Jurassic Earth Trilogy Box Set

by Logan T Stark

  Naval and Airforce tacticians had spent hours correlating statistics to select the world’s eighty-six most accomplished aviators. They’d analyzed data such as combat experience, flight hours, test scores, successful enemy intercepts and evasions, reaction times, and carrier landings amongst other variables. An elite international team of this calibre had never been assembled, not even for joint military training exercises. This was a world first. These men and women truly represented the best of the best. This was Top Gun on steroids.

  Heat plumes eddied from the many space fighters’ afterburners as they taxied from the runway, engines whining, filling the air with the intoxicating scent of high-octane jet fuel. The eighty-six chosen pilots and the back-ups had already arrived for the most part, except for those travelling from the most distant locations. Many had flown through the night from across the globe. Some of the pilots were still seated in their conventional national Airforce fighters, helmets rested on their canopies, trying to catch a few winks before the o-nine-hundred briefing in two short hours. In all her days, Mary had never seen so many military aircraft in one place. The scene was jaw-dropping, if not slightly chilling. There was enough hardware on display to level a continent.

  The terrifying implications of the firepower, however, was nothing compared to the news of the events that had been occurring throughout the night. Social media had been bombarded with reports of hauntings and sightings of the dead. Twitter and Instagram had both suffered outages due to the sheer volume of traffic. There had been reports of spectral builders working on the Pyramids in Egypt, of ghostly invaders attacking the Great Wall of China, of the dead haunting the obliterated ruins of Pompei in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, one of the most murderous volcanoes in recorded history.

  The dead had been rising from war and disaster zones across the entire planet. Some people were even experiencing more intimate hauntings, like a dead relative standing at the foot of the bed, or staring at them through a mirror, or the screen of a TV, or a mobile phone, even a toaster in one instance. One woman had even reported waking up because of a creaking sound. She’d looked through the window and seen her deceased grandfather rocking in his favorite chair on the porch.

  Despite all these occurrences, no camera had been able to pick up a single validating image. The amount of comments on social media both rebuking and supporting the claims was staggering. It was becoming a battle ground of escalating vicious exchanges. People seemed enraged and willing to espouse violence against those saying things they disagreed with. It was horrifying and showed no signs of de-escalation.

  Max Schindler, Mary’s cameraman, span his camera towards an incoming jet as its engines began squealing. The aircraft peeled violently up and right, jet-wash streaking the sky. The convoy of space fighters behind also began abandoning their landing runs. At first, Mary couldn’t understand why, but scanning the runway she saw a large aircraft coming into land from the opposite direction.

  “To your right,” she said, tapping Max’s shoulder. “That doesn’t look right. Film right.”

  Max span, but saw nothing through the camera’s optics. He tipped his head away from the eyepiece, confused. He found himself looking at a World War Two bomber coming in to land. He looked back through the camera. Nothing again. He tipped his head away once more and again, there was the bomber. The antique aircraft flopped onto the runway and skimmed across the tarmac, streaking ethereal sparks, translucent fuselage becoming shredded full of holes, skin flapping.

  “They’re coming home from a bombing run,” Max said. “It took them almost a hundred years, but they’re coming home. Man, let’s hope our pilots aren’t superstitious. This is one crappy omen.”

  “It’s hard not to be superstitious anymore.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Aaditya was right. This is really bad. It’s happening everywhere. If they can’t stop it everything’s gonna fall apart, we’re all done for.”

  The crashing craft burst into flame as the wreck span out and skidded across the grass towards the trees. A man dropped from the cockpit windows and another fell from the door. The two ghostly figures ran a short distance, then collapsed into the grass as the phantom bomber exploded, shedding propeller blades and shrapnel. The spectral illusion evaporated like fireworks in the night sky, light expiring to dark.

  “Feels like we’re being trolled,” Max said. “D’you think that thing in the past knows we’re coming for it?”

