by Jodi Taylor
Carefully, my head practically rotating, I approached the nest. It looked solidly built and easily able to hold my weight. I stood on tiptoe and leaned over. What would I find? If only a few eggs had been laid then the nest might well belong to a T-rex or one of the larger predators. If I uncovered ten or more eggs then I was probably looking at a Hadrosaur or Sauropod nest with, if the god of historians was really with me, absentee parents.
I counted five eggs and what looked like another five on the bottom layer. Like a box of chocolates. And they were laid on their sides rather than vertically. So probably not a T-rex. I reached out and gingerly touched an egg. Sadly, it was warm and still covered in some sort of birth fluid so these eggs were freshly laid – very likely by whatever we’d heard thrashing around in this vicinity. However, no sign of Mum now, so, fingers crossed, it was probably almost safe to remove one.
I got my hands underneath one and lifted. It was about the size and rough shape of a rugby ball. I went to slip it inside my jacket and something made me look up. To this day I don’t know what. Instinct, perhaps.
It wasn’t that large and, at first, I thought it was a raptor, but it wasn’t. Standing motionless between two trees was a T-rex. Perfectly camouflaged, its skin colour and mottling rendered it almost invisible among the pine trunks. I hadn’t heard it approach so it must have been there for some time. Waiting to see if Mother came back, perhaps, and now, reassured by the lack of a maternal presence, it was about to make a move on the nest.
And me.
It was a small specimen. A young male, I guessed. Living alone and fending for himself. He stood, head tilted to one side because my scent was unfamiliar to him and he couldn’t work out what I was. He’d learned to be cautious. A bigger specimen would have barged in and gobbled up me, the eggs, and probably my two employers as well.
Not that I was in any way reassured by his stillness. Trust me, a T-rex is no less terrifying when it stands still and just looks at you.
I froze. The typical instinct of the small terrified mammal faced with a dangerous predator.
We looked at each other.
I’d forgotten that giant head. Those teeth. And how their breath stinks of rotting meat. And those cold, intelligent eyes.
As it turned out, freezing was not the wrong way to go. He was young and inexperienced and I don’t think he knew whether to go for the unknown – me – or concentrate on the tangible prize – the nest of eggs. If he was very hungry, he might only be aware of the eggs. Which turned out to be a good guess because ignoring the unfamiliar and strange-smelling mammal, he went straight for the nest.
He took two giant steps into the clearing, swung his head and demolished the whole careful structure there and then. Eggs, nest material and an historian flew in all directions. I hit the ground with a bit of a thump. I lay, winded and wondering whether to move or not. Half the bloody nest fell on top of me as well. Which turned out to be a good thing because he missed me so completely he very nearly trod on me in his rush to get to the eggs.
Male Tyrannosaurs don’t have an easy life. They’re smaller and lighter than the much more aggressive females. They tend to live solitary lives, only getting together with a female whenever she feels like it. The females are belligerent in their better moods and deadly in their worst. They’ll tolerate a male for a short period while he does the business, but outstaying his welcome will result in him finding himself on the lunch menu.
This one, nowhere near fully grown, was even more battered and scarred than usual, and hungry enough to abandon caution.
Dinosaur eggs are robust. They have to be. An egg laid by a giant Sauropod has a long way to drop before it hits the ground, so the eggs rolling in all directions across the forest floor were undamaged. He dipped his head, seized one in his jaws and gobbled it whole. He crunched the next one and I watched liquid egg run out from between his teeth.
He must have been starving because he was head down, snatching at the eggs as fast as he could find them. I needed to get out while his attention was elsewhere. Especially before he discovered that fresh meat could also be on the menu today.
The nest was almost completely demolished. There was no cover of any kind and any moment now he’d be sniffing around the forest floor looking for any eggs he might have missed.
I waited until his back was to me, and he was nosing at an egg wedged under a root, wriggled out from under the pile of moss and branches and rolled across the clearing, under his tail, and into the trees. I took two seconds to get my breath back and groped for my stun gun, all prepared to defend myself and two worthless specimens of humanity.
I don’t know what happened next. He wasn’t large but he was still a threat and he was between me and Wolfe and Khalife. I don’t know if one of them moved. Or tried to run. Or what. I only know he lifted his head suddenly and stood stock-still. It was a terrifying moment. He stood completely motionless, like a statue, and lowered his head. I could hear the air whistling in and out of his nostrils and I knew he’d sensed them.
Whether he hesitated for that vital second because he was trying to assimilate their unfamiliar smell – I don’t know. Whether, if they’d stood their ground and not moved, he would have gone back to his eggs – again, I don’t know. I only know that he hesitated just long enough for Khalife to raise his gun and fire.
Three sharp shots cracked around the clearing.
At first, I couldn’t think why he bothered. Even I could see his gun didn’t have anything like enough stopping power to put down a T-rex – but, as it turned out, he didn’t need to stop a T-rex. He only needed to stop Mr Wolfe, whose chest exploded in a spray of red blood and tissue.
