Terror In The Mist (The Island In The Mist Book 3)

by C. G. Mosley

  His words were cut off as an angry roar erupted from somewhere behind the dense foliage of the jungle. The sound was loud enough to make the injured pilot’s eyes open wide.

  “What was that?” he asked, panicked. He coughed and Cold noticed blood appearing at the corners of his mouth. The man then tried to sit up but quickly realized his body would not be able to cooperate.

  “Stay still,” Cold ordered him, his eyes scanning the jungle for any signs of movement. He saw nothing, but did feel a vibration under his knees.

  “Did you feel that?” Hank asked, pointing his gun toward the jungle vegetation.

  “I did,” Cold replied, and as he felt it again, he noticed the water in the large puddle next to him ripple in response.

  “We’ve got to move,” Hank said, sounding amazingly calm. “Obviously, that’s a rex and we do not need to be here when it arrives.”

  “I agree,” Cold replied, and he gestured for Hank to come and assist him with the pilot.

  The mercenary glanced at the pitiful pilot and clenched his jaw. It was obvious to him that the pilot had lost a tremendous amount of blood and his chances of survival were slim to none. Mr. Cold was an intelligent man that had plenty of combat experience and had seen injuries like this in the past. Hank wondered why he was even contemplating moving a man with injuries this grave as it would only slow them down and further endanger their own lives. The only thing he could think of was that possibly Mr. Cold was suffering from mild shock. He wasn’t thinking clearly. The ground vibrated again.

  “Sir, we have to leave him,” Hank said, his tone flat.

  Mr. Cold looked up at him, wide-eyed and surprised. “What?” he asked.

  “We have to leave him,” he replied. “He is not going to make it and he will only slow us down.”

  The pilot again tried to rise and his eyes were now fully open. “No,” he cried out fearfully. “Do not leave me here, please,” he pled, and he grabbed Cold’s arm tightly.

  Cold looked down at the man and could see the terror in his eyes. He could also see the growing puddle of blood all around him. Suddenly, he knew that Hank was right. This man had no hope, and if they were going to escape, they could not bring him with them.

  Another deafening roar erupted from the shadows of the jungle. This time it was louder, and clearly closer. As Cold struggled to get on his feet, a Protoceratops came rushing out of the jungle and it was soon followed by what he estimated to be ten more. The small, frilled herbivores were obviously frightened and trying to escape the impending doom that followed them. They threw their beaked mouths back as they ran, wailing a pitiful cry of fear as they made their escape.

  “Sir, we’ve got to go…now,” Hank barked, and he grabbed Cold by his good arm and lifted him up.

  “No!” the pilot screamed, and again he tried to get up. It was at this point that Cold began to wonder if he had some sort of spinal injury that was hindering his movement.

  “We leave him,” Hank said coldly. “The tyrannosaur will eat him and we can escape.”

  “NO!” the pilot screamed louder. “Mr. Cold…please don’t leave me here!”

  “We should put him out of his misery,” Cold suggested as he peered down at the man, unable to hide his sympathy.

  Hank kept his eyes on the pilot and shook his head. “No,” he suggested. “If we do that, he won’t scream. If he doesn’t scream, he won’t attract attention to himself.”

  The pilot stared at both men and he began to thrash his body wildly in a pitiful attempt to move. “No!” he screamed again. “You can’t leave me!”

  The ground vibrated again, and now they could hear birds squawking and flapping their wings wildly as they too made their escape. Mr. Cold sighed deeply and turned away from the pleading pilot. He began jogging toward the clear valley and knew that Hank was right. If they were going to live, they had to leave now and they had to leave the pilot alive. Hank turned to follow him as the pilot shrieked a terrified scream.

  “Move quicker,” Hank urged as he caught up to Cold. He grabbed his good arm and pulled him along as they moved swiftly toward the jungle foliage on the opposite side of the valley. As they ran along, Hank allowed a glance back toward the herd of Styracosaurus and noticed they had all simultaneously turned and were looking in the direction of the burning plane.

