The terrain from his direction was at least hike-able. The brush, however, was either thick undergrowth, or giant trees. And while the slant wasn't vertical, it was certainly stair-stepped. You wouldn't want to lose footing and go rolling, or you might find yourself bouncing down a quarter-mile before you hit a tree big enough to stop you.
And Mark was a little nervous just about putting his hands in the thick brush.
He was even more nervous when he heard the heavy break of foliage in the brush behind him – along with what sounded like the snorting of an eight-ton gorilla.
Mark had been navigating a particularly nefarious, near-vertical tangle of roots that seemed to be a hybrid-mutation of thorns and bristles. Already scuffed and bleeding, he had nonetheless hauled himself up and over the worst of it, hunkering down out of sight.
He checked his bag. He was down to one can of tear gas. His pistol was useless. That left his rifle, which he'd dotted that big ape with twice, and the beast had just covered up and taken it in his arms.
It might be different with a head shot.
The wind, at least, seemed to be with him. Mark didn't know what kind of noses gorillas had, although he doubted it was on par with Rexy. Still, his scent might carry.
There was also that big pile of shit for a distraction. Mark hadn't showered lately, but he didn't think he could overpower that.
The bushes surrounding the clearing parted and the giant ape shuffled into view.
Mark held still, his rifle steady, his shot lined up right in the middle of the massive domed skull.
He waited for the beast to turn in his direction.
The big ape lumbered over, and seemed to be inspecting the six-foot dung-pile, actually setting back on his haunches and shaking his head.
Mark held his breath, finger tensed on the trigger.
The big ape turned, rising up on two legs, scanning the brush, and for a moment, Mark thought it had spotted him.
Then the beast dropped back down to all-fours, and with a disgruntled sigh, trundled out of the clearing. Mark could hear the crash of brush as the big gorilla seemed to be making his way up the mountain – roughly towards the same peak Mark was headed.
Perfect. Why not?
Mark shut his eyes. Was he really going to follow through with this?
He let himself down out of the brush. The giant ape had left a trail to follow, right through the briers.
“Oh what the hell,” Mark breathed as he stepped into the makeshift path of crushed greenery in the big gorilla's wake. He kept his rifle ready.
In the clearing behind him, the brush rustled again, this time from just a few feet above the briers Mark had been wrestling through.
Junior's head poked out from where he'd lain, for twenty, patient minutes, plotting his ambush, as Mark now turned in the other direction.
With a grumbling scowl, the little beast hopped down through the brier patch and followed.
Chapter 14
Caesar was a fairly young silverback, but was still the alpha of his tribe.
The last time he had been measured by his human keepers, he was just over twenty-three-feet tall, heel to crown, and just under eight-tons.
He was the second largest Gorilla gigantis ever measured, but the other guy was a moron.
The ape tribe was not like Otto's saurians – they were not bred into the wild.
Congo had been the original, the one and only, back on the island – a further experiment in intelligence, intended as an improvement over Otto, by virtue of starting with a much more naturally evolved brain.
Caesar was among the brightest of his clade. If measured on a human IQ test, with all appropriate allowances, he would have scored average human – 95 or 100.
Of course, he was still an ape first, and one that had been bred as a potential practical application – the only one ever done with any of Hinkle's work, and one that had been conducted completely within the darkest corridors of Area 51, far from the old man's personal knowledge.
Hinkle had been testy about such things in the past, and so, out of consideration for his sensibilities, the powers-that-be decided not to tell him.
The elders of the ape-tribes, including Caesar himself, had been bred with an eye to their intelligence, combined with size, as a potential form of soldier/attack-animal.
Originally a troop of two-dozen – all given code-names – Grape Ape, Konga, Big Joe, Cornelius, a tubby fellow called Dr. Zaius, and of course, Brutus, who was two years younger than Caesar, but a full twenty-five feet tall and almost nine tons.
But 'Project Donkey Kong' was an utter failure. Apes weren't dim-witted minions, and the larger and more powerful you made them also meant more dominant, resistant to efforts at training, not to mention alpha-male laziness.
Eventually, the project was abandoned, and the subjects ordered put-down. It was an order that had been issued over speaker, in full earshot of Caesar himself.
It was a remarkable trait in humans – they could create him, make him intelligent, and then still not believe in him. Caesar had promptly taken the news back to his fellows, and the troop of them had trashed the place and escaped into the mountains.
Of all the genetically-born denizens, lurking unseen in these protected lands, the ape-tribe was the most isolated of all. They knew enough to stay away from humans, and the elevation minimized contact with the saurians.
The apes were also the only animals that hadn't been released as part of Otto's apocalypse.
Otto had been like a mascot at Area 51, and Caesar knew that little bastard well.
And now, for some reason, he could feel him.
An awareness, that had seemingly just clicked on.
Just like he could also suddenly feel the T. rex.
And her.
Shanna.
Inexplicably, he knew her name.
Caesar was not like Congo – he wasn't raised on an island with her, he had never even heard of her. But he could feel her presence, just like the warmth of a sunbeam.
