“How long?” Dylan asked again.
“Need another ten minutes!” a teammate answered, yanking on a cord to start the generator chugging.
Dylan shouted to be heard over that racket. “Christchurch and Riley, you’re with me! I need the smaller LRAD atop that CAAT unhooked and brought down. Grab its portable battery and the remote activator for the 4000X.”
His orders were immediately obeyed without question, even though what he requested had not been a part of the original plan. Dylan and his men knew the ramifications of what they were about to do, understood the ecological damage that would be inflicted from releasing this isolated and aggressive biosphere into the larger world, but considering how much they were getting paid, it didn’t matter. Fixing the environmental damage would be someone else’s problem.
Still, it nagged at him that he didn’t know the entire picture. Especially after this call. He stared down at the radio in his hand. A connection had been patched through to him from Hell’s Cape station, relayed from South America. It seemed Cutter Elwes had decided to alter the mission parameters at the last minute. After negotiating for a hefty hazard pay bonus, Dylan had eventually agreed, pushing aside his worries.
An extra two hundred thousand quid bought a lot of peace of mind.
Christchurch hopped off the CAAT, carrying the heavy two-foot dish under his arms as easily as if lugging a rugby ball. In fact, the man was built like a fullback, with his stout limbs and huge hands. Riley, a head taller and ten stones lighter, followed with the battery pack, winding the cables around his forearm.
When they joined him, Dylan pointed deeper down the tunnel behind the parked CAAT, to parts unknown. “Looks like we’ve got some hunting to do.”
“For what?” Riley asked.
“Volitox.”
His two teammates exchanged glances, looking none too happy. He didn’t blame them, but orders were orders. Plus, he was up to the challenge. He let his palm rest atop the butt of his holstered Howdah pistol. He looked forward to testing his skill against one of the most aggressive species down here—and the most dangerous.
Still, when it came to this hellish place—he glanced to the portable LRAD—you couldn’t be too careful.
“Sir!” a man shouted to him and pointed to a pair of lights in the distance, coming their way.
It was McKinnon’s team returning.
Finally.
“Once his team gets here,” Dylan said, “start getting everything packed up. Keep this channel open in case I need to reach you.”
With everything locked down here, he set off. Still, something nagged at him, kept him more on edge than usual. After following the river that flowed out of the Coliseum for fifty yards, he glanced back toward the pool of light around the work site—then off to the pair of lights still crossing the cavern.
McKinnon had reported in earlier, detailing the successful ambush of Harrington’s snow cruiser. Ever the thorough soldier, the Scotsman had gone to make sure there were no survivors. But Dylan had heard no further updates from his second-in-command.
Distracted by the unexpected call from South America, Dylan hadn’t given it much thought. But now . . .
He pictured that resourceful American firing from the back of that cruiser.
“Hold up,” Dylan said. He pulled out his radio and dialed McKinnon’s channel. “Wright here. McKinnon, what’s your status?”
He waited thirty seconds and repeated the inquiry.
Still nothing.
Sighing heavily, he dialed up the work site and got an immediate answer.
“Sir?”
“Is the LRAD assembly complete?”
“All done.”
“Keep hailing McKinnon. If there’s no response by the time his vehicle reaches thirty yards out, activate the LRAD.”
“But that’ll knock his team—?”
“Do it. Once they’re stopped, switch it back off, and go in fully armed. Secure that CAAT.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dylan lowered his radio.
No more surprises.
He pointed ahead. “Let’s bag us a Volitox.”
5:43 P.M.
Through a set of night-vision binoculars, Gray stared at the men working around the massive LRAD dish. He counted nine men. Earlier, Dylan had left with two others, heading deeper into the cavern system.
Bad odds . . . even with the element of surprise on their side.
“Ready?” Gray asked, yelling a bit to be heard.
Kowalski drove the rumbling CAAT, expertly learning to maneuver the treaded vehicle in the short time it had taken to cross the remainder of this massive cavern.
“As I’ll ever be.” The big man patted the machine gun across his lap, as if making sure it was still there.
Gray gripped his DSR rifle, its battery almost drained from so much recent use.
The radio on the dash squawked again. “Respond, McKinnon. If your comms are down, flash your lights if you hear this!”
Kowalski glanced to him.
It was the third call in as many minutes.
“Don’t do it,” Gray said. “That’ll only make them more suspicious, not less.”
The former British X-Squadron ahead might believe the CAAT had lost communications—antennas did get damaged in battle—but Gray suspected this last call was the equivalent of the enemy casting out a fishing lure. It would take extraordinary circumstances to allow their equipment to receive calls but not transmit a response.
For now, better to play deaf and dumb.
“They’re getting antsy,” Kowalski said.
With no other choice, they continued in silence, holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable. Then it happened.
The world exploded, screaming at them, vibrating the windshield. Gray’s ears felt as if they’d been stabbed with ice picks. His vision closed in at the edges. Bile rose in his throat as vertigo spun his senses around.
