had the chance, but she’d never turn on her friends, regardless of how much money she might make.”
Honoré nodded but said uncertainly, “That’s the question, Jack—I don’t know if she views me as a friend.”
“I don’t know that either,” he said frankly.
“Then how—”
Standing on the ridgeline, Crowe turned and waved. “Jack! Move your ass! You’ve got to see this!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Honoré and Kavanaugh struggled up the face of the bluff. When they reached the top, she gazed awestruck at the herd of dinosaurs milling at the cane-enclosed bank of a broad stream. They saw the massive horned heads and spurred frills of half-a-dozen Quinterotops and an equal number of squat-bodied, serpent-necked sauropods.
Mingling with the sauropods and ceratopsians were clusters of Parasaurolophus—bipedal orinthischia with bony, back-slanting crests on their skulls and splayed, duck-like snouts.
They were of an ochre hue, their hides striped with patterns of dark brown. They grazed on the tender shoots and hyacinths growing at the water’s edge. The offspring of the different species moved fearlessly among the adults. Vocalizations not unlike those of lowing cattle and whale-song arose from the mixed herd.
Honoré lifted her camera and began snapping one picture after another. “I can only hope my memory card and battery holds out. This is the most amazing sight I have ever seen…the most amazing sight any human being has ever seen! But what you called an Apatasaurus looks more like the Saltasaur, a close but smaller relative…so-named because the first fossils were discovered in Argentina’s Salta Province. They thrived during the late Cretaceous.”
“They seem to play well with others,” observed Bai Suzhen. “But there aren’t many different kinds, either.”
“The late Cretaceous showed a marked decline in the diversity of dinosaur species,” Honoré replied.
“I wasn’t talking about the goddamn dinosaurs,” Crowe said impatiently. “Me and Jack have seen them all before. Look over there.”
Following Crowe’s pointing finger toward the far side of the streambed, at a distance of an eighth of a mile, Kavanaugh saw a white concrete pylon rising twenty-five feet from the savannah. Atop it ran the narrow gauge monorail track. The bright, mid-morning sunlight glinted off a reflective surface and he squinted, trying to make it out. He picked out the details of the cylindrical, blunt-nosed shifter engine.
“Well, I’ll be dipped in Quinterotops shit,” he said. “So that’s where the monorail broke down.”
“Exactly,” Crowe said. “By my calculations, it’s about ten miles from the switch-back junction. Maybe me and Mouzi can get her running again.”
“Why?” demanded Belleau
Crowe looked at him in disbelief. “So we can ride back to the Petting Zoo instead of being chased?”
“Duh,” muttered Mouzi.
“How do you propose to reach the train itself?” Belleau asked. “Shinny up that post?”
“Something like that,” Kavanaugh said. “We weren’t quite as short-sighted as you try to make us out to be. There are ladder rungs on every pylon. We can climb up and walk along the track to the train.”
“Ah.” Belleau presented the image of pondering the proposal, then he blew out a regretful sigh. “Perhaps after we’ve reached our objective we can come back this way and find out if it’s still useful.”
Crowe gestured angrily. “If we can get her running, then we can also use her to cut at least eight miles off the walk to the escarpment you’re so eager to visit.”
Belleau’s eyes narrowed. “How much of a delay are we talking about? How long will it take you to examine the train and ascertain if you can get it operational?”
“There’s no way to tell until we crack her motor open,” Mouzi said waspishly. “Thirty minutes, thirty hours, who knows?”
“We can’t risk losing the time,” Belleau stated, turning away from Crowe. “If we maintain our present pace, we should reach our destination by late afternoon.”
Neither Crowe nor Mouzi moved. Oakshott stepped in front of them, regarding them with grave eyes, lifting the carbine suggestively. Just as suggestively, Mouzi drew a butterfly knife from the back pocket of her shorts.
“You can only shoot one of us before I cut your heart out,” Mouzi said, her voice sibilant with spite.
Belleau looked over his shoulder, a smile of genuine amusement creasing his lips. “The question is which one of you will it be? Do you volunteer, little Miss Mongrel?”
“You can shoot me,” she said, eyes seething with hatred. “Don’t mean I’ll die.”