And lately, that warm glow had grown. All his tribe felt it.
Unfortunately, there was also that accompanying smelling-salts-burn of Otto.
And probably not coincidentally, just recently, there had been more blooms.
The vegetarian apes had not been at great risk from the Food of the Gods. Caesar had learned to spot areas of infection by what it did to the indigenous animals – scavenging mammals and birds turned inside-out. If you saw that, it was advisable not to consume the foliage in the general area.
Brutus, on the other hand, was perhaps not so wise. He was a big, powerful, alpha-male, which lent itself to also being a muscle-head and a glutton.
The ape tribe had split, pretty much along those lines – the biggest chest-beaters had gravitated towards Brutus – Grape Ape, Big Joe, and Konga – extroverts, who tended to act out.
The bulk of the tribe, however, the more sophisticated, reserved apes took Caesar's path. Cornelius and Dr. Zaius, were his primary lieutenants. The separation of tribes was an equitable enough situation and there was no need to fight over leadership – a conflict nobody wanted, with no guaranteed outcome. Brutus was big, but Caesar was anyone's match in a fight.
Brutus had settled up here on this side of the mountain.
He and his troop, however, seemed to be gone.
It also seemed the area had a bloom budding up – and not from the carcass of any infected giant. This was something in the foliage itself. The leaves on this stretch of hillside were different. Brutus and his tribe had clearly not noticed – which was not surprising, if you'd ever seen them eat.
The results were obvious enough. In the clearing, Caesar found a six-foot pile of ape shit that told its own story.
An outbreak of the Food of the Gods was dangerous for more than one reason. The humans had taken to burning entire swaths of forest at the first sign of an infected giant. Several members of Caesar's troop had been caught in recent burns.
Instructin
g Cornelius and Zaius to lead the rest of the tribe further north, Caesar had gone to investigate the sudden outbreaks.
So far, what he'd found was not encouraging.
And as if he needed another pain in his ass, Caesar also had seen signs of that human who shot him.
Twice, he shot him. The big ape grumbled, touching gingerly at the bullet wounds on his arm and shoulder.
He had seen that little rex hatchling creeping up and had tried to intercede – T. rex were feisty, even at two feet tall, and he knew screwing around with the little beast could lose him a finger, so he'd attempted to scare it off with a roar.
That earned him two gunshots for his trouble.
It was likely that human was still around somewhere, working his way over the mountain. Caesar knew he would have to be wary.
And even as he thought it, there came a loud crack of a breaking branch.
Caesar turned, eyeing the twisting roots and tangling briers. He scented the air, but the wind was against him
The big ape scanned the foliage, looking for movement, but saw nothing.
Then he turned to the summit, still a couple miles distant.
She was up there. And as much as he could feel her, he knew she was hurt. That was enough to spur him to action.
With a last glance at the surrounding brush, Caesar shuffled out of the clearing, his eye on the peak beyond.
Chapter 15
Trix was pregnant, and feeling a bit hormonal.
During nesting season, and at this time only, female T. rex coveted the presence of the male.
Her mate, however, was infected.
Trix could see him from the hillside – the rogue, along with several females that once had been her pack.
And while she did not intellectually understand what had happened to him or her sisters, she had learned to stay clear of the giants, in the way hatchlings stayed clear of adults.
The growth-cycle of the infected rogue and his harem was nearing its peak – madness would soon set in.
Trix only knew the scent of her mate had changed, and she kept her distance.
She was already skittish with her pregnancy, which had likely saved her life, because she had not eaten any of the infected carrion. Something about the scent of the carcass set her hackles up and she held back, even as other members of her pack had rushed forward for the giant free meal.
Her oldest sisters, Daphne and Velma, had stayed back with her. Josie, however, her oldest daughter, had not.
Trix' primitive mind instinctively recognized the significance – it was a rebellion. And Josie led several of her sisters with her. Granted, there was a lot of tempting food, but there were principles at stake.
As senior female, Trix' territoriality manifested differently than the rogue. She allowed no other matriarchs. Once one of her girls got pregnant, she got chased out – off to stake a new territory with her own brood.
Female rex were also not belligerently aggressive the way males were. On average, females were fairly apathetic about other animals unless they were trying to eat them.
But, if you got them in one of their moods, like say, pregnant, nesting, mating – or worst of all, somehow challenged the dominance hierarchy – there was absolutely no bullshit in females. They wasted not a second on roars, stamping feet, or displays of any kind – they went right for the throat.
In that regard, lady rex were more dangerous, because their expressionless faces made it difficult to tell the difference until it was too late – they went from zero-to-kill in an instant. Males at least went through the pantomime.
By leading the others onto the carcass, Josie was jumping ranks, and under normal circumstances, would have been harshly disciplined.
Before any of that became an issue, however, jets had dropped napalm on top of them and lit the mountain on fire.
Trix' hide bore ugly scars, as the clinging flame had burned her skin alive.
