Z. Rex

by Steve Cole

  But Zed kept staring out over the horizon, and Adam’s only answer was the foam and crash of the dark sea.

  11

  HOMECOMING

  For Adam, the days that followed became a numbing blur of ocean and sky, of flight and fitful sleep. Adam dreamed of soft beds, hot food and as much cool water as he could drink.

  As sunlight ebbed from the eighth long day, Adam watched land resolve itself slowly out of wreaths of low cloud. If they were on track, then this could be the west coast of Ireland. Adam felt a sense of growing excitement. He’d actually managed to live through this insane odyssey.

  But any happiness was wiped out by growing nerves about what he was going to do when they got to Edinburgh.

  Or rather, what Zed was going to do.

  Finally, without fanfare, the long voyage ended a little after three the next morning.

  As Zed powered toward the misty glow of the city lights, Adam ripped off his gas mask with numb fingers and hurled it away with a whoop of exhilaration. He stared down over the moonlit roofs and hills and spires of the home he’d thought he’d never see again and could have cried with relief.

  Zed slowly descended over the dark wildness of Holyrood Park, that massive sprawl of hills, lochs and crags right in the center of the city. Though his mouth was sore and dry and his stomach growling like a grizzly, Adam’s spirits rose ever higher the lower they flew.

  “We did it!” he yelled. “Zed, you actually got us here! You can put us down there—that big mound thing. It’s Arthur’s Seat, an extinct volcano, super old. From there you can see out over the whole city. . . .”

  Zed seemed to be heading for it already, regardless of Adam’s recommendation. He landed heavily on a grassy slope with a grunt of pain and effort, and sank to the ground. Adam scrambled out of his hazard-suit harness and tumbled to the wet springy turf. He pressed his face against it, licking up the dew and muttering prayers of thanks to anyone who’d listen. “I never thought I’d get back in one piece. . . .”

  He realized Zed had keeled over and was doing the same, desperately lapping at the dew-soaked grass. Somehow, with one wing folded and the other hanging limp by his side, the dinosaur looked not so much frightening as pitiful. How much water must a dinosaur need? Loads, surely. Adam felt a moment’s fleeting guilt at draining the last of their supply the day before.

  No, stuff that, he told himself. I’m not feeling sorry for that thing after all he’s put me through.

  Wiping his chapped lips, Adam scrambled up. He hurt just about everywhere, with some wicked pressure sores from clamping his legs around the dinosaur’s back, but right now even the pain felt like his body celebrating its survival. It was fantastic feeling solid ground under his feet—ground that wasn’t going to shift. And he reveled in the sight of the old familiar city skyline. Before him were the high-rise shoe-box shadows of the Pollock Halls, looming guardians of the straight lines and slopes of the estates beyond. He looked farther, to the floodlit castle standing massive on the mound and the ghostly edges of the rugged, indomitable city skyline. How many times had he stood here, untroubled, gazing out over it all?

  And now he’d come in the company of a killer.

  After spending more than a week up close and personal with a real-life mutant dinosaur, Adam realized he’d grown almost accustomed to Zed’s huge, menacing presence. Almost. But now they stood in a small city of half a million people—during Festival month, no less. The streets would be overloaded with tourists and weirdos up for the Fringe—writers, filmmakers, people handing out flyers. . . .

  Adam’s euphoria fled. The ache began to twist through his bones again. Yeah, whoopee, you made it, he thought. And now everyone you know, and masses more you don’t . . . their lives could all be in danger.

  “Here”—a thick string of drool hung from the dinosaur’s jaws as he sniffed the air—“Zed . . . again . . . here. . . .”

  “You think you’ve been here before?” Adam raised his eyebrows. “I dunno how old you are, but maybe you have, maybe that’s how you found your way straight to Arthur’s Seat. Or maybe”—a thought struck him queasily—“you’ve picked up some of my moves from Dad’s Ultra-Reality software. Since the Think-Send stuff was built around my brain waves, p’raps you picked up some of my memories too?” He looked at his scaly captor and heaved a sigh. “Whatever, we don’t have long before the whole city starts waking up. So, what’s next?”

  Zed rose up, muscles and sinews twitching, his bulk blotting out the moon. He stretched out both wings, grabbed Adam roughly and slung him across his back.