“Perhaps not, but I understand that bullet wounds to the stomach are exceedingly painful. You’ll be out here in the wilderness with no medical help, beyond the most rudimentary first aid. Of course, the volunteer doesn’t have to be you. I can select someone else to serve as an example.”
Sunlight flickered on the steel of Bai Suzhen’s sword. She whipped the point of the blade sideways to rest against Belleau’s throat. Oakshott instantly aimed the rifle at her.
“Having your throat cut is exceptionally painful, too,” Bai said between gritted teeth.
“Steady on now, Madame,” Belleau murmured. “Steady on. You don’t want to take rash actions.”
“Why not?” Bai exerted pressure on the sword, the point digging into Belleau’s neck. He bit back a cry of pain.
Raising a pair of conciliatory hands, Belleau said soothingly, “If we do it my way, everybody lives. Nobody dies or so much as gets their toes stubbed. If we follow your course, all we will be doing is providing meals for the scavengers. You may kill me, but then Oakshott will be forced to kill you and as many of your friends as he can before he himself is killed. Seems rather a waste of resources and energy.”
Bai’s eyes narrowed to slits “If it had not been for you, Jimmy Cao would have never had the guts to move against me.”
She snatched the blade away. “But we’ll do it your way for the time being. However, I’m serving notice on you right now, you little kom eu—there will be a reckoning.”
Belleau’s eyes glinted with anger at being addressed as “shit dwarf”, but he only touched the red mark at his throat and inspected his fingertips for blood. “I will make all of this up to you, Madame. To all of you…providing we reach our destination.”
Head held high, metal box containing the Darwin journal tucked under one arm, Aubrey Belleau marched down the hillside and set out across the grassy plain in the direction of the stream. After looking at Oakshott, whose face remained an expressionless mask, everyone followed the little man.
The commingled herd of Saltasaurs, Quinterotops and Parasaurolophus paid their approach little attention. The six people walked at an oblique angle away from the animals, not wanting to go among them. Although the Saltasaurs weren’t as gargantuan as the fossil reconstructions of Apatasaurus, their heads atop the very long necks still would have filled standard-size oil drums. One of the creatures stared at them steadily, a menacing, trilling growl bubbling from lips curling back from long, peg-shaped teeth.
“I think that must be a bull,” Honoré remarked. “Letting us know he knows we’re here.”
“Aren’t sauropods supposed to be peaceful?” Mouzi asked. “Plant eaters?”
“Yeah,” replied Crowe, “but you never know when one might decide to vary its diet.”
“You’d think that even this small herd of Saltasaurs would strip the island of vegetation within a couple of years,” said Honoré.
“You’re forgetting the food chain,” Belleau said. “There are predators about, make no mistake.”
A Quinterotops swung its horned head toward them as they passed and uttered a warning rumble.
“I guess it takes one to know one, Aubrey,” Kavanaugh commented.
“Very whimsical, Mr. Kavanaugh.”
They walked through the brakes of cane, the tough stalks as big around as Oakshott’s wrists. The ground was marshy and soft. The odor of sulfurous swamp gas became so strong that they all breathed through their mouths, although they ran the risk of inhaling handfuls of bugs.
The seven people paused at the edge of the stream, gauging its depth. Rainbow-tinted guppies and orange characins darted beneath the surface. The wavelets splintered the sunrays into little kaleidoscopic fragments.
They heard a sloshing and turned toward a Parasaurolophus slowly wading through the shallows toward them. It chewed thoughtfully on a stringy mass of vegetable matter. It looked toward them with eyes that were round and mild. Although it was built bipedally, the twelve foot tall animal walked hunched over, using its forepaws to support its weight. The creature took up a position in the stream directly in their path and uttered an interrogative snuffle. Everyone stopped and stared, then Mouzi stepped into the knee-deep water.
“What are you doing?” asked Honoré tensely.
“The snufflegalumpuses aren’t aggressive,” said Kavanaugh. “But they’re curious.”
“Actually, what you have there closely resembles a Bactrosaurus, one of the most common duck-billed Hadrosaurs.”
Bai eyed her superciliously. “How can an animal that is thought to be extinct also be common?”
Honoré only shrugged.
Mouzi reached up with her right hand and the Hadrosaur lowered its head, still single-mindedly chewing. Caressing its skull crest, she said, “I might have met this one before, when she was a baby.”