Beyond the shaking windows, the world exploded around the CAAT. Creatures burst into flight, fleeing the cacophony. Others bound out of hiding, leaping, crawling. A towering Pachycerex thundered past, a blurry sight as Gray’s eyes started tearing up. Soon it was hard to make out any details, just a tide of movement, retreating from that sonic assault.
Can’t hold out much longer . . .
To the side, he watched Kowalski finally slump over the wheel.
Without its pilot, the CAAT slowed and stopped.
Then Gray fell to his side, sagging along the passenger window, but not before one last worry.
Not for himself, but for the others.
Jason, you’d better have reached that Back Door.
5:44 P.M.
Make it stop . . .
Jason hung halfway up the cavern wall, an elbow hooked around a rung bolted into the stone face, his toes jammed into the step. He hugged his other arm around his head, trying to block the sound and keep his skull from splitting in half. Snot ran down his face, mixed with tears.
Far off, a distant star glinted near the far end of the Coliseum, marking Dylan Wright’s encampment. While climbing up the ladder, Jason had glanced frequently in that direction, worried that the British team would finish their work and activate the LRAD before Jason’s group could reach the well-insulated substation.
His worst fears were realized a moment ago.
He also noted a tinier star on the cavern floor. It was the CAAT that Gray had commandeered. While scaling the wall, Jason had monitored its slow progress, but now he saw it had ground to a halt. Jason could only imagine the intensity of that sonic barrage when so near to its source.
It took all of his effort to crane his neck and stare up. Stella and her father were yards ahead of him. A small flashlight hung from the professor’s belt. After the DSR died, it was their group’s only remaining light source, found in Stella’s backpack. She had given it to her father to help him see the rungs better as they ascended the ladder.
It was a mistake.
The no
ise suddenly ended, as abruptly as it had started. Caught off guard, Jason’s toes slipped from the rungs for a hair-raising second. He scrabbled back to his perch, gasping, grabbing again with both hands. It was as if the strength of the sound had pinned him to the wall, and when it suddenly ended, his body rebounded outward.
He knew it was only an illusion from his assaulted senses. Still, he clung tightly for two more breaths before lifting his face.
Stella stared down at him, back lit by the glow of her father’s flashlight.
“I’m okay,” he said, his ears still ringing, responding only to the concern in her face.
Past her shoulder, something swept along the wall.
A Hastax.
It was plainly still panicked from the noise and lashed out at the nearest target, that irritating bright light invading its lofty territory. It dove and struck her father a glancing blow—hard enough to knock Harrington off the rungs.
In slow motion, Jason watched the professor go cartwheeling past him, tumbling silently, vanishing into the darkness, nothing but a falling star now.
Stella cried out, a wail of anguish, one arm reaching, as if ready to follow her father’s plunge.
“Stay! I’ll go down!” He descended rapidly, though he didn’t hold out much hope. “I’m sorry, Stella, but you must get to the station. Blow those bombs.”
But was it too late?
A glance below showed a shadowy migration already under way, lit by patches of bioluminescence, flowing away from the source of that sonic assault. Even that short blast could have dire consequences. The panic here would inevitably spread and amplify down the long tunnel toward the exit, like a snowball rolling downhill.
Jason glanced to the distant lights of Wright’s camp, knowing one other certainty: That blast won’t be the last. With each toot of that horn, the panic would worsen. Unless that far exit was sealed, the world above was doomed.
“Wait!” Stella called down to him, tears in her voice. “I can’t—”
He didn’t have time to argue. “You have to!”
“Listen, damn it!”
He paused and glanced up at her.
“I . . . I don’t know the code,” she said, choking down a sob. “Only my father knows it.”
Jason hadn’t considered that possibility. He had assumed she knew the password, too. He looked down between his toes, to a small dot of light near the foot of the ladder. He closed his eyes for a steadying breath, then opened them.
“Continue up anyway,” he said. “Prep whatever needs to be done. I’ll follow as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” she answered, her voice small and fragile.
Good.
Even if there was nothing she could do above, he didn’t want her to see her father below, not in the state he expected to find the old man.
Jason hurried, praying her father was still alive.
29
April 30, 1:45 P.M. AMT
Roraima, Brazil
Jenna stumbled back from the shadow falling out of the canopy. Her scream stifled away as she struggled to make sense of what landed before her. It was a gangly boy of ten or eleven, with black hair and bright blue eyes. He was barefooted, wearing shorts, with a safari vest over a T-shirt.
He rushed to her, grabbed her hand, tugging a bit for her to follow.
“Come . . .”
In his other hand, he carried a long yellow cattle prod.
He pointed it toward the giant fern that had begun to unfurl its fronds again, starting to hide the massive beast on the far side.
The Megatherium dropped from two legs down to four. It hunched its shoulders, hackles raising high, the dark fur striped in blacks and browns, perfectly shaded for camouflage in this shadowy primeval forest.
It bared its thick, sharp teeth.
The boy pressed the button on the prod. Electricity danced in bright blue sparks across the U-shaped contacts. From the fierce display, the tool must be much stronger than any standard model.
The Megatherium’s eyes narrowed. Its massive razor-sharp claws dug deep into the soft forest loam.
