Z. Rex

by Steve Cole

  “That one’s almost as old as you are,” muttered Adam. He took a deep breath. “Look, Zed, I need more time. I was thinking at least—”

  “Four,” the dinosaur rasped.

  “Yeah, four hours. Two o’clock,” Adam agreed, slightly taken aback. “I’ll know if he can see me by then. If not, maybe I can try tomorrow.” Any excuse to get away from you, he thought. “I’ve got enough cash for the bus fare. And after yesterday, Josephs will be looking for a boy on a bike, won’t he?”

  “Jo . . . sephs,” Zed snarled, grinding his enormous teeth.

  At least it’s not Dad’s name he’s chewing up, thought Adam, remembering the picture frame that vanished into Zed’s jaws yesterday. “Josephs used to work with my dad, but he got fired. That’s why he must be out to get him.” Adam paused. “You believe me about Dad now, right?”

  Zed let out a long, hissing breath. Was it just the weird light through the mucky windows, or did he look paler than before?

  “I’ll see you soon,” Adam said awkwardly.

  The brooding beast made no reply. Mick Jagger’s voice leaked from the headphones, singing about losing your dreams and losing your mind.

  The BioQuarter in Little France was a new development on the outskirts of the city, bringing together loads of different “life science” companies and education sites. In addition to Edinburgh’s main hospital, there were outposts of the university, the Queen’s Medical Research Institute and a giant hundred-acre biomedical research park filled with hundreds of high-tech businesses, all at the cutting edge of genetic exploration.

  As the bus trundled southward, Adam remembered his dad going on about how Dolly, the world’s first cloned sheep, was created here in Edinburgh. Basically, scientists took a cell from one sheep and used it to grow another sheep that was exactly the same—like a living photocopy.

  Zed was no simple photocopy of anything that had ever lived, of that Adam was sure. Not with his sharp mind and his dragon wings. His cells would have to be something special. Was that a clue as to why Dad had directed Adam to this gleaming new development of steel and glass, where science and sci-fi clashed in billion-dollar surroundings?

  Adam wandered about, his sports bag heavy with files, ignoring the curious glances he attracted, until he found the device and diagnostic companies cluster.

  And there, at last, were the ultramodern offices of Symtek Biotronics.

  He walked into a spotless reception area. The futuristic chairs looked as uncomfortable as he felt approaching the slender young woman behind the desk—who might have been cloned from a Barbie doll. Adam saw Jeff Hayden’s name on the wall, listed as Symtek’s director of scientific development.

  “I need to see Mr. Hayden, please,” he told her. “I’m Adam Adlar, Bill Adlar’s son.”

  The name clearly meant nothing to her. “Mr. Hayden is busy.” Glossy pink lips pouted doubtfully. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. But it’s important. Is he in today?”

  “He really is very busy.”

  Adam leaned forward over her desk. “Um, I know I’m not your typical visitor here, but this is important. Honestly, the most important thing ever. . . .” He gave his best shot at a winning smile. “Please?”

  He was spared Barbie’s response because just then the door behind him opened and an imposing, portly man in a crumpled blue suit and a floppy red bow tie strode in. He was tanned, maybe in his early fifties, with combed-over hair standing up like it was partying on his bald, shiny head. His shoes were muddy and his briefcase was scuffed, but his green eyes twinkled with humor.

  “Sorry I’m late, Megan, my meeting overran,” said the man, a transatlantic twang to his deep voice. He noticed Adam and looked taken aback for a moment. “Don’t tell me this is my eleven o’clock appointment?”

  “Young Mr. Adlar arrived unexpectedly,” said Megan, wearing her best Barbie smile. “He’s just leaving.”

  Adam ignored her. “Mr. Hayden?” he asked breathlessly.

  The man nodded, his frown deepening. “Adlar? Then, you’re Bill’s son?”

  “Yes—Adam!” He could’ve dissolved into a puddle of sheer relief. “I’ve come all the way from America to see you.”

  “Oh?” Hayden smiled politely. “That’s quite a trip, Adam. Your dad keeping well? I haven’t seen him in an age. Didn’t he go out to New Mexico?”