  “What?” Adam protested. “No, please, we just got here. I need to rest. You can’t have found Geneflow already?”

  “Not find,” rasped Zed, his voice hoarse and raw. “Go.”

  And with a wild, sickening lurch, he went.

  They flew across the city, Adam clinging to the dinosaur’s knobbly back without his harness now, apprehension clouding his pain. He’d caught barely a snatch of the sandstone splendor of his home city, and now he was already leaving it behind. With moonlight stirring the dark soup of cloud and sky, Adam watched the estates drift past below; streets and houses laid out in intricate order like the circuit diagrams his dad used to pore over.

  Zed seemed to be making for somewhere around Granton. That’s where I would have gone, Adam decided. Developers were sinking a mint into doing up the waterfront area, but there were still plenty of vacant warehouses, abandoned factories and broken-down businesses. It would make a good place to hide out.

  The streets grew scruffier, farther north. Browbeaten terraces of dark, rain-washed brick huddled next to stone yards, cement works and building sites. The vast skeleton of a gasometer yawned open below as if trying to engulf them. Parked cars and vans stood out bright against the asphalt, like mites in clusters feeding on dark branches.

  After circling the area a few times, Zed descended over a three-story crate of moldering gray brick with a wide, sloping roof. The warehouse bordered a stretch of wasteland on one side and the ramshackle yard of a decaying gasworks on the other, and it was big enough to hide a dozen dinosaurs. Those windows still intact were caked with filth. A large handwritten sign tied to the barbed wire topping a chain-link fence announced that the textiles business had moved premises to an address in West Lothian.

  “Prepare for squatters,” Adam muttered.

  Zed dropped down over the fence and landed harder than usual to the side of the abandoned warehouse. Adam was jarred free from his perch, slipping down to land painfully on his back.

  The giant reptile sliced through the ropes securing the rucksacks to his legs and stamped over to a large puddle where he lapped greedily at the water. Then he stalked back, bit through the heavy chain securing the fire doors and shoved them open. But Zed couldn’t squeeze through—he was way too big. The sweater bandage on his forearm snagged on the rotting wooden doorframe. With an impatient snort, the dinosaur slashed the fabric in two and stomped away in search of another entrance.

  Adam eyed the discarded sweater nervously. That was meant to be a reminder of how useful I can be, he thought. “There’ll be delivery doors someplace,” Adam called, grabbing the rucksacks and hurrying after him. “Big enough for you to get through.”

  But Zed had already found them, panting for breath in front of a wide, rusting roll-up door. It was drawn closed, of course, save for a narrow gap at the bottom. As the dinosaur crouched and gripped the lower edge of the shutter with his powerful claws, Adam noticed that the wounds beneath the bandage had already healed, vanished just like the burns on Zed’s head. No wonder you weren’t killed when all that electricity was put through your brain, he thought grimly.

  And if we’re here so Zed can get revenge, what part do I play?

  “I could go inside and open the delivery doors for you,” Adam suggested, desperate to try and keep the monster on his side. “If you force your way in, someone might notice the damage and call the police. Cause trouble.”

>   Zed glared down at him for a few seconds. Then he hissed through his nostrils and took a step back.

  Adam squeezed under the doorway and wriggled through into the old warehouse. It was dank and gloomy and stank of old, musty fabrics. Long, crumbling rolls of carpet lay in rotting piles against the damp brickwork. A sharp wind whistled through broken windows. Adam peered at some rusted chains beside the roll-up door and hauled on them hard. The mechanism was stiff with disuse, but he managed to get the door jerking upward, revealing Zed’s bulk outside, bit by scary bit. The dinosaur kicked the rucksacks inside, then followed them, staring around at the damp and drafty hall. With a dismissive snort, he shuffled over to the rolls of ruined carpet and slumped down on top of them.

  “No place like home.” Adam shoved his hands in his pockets. “Hey, you sniffed out mine and Dad’s apartment in New Mexico easily enough. Can you smell where we live here?”

  Zed grunted. “Old smell.”