The boy tugged on her arm again.
She retreated with him.
The beast stalked after them, moving deliberately, keeping its distance. At least so far. She glanced right and left, hearing branches snap and leaves rustle, paralleling their path.
This beast was not the only one of its kind here.
Moving more quickly, they backed their way to the gravel-floored clearing. The three conjoined cages stood in the center, still locked and electrified. There was no hiding inside there.
Still, the boy retreated until their backs were against that electrified pen. The cages at least protected against any attack from behind.
And maybe it wasn’t just the cages that offered protection.
The Megatherium reached the clearing’s edge and stopped. One clawed foot retracted back from the gravel, plainly wary of this place. Was this arboreal predator just uncomfortable stepping fully out in the open, or was it some memory, a warning of old pain? It clearly recognized the cattle prod.
The boy leaned his head a bit, checking the status of the pens.
The red light glowed from all three cages.
From the frown, he clearly had not expected that. He stared up at the canopy overhead. Branches hung low, easily reachable if you could mount those cages.
“Was that the way you wanted to go?” Jenna asked, not sure how well the boy spoke English. “Up into the trees?”
He nodded, showing he understood, but his eyes looked scared.
He must have done this before, learning to explore this forest from a safe distance. If he stayed up high, scaling among the thinner branches, the large predators couldn’t reach him. Anything smaller he encountered could be discouraged with that cattle prod.
It was a good exit strategy, but surely they didn’t need the cages to take advantage of it.
She pointed to a neighboring tangle of vines, one among many that draped down from the branches. “We could climb those.”
“No,” he said.
He bent down, picked up a larger stone from the gravel bed, and tossed it toward the vine. Where the rock struck, the leafy cord gave a muscular twitch, and hooked barbs sprang out, glistening with sap.
“Poisonous,” the boy said. “Stings very bad, then you die.”
She flinched, thinking about how blithely she had entered this bower earlier. She watched those hooks retract again, reminded of an Australian rain forest vine that was armed with similar barbed hooks. She tried to remember the name, but the growing fog in her mind made it harder and harder to think.
Off at the clearing’s edge, the Megatherium returned a paw to the gravel, its claws digging furrows. Whatever fear held it back was waning.
The boy found her hand and squeezed tightly.
More shadows shifted around the edges of the glade, closing in around them.
Jenna pulled the boy closer and slightly behind her, ready to protect him. She whispered to him.
“What’s your name?”
1:48 P.M.
A concerned voice drew Kendall’s nose out of the stack of Cutter’s research notes. He glanced over to see Cutter’s wife enter the lab. She looked distraught, lifting an arm upon seeing her husband.
“As-tu vu Jori?”
“Jori?” Cutter asked, crossing from a workstation toward his wife, speaking French. “I thought he was with you.”
Ashuu shook her head.
Kendall placed a finger down on the paper to mark his place. He had been reading rapidly for the past few minutes, not sure how long Cutter would allow him access to these files. They concerned his experiments with magnetism to shatter XNA strands, ripping those iron backbones under just the right pulse. He had scribbled down the man’s findings on a notepad: must generate a field strength of at least 0.465 Tesla using a static magnetic field.
“We’ll check the cameras,” Cutter said, touching his wife’s shoulder reas
suringly. “You know the boy. He’s always exploring. He’s at that age, full of curiosity, his hormones beginning to surge, struggling to find his place in that world between a boy and a man.”
Cutter crossed to Kendall and shooed him out of the way. “You can read those later.”
Kendall rolled his chair aside, taking the papers with him. He had dimmed the monitor after seeing Jenna leave her cage and wander into the forest. He hadn’t wanted to see what happened from there. Cutter woke the screen back up, returning the view into that forest clearing.
Kendall had been about to return to the notes when movement caught his eye on the screen. Jenna had returned, her back against those cages—but she wasn’t alone any longer.
A young boy had her by the hand, holding a cattle prod.
Cutter leaned closer. “Jori . . .”
Ashuu hurried forward, saw the screen, and let out a small gasp of fear, clutching her throat.
Cutter turned, grabbed her by the shoulders, and gently but firmly shifted her toward Mateo. “Stay here, mon amour. I’ll get our boy.”
Kendall kept staring at the screen. He saw a dark, hulking shadow move into the clearing. Whatever it was, it remained at the periphery, but he imagined it was what he had briefly spotted earlier. He pictured those claws, that shaggy dark coat.
Megatherium.
A creature out of the last Ice Age.
“Look!” Kendall called out, drawing the other’s attention back to the screen.
Cutter stepped over, glanced at the monitor, and swore.
By now more shadows shifted at the edges.
“You’ll never make it down there in time,” Kendall said. “But look at Jenna. Look at what she’s doing.”
1:49 P.M.
C’mon . . .
Jenna faced the camera. It was strapped high up a tree, pointed down into this glade. Earlier, she knew she must have been under surveillance. Luckily the boy had known where the camera was located.
She craned up to the lens and pointed an arm toward the cages, while making a cutting motion across her own throat.
Turn the damned electricity off.
The boy called to her. “Light is green!”
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