At this point, he almost wished they would. Perhaps if he killed one of them, the others would leave him alone.
The alpha was licking the blood from the base of its neck, somehow able to contort itself like a snake to reach the wound. The four others seemed to be blocking Cade’s escape, pacing around his tree slowly or crouching in wait on the peripheries of his vision.
They were like wolves on a hunt, and Cade took satisfaction in confirming one of paleontology’s greatest questions: Did some dinosaurs hunt in packs? Apparently they did.
“Come at me,” Cade yelled.
The noise startled the predators, and they cocked their heads, curious. But it did little to arouse another attack. Cade knew that if he emerged from his hiding place, they would likely surround him and tear him to pieces. He only stood a chance if they attacked him one by one through the gap.
More minutes ticked by, and Cade passed the time by itemizing what he had at hand. A dozen or so sheathed swords, stashed inside an improvised backpack. A dozen or so oil rags. One school uniform (ragged). One rusty lighter (empty). Miscellaneous sticks and leaves.
Then there was the Codex, still hovering in the air somewhere outside his hideout. Somehow, he didn’t see it being much use to him now. It had told him earlier that he was facing a relative of a genus of raptor called Deinonychus, but that was about as useful as being able to name the gun that was aimed at your head.
It wasn’t much to work with. He tested the lighter for the first time, struggling to move the spark wheel. Once he had loosened it from the rust, he was pleased to see it sparked easily enough, even if there was no fluid inside to keep a flame. If he ever needed a campfire, it might come in useful.
A stupid question crossed his mind, but he indulged it. Even assuming he escaped the raptors, would he want to make a fire? He had gone camping with his Boy Scout troop when he was a kid, and he had learned that fires were a double-edged sword.
Mostly, they acted as a deterrent to wild animals, who were scared of the heat and light, not to mention the dangerous humans who often came with it. But at the same time, they attracted bears, who had come to associate humans and their fires with leftover food.
Somehow he doubted that the predators in this world had formed the same connection. It was unlikely that there were many happy campers out there, leaving bags of marshmallows unattended. So. Fire. Was that the answer?
He didn’t have any better ideas. It seemed sensible to pull some of the rags from his bag. Each still smelled faintly of garlic, which made him think they were soaked in vegetable oil. Not the most flammable of oils, but it meant the cloth might hold a flame longer, and light more easily too. He tied three of the rags around the top of the longest of the fallen sticks, then knotted them tighter with a strip of cloth cut from the sleeve of his uniform, which was made from fire-resistant material—according to the label. Now he had a torch.
He did this again, but with smaller sticks and two cloths, until he had five smaller torches. These he would use as fire throwers … in theory anyway.
Next, he took the driest of the dead leaves and placed them in a pile. With that done, he took a desiccated stick and sliced the bark away with the edge of his sword, getting to the crumbling core within. Once there, he scraped thin strips of it into wood shavings, just as his Scout leader had taught him to. Within a couple of hours, he had a veritable bird’s nest of the stuff, piled on top of his hillock of leaves.
Finally he was ready. With bated breath, he flicked the lighter, aiming the meager sparks at the pile of shavings. Nothing. They landed and disappeared without so much as a fizzle.
Again and again he ran his thumb along the spark wheel, grunting with frustration each time. He continued until the skin of his thumb was pink and ragged from the motions, then switched hands and kept going, hoping that the fire would catch before the ancient flint inside the lighter ran out.
Sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes. The humidity was stifling, a strange juxtaposition to the thirst that had now returned with a vengeance. The air was too damp to start a fire like this.
He put the lighter aside and considered his tinder pile. The wood shavings at the top were as thin as he could make them. But it seemed he would need something even more delicate and fibrous. And somehow more flammable.
Cade turned his eyes back to his inventory of items. It hit him then like a bolt of lightning. The oil cloths! Of course, he couldn’t simply spark his lighter on one and set it aflame; vegetable oil wasn’t nearly flammable enough for that to work—it was why he wasn’t concerned that his skin was coated in it. But what he could do was take that cloth and turn it into a far better form of tinder.
