by C. G. Mosley
Jonathon wanted to ask more questions but his stomach suddenly got his attention by growling loudly. Mr. Cold whipped his head around from the window and smiled widely at him.
“Don’t worry,” he said, glancing down at Jonathon’s stomach. “Breakfast is awaiting your arrival too.”
In less than ten minutes, the vehicle pulled into yet another hangar with a group of about fifteen to twenty people surrounding another airplane. This particular plane was a prop and it didn’t look anywhere close to as lavish as the one he’d just arrived in.
“Here we are,” Cold said, snatching the door handle as soon as the vehicle lurched to a stop.
Jonathon eyed the group that seemed to be trying desperately to get a good look at him through the car’s glass. As he peered back at them, he was comforted in knowing they couldn’t see him at all through the dark-tinted windows.
They can see me when I’m ready for them to see me, he thought. He watched as Cold began shaking hands with three men that looked as if they’d give Arnold Schwarzenegger a run for his money in an arm wrestling competition. After he’d shaken all their hands, he looked over his shoulder with a puzzled expression. Jonathon could tell he was wondering why he had not gotten out of the car yet. He took a deep breath and decided it was time to make his grand entrance.
“There is the man of the hour,” Cold said, and he clapped somewhat theatrically. It made Jonathon incredibly uncomfortable.
One of the big men flashed a wide grin of crooked teeth. Though his mouth was ugly, his personality certainly was not.
“Man, is it an honor to meet you,” he said, shoving a big hand out to shake Jonathon’s.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Jonathon replied, trying his best not to show his new friend the pain he was feeling as his hand suddenly felt like it had been shut in a vice.
“My name is Cliff Gordon. I’m a former infantryman with the U.S. Army,” the man said. He had a southern accent, but it clearly wasn’t from anywhere near Mississippi.
“Nice to meet you. I’m assuming you’ll be joining me on the island?” he said in reply.
The big man nodded. He was entirely bald and there was sweat already beginning to bead up on his forehead. “Yeah, I’ve heard a lot of stories about some pretty amazing things you’ve done on the island,” Cliff replied. “I can’t believe Mr. Cold talked you into coming back.”
Jonathon raised an eyebrow. “Well, that makes two of us, Cliff.”
“Cliff Gordon is the brawn of the operation,” Cold said, stepping between the two of them. He glanced to his right and pointed at another man that Jonathon guessed stood about six feet five inches. He had a blond crewcut and mustache. There was a cigar hanging out of his mouth.
“That is Mr. Victor O’Connell,” he said. “Former Navy Seal, and a darn good one from what I’ve heard.”
“You heard right,” Victor replied, removing the cigar from his mouth. He spat on the ground. “You’re looking at the finest soldier on your team, Mr. Williams,” he added.
Jonathon smiled as he looked him over. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties and everything from the way he talked with his Mid-Western accent to the way he moved oozed cockiness. There was something about him that made Jonathon like him immediately.
“Is that right?” he asked.
Victor nodded and returned the cigar to his mouth.
Jonathon crossed his arms and looked back to Mr. Cold. “So if Cliff is the brawn, I’m assuming Victor is the brains?” he asked.
Cold coughed. It sounded as if he were trying to stifle a laugh. “No, certainly not,” he said. “He’s just more brawn.”
Jonathon looked back to Victor and immediately noticed the big man’s eyes narrow. He clearly wasn’t amused with Cold.
That makes two of them I like, thought Jonathon.
A third man arrived, similar in size to Victor. His hair was also styled in a crewcut and the gray color spoke volumes about his age. He was even dressed like Victor. He wore an army green tank top and camouflage cargo pants. Both men reminded Jonathon of G.I. Joe.
“Hank Bailey,” the man said, holding out his hand.
Jonathon took it and felt an ominous squeeze.
“Quite a grip you got there,” he said, and he pulled his hand away. It hurt, but he tried not to show it.
Hank held his hand just a second longer and stared at him, stone-faced. When he finally released it, he allowed a slight smile to creep across his lips. The man said nothing more and he turned and made his way toward the plane.
“Don’t mind him,” a feminine voice called out from behind him. “Just think of Hank as the strong but silent type.”
He turned to see who was speaking and found a woman standing there. She was wearing a black tank top and green cargo pants. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail. Jonathon was unable to see her eyes due to the fact they were hidden behind mirrored Aviator sunglasses. The woman was clearly fit and muscular, but none of that took away from her femininity.
“Jonathon Williams, I presume,” she said, snatching the Aviators from her face. Her eyes were green.
“That’s me,” Jonathon said, shaking her hand.
“My name is Harley Cash. I’m a former assassin for the Central Intelligence Agency,” she said.
Jonathon’s eyes widened at the revelation.
“Cold and I go way back,” she continued. “He put this team together and twisted my arm into commanding it.”
Jonathon clenched his jaw and scratched the back of his neck. He looked to Cold. “I thought you said I would be in charge.”
Harley looked at Cold and cocked her head to the side. “I thought you explained all this,” she said.
Cold held up a hand. “I did,” he said quickly. “Jonathon, I guess I should’ve been more detailed with my explanation. You are in charge, just as I said…but the men report to Harley. Harley reports to you.”