  “I hope not,” Mary said. “If it does, and it has the power to do something like this, what good are a few planes gonna be?”

  *****

  The Nine A.M. sortie briefing began on the dot. The congregation of international pilots were gathered in Schwechat airport’s Lauda hangar. Tim Skinner and the three squadron leaders from the nations that had supplied the space fighters were rising above the crowd, on a platform attached to a forklift loader.

  Tim gazed across the hangar, at the flight suits of the gathered pilots. He’d never seen so many national flags in one place. It was a wonderous rainbow of international solidarity, sovereign nations united. It was incredible to witness, a truly historic moment. There was barely a flag repeated across the sea of flight suits. Beside the rising forklift was a large holographic projection of Jurassic Earth and the orbiting star portal, the blazing micro-star encircled by a ring structure from which solar arrays fanned.

  “I’d like to thank you for your service in advance,” Tim began as the crane arm juddered to a halt. “The world owes you all a debt we’ll never be able to repay. We’ve all been reading the news and talking to family and friends, so you all know how grave things are becoming. Things are getting bad out there. I won’t patronize you by sugar coating our chances either. Most of you won’t make it back. This is going to be the toughest fight you’ve ever experienced and the margins for success will be razor thin, but we can and will prevail. We have to believe that. There are reserve pilots on standby should any of you want to back out. No one will think less of you. This mission is not an obligation or demand. If we lose freedom before we’ve even begun, we might as well roll over and give up right now.”

  The reserve pilots in the back row fidgeted, gazing around hopefully, eager for someone to cave so they could fly alongside the planet’s finest. None of the primary pilots flinched, however.

  “I’m humbled,” Tim said admiringly, allowing the gravitas of the moment to simmer. “Okay, first, a word about your supplied helmets. The inbuilt comms will translate chatter to your native language in real time. Similarly, your speech will be translated, so language barriers won’t be an issue. Secondly, your helmets are equipped with cameras. The tech in your visors will project images to your retinas, so you won’t be plagued by hallucinations. Keep your visors down at all times. Don’t lift them, not even for a second. The enemy you’ll be going up against will be able to deceive you should you provide a momentary exploit. Your cameras will help you distinguish reality from deception.

  Our adversary is an electrical being from another dimension, as crazy as that sounds, but it gets crazier. This thing can tinker with electron exchanges, making you see and hear things that aren’t real, hence the helmets. Close to the source it can also re-order the electromagnetic structure of atoms, adapting actual physical matter. If you look to the hologram of Jurassic Earth beside us, you’ll see a chunk of rock hovering above the planet’s southern icecap, Gondwana. It used to be a mountain on the surface. Now it’s in orbit, morphing into a hive. We’re already receiving reports of objects leaving the nest, fighters, drones. It’s those fighters you need to protect the Jurassic teams against.

  One of their goals will be to trigger an electromagnetic pulse from the star portal, and EMP. The pulse will stun the entity long enough that an incursion team will be able to infiltrate the Hive and plant spectral bombs. These bombs will send the Hive Queen back where she came from. After the EMP is triggered, you’ll lose power across all systems. You’ll be given a ten second w
arning, so make sure you’re aimed away from solid objects. I recommend aiming for deep space and waiting it out. We’re hoping power returns before the enemy fighters recover, but we can’t be sure. Then you fly as hard and fast as you can for the star portal, which will be set to self-destruct. We’re closing the door on this. Exit as quickly as you can.”

  I’ll now hand you over to your squadron leaders. Shenyang squadron, you’ll be following Mantis, from China. Firehawk squadron will be taking their lead from Hornet, from the United States. And finally, Skunk squadron will be following Hamilton from the United Kingdom. Good luck ladies and gentlemen, and God speed. You are our first and last line of defense.”