  “Aye, he went out there.”

  “Well, you must tell him to pop by sometime,” said Hayden. “I’m a little preoccupied right now, but—”

  “Please, Mr. Hayden, this is really urgent.” Adam clutched the sports bag to his chest. “Could we talk in your office? Since you’ve got twenty minutes before your next appointment, and all. . . .”

  Hayden hesitated. Then his face softened as he shrugged and smiled. “I guess it wouldn’t kill me to take five. Let’s go.”

  With a smile at Megan and some silent thanks to the gods of good timing, Adam followed Hayden eagerly into a spacious office. One wall was lined with book-cases, crammed with volumes on everything from advanced biology to theories of evolution and . . .

  “Dinosaurs,” Adam blurted out loud, crossing to take a closer look at an oversized book. He noticed the name HAYDEN was printed on the spine. “Wow, did you write this?”

  “Years ago. That one and a few others,” said Hayden, smiling. “They’re a little dated now. But I’ve always had something of a passion for prehistory. Spent holidays and gap years researching theories, digging around for fossils in all weathers. . . . Your father used to say I was crazy.” He chuckled fondly. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with him properly, especially now that Symtek’s relocated to Edinburgh.”

  Adam smiled and nodded. He was dying to just blurt out his reasons for being here; here was a grown-up, someone who really knew about dinosaurs, who could help. But he didn’t want Hayden to think he was just some silly, panicking kid. “You, er . . . you like it here in Scotland?”

  “What’s not to like? Once you get used to the weather!” He settled himself into a comfy leather chair behind a battered old oak desk. A wafer-thin iMac computer stood incongruously on top of it. “I live out in St. Leonards, close to Arthur’s Seat. Beautiful country. Oh, but I’m forgetting my manners. . . .” He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a crumpled clear plastic bag and offered it to Adam with an encouraging smile. “Organic gingersnap? All local ingredients.”

  Adam took one politely, wondering how he could get to the point without sounding like a maniac.

  “You know, you remind me of your dad in his younger days,” said Hayden, crunching on a cookie with enthusiasm. “We met at Stanford. Both of us doing our doctorates at the School of Engineering.” Hayden leaned back in his chair and grinned. “It’s a good thing he came straight to Edinburgh afterward—I’d never have handled the competition! Your dad’s a brilliant man, Adam. Of course, our careers have taken us in very different directions now; him with his gaming, me moving into biomedicine. . . .”

  “You mean, pills and stuff?” Adam hazarded.

  “More like solving problems in clinical medicine through study of how the body works.” Hayden licked crumbs from his lips and leaned forward again. “It’s very exciting at the moment. We’re developing what we call an accelerated bioregenerator.”

  Adam blinked. “A what-was-that?”

  “Bioregenerator. It’s not so complicated!” Hayden assured him. “Think of living creatures. Our bodies are programmed to self-repair, given the chance, right? Cuts scab over, bones rejoin and heal if they’re set correctly. A lizard can even grow itself a new tail.” His eyes glittered with excitement. “Now, imagine if we could accelerate the healing process—repair damaged tissue faster and more efficiently. People with life-threatening injuries could make a full recovery in hours rather than days or weeks.”

  Adam thought back to the men Zed had killed back at Fort Ponil. How quickly their lives had been snuffed out. “Sounds amazing,” he said.

  “I’m
sorry.” Hayden must have noticed that Adam looked distracted. “You told me something’s urgent, and here I am giving you the sponsorship spiel. What’s up?”

  “Uh . . .” Adam decided to jump in headfirst. “Dad went missing in New Mexico.”

  Hayden frowned. “Missing?”

  “About three weeks ago, he said he had to go and work at a different lab—and he never came home.” Adam could feel tears welling up and resolutely swallowed them back. “But he did get one text through to me, telling me to go and see you with evidence of a secret project he’d been made to work on. The Z. rex project.”

  “Z. rex? As in T. rex?” said Hayden doubtfully. “Look, Adam, if this is some sort of joke—”

  “I’m not joking.”

  “Well, then, the police would surely—”

  “Dad said I shouldn’t tell the police. Said they couldn’t help.”

  “Then who have you told?”