Belleau sighed in exasperation. “And did you remove a Tyrannosaur’s fang from its paw? This isn’t a Disney film, young lady. Send the beast on its way so we can be on ours.”
“Pay no attention to him, Mouzi,” Honoré said, snapping photographs. “You and the snufflegalumpus will be the cover girls on the next issue of National Geographic.”
The Hadrosaur suddenly jerked upright, venting a loud snuffle. Half-chewed plant bits fell from its jaws. It stared intently toward the savannah, the posture of its body suggesting fear.
Brushing masticated vegetable matter from her arms, Mouzi demanded irritably, “Now what?”
An icy hand stroked Kavanaugh’s spine. The sweat on his face and under his clothes suddenly turned cold. The other animals stopped grazing, drinking and even moving. They appeared to cease breathing. The serpentine necks of the Saltasaurs arched as they stared in the same direction as the duckbills.
The grasses swayed as if touched by the wind, but the movement was localized, restricted to small areas. Dark heads suddenly arose from the sea of grass, like the dorsal fins of sharks. They swiftly spread out, forming a circle around the animals clustered at the stream.
A faint sound reached Kavanaugh’s ears, like the squeal of a nail being pried out of green wood, repeated over and over. He had heard the high-pitched noise before and the best he could describe it was as a “skreek”, a blend of shriek and squeak.
“What is making that annoying sound?” Belleau demanded. “A flock of birds?”
“Not birds,” Kavanaugh said flatly. “A flock of Deinonychus. I don’t know if they’re after the herd or after us, but they’re on their way. We’d better find some high ground.”
He pointed to the monorail pylon. “Some very high ground.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
They kicked up eruptions of water as they raced across the stream. Behind them, they heard the wild bawlings and shrill outcries of animals in panic. The ground quaked at the pounding of the herd’s feet as the creatures stampeded in terror.
Belleau stumbled and fell face-first into the stream, hugging the metal case to his chest. Without breaking stride, Oakshott snatched up Belleau and carried him the rest of the way across.
The seven people reached the opposite side and continued sprinting, tearing a path through the grass. The pain of a stitch stabbed along Kavanaugh’s side and the muscles of his legs began to feel as if they were trapped between the jaws of a tightening vise. His vision was shot through with gray spots. Silently, he cursed his last few years of drinking, at the same time h
e prayed the nagging pull in his groin wouldn’t get any worse. Nevertheless, he kept running, although every footfall jarred his entire body, his bruised stomach muscles flaring with bursts of pain.
Mouzi, effortlessly maintaining a steady pace, took his arm to help him along. “Move it, old man!”
Kavanaugh shook her loose angrily. “I don’t need your help!”
“Suit yourself.” Her mocha-hued legs pumped as she pulled ahead.
The breath seared Kavanaugh’s lungs and his heart pounded against his ribs. His laboring legs seemed filled with half-frozen mud. Outraged roars mixed in with high-pitched skreeks penetrated even the sound of the blood thundering in his head.
He risked a glance backward and what he saw chilled him clean through. A bellowing Quinterotops came blundering through the stream, sending waves of water cascading high into the air. The huge animal crashed through a stand of cane, snapping off the stalks like matchwood.
For a few seconds, Kavanaugh couldn’t understand why the animal had chosen such a route––-then he realized it ran blindly, desperate to rid itself of the six demonic figures hanging onto its hide by cruelly hooked claws.
Mouzi reached the pylon first. Gasping for breath, she hung onto the staple-shaped rungs imbedded in the concrete. Everyone gathered around the base of the column, swaying, panting, trying to regain their breath and slow the rapid hammering of their hearts.
The Quinterotops squalled in agony, shaking its great curved shield. Its armored skin showed fresh, bloody gouges, inflicted by sickle-shaped hind-claws. The Deinonychus were lean-limbed, slender creatures, predatory death stripped down to the very barest of killing essentials.
Their mottled, red-and-black striped hide was reminiscent of the deadly coral snake. The claw-tipped forelegs were the length of an adult human’s arm and ropy muscles slid beneath the layer of scales. Their thickly muscled hind legs terminated in three-toed feet, a scimitar-curved talon arching up and out from the second toe.