“Ah,” Jonathon said, feeling the tension ease out of him. He liked that arrangement much better. “Well, Ms. Cash, I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said.
“The feeling is mutual,” she said as she returned the sunglasses to her face. “I just hope our work will be brief. The goal is obviously to get in and get out as quickly as possible.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jonathon replied. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
“Great,” she said gleefully and then looked toward the plane. “Breakfast is waiting on board.” She made a gesture with her hand and said, “After you, boss.”
Jonathon smiled and climbed aboard.
Chapter 11
Almost 36 hours earlier…
What was seemingly minutes before the water began flowing in under the first story doors, Charlie, Hardcastle, Matt, and George managed to work swiftly and transported all five Troodons to their respective cells on the fifth floor without incident. Once they felt the animals were secure, the four of them played poker for what Charlie guessed had to have been at least an hour before Hardcastle decided to go downstairs and check to see where the water level was at. She knew immediately it must’ve been bad by the expression on his face when he returned.
“Water is creeping up the stairs,” he said grimly. “I can’t even get to the second floor.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Matt said in disbelief.
Charlie would not have been surprised if Glenn Hardcastle took the opportunity to take a swipe at Matt for not wanting to take his advice to move to higher ground, but it seemed the situation was dire enough that he would be unable to get any joy from doing so.
“I’m not kidding,” he replied. He walked over to the kitchen sink and splashed water over his face. He was clearly suffering from extreme exhaustion.
“Should we move to a higher floor?” Charlie asked, trying not to sound panicked. Unfortunately, Hardcastle’s tone and body language was doing little to keep her calm.
“No,” Hardcastle replied. “At least not yet.
I doubt that the water will get much higher than that. I’ll check it again in another half an hour and then we’ll know.”
His assessment calmed her—at least a little. After all, he’d been right about the storm surge, surely he knew what he was talking about regarding its recession as well.
“I think the best thing any of us can do right now is to get some sleep,” Matt said. He grabbed a coat that was hanging on a nearby coat rack, rolled it up into a makeshift pillow, and then promptly laid across the rug in front of the television to take a nap.
“Actually, that’s probably a good idea,” she said, yawning. “Why don’t we take shifts until we all get a little bit of sleep.”
Hardcastle nodded, agreeing with the suggestion. His eyelids were heavy, but he knew it would be up to him to take the first shift.
“Get some sleep,” George Powell said.
Hardcastle glanced to his right and saw George sitting in an old wooden chair. He was leaning toward him with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. He looked tired, but it was obvious that George wasn’t quite as tired as Glenn was.
“Are you sure?” Hardcastle asked.
George nodded. “I am sure,” he replied. “I’ve been drinking coffee constantly while you all have bickered about what to do. I’m wide awake.”
Hardcastle sighed. “Alright,” he said with a smile. “You’ve convinced me. You take the first shift, I’ll take the second.”
He glanced at his watch.
“You need to check the stairwell in half an hour,” he reminded George. “And wake me up in an hour and a half.”
George nodded. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll wake you up if something goes wrong.”
Due to extreme exhaustion, Charlie quickly fell asleep once she collapsed onto the sofa. She’d already heard Matt snoring and the last thing she’d seen was Hardcastle settling in for a nap in the recliner on the opposite side of the room. Something about the thought of floodwater being beneath them, and dinosaurs being above them was quite unsettling as she drifted off to sleep.
***
Screaming.
The screaming was horrific, bloodcurdling even, and it was very obviously originating from George Powell.
“What the hell?” Matt muttered as he jerked awake.
Charlie rolled off the sofa. She’d been having a nightmare and at first thought the screaming had been in her dream. For a few moments, she thought she was still asleep. Once she realized she was indeed awake, the first thing she noticed was that the power was out.
Glenn Hardcastle seemed to have been on the very edge of consciousness as he jumped from the recliner and retrieved the rifle that had been leaning against the wall next to his chair. Fully awake and very sharp, he immediately sprang into action quickly, and with his rifle in hand, he stormed into the hallway just in time to see the Troodons ripping into George Powell’s torso. George screamed in agony and clawed at the back of the vicious animal’s head and neck as it tore into him. Though it was painfully obvious that George was a goner, fury compelled Hardcastle to fire a shot at the Troodon nearest him. The bullet tore through the animal’s thigh and the report from the rifle was all it took to send the savage creatures scattering. Glenn could only look on as three of the dinosaurs—one of them now wounded—raced up the stairwell to the fourth floor while the other two ran down toward the second floor. It appeared that the water had receded quite a bit, but at a glance, it still appeared to be ankle deep. Hardcastle could easily hear the fleeing dinosaurs splashing through the water as they made their escape. He considered pursuing, but thought it would not be wise to do so without thinking it through first.
He momentarily returned his attention to George. The man was motionless and his abdomen had become a sickening hollow cavity. His mouth was frozen open in terror. The sight made him shiver and he wanted to get away from it. He willed himself to move back toward the recreation room. The Troodons would be back, he was sure of that.
“What is going on?” Matt asked as Hardcastle reappeared in the doorway.