  “Keep running!” Hank shouted, and he took a quick glance over his shoulder just in time to see a massive Tyrannosaurus rex tear through the jungle trees and unleash its nightmarish roar.

  The two men could hear the pilot screaming in terror, but Cold did not dare look back. When they arrived at the wood line, Cold kept his back turned as he did not want to see any of the carnage. Hank, on the other hand, raised a small set of binoculars to his face and focused them just as the tyrannosaur dipped its large head downward and plucked the pilot up from the ground. There was no scream to be heard as the top half of the man’s body disappeared within the dinosaur’s jaws. A shower of blood rained down and the man’s bottom half fell to the earth as the dinosaur’s jagged teeth managed to tear him clean in two.

  Hank slowly dropped the binoculars from his face and turned to see that Mr. Cold was still standing still with his back turned.

  “It’s over,” he said, still with no emotion. “He’s dead.”

  “Good,” Cold said, and he finally turned to face Hank. “He gave his life for us. I’ll see to it that that man’s family is taken care of.”

  Hank nodded, but didn’t acknowledge the statement. Instead, he asked, “So what is the plan now?”

  Cold stared at him curiously. “Your mission has not changed,” he answered. “The only thing that has changed is you are not going to do it alone. I’m obviously going with you.”

  Hank nodded, but he wasn’t exactly happy about it. “I had a feeling you were going to say that,” he said. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “I don’t know of another option,” Cold replied.

  Hank cupped his hand over his eyes and looked in the direction of the compound. He half-expected to see Harley or one of the other men heading toward the wreckage by now.

  “The others will probably come looking for you,” he said as he continued to look. “It may be better if you go with them.”

  Cold seemed to ponder the suggestion a moment before saying. “No, it’s better if they think I’m dead at this point,” he replied. “If they think I’m dead, and they think you’re dead, they will stay focused on rescuing the others from the compound. That’ll give us ample time to find the cave.”

  Hank scratched at the back of his neck where a mosquito had bitten him earlier. “What if we get there and this is all a farce?” he asked.

  “It’s not,” Cold replied. “We’ve been gathering information for a long time. We find the cave and we will find the Fountain of Youth. And when we find that…”

  “It’ll change history,” Hank replied.

  Cold nodded. “We will locate the fountain and once we confirm its existence, then and only then, do we radio the others. We make up a story about how you rescued me and we were forced to scramble off deeper into the island to escape dinosaurs. Once we return to the mainland, we will assemble a team to return, collect water, and conduct studies to see exactly where it’s coming from.”

  “First, we’ve got to make it off the island,” Hank reminded him.

  Cold shook his head. “No, first, I need you to help get this metal out of my arm,” he complained, holding out his injured limb.

  Hank glanced down at the nasty injury and breathed in deeply through his nose. “It’s gonna hurt like hell,” he said, glancing at Cold’s eyes.

  “Yes,” he replied, nodding. “Just get on with it.”

  Hank carefully moved his rifle aside and grabbed Cold by the wrist. With his other gloved hand, he wrapped his hand around the metal protrusion and promptly jerked it free.

  Cold opened his mouth to howl in pain, but somehow managed to keep his composure. He knew remaining qui
et was going to be imperative to their survival.

  Hank tossed the bloody piece of metal aside and placed a hand on Cold’s shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Do you need a moment?”

  Cold shook his head and quickly removed his torn and bloodied dress shirt. He was wearing a white, cotton, short-sleeve T-shirt underneath and though it was drenched in sweat and more blood, it was in relatively good condition. He took the remnants of the dress shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wound on his right forearm.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s get moving before that T-rex finishes up and goes looking for another meal.”

  Hank pulled the GPS back out and took a glance at it. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll lead the way.”