Daphne hadn't made it. Trix had seen her stumble, her lungs choking with smoke, snapping a shin as she struck the ground. Crippled, Daphne lay helpless as the flames overtook her. Her screams followed the rest of the pack as they fled the burning forest.
Mercifully, the mountain was bordered by a wide river, which arrested the blaze. Trix, along with Velma, and two younger females, both daughters, stumbled down out of the smoking mountain, soaking their blistered hides in the cold water.
Trix' pack had originally numbered an even dozen. The rest had either gone with the rogue, or else perished in the fire.
Then the wind on the water began to clear the smoke, and Trix caught their scent on the air.
She saw them, a mile upstream, already crossed over to the opposite side of the river.
The big rogue turned his head in her direction.
T. rex' visual acuity was comparable to modern raptors, and even from the distance, Trix could see the green glow in her mate's eyes.
The same glow was mirrored in the blinking stares of Josie and all the pussycats flocked around him.
That had been three weeks ago.
At first, Trix had followed him.
The rogue had been moving southeast at a nearly straight trajectory.
But as the infection took hold, further effects became evident as Trix herself began to feel him, as if the sheer energy in his system were cast off like an ambient scent.
Soon after that, Trix herself began to perceive the beacon that drew him.
There was no precise physical sensation, but it was rather hypnotizing, like staring at a soothing light.
It seemed to touch the same part of the brain as that prickly tickle that rankled her sinuses whenever one of those little talking lizards was about – except this was almost exactly the opposite of that nasty, smelling-salts-acid-static she got from those scurrying little rats – that foul, psychic-stench that prompted an irresistible impulse to stomp the little bastards flat.
This was different.
It was... nice.
Like music taming the savage beast, without actual music, just a sense of general wellbeing. A glow.
Trix seemed to sense it a tick before the others, perhaps due to her pregnancy, but now they were all following the beacon together.
Rather than trailing in the hazardous footsteps of the rogue and their former sisters, Trix took her own flock up into the hills, running a parallel track through the highlands.
Tyrannosaurs acted on instincts. Trix gave no more thought to why she trekked the cold and inhospitable, thin-aired mountains than when acting on the impulses brought by hunger or sleep – she followed the beacon for no greater reason than a plant leans towards light.
But there was also something strangely familiar – a presence she must have been aware of subliminally all along, but now had grown brighter.
Trix had no idea what any of it meant, or why she was drawn. She did, however, sense that others were converging on the same site.
Somewhere in the canyons below, the rogue sensed it as well.
Trix recognized his territorial roar, announcing his authority.
Once that claim had echoed across an entire valley.
Now, his voice was the thundering gale of a titan – the echoes might have reverberated halfway across the continent.
But this time, somewhere off in the distance, Trix caught the faint echo of an answering roar.
A challenge?
Was this beacon marching them into a war?
Trix felt the stirrings of an old rivalry – as subliminal as the shine itself, instinctive as a mating urge – or a predator/prey relationship.
The canyons below again echoed with the rogue's commanding bellow.
Again, there was a distant response.
In Trix' memory, few rivals had dared challenge the rogue before the Food of the Gods – and none successfully.
The idea that any creature might try it now was an affront.
Being that T. rex were prideful beasts, Trix found her own ire sparked that any might dare.
Somewhere ahead was their star, and if they must battle to stand in its light, so be it.
Trix surveyed the terrain ahead. They were near, perhaps not more than three peaks over.
The big female's jaws parted and she let the mountains echo with a challenging roar of her own. Beside her, Velma and her two daughters joined in, until their bellows bounced off the peaks for miles around.
Trix could sense a tempest brewing.
She didn't yet know what lay ahead, but it wouldn't be much longer now.
Chapter 16
The cargo chopper was the heaviest thing Jonah had ever flown, and he could feel the difference in every tug of wind, every shift of momentum. It was everything he hated about flying.
He wasn't a fan of the parallel rear rotors either.
“This is like flying with a trailer,” he complained.
Naomi clearly wasn't happy about it either, having said so emphatically and repeatedly, as they buzzed the mountain tops, as high and fast as Jonah could manage.
“It's a gift,” she remarked, as Jonah struggled with the heavy-duty aircraft. “Some have it. Some don't.”
Jonah glanced sideways. He was perfectly willing to acknowledge he was no fighter-pilot, but really wished she wouldn't say things like that at times like this.
“Maybe we can find a truck when we land,” she suggested. “Or would that be too scary?”
Jonah bit back his reply as he took them up and over the highest peak, giving them their first look at the valley beyond.
The river cut through the mountain, and here it fed a modest lake and irrigated farmlands spread across the hillsides and down onto the valley floor.
Further below was a small town, remarkably overgrown, after only a single season of unmowed lawns, perhaps a few isolated fires – and, of course, certain parts that had been stomped flat.
It was, however, flat ground. According to Jonah's map, this little berg had a number of private runways, along with a small commercial airport, originally for crop-dusters, but adapted and expanded to accommodate full-size commercial aircraft. It also lay not five miles from a wrecked National Guard site.
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