Hardcastle momentarily ignored him as he quickly shut the door behind him. He looked around the room, glanced over at the couch, and then proceeded to move it in front of the door.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Charlie asked.
Glenn Hardcastle removed his hat, raked his fingers through his hair, and then leaned against the nearest wall. He was facing it, arms outstretched, palms supporting him.
“Is George dead?” Matt asked softly.
Hardcastle clenched his jaw and nodded his head slowly.
“Oh my God,” Charlie said. Her eyes welled up and before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face. “Poor George…this can’t be happening.”
“Was it the Troodons?” Matt asked.
“Yeah, it was the Troodons,” Hardcastle replied coldly. He suddenly stood up straight and marched up to Matt, grabbing him by the collar of this shirt. “Did you use the manual locks like I told you?”
Charlie looked on as the two men locked eyes with each other, their faces only inches apart. The just stared at each other for a long minute before Matt looked away.
“This isn’t my fault,” he mumbled.
Hardcastle immediately grabbed Matt’s chin and forcefully turned his face back toward his.
“Did you use the manual locks?” he repeated through clenched teeth.
Matt took a deep breath and Charlie thought she saw his lip tremble. “No,” he muttered. “I didn’t because I told you it’s not—”
Hardcastle cut him off by throwing a fist into his jaw. Matt immediately collapsed to the floor.
“Stop it!” Charlie screamed as she ran between them. She pushed Glenn backward. “This isn’t going to help anything!”
Hardcastle scowled at her. “If that garbage there in the floor had listened to me, George Powell would be alive right now,” he growled. “I should kill him right now.”
Matt got on his hands and knees and then took a moment to rub his jaw before looking up to Hardcastle. There were tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he began to sob. “It’s my fault that he’s dead.”
Charlie turned her attention from Hardcastle to Matt. “Get off the floor and shake it off! There is nothing you can do about it, and we need you now.” Charlie again faced Hardcastle. “We need him!” she screamed. “Our chances are a lot better with him than without him!”
Hardcastle glared at her with an icy stare. “Our chances would’ve been much better with George here too,” he said. He then looked to Matt and said, “Get up and stop with the crying,” he grumbled. “We’ll deal with your stupidity later.”
Now comfortable that they were not going to kill each other, Charlie began to pace the room, her arms crossed. She was clearly deep in thought and seemed angry. “So what do we do now?” she asked, sounding determined.
“Until the water recedes some more, there isn’t a whole lot we can do,” Hardcastle said, sounding defeated. “I’m not thrilled about it any more than you are, but the only thing that makes sense right now is for us to stay put.”
Charlie took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. She ran both hands over her blonde hair. “How long before Cold sends help?”
Hardcastle shrugged. “Probably already working on it,” he replied. “Help could already be on the way for all we know.” He marched to the kitchen counter and began fumbling around with the coffee pot when he suddenly remembered there was no power. Unable to contain his anger any longer, he threw the empty coffee pot against the wall. Shattered glass went in all directions.
Matt was still seated on the floor and Hardcastle’s outburst made him jump abruptly. “Was that really necessary?” he yelled. His face was still slick from crying and he was clearly just as angry with the situation.
Hardcastle whirled a disgusted look in his direction. “No,” he grumbled. “But it sure made me feel better.”
Matt opened his mouth to respond
but at that moment, the ground under their feet began to vibrate.
“Not again,” Charlie complained as she grabbed a nearby chair for support.
The earth began to rumble with even more intensity than the first time. They could all feel the building shifting and swaying slightly all around them.
“This thing is going to collapse!” Matt yelled. “I told you it was dangerous to come up here!”
Hardcastle shot him a cold glare and Charlie could tell he would’ve loved nothing more than to pummel him. Unfortunately, however, for a moment it seemed that Matt was right. The building did feel as though it was about to collapse. Charlie looked on in total fear as the sheetrock on the walls and ceiling cracked apart. White dust rained from above her head and she could hear Matt jabbering away, though she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Whatever it was, he spoke fast and his tone was laced with perhaps more fear than even she was experiencing.
And suddenly, just as quickly as it began, the rumbling and shaking stopped.
Glenn Hardcastle took a deep breath and removed his hat. He beat it against his pants leg in effort to remove the thin coating of sheetrock dust. Once he returned the hat to his head, he marched straight toward Matt. He was still seated on the floor and he was unable to hide the concern in his eyes as Hardcastle approached.
“Get away from me!” he yelled. “Don’t come any closer!”
Hardcastle stopped within six feet of him and knelt to one knee. “Okay, you keep saying we need to get out of here,” he began. “Well, you’ve got my attention. When this water recedes, I know where we can go but for us to do that, you and I have got to be on the same page.”
Matt wiped sweat away from his brow with his shirt sleeve and exhaled slowly as he came to the realization that Hardcastle was not going to hurt him. “I’m listening,” he muttered softly.
Hardcastle wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand and looked toward the exit, still barricaded by the couch. He thought he’d heard something.
“There is an underground bunker about a mile from here,” he said, dismissing the phantom noise he’d heard. “If the three of us can get there, there isn’t anything on this island that can get to us until the cavalry arrives.”