He took the edge of the least greasy cloth strip from one of his torches and stretched it over the edge of his sword. Then he rubbed it back and forth, scraping the cloth until its edge had frayed into ragged fibers. These he ripped off and placed atop his wood shavings until he had what resembled a small cotton ball. That was more like it.
By now, dusk had begun to fall, the sunlight turning to a dull orange glow as its source descended below the horizon. Soon it would be too dark for him to see … perhaps that was what the raptors were waiting for. His time had almost run out.
Still, he had to try. At the very least, the fire would give him light—enough to defend himself if they attacked again. So he raised the lighter once more and forced the wheel down, cascading sparks onto the heap in front of him.
Smoke. The smallest trace of it, and the flare of a single thread, slowly burning down. Cade lowered his head and blew gently. For a second his heart sank, the glowing strand disappearing. Then, as if by some strange magic, the cotton ball sputtered and burst into flame.
Resisting the urge to shout with relief, Cade blew again and again, clenching his fist in victory as each successive layer took the fire. First the shavings, then the leaves, and finally, the small sticks beneath. The fire was soon crackling cheerily, its smoke filtering through the roots and toward the dimming sky above.
Cade heaved his backpack onto his shoulders and gripped the sword in his right hand.
It was time.
He hurled the first burning torch out into the dusk light, aiming it at the nearest raptor. His throw fell pitifully short, but it had the desired effect. The raptor yawped in surprise, leaping back with its hackles raised. The others, who had been squatting patiently, now stirred and raked the ground with their talons.
“Piss off,” Cade yelled, shuffling closer to the root hollow’s entrance and hurling another torch. This one bounced off the alpha’s chest, and it squawked in annoyance, stomping at the flaming torch as if it were a rodent. It shrieked in pain as the sputtering fire set alight its feathered talons, and Cade’s nostrils filled with the acrid scent of burning plumage.
He hurled another, this one hitting a third raptor square in the face, dashing sparks across the soil and eliciting a screech of rage. To Cade’s surprise, smoke began to curl from the leaf-strewn ground, and the flicker of flames could be seen, spreading from the fallen torches. More. He needed more.
“Come on,” he growled, emerging from the entrance. “Try me.”
A fourth torch now, then the fifth, the former missing its intended raptor completely, the latter grazing its plumed tail. Now Cade only had his final, longer torch left. He crouched low and swept it close to the ground, the sword held above his head.
Already the leaves that he touched with it were taking flame, helped along by a soft breeze that fanned the area.
“I said come on!” Cade cried, feinting toward the alpha. It leaped back, limping on its burned foot.
“Yah,” he snarled. “Yah, yah!”
With each shout, he swept the ground with his torch, sending burning leaves tumbling in the air. The air was now filled with smoke, a half-dozen smaller fires starting among the detritus layered over the clearing. The alpha made a tentative step toward him, favoring its uninjured foot.
Cade threw caution to the
wind, leaping over the fire in front of him and swinging the torch like a baseball bat. The alpha almost fell over itself in its haste to escape. Cade kicked a pile of flaming leaves and sparks at the creature. This time, it turned and ran.
He watched in disbelief as its lashing tail disappeared into the undergrowth. The others followed, but not without a series of angry croaks and honks echoing in their wake. One moment Cade was surrounded, the next he was alone in the clearing, lungs burning from the smoke.
Now the bushes were beginning to take flame, the green leaves sending up a black smog that was swiftly turning the area into a death trap. Cade crouched low and took a few deep breaths of smokeless air, calming the hammering in his chest and the thousand thoughts rushing through his mind. He counted slowly to ten, giving the raptors time to move away. Then, as the adrenaline began to pass and exhaustion set in, he turned and ran into the undergrowth.