  Adam hesitated. What do I say—that the only one who knows is the talking dinosaur who flew me across the Atlantic on his back? “Uh, no one,” he said at last, deciding it was best to let out the details a few at a time. “I’ve been on my own. Managed to get back home, but . . . anyway, Dad said that you could show the evidence to the right people.”

  “What evidence? What people?” Hayden looked baffled. “And what does ‘Z. rex’ even mean?”

  “The Z stands for ‘zenith,’” Adam said, reaching into his sports bag for the files. “This is a whole new kind of dinosaur.”

  “A new fossil, you mean?” The scientist scratched his head and sent his hair madly dancing. “What does any of this have to do with Bill going missing?”

  “Just about everything.” Adam solemnly piled the files on the desk. “I . . . I managed to get hold of these. Reports on the Z. rex project. I don’t really understand them, but if you’re a scientist and know all about dinosaurs, then maybe . . .”

  Hayden flipped open the first of the files. “Reengineering a dinosaur,” he muttered, his fingers flicking through the crumpled, dog-eared pages. “Forceevolving cells? Rejuvenation of fossil matter?” He looked up, eyebrows riding the frames of his glasses. “Adam, I say again, if this is some kind of joke—”

  “It’s no joke, I promise. Have you heard of a company called Geneflow Solutions? Or someone called Sam Josephs?”

  “I’ve heard of her.” Hayden’s face had hardened a little. “Why?”

  “Her?” Adam echoed, surprised.

  Hayden nodded. “Sam’s a she. Samantha Josephs.”

  “Well . . . if it’s the same person, she is running the Z. rex project. She used to work for Dad, but Dad fired her.”

  “I gave her a job myself,” said Hayden, “some time ago. Brilliant girl, expert in animal neurology—that’s study of the nervous system. She oversaw early trials of my bioregenerators on injured animals.” He took off his glasses and stared into space. “Turned out to be a corporate spy, selling the information to the highest bidder.”

  Adam sat up straighter in his chair. “Maybe she was doing the same on Dad’s Ultra-Reality project?”

  “Perhaps,” said Hayden cautiously.

  “Well, in any case, she’s forcing Dad to work for her.” Adam scowled. “He went to work at this place called Fort Ponil and never came back. She was holding him there.”

  “Kidnapping? I can’t imagine she would stoop to that.” Hayden bit into another cookie and looked again at the files. “Then again, I couldn’t imagine anyone taking cell research as far as this. The experimentation involved, the sheer cost . . .” He turned another page, reacted to the information printed there and shook his head. “Your father knows, of course, that I’m a private sector adviser to the International Science and Ethics Association.”

  “The what?”

  “Whenever new breakthroughs in genetic experiments are made, the United Nations calls on me and various others to consider the ethics involved and rule on whether the work should be allowed to continue.” He looked troubled. “Maybe that’s another reason why Bill sent you to see me. If someone has taken these theories and applied them to a living animal . . .”

  “Mr. Hayden, what can we do?” Adam asked plaintively. “Geneflow Solutions has a base somewhere in Edinburgh. Josephs and my dad could both be there.”

  “I can’t believe that Josephs would have the nerve to show her face around here again.” Hayden finished his gingersnap and looked at Adam. “You know, I really think you should tell the police what you’ve told me.”

  “Dad told me not to. No way, he said.”

  “But you’ve heard nothing from him since that text message?”

  “No,” Adam admitted. “But if I do tell the police, and Josephs finds out, she might”—he bit his lip—“might hurt him, or . . .”

  Hayden sighed and waved a hand, as if dismissing the idea. “Okay. I agree we don’t tell them right now. Let me read through these files. I’ll do some discreet asking around the local science community, see if I can turn up anything on Geneflow Solutions. And I’ll even ask my contacts at the UN if anyone’s approached them regarding this Z. rex project.”

  “You will?” Adam’s shoulders felt suddenly way lighter. “That would be awesome, thank you.”

  He passed Adam a business card. “If you think of anything else that might help, just call me. Anytime. Where are you staying, by the way?”

  “Uh . . . with a friend.” Not a giant dinosaur in the shell of a warehouse over at Granton, oh, no. “I’m using Dad’s old phone, you can get me on that. . . .”