  Don’t Freak Out

  O n hearing the whine of an engine, Becca crept to the rear of the starjet and peered through a gash in the fuselage. She was shivering profusely now the power had failed and the heating systems were offline. Icy winds whistled through the gloomy interior, venting through multiple tears across the craft. She found the going difficult, her articulation clumsy, her dexterity severely hampered by the invasive cold. Against her will, her body was beginning to give up the fight. Molotov’s face bore the early signs of frostbite, chapped cheeks, blue fingers and dark lips. They were dying.

  A depleted wasp drone crunched underfoot and Becca shrank back, warm adrenaline stirring her senses. Then, choosing her footing more carefully, she manoeuvered into a spying position. The swell of the unknown craft rose and fell, soundwaves bouncing off the surrounding mountains, making pinpointing its direction impossible. It wouldn’t take long for the searching craft to locate the scar the starjet had scoured across the mountainside.

  “Is it them, Schweighofer and the others?” Molotov asked, teeth chattering.

  “Not sure. I can’t see. M… m-maybe I should go outside.”

  “No. What about the temple, is it… s-still ch-changing?

  Becca adjusted position until she located the toothlike chunk of the planet’s crust hovering above the atmosphere, crowned with its mountain temple. It was almost unrecognizable now. Its metamorphosis seemed to be accelerating. Meltwater was cascading from its sides, tremendous waterfalls that rainbowed through space, creating structures in the upper atmosphere similar to the Southern Lights, undulating curtains of neon luminescence.

  “What is it, what do you see?” Molotov asked eagerly.

  “Wait, give me a sec.”

  The impossible fortress hovering above the atmosphere now resembled an upturned pyramid, bursting with emerald lightning, wildly lashing bolts. Becca was sure she could see flashes of light reflecting off dozens of crafts leaving and returning to the space station.

  “What d’you see?” Molotov asked again, creeping closer. “What is it, tell me?”

  “It doesn’t look good. There’s more ships. It’s changing so fast. Where are they all coming from?”

  “We’re done…,” Molotov said, sighing and collapsing back. “They’ll never get through. We’re gonna die here, you know that, right?”

  “What!” Becca shot, glaring back at Molotov, his features eclipsed by gloom. “Why say that? Why would you even say that?”

  Molotov slowly brushed a hand across his scalp, dipping his head into shadow.

  “What’s the point in pretending. The cold’ll get us soon, minutes, hours. We should just go outside and lie in the snow, get it over with. I should have followed my brother when I had the chance. We’re already dead. We both know it.”

  “No!” Becca flared, her voice hitting a shrill pitch, tears welling. “NO! They’re coming back! Why are you saying that? After all we’ve gone through! What’s wrong with you? Don’t you dare say that!”

  “Those ships up there, that’s an armada. It’s building ships. We couldn’t even combat something like that in our own time. They’re in space, Becca. We’re done and we both know it. It’s over. We lost.”

  “No, NO!” Becca yelled, slamming a fist against the fuselage. “I refuse to…”

  On hearing a sound outside, her voice tapered off, her breaths shuddering and sharp. She paused and pricked her ears, breaths steaming. She could definitely hear the roar of the craft returning.

  “Time to find out if we live or die,” Molotov said. “May as well go out blasting, take a few of them with us. You still got the pistol I gave you?”

  “Uh-huh,” Becca said, brushing a hand against the javelin tucked into her belt.

  “Don’t let them fool you,” Molotov said, moving close, his breath hot on her neck. “If you sense something wrong, shoot first. Better to die from cold than whatever they might do. You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Becca shrank back as a craft hovered overhead, long and gray, with stubby wings and a cockpit section protruding from a neck, lined with corrugated pipes. She was sure she could see people waving from a translucent gun nest on the craft’s belly.

  “It’s them,” she breathed. “I can see Hadley and Fang.”

  “Don’t be fooled,” Molotov whispered, receding into the starjet. “They’ll torture you before they kill you. Peel off your skin. Dig out your eyes.”

  “Huh!” Becca exclaimed, glancing back at Molotov as he shrank into the darkness. “What are you doing, where are you going?”