  “Okay, so Dad may not have been back. But if these Geneflow people use that antistink spray, you can’t know who has gone there.” Adam frowned. “Funny though. If they think you were blown up by that bomb, why would they still be using the spray? Unless it never wears off. . . .” He shrugged, swallowing hard. “Anyway. I should really go and check out my apartment. . . .”

  Zed raised his brutish head, pronounced one word carefully and with menacing emphasis. “No.”

  “But we’ve got no water, no food, no cash for anything—”

  “NO,” the reptile rasped.

  Adam felt frustration start to boil beneath his fear. “Look, I’m not sure why you’ve brought me here, but you’ve kept me alive so far. If you want me to stay that way and with all my marbles, there’s stuff I need.” I’m arguing with a killer dinosaur, he realized, and quickly softened his voice. “There’s food, clothes and an emergency stash of money at my flat . . . and who knows, I might even find a clue there to where Dad’s gone.”

  Zed’s eyes narrowed and his jaws scissored open. “Dad. Dead. . . .” He rolled his tongue around the words, sharp and fast. “Dad. Dead.”

  Heart pounding in his chest, Adam shook his head. “What? Don’t say that! You heard Bateman back at the lab—Dad’s not dead. Anyway, Josephs needs him. He’s been forced to work for these people. He sent a message to my phone, telling me to reach someone who could help to sort them out. . . .” He pulled out his phone. “You understand texting? If I can get a charger from my flat, I can show you the message and prove it to you. I don’t have a key to get in, but—”

  “Win.” Zed stared at him and nodded slowly. “Win . . . dow.”

  Adam frowned. “I did once get in through my window for a dare. Nearly killed me.” He felt a shiver pass through him. “Are you remembering that?”

  The beast watched him silently.

  “Look, I know running away won’t do any good. You can find me anyplace. So how about if I promise to come straight back?” Adam sighed. “If you can remember stuff, you should know I keep a promise.”

  “Miss,” echoed Zed. He wrapped his tail about his legs like a giant python, his eyelids starting to close. “Rem . . . ember.”

  Adam hovered uncertainly as the dinosaur’s head slumped back, the great breaths settling into a rasping rhythm. He waited a few minutes, looking longingly over his shoulder at the exit where a few hours’ freedom was waiting.

  Finally he summoned all his nerve and walked outside. The dinosaur stayed sleeping. But the huge, misshapen clouds in the sky reminded him of Zed’s nightmarish shadow, hanging over him still.

  12

  INTRUDER

  Adam’s apartment was three miles to the south, about an hour’s walk back into town. The morning was cold and musty smelling, such a change from the dry heat of New Mexico. At first, despite his aching legs, he relished the space and quiet. He was free, just for a while. And he was home! He could call up his mates, surprise them, drag them out of bed. “Guys, you won’t believe what I’ve been through. . . .”

  But the old doubts and fears were soon biting at the back of his mind, and suddenly he felt more like a ghost than a returning hero. How could he risk involving his friends with kidnappers and killers—with monsters?

  Lonely and troubled, Adam detoured toward the heart of Edinburgh. After so long away from civilization, he was longing to feel a part of real life. So he made his way over to the Mound in the mizzling dawn light, the steep road that climbed over the railway line and the tent-studded greenness of Princes Street Gardens. The sky was slate-gray, as impassive and solid as the great blocks and spires of the antique buildings looming before him. Banks and galleries and soot-shod old buildings stood proudly about. Darkened pub windows eyed churches warily from across the street. It was quiet, with little traffic rumbling back and forth. To his right, lording over all the roofs and spires of the stern skyline was the Castle, perched on its huge craggy skirts of volcanic rock.

  Adam looked up suddenly, his heart jolting as he glimpsed a dark blur in the sky overhead. Zed’s woken up, he thought in a panic. He’s checking up on me.

  But his imagination was playing tricks. There was nothing there. Nothing he could see, at any rate.

  After scanning the sky a little longer, Adam turned and trudged away back toward Princes Street and the grand sandstone streets of the New Town.

  Finally he turned onto Northumberland Street, a spacious sweep of elegant Georgian houses. He felt his spirits brighten a little at the sight of his apartment. The heavy front door was painted fire-engine red, with a fan-shaped window above. Adam had always found it so cheery and welcoming. Now the triangles of glass in the fan looked like vicious fangs above a door covered in blood. With a shudder, Adam continued west along the street and took the next right to double back to the rear gardens. No one was about. He scrambled over a fence, looked up at his bedroom window and wondered if the drainpipe running up the wall would still bear his weight.