CHAPTER
23
He ran until he thought his lungs would burst, then ran some more. Half an hour might have passed, and there had been no sign of the raptors.
Even so, it was not exhaustion that made him finally stop, but rather the looming shape in front of him.
At first he thought it was a mountain, its great shadow blocking the setting sun and casting the forest in shadow. When he stumbled through the thinning trees and into the clearing that surrounded it, Cade could not help but fall to his knees and stare. Stare … at the pyramid.
It was made from cobbled stone, built in square layers like a wedding cake with a steep stairway cut into its side. The size was vast, taller than the giant trees themselves, and its age was apparent by the thick vegetation and vines flowing down its walls.
Cade’s best guess was that it was of South American origin, though he couldn’t be sure. Then he realized he didn’t need to be in doubt. He turned to the Codex, dutifully following behind him, the mechanical orb some feet in the air.
03:23:33:49
03:23:33:48
03:23:33:47
“Codex, what is this place?” Cade asked.
“Remnant identified as the Mayan city of Hueitapalan, first mentioned by the conquistador Hernán Cortés in 1526. It was last seen by aviator Charles Lindbergh in 1927. There have been no further sightings.”
A city? Did that mean there were more buildings beyond the pyramid?
Cade groaned and struggled to his feet. His entire body ached, and all he wanted to do was find somewhere to sleep for the night. It seemed to him there was no safer place than the top of the structure—unless he was planning on climbing another tree of course. The latter seemed entirely beyond him at that moment. At the very least, scaling the pyramid would give him the lay of the land, maybe help him spot the others or some sign of human civilization. And he doubted any predators would be able to notice him there.
Investigating the “city” could wait until tomorrow. He approached the pyramid’s base and let the bag of swords fall from his shoulders, groaning with relief as the straps came away. It would be waiting for him in the morning. He only wished his torch was still burning, for the structure’s top would have made for a perfect signal fire. But it had sputtered out just minutes before, and he had thrown it aside. The forest fire he had left behind him would have to do.
Gritting his teeth, Cade climbed. He took it as fast as he dared—the sunlight was fading fast and he wanted to reach the top before nightfall. He wanted to see the rest of this so-called city, maybe determine which way the river was. In his frantic, desperate sprint through the jungle, he had lost all sense of direction.
The world seemed to fall under a sepia haze as he mounted the stairway, wincing as the pulled muscles in his legs stretched with each step. If it hurt now, he was not looking forward to the aches and pains the morning would bring. But one problem at a time.
Cade lost himself in the climb. It was cathartic in a way to focus on this one task. Some way up, he turned to look behind him, and in the dimming light he could see the glow of the fire, still raging deep in the jungle. In another world, another time, he would have worried about the consequences of the conflagration. Here, he could only grin at his handiwork.
Maybe the others would see it and come looking for him. He snorted at the thought.
Well, probably not.
As he ascended, he began to notice the patterns carved in the rock. The twisting snakes etched into the stairs’ edges. Statues that bordered each level, worn away by the wind and rain. Detailed likenesses now reduced to little better than a child’s clay figurines—a deformed leopard here, a noseless monkey there.
At this time of the evening, the noises of the jungle were changing from the chirps and hoots of the morning to the nighttime buzz of the insects. And something else. A sound that he had heard before and that sent chills down his spine despite his exertions. A stuttering honk, reverberating through the open air. Slowly, Cade turned.
The raptors. Emerging from the trees, their long tails thrashing excitedly behind them. They were the same ones as before, he could tell by the alpha. Despite a noticeable limp, it still led the pack, with the others following at a respectful distance.
Even with his heart somersaulting in his chest, Cade could not help but be fascinated by the dynamics of the group. A paleontologist would give their right hand to see what he was seeing. Only it seemed Cade would have to give a lot more than a single hand.