  He scribbled the number on the top page of the nearest open file.

  “Thanks.” Hayden surveyed the files again, shaking his head. “I’ll ring if I hear something.”

  “If,” Adam echoed glumly.

  “Let’s regenerate that ‘if’ into a ‘when,’ shall we?” Hayden smiled confidently. “Try not to worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this, because I hate mysteries. That’s why I went into research for a living!”

  Adam smiled back. For a few moments in that sunlit office, things seemed okay and the right way round again—the adult stepping in to sort stuff out. He carried some of that optimism with him as he headed back across the sci-fi landscape of the research park.

  It was only once he’d returned to the rougher reality of the city that the fear and the nerves ebbed back. For all Hayden’s words and Adam’s hopes, his dad was still out there. And still lost.

  15

  SLAUGHTER

  Adam stopped off at a tourist restaurant on his way back. His stomach had been growling, and he suddenly realized there was nothing he wanted more than hot, fleshy French fries, half buried under small mountains of salt and then smothered in ketchup. He ate slowly at a table while discreetly charging his dad’s phone from a socket in the wall, and kept a watchful eye for passing friends and burgundy Daimlers. In the end he barely tasted a thing.

  He was wondering now if he should have told Hayden about Z. rex being here. Maybe I should have invited him to the warehouse to meet Zed for himself. What’s that old saying? “Seeing is believing.”

  Or—more likely in this case—“Seeing is running away screaming calling the army to come and blow up the giant dinosaur.”

  “You did the right thing,” he told himself. “For now, at least.”

  He bought a couple of energy drinks and left the café through the little window in the men’s room. Just in case he was being watched.

  It was close to one-fifteen by the time Adam got off the bus in Leith and started walking back toward the warehouse. He wondered how much he should tell Zed, shivering at the thought of going back into the clammy darkness of the monster’s lair. He wanted to hold on to the sunlight just a little longer. He wanted Mr. Hayden to ring him right away, with good news.

  At least I’ve told someone, he reflected, pausing beside a large, muddy field. It’s out now.

  There were five horses in the field. Three of them were lying down, legs folded, while two ot
hers cropped the short grass.

  Then one of the feeding horses, large and gray, looked up at the trees on the outskirts of the field and snorted nervously. The horse beside it lifted its head. A shiver of unease seemed to run through the group. Those lying down got to their feet, ears moving nervously backward and forward, eyes wary and nostrils wide. Something had them spooked.

  Adam watched, curious, as the first horse started to circle the group at a trot, his tail high. The younger horses in the middle jostled together anxiously.

  Then, Adam felt his insides lurch as a blur of green scales suddenly appeared, bounding out of the trees. The horses scattered, ears back, muscles bunching and stretching as they galloped away.

  “Zed, no!” Adam yelled, but the words were lost beneath the pounding of hooves. “Don’t!”

  The horses couldn’t escape. The wood and wire fence was there, hemming them in. Zed burst into flight, overtook the large, gray horse that had scented him first and landed directly in front of it. It swerved aside but too late to avoid a tail swipe that knocked it to the ground with a sickening crunch. Eyes wide and terrified, it tried to rise but the huge, crushing teeth were already sinking into its sides. Adam turned away, nauseated, and the smallest horse caught his attention. It was cantering in frantic circles, whinnying in distress. Zed flapped briefly into the air like some terrible dragon and landed right on top of it, stamping its hindquarters into the muddy earth.

  As Zed began to feed, Adam crouched down behind a fencepost and tried to hold on to his lunch.

  This was not the sharply skilled bird-killer he’d seen on the beach in Ontario, or the cunning shark fisher. As the remaining horses dodged and shied in blind panic, Zed turned from the bloody remains of his meal to goad them—hopping about, roaring and clawing at whichever came closest. There seemed no strategy at work. He was playing with his food.

  Finally Zed landed a heavy blow to another of the horses. It collapsed to the ground, bloody stripes marking its neck. The dinosaur roared in triumph, bore down over it, jaws widening. As he did so, just for a moment, his eyes met Adam’s.