  Chapter 16

  The water was receding fast. Fortunately for Glenn Hardcastle, it was still deep enough to save him from any injury the fall may have caused. His adrenaline was pumping from all the excitement and it did wonders to help him move swiftly to dry land. Once he reached the top of a nearby hill, he dropped to his knees, removed his shirt, and promptly wrung the water out of it. Hardcastle glanced over his shoulder and peered at the Triangle Building. His plan had already gone into disarray once; he hoped it would be smooth sailing from here on out. He put his shirt back on and pulled the large knife he’d foraged from the kitchen out of his belt. As he reached for the knife, his hand brushed against the radio clasped to his belt. For a moment, he felt panic as he came to realization that the radio had become completely submerged in water when he’d fallen. He felt very relieved when he remembered the radio was waterproof. With his hand tightly gripped around the handle of the knife, he rose to his feet and carefully began his trek into the shadows of the jungle.

  The shade was a welcome change. The island was always humid, but after Hurricane Simon had drenched it with a storm surge, the humidity was now off the charts. The sun was still hidden away due to the misty ceiling, but Hardcastle often wondered if that just made the heat worse. It always seemed to him that any sunlight that did get through became trapped, and when that condition was coupled with the constant breeze off the ocean, it made it feel as if the island was a giant convection oven. As he continued to hike along as quietly as possible, it suddenly occurred to him that he had not seen—nor heard—any sign of a bird since he’d been outside. He supposed they all left before the hurricane arrived.

  Even the literal bird brains on this island had the good sense to leave, but I stayed, he realized.

  He smiled as he considered the irony of his thought but kept his head on a swivel as he constantly scanned his environment in all directions. His movements were slow—much slower than he wanted to go—but he knew it was necessary for keeping his presence completely hidden. Each step taken was calculated and precise so that the risk of his footsteps being heard was minimal. The temptation to break out in a run straight for the bunker was strong, but Hardcastle had been around the dinosaurs on the island long enough to know that it would be an extremely foolish move.

  He had probably made it halfway to the bunker when an unsettling sound began from somewhere beyond the thick jungle foliage on his right. Something was crashing through the woods and it sounded as if it was headed straight for him. Hardcastle stopped dead in his tracks and quickly contemplated whether he should remain still or run for safety. Whatever the animal was, it was large enough to make the ground vibrate slightly as he moved. After he thought a moment, Hardcastle figured it would be best for him to stay put and see if the approaching creature would run right by him. He gripped the knife tightly and held it out in front of him in a defensive posture as he waited.

  Suddenly, a large dinosaur tore through the dense vegetation and then fell right in front of him! It had seemingly tripped over a vine and began wailing frantically. Hardcastle immediately recognized the dinosaur to be a hadrosaur. Hadrosaurs were bi-pedal herbivores that were known mostly for their duck-like bills and semi-aquatic habitats. They were plentiful on the island and it made them a favorite prey among many of the carnivores. As Hardcastle stared down at the animal, he could see panic in its eyes and suddenly he came to the realization that the dinosaur was being chased. In almost the same moment, he heard something else approaching at a high rate of speed. As the sound grew louder, it then occurred to him that it wasn’t just one animal coming, it was multiple dinosaurs. He took a deep breath and immediately began to run away just as the hadrosaur began the struggle to regain its footing. Unfortunately, it would never get the chance.

  Glenn Hardcastle estimated he’d only gotten a good twenty yards away from the frightened animal when suddenly three Velociraptors pounced on top of it. The hadrosaur released a cry of agony and Hardcastle could only look on as the animal died while it was being eaten alive.

  “Tough break,” he whispered, and he turned to continue his retreat away from the carnage. He removed his hat from his head and wiped the sweat away from his brow with his forearm as he began to walk. Just as he returned his hat to his head, something powerful jumped onto his back, immediately forcing him onto the muddy ground. It was another Velociraptor. He could feel its large sickle claws digging into the muscles on his back.