As if it sensed his eyes upon it, the alpha leaped up the first steps, croaking in pain as it tottered on its burned foot. Cade didn’t waste another moment. He didn’t think, didn’t plan. Instead, he threw himself up the pyramid with everything he had, ignoring the throbbing of his thighs and the twinging of his tendons. All that mattered was to reach the top.
They were faster than him, hopping up the stairway with surprising agility. But Cade had a head start, and, after a minute of mindless panic, he scrambled up the last step. The yawping ululations of his pursuers grew louder as he spun, tugging the blade from its scabbard.
The alpha was almost on him, but now it slowed, waiting for its companions to catch up. The stairs were steep, too steep for them to attack upward with their taloned feet—they could only use their mouths. It narrowed the odds, though Cade wouldn’t bet on himself.
Still, he had another advantage here; the stairway, broad though it was, remained the only way up. There was a drop on either side to the next level below of the pyramid. Not enough to kill one if it fell, but too high for a raptor to climb up and flank him. So Cade lowered the blade and prepared to defend the six-foot-wide stairway, hoping that the high ground would give him the advantage.
The first attack came from the alpha itself, a quick back-and-forth with its head, testing Cade. He slashed wildly, missing, even as the next one tried to pincer in from his right. Cade backswung at it, almost unbalancing himself, but he was rewarded for his effort. The offending creature scrambled back and slid over the edge, screeching in panic as it fell to the level below.
A flash of pain brought him back to his senses, the alpha’s teeth closing on his ankle, then withdrawing before Cade could return the favor. The tough leather of his boot had taken much of the damage, but he had felt the teeth sink in, and the sensation of blood soaking into his socks. An eye for an eye. A foot for a foot.
The alpha jabbed its head again, feinting like a cobra and darting out of reach before Cade could swing. Behind it, two of the waiting raptors skirted the stair’s edge, and Cade was forced to step left and right, warding them off.
Again and again they skipped back and forth, forcing Cade to overextend, risking more with every thrust. One thing he knew—he was no swordsman, wielding the weapon like a baseball bat.
He couldn’t last much longer. The sword was heavy, and his reserves were spent. He was flagging, and the raptors knew it. Their cries were growing excited, and their charges more aggressive with every desperate swing he took.
Cade couldn’t outfight them, or outlast them. He had to outthink them, jus
t like last time.
By now, he had noticed a pattern. It was all about the alpha. They followed its lead. Advancing when it attacked, pulling back when it withdrew.
So he had to kill it. But how? His sword had not come even close to connecting—the predator was too fast, too clever.
He needed to bait it. And he knew exactly how.
“Try me!” he yelled out, startling the raptors for a brief second. In that moment, Cade swept the blade at the two raptors on either side of him, sending them skating back, one scrabbling at the edge before toppling over. At the same time, he stamped his uninjured foot at the stair’s edge.
The alpha took its chance, and Cade yelled out in both agony and triumph as the teeth chomped around his boot, catching in both the leather and the meat of his calf.
He chopped down, but the pain of it all had thrown him. The swing lacked power, lacked speed. His heart fell in tandem with the sword.
But the blade bit … and passed like a hot knife through butter, severing the head and tumbling the alpha’s corpse down the steps. Blood sprayed, hot and caustic. Behind, the three smaller raptors paused, their malevolent eyes still fixed on him while a fourth scrambled back onto the stairs from the level below.
The corpse settled at the nearest raptor’s feet, and Cade kicked out, sending the alpha’s head after it. It bounced like a macabre basketball, disappearing over the stairs’ edge.
“How’s that?” Cade shouted in hoarse triumph.
He marveled at the sharpness of the sword, and at the fact that his plan had worked at all.
After all these years. Still sharp as a razor.
Yet the raptors did not move. Not until the next largest of them lowered its head and lapped at the blood. Cade’s heart fell, and he could hardly believe the grim sight. The new alpha stepped over the corpse, raising its bloodied muzzle at him.
It was as if some sick succession had passed between the predators. The king is dead—long live the king.
The Chosen Page 12