  Only one way to find out, he decided.

  The worn muscles in Adam’s arms and legs protested as he started to climb. But Zed had traveled for thousands of miles; Adam wasn’t going to let a few vertical meters get the better of him. With one arm gripping the drainpipe and the toes of both feet wedged against a fixing in the wall, he reached over to his bedroom window and wobbled the flat of his hand against the glass. It had never latched properly, and if he jiggled it in just the right way. . . .

  “Got you,” he whispered as he felt it start to shift upward. As soon as he judged the gap large enough, he lunged over the sill and pulled himself clumsily inside, collapsing onto the bed. His bed.

  He closed his eyes, breathed in the familiar smells and clung to the soft mattress. If only he could sleep here properly for a few hours, to “wallow in his pit” as Dad used to say.

  At the thought of his dad, Adam’s eyes sprang open. He got up from the bed almost guiltily—and frowned.

  His belongings were strewn all over the room, a knotted landscape of comics, clothes and DVDs. Burglars, he thought. And yet the LCD television was still on the shelf. In a daze, he walked out into the bright magnolia hallway. His bike was still there, that was something—he wouldn’t have to walk back to the warehouse, and could enjoy his time away for a little longer.

  Adam checked his dad’s room. It had been royally trashed too. Suddenly he remembered the way Bateman had gone searching through his father’s room in New Mexico for something he hadn’t found. Someone had tried the same thing here.

  Angrily, Adam crossed to the phone in the hallway. It had been smashed along with the answering machine. The kitchen was a mess, all the dishes, pans and cutlery upended in the middle of the room. The coffee jar containing the emergency stash of cash lay empty.

  He filled a chipped mug with water and drained it dry. Then he wandered around the apartment again, bone-weary and shell-shocked. Well, what did you expect? asked a voice somewhere inside. This is your life, now—all messed up with the good stuff broken. Just grab a few bits and cre
ep back to the monster and the old, cold building in the dark. What else are you going to do—give up and cry?

  He wiped his nose. The idea had some appeal, but no way was he caving in now. Not after coming so far.

  He went to the bathroom and took a quick shower; no time to wait for hot water, so it was cold but still welcome. Then he squeezed half a tube of toothpaste into his mouth and swilled it about with water from a tap—God, what luxury! Mouth tingling, he pressed an old roll-on deodorant into service, put on fresh clothes and strode into the living room. It was a mess, but hadn’t been gone over as badly as the bedrooms.

  Feeling a little more human now, Adam deliberated his next move. He decided the most important thing was to get Dad’s message to Jeff Hayden, maybe try to smuggle out some of the files. Zed had wanted to share the story of his creation with Adam—he was sure Mr. Hayden would explain. . . .

  He started to search for his dad’s other phone—Mr. Adlar lost handsets so often he always kept a backup good to go. Jeff Hayden’s contact details would surely be held on there. Adam found the battered old Nokia handset and its charger beneath a pile of scattered magazines. A double result—the charger would work for his phone too.

  Then he suddenly remembered: back in the state park, Bateman had said Adam’s phone was bugged. Would they be able to track him here too, and come to get him?

  And if they did, and took him back to his dad . . . in some ways, wouldn’t that be a relief?

  Suddenly Adam found he wasn’t sure. He pictured Zed waking up in that run-down warehouse, alone. Coming looking. What might the dinosaur do if Adam could not be found?

  And what might his dad be forced to do, if Josephs and Bateman threatened Adam’s life?

  Leaving his phone on charge but safely switched off, he returned to his bedroom and grabbed his school sports bag. He stuffed his dad’s headset, a sleeping bag, toiletries and fresh clothes inside. Then he collected some groceries from the back of the cupboard and shoved them into the bag along with a jacket, a flashlight, an alarm clock and an old bobble hat. On the floor, he saw a framed photo of him and his dad, smiling over ice creams. Amazingly, the glass in the frame hadn’t cracked. He decided to pack that too. If only the cash hadn’t been taken—