  Somehow, Hardcastle managed to hang onto the knife and he quickly began thrusting it backward, desperately trying to stab the animal so that it would get off of him. After several attempts, he finally felt the blade plunge into soft flesh and the raptor growled in pain. The dinosaur jumped backwards off Hardcastle’s back and he managed to roll over just in time to see the beast leaping toward him again. This time, he was ready. As the animal came down on top of him, he jabbed the knife upward and straight into the raptor’s stomach. Warm blood immediately poured from the wound and turned his once white shirt completely red. Suddenly, the hadrosaur was not the only animal Hardcastle had heard scream in agony, although the raptor sounded quite different.

  Hardcastle could tell the wound was a mortal one, but the Velociraptor had not accepted its fate yet. The angry dinosaur dipped its head forward to sink its jagged teeth into Hardcastle’s throat. He in turn twisted the knife and pushed it deeper, almost to the point that the hilt was plunging into the wound also. The dinosaur arched its back and pulled away, desperate to eliminate the excruciating pain in its belly. As it did so, Hardcastle scrambled away on his hands and knees until he finally clambered onto his feet to break into a run. He continued to sprint away until his body would not allow him to run any further, at which point he collapsed onto his hands and knees and began panting excessively. He’d had many close calls with dinosaurs on the island but he could not remember a time that he’d come so close to death.

  ***

  Victor and Cliff moved quickly through the knee-deep water until they reached the fence surrounding the compound. They moved around the outer edge until the finally found a section that had been torn down by something that clearly wasn’t hurricane related.

  “What the heck did this?” Cliff asked, although he had a pretty good idea how to answer his own question. He ran a finger across one of the broken fence posts. “Just how big do these dinosaurs get here?”

  Victor stepped gingerly over the razor wire that looped its way through the water like a snake. “If you’d paid attention during the briefings, you’d know exactly how big and bad they get out here,” he replied gruffly. Once he cleared all of the razor wire, he said, “Could have been a Tyrannosaurus rex.”

  Cliff’s eyes widened as he considered the possibility. He instinctively turned and looked over his shoulder to make sure nothing was behind them.

  Victor eyed his movements and could see that concern was evident in his body language. “You’re not turning yellow on me, are you?” he asked, pausing to light a cigar.

  “Of course not,” Cliff replied confidently. “You’re confusing fear with caution. Big difference.”

  Victor puffed smoke from his mouth and nodded, saying nothing.

  “Let’s keep moving,” Cliff urged as he trudged by him.

&nb
sp; The duo made their way further into the compound and soon noticed what remained of the catwalk that had once stretched between the Triangle Building and five-story laboratory. Cliff could see similarities between the wreckage of the fence and the catwalk, but he kept the observation to himself.

  “So what’s our move now?” he asked, as they paused near the entrance to the office building and laboratory.

  “We stick to the plan for now,” Victor replied, still puffing furiously on his cigar. “Harley told us to check the compound for survivors and that’s what we’re gonna do. The intel we have indicated that the survivors we are looking for hunkered down in here,” he added as he approached the double-glass entrance.

  Once inside, both men were immediately surprised at how dark the bottom floor was. All of the windows in the office’s that flanked either side of the long hallway were covered in a thin layer of mud and dirt left over from the flood water. Cliff retrieved a flashlight from a cargo pocket on his pants and promptly attached it to the barrel of his assault rifle. “I’ll take the point,” he said with confidence. “You watch my six and I’ll check every room.”

  “Right,” Victor agreed. “But refrain from calling out to them. We don’t want to attract any dinosaurs.” He then turned and began walking backwards, his rifle pointed toward the double glass doors they’d just entered.

  ***

  Harley Cash and Jonathon Williams were already exhausted, but both of them were too stubborn to admit it. The harsh reality was that the extreme humidity and heat they were experiencing was quickly running them down. As long as they’d had a beach to hike across, the trek had been somewhat easy and uneventful. That all changed once the beach ended at a cliff face that forced them to venture into the dark jungle. Once there, the foliage was dense, wet, and riddled with thorns. Jonathon promptly retrieved his trademark knife and began slashing a path through the harsh terrain, but as sharp as the knife was, the help it provided in this circumstance was minimal. As bad as things seemed, they only got worse once the swarms of mosquitos began making a meal of them.