Day of the Predator

by Alex Scarrow

  ‘Remain calm,’ she said emotionlessly.

  ‘What … about … Chan?’ he found himself gasping. She dragged him back to water shal ow enough for him to crawl on his hands and knees. Then she let him go and headed back into the sea.

  He turned and sat in the gently lapping waves, exhausted and vaguely aware of the burning agony of snapped and twisted bones down at the end of his leg. He watched Becks splashing through the water towards where Chan was stil managing, incredibly, to keep the shark at spear’s length.

  spear’s length.

  That’s a very big sh, was the last coherent thought his mind managed to put together before the world seemed to slump over on to its side.

  ∗

  Liam watched the young man as he came round. ‘Leonard?

  How are you feeling?’

  ‘Hurts,’ he grunted thickly.

  Becks leaned over him. ‘There are no broken bones, but your Achil es tendon has snapped and there is a signi cant contusion and several abrasions to your lower leg. This wil hurt, but it wil also mend.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ said Liam, ‘the bad news is your boot didn’t make it.’

  Howard half smiled, half winced. A re crackled brightly high up on the beach, throwing dancing skeins of amber light and dark shadows across the shingle down to the softly lapping waterline.

  Edward Chan joined them. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘You OK?’

  Howard looked up at him. ‘You … you saved my life.’

  Edward shrugged. ‘I just poked my stick at it for a while.’

  ‘My God, we were lucky,’ said Howard, wincing again as he adjusted his position.

  ‘No,’ said Liam sombrely, ‘no, we weren’t. Ranjit’s missing.’

  Liam vaguely recal ed he’d been at the back of their party, wading slowly through the water, fal ing behind the others. They’d foolishly al owed themselves to become others. They’d foolishly al owed themselves to become strung out al along the beach, enjoying the tropical sea like holidaymakers. They’d al owed themselves to feel a false sense of security with the peaceful at sea to one side and a wide open beach on the other.

  ‘Poor guy,’ whispered Howard.

  ‘That shark thing must have got him rst.’

  Liam wondered about that. He’d been about a hundred yards back. Surely they would have heard the rush of water as that shark slid out of the surf? Surely they would have heard Ranjit scream? He looked out into the dark and wondered whether it had been that shark, or perhaps it had been those dark shapes he thought he’d seen earlier this afternoon, scat ering to the ground and disappearing like ghosts as he’d turned back to look over his shoulder. Now, was that real? Did I real y see that?

  ‘We were lucky,’ said Kel y, ‘that it only got the one of us. I mean, did you see the size of that thing? Bigger than a kil er whale.’

  ‘This is the age of the big predators,’ said Whitmore.

  ‘Big ones. The golden age for the giant carnivores.’ He looked ashen-faced, shaken stil , even several hours after the incident. ‘And we’re prey.’

  ‘It’s not the golden age for much longer,’ said Franklyn.

  ‘If this is sixty-ve mil ion years ago, then we’re near the end of the Cretaceous era. Something happens soon on Earth that wipes out al the big species. Fossil hunters cal it the K–T boundary. Beyond that thin layer of sedimentary rock, you don’t nd dinosaurs any more. Certainly not the rock, you don’t nd dinosaurs any more. Certainly not the big ones.’

  ‘Good,’ said Laura.

  ‘The big asteroid?’ said Juan. ‘That’s what kil ed them al , right?’

  Franklyn shrugged. ‘It’s stil debated. Could have been an asteroid, or a super volcano. Or it could simply have been a sudden climatic shift. Whatever extinction event happened, the large species were extremely vulnerable to it.’‘It won’t happen while we’re stil here, wil it?’ asked Jasmine. She looked as unset led and shaken as Whitmore. Franklyn snorted dismissively. ‘Unlikely.’

  ‘So,’ Edward mut ered softly. ‘Now there’s only fteen of us. If no one comes for us, we won’t make it, wil we?’

  The others huddled around the re heard that and it stil ed their quiet murmurings until al that could be heard was the soft draw and hiss of the waves and the crackle of burning wood.

  Becks broke the silence. ‘Leonard, I have constructed a pair of crutches for you.’