There was a moment’s complete silence while everyone tried to work out what was happening – Wolfe, me and the T-rex – and while we were doing that, Khalife turned to run. The T-rex might have followed him but the smell of blood was just too much for him. Lowering his massive head, he sniffed at the body almost at his feet. Wolfe lay on his back. Red, shiny blood had sprayed everywhere, dripping down tree trunks and lying in pools on the ground. The clearing was very quiet. I could hear Wolfe’s agonised attempts to breathe.
The T-rex lowered his head. I saw his nostrils flare.
Atticus Wolfe wasn’t yet dead. But there was nothing I could do. I was on the other side of the clearing. The T-rex was between him and me. I saw him feebly lift his arm – whether in an appeal for help or in an effort to ward off the inevitable, I don’t know, and he didn’t live long enough for me to find out. The T-rex drew his lips back from his teeth, and made a sudden lunge. There was a gurgling scream. I woke up and turned away. Get out of here, Maxwell. Now.
I turned and ran in the opposite direction from that taken by Khalife. He might have a gun but I was betting I’d last longer than he would because he would be blasting off at everything in sight and that was just plain stupid. I was convinced he wouldn’t last an hour. Actually, realistically, neither would I because everything – climate, flora, fauna, ex-employers, Ronan – absolutely every bloody thing in the world was out to kill me.
I zigzagged around the trees, not so lost in headlong flight that I forgot to have a bit of a think as I ran.
Had Wolfe and Khalife been Ronan’s distraction? To get me out of the way while he went after the pod?
Or, out of self-protection, had Khalife killed Wolfe, Medea-like, so he could distract the T-rex and make his escape, leaving me, unarmed, on my own, and with a life expectancy of seconds?
Or was this Khalife’s power play? His bid for Wolfe’s job?
Or was he working for Ronan and eliminating Wolfe on his instructions?
It didn’t matter whether he was acting on Ronan’s orders or not, Wolfe was now well and truly out of the game. I felt a stab of regret. I saw his beautiful room full of beautiful things. And then I remembered all the things he must have done to acquire those beautiful things. An
d who he must have done them to.
Forget him. He was no longer relevant. I had other things to think about. Was Ronan actually at the teapot this very moment? Mikey wouldn’t open up under any circumstances but I had a sudden vision of a little packet of something explosive fitted around the hatch. Just enough to get it open, shoot Mikey, dump her body and jump away.
I dodged around trees, leaped over tree roots and tried not to break my neck in this mad gallop downhill.
And, just for the record, there was absolutely no bloody sign of any bloody back-up of any bloody kind any bloody where.
I was trying not to think about it because I had a lot on at the moment, but ever since I’d arrived here the thought had shouldered its way to the front of my mind and refused to leave.
They weren’t here because they hadn’t made it. Neither St Mary’s or the Time Police had prevailed over Halcombe and his slimy forces. In my worst moments I saw them all, dead and dying. I could be the last member of St Mary’s left alive. And not for very long at this rate.
I stopped, my chest heaving, put a hand on a tree trunk for support – both mental and physical – and listened hard. Nothing. No one was behind me. I needed to get back to the pod. I changed direction and ran. As fast as I could.
35
I ran through the trees, dodging from side to side, trying to look in all directions at once and wondering if I was in more danger from the visitors or the inhabitants of this world. Finding myself a safe-ish area where three trees grew so closely together they were almost one, I wedged myself inside them, took one long look around and then crouched low. I tapped my ear and whispered, ‘Mikey.’
She whispered back. ‘Yes?’
I said, with no little exasperation, ‘There’s no need for you to whisper.’
‘Oh. No. Sorry.’
‘It’s all kicking off. Lock yourself in. Remember the code word.’
‘Max, you should get back. The weather’s turning really nasty.’
And it was. Now that I’d stopped running, I could hear the shushing noise of the wind in the trees. Leaves and small twigs swirled around me.
I said, ‘Wolfe’s dead.’
‘Was it Khalife?’
I nodded, cursed myself for an idiot, and said, ‘Yes.’
‘Great,’ she said sunnily. ‘Adrian owes me a million pounds. He’s going to be really pissed off.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘You knew what he had planned?’ but that implied that I hadn’t, which, while true, wasn’t something I wanted to admit.
‘Let’s hope you live long enough to collect from him. Anything moving near you?’
‘No, nothing. I haven’t seen a thing. I think we’re building up to a storm and everything seems to have gone to ground. What are you going to do now?’
‘Well, I’m pretty sure it’s a trap and they’ll be expecting a panic-stricken historian to be careering back to the pod as quickly as she could get her legs to move. I suspect they’ll wait for you to open the hatch for me and then it’ll all hit the fan.’
‘See you in a minute, then.’
‘