  Figuring the cold was affecting Molotov’s ability to think straight, Becca crouched and scampered out the back of the jet and across the snow. She ducked behind a fallen tree trunk, all the while watching the incredible craft swivel and set down in the path of destruction the starjet had cleaved through the mountain forest. Its landing thrusters blasted snow and twigs aside. The engines throttled back and a ramp towards the craft’s midsection peeled open. Fang and Hadley were throwing off their harnesses inside the gun nest. Becca slowly drew her pistol from her belt, ragged breaths billowing puffs of steam. Before the ramp had hit the ground, Reece jumped from the belly and landed hard, knee crunching the snow. He was quickly up and sprinting towards the starjet.

  Something wasn’t right. Becca clocked the anomaly instantly. Reece wasn’t wearing his survival suit. The person charging towards her was wearing a gray and orange suit, with a fixed helmet. Where did the suit come from and why would a person need a helmet in Earth’s atmosphere? The beings in the hovering fortress wouldn’t have understood that. It was a mistake an alien intelligence creating a ruse might easily make. Shakily, she lifted her weapon. Every molecule in her being wanted to believe it was Reece. Even if it wasn’t, she was increasingly sure she wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. The spacecraft’s ramp hit the ground and Schweighofer raced out, also wearing one of the unfamiliar suits.

  “Becca,” Reece said on spotting her, holding out his hands and slowing up. “It’s me, I swear. Look at my eyes, hon, you know it’s me. Put down the gun.”

  “Reece?” Becca said, trying to stabilize the shaking weapon with her free hand. She quickly refocussed the pistol on Schweighofer, who vaulted the fallen tree and charged right on by.

  “We got new suits,” Reece said, patting himself down, realizing the source of Becca’s confusion. “There’s technology in the glass so we can’t be manipulated. It’s me, Becks, you know it is. You gotta believe me.”

  “Then how’d you get past all those ships up there, the temple?”

  “We came in from the other side of the planet, flying low all the way. It’s me, us, I swear, Becca, please...”

  “R… Reece,” she stammered, giving in and dropping the weapon. She clambered over the trunk and collapsed onto the snow. “Please don’t be a trick. I’m too weak to fight you, too cold.”

  Reece dashed forwards and swept her up in his arms, his embrace warm and strong. He stroked her hair, then feverishly checked her over, patting her down, turning her arms, examining each inch.

  “No, your hands,” he said, clasping them between his gloves, breathing on her fingertips and rubbing gently. “Are you hurt?”

  Becca shook her head. She tried to speak but her throat was too constricted to form
words.

  “It’s okay, it’s me,” Reece said, pulling her into a second embrace. “It’s not a trick. One more stop and we’re going home. We’re gonna make it, hon. We’re gonna see the morning.”

  Becca sank into Reece’s arms and exhaled a long shuddering breath.

  “I didn’t think I was ever gonna see you again,” she said, gripping him tight.

  “I told you, you’re stuck with me,” he chuckled, rumbling softly. “I’m like foot fungus, really tough to get rid of. Months of topical creams.”

  “Oh, god,” Becca said, spluttering laughter. “It’s definitely you. Only you could say something like that in a moment like this. Topical creams, how the heck am I finding that romantic?”

  “It’s my special charms,” Reece replied, smiling at her. “For someone who damn near froze to death, I gotta say, you look amazing. I could happily look at that face for the rest of time.”

  “You too,” Becca said, snuggling into his chest, the curl of his tightening arms gloriously soothing.

  Behind Reece, Scarlet, Hadley and Fang were walking down the ship’s loading ramp. The dog Reece had mentioned was padding beside them, a husky breed of some kind, gray and white.

  Schweighofer stumbled out of the starjet behind Becca and collapsed to her knees, shoulders slumped, head sagging, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “What? What’s happening?” Becca said, a chill icing her spine, gooseflesh prickling her neck. She pulled away from Reece. “What’s happening, what’s going on?”