  Howard eased himself up on to his elbows. ‘We’re stil going on?’

  Liam nodded. ‘Yes, we’re nearly there.’ He pointed up the beach. ‘Another four or ve miles around this bay and we should be there. It’s our only hope … so we’re going on.’Whitmore nodded. ‘Right. We can’t go back now.’

  Laura shu ed closer to the re, hugging her shoulders Laura shu ed closer to the re, hugging her shoulders against the cool night air. ‘This wil work, won’t it?

  Somebody wil nd your message and they’l come for us?’

  Liam grinned. ‘Sure they are. They’re already looking for us. And hopeful y leaving them this message wil help them narrow down their search. Trust me … it’s going to work out al right.’ He looked at Becks. ‘Right?’

  She nodded, seeming to understand that the others needed to hear something positive and certain from them.

  ‘Liam is correct.’

  CHAPTER 42

  2001, New York

  Sal looked at her. ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Maddy shrugged. ‘I can’t be a hundred per cent certain. But look, if Liam and the unit survived the jump, I’m pret y sure that’s exactly what they’d do. I mean, that’s al they can do.’

  Sal looked up from the mug of co ee in her hands, across the dim archway, il uminated by the zzing ceiling strip light, towards the shut er door. It was gone eleven now. By this time on any normal Tuesday, the three of them would have been set ling in for the evening: Liam on his bunk with his nose in a history book and a bowl of dry Rice Krispies on his chest and Maddy sur ng the Internet. But tonight she and Maddy were both up and sit ing at the kitchen table, waiting for midnight to come. Waiting for the ‘reset’. She could hear the softly growing hum of power being drawn in through the mains, building up and being stored in the capacitor. Come midnight they would feel an odd momentary sensation of fal ing as the time eld reset and took them back forty-eight hours to 12 a.m. Monday morning.

  Maddy was certain, or at least working hard to give that impression, that immediately after the reset happened and impression, that immediately after the reset happened and they appeared in Monday one stroke after midnight, there’d be a welcome party waiting outside in the backstreet and very eager to meet them.

  Who, though?

  Maddy said that ‘secrets have a way of drifting up’. What she meant by that was that advance knowledge of a time machine appearing in New York in 2001 would surely ultimately end up in the hands of some shady government agency, men in dark suits. Something as important, something so profoundly monumental as that could only end up in the hands of secret service spooks. If that was the case … then, Sal hoped, Maddy was going to nd a way to cooperate with them to get Liam back. And then what? What exactly?

  Interrogation? For sure. Because they’d sure as shaddyah want to know every lit le thing about this place and the machinery inside and how it al worked. They’d want to know every lit le thing. There’d be endless questions about the rest of this mysterious agency, how many others?

  Where are they? Who’s in charge?

  Sal real y wasn’t so sure she wanted to jump back to Monday and face that.

  There was the other possibility, of course – that they jumped back and no one was there waiting for them. Maddy’s logic was quite black and white about this. Sal realized she’d thought this al through very thoroughly. If nobody was waiting for them, then that could only mean one thing. If there was nobody outside waiting for them, one thing. If there was nobody outside waiting for them, then Liam and the support unit had never survived the explosion. Or, if they had s
urvived, then they’d been unable to get a message to them; they were lost in time for good, never to be seen again.

  She looked at the digital clock on their kitchen table, red numbers that glowed softly and changed al too slowly. 11.16 p.m.

  Oh jahul a … I rea-a-a-al y hate waiting.

  CHAPTER 43

  65 mil ion years BC, jungle

  Liam stared up at the steep slope in front of them, rising up from the turquoise sea and the narrow strip of gravel y beach. It was covered in canopy trees, dangling vines and the swaying fronds of ferns. Thick jungle once again. He’d grown used to the reassuring comfort of being out in the open, where he could see anything coming their way from afar.‘It’s just beyond that?’

  Becks nodded. ‘A rmative. One and a half miles northeast of this point.’

  The rest of the group were wearily bringing up the rear along the broad beach, none, though, daring to splash through the water this morning. Leonard was struggling at the back on the shingle with his crutches, but there was Edward and Jasmine helping him along.

  ‘I have the calculation now,’ said Becks.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘When in time we are.’

  ‘Oh.’ Liam arched a brow. ‘When did you do that?’

  ‘I set the routine running thirty-three hours ago, identifying and cataloguing each tachyon particle in our vicinity before and after the jump. Two bil ion, ninety-vicinity before and after the jump. Two bil ion, ninetythree mil ion, three hundred and twenty-two thousand, nine hundred and six particles before. And seventy-three mil ion, one thousand, ve hundred and seventy-two identi ed particles after.’

  Liam rol ed his eyes. He didn’t need a blow-by-blow account of the maths. ‘That’s great. So … what’s the answer?’

  ‘With a constant particle at rition rate, my calculation is that we are located sixty-two mil ion, seven hundred and thirty-nine thousand, four hundred and six years into the past.’ She smiled proudly. ‘Accurate to ve hundred years either side of that date.’

  ‘Wel done, Becks.’ He watched the others slowly staggering across the shifting, clat ering pebbles. ‘So we have a date we can put in the message. And we can encode the message with your Harry Pot er book code?’

  ‘A rmative.’

  ‘And of course the date and location of the eld o ce.’

  He drew in breath through his teeth. ‘Jay-zus, this does real y feel like we’re meddling with time in a big way.’

  ‘We are,’ she replied.

  ‘We’ve just got to gure out the best way to ensure our get me out of here note lasts … sixty mil ion whatever years.’

  ‘Sixty-two mil ion, seven hundred and thirty–’

  He raised a hand to shush her. ‘To ensure it lasts a long, long time.’ He picked out Whitmore and Franklyn walking side by side comparing some of the shel s they’d col ected. side by side comparing some of the shel s they’d col ected.

  ‘I just hope those two fossil geniuses know where best to leave our message.’

  In the distance, four or ve miles down the beach, he saw several long necks hastily emerging from a cluster of jungle and out on to the beach, a smal herd of those alamosauruses hurrying out into the open.

  Something just spooked them over there. Didn’t it?

  He watched as they thundered along the beach, kicking up a trail of dust in their wake.

  His gaze rested on Edward and Jasmine supporting a limping Leonard up the shingle. They nal y caught up with the rest of them gathered at the foot of the steep slope of jungle.

  ‘We’ve just got to hike over that, ladies and gents,’ said Liam, ‘and we’re there.’

  Franklyn was exhausted, out of breath and dripping with sweat. He was pret y sure the climb up this steep slope of jungle was one or two degrees short of ful -on vertical rock climbing. He wondered how the huge canopy trees with their mushroom-like roof of leaves were managing to keep a purchase on the craggy rock sides.

  The others seemed to be faring bet er than him, even that poor kid, Leonard, who was hopping and clat ering up awkwardly, his bad leg dangling behind him. But then Franklyn was carrying twenty more pounds in weight than them, most of it round his middle. ‘Puppy fat’ he preferred to cal it, in a vain hope that come col ege it was al going to cal it, in a vain hope that come col ege it was al going to magical y disappear and the trim athletic body of sports jock was going to emerge. He’d stil be a geek on the inside, though. But a cool jock on the outside. A smart sports jock.

  Now there’s something you don’t see every day. He was so pleased with that observation that he misplaced his step and stumbled to the ground, barking his shin on a rock. ‘Ow!’ he hissed.

  ‘You OK, man?’ asked Juan, six yards ahead and above.

  ‘Yeah, I’m f–’ His rucksack slid o his shoulder as he picked himself up and started sliding down the slope. ‘Oh no!’ he mut ered, watching it bounce o a tree trunk and continue its rol ing, bouncing, tumbling descent. ‘Just great,’ he sighed. ‘Now I got a go down, get it and climb this bit al over again.’

  ‘I’l tel the others to hold up while you get your bag,

  ’kay?’

  Franklyn nodded a thanks and began his descent. He could see his yel ow rucksack down there, swinging from a low branch. Good, it wasn’t going any further, then. Several minutes later he was nearly there, pushing his way through the large fronds of a fern on to a smal level clearing of dried cones and needles and soft soil. Across the clearing – on lit le more than a wide ledge – was his bag, stil swinging from a shoulder strap tangled round the broken stump of a branch. If it hadn’t caught there, it would have rol ed over the edge and he’d be backtracking another tiresome ten minutes’ worth of climbing al the another tiresome ten minutes’ worth of climbing al the way to the bot om.

  He stepped across, unwound it from the stump and put the straps over both shoulders this time, determined not to lose it again. He turned round to begin his ascent once more when his eyes picked out something on the ground: the familiar shape of a human footprint in the dry soil. One of theirs, but either side of it he saw three smal dents

  – the distinctive marks of a three-toed creature. He stooped a lit le lower to get a closer look.

  My God. It looked just like the tracks he’d seen al around that carcass they’d discovered a while back. The dawning realization came suddenly and his mouth al of a sudden felt tacky and dry.

  We’ve been fol owed.

  He knelt down and traced another three-pronged footprint in the ground with his nger. And another. And another.

  We’ve been fol owed … al the way from the camp. It was then that he heard the soft rustle of dislodged leaves, something emerging from the foliage on to the ledge behind him.

  ‘Oh boy,’ he whispered.

  CHAPTER 44

  65 mil ion years BC, jungle

  Broken Claw could sense the new creature knew they were there; his nasal cavity picked out the faint smel of fear coming from it, a chemical cocktail of sweat and adrenaline, not so di erent from the large plant-eaters. The new creature had cleverly spot ed their tracks. The new creature had nal y realized it was being stalked. Maybe now was the time to know a lit le more about these strange pale beasts. His soft bark ordered the others to remain where they were for now, out of sight. The new creature was holding one of those sticks-that-catch in one of its pu y pale hands. He’d watched one of these creatures fend o a giant sea-dwel er yesterday with one of those sticks. So he eyed it warily as he stepped low under the sweeping fronds of a fern, under the branch from which the new creature had moments ago retrieved something bright and colourful and emerged over the rocky lip of ground to the smal level clearing. That salty smel of fear grew suddenly much more powerful as the new creature turned slowly round to face him. Broken Claw rose from his crouching posture on al fours, up on to his hind legs, to stand ful y erect.

  It fears.

  It fears.

  So close now, he could see the new creature mor
e clearly: the eyes, curiously large, behind rounded shiny transparent discs. Its face, al loose pale esh, unsculpted by muscle or sinew or bone carapace. It made noises with its mouth, noises that sounded so unlike al the other beasts in the river val ey they cal ed home. Noises, in fact, that didn’t sound too unlike the simple language of coughs, grunts and barks Broken Claw’s pack used. Franklyn in turn studied the creature that had just emerged. It had a body shape he could best describe as halfway between one of the smal er therapod species, and

  … wel , and a human. But incredibly thin, almost birdlike in its agility. A pair of long thin legs hinged backwards like a dog’s legs, meeting at a bony, very feminine-looking pelvis thrust acutely forward. A tiny waist beneath a protruding rib cage, a curved, knobbly spine that hunched over and ended with a delicate tapering neck supporting an elongated skul . Apart from the distinctive head, seen from a distance, and if one squinted a lit le, it could almost pass as a hominid – human-like.

  ‘Oh my … m-my God,’ he whispered.

  It cocked its head, a head that eetingly reminded Franklyn of a hot-dog sausage, long and bone-smooth, at one end a lipless mouth ful of rows of lethal-looking teeth. Above the mouth were two holes that suggested a nasal cavity around which esh puckered and pul ed as it silently breathed, and above that two reptilian yel ow eyes that seemed to sparkle with a keen intel igence. The that seemed to sparkle with a keen intel igence. The thing’s skin was a dark olive green, that seemed to pale to an almost human pink colour around the vulnerable bel y and pelvis.

  The creature’s jaws snapped shut and opened again, and it made a whining noise that reminded him vaguely of the contented murmuring a baby made after a feed. It sounded almost human. And those curious, intel igent, eyes, studying him as intently as he was studying it. It made another noise, grating, slightly deeper this time. Beyond the teeth, he could see a black tongue twitching and ut ering and curling, like a restless animal in a cage, experimenting with di erent shapes to produce di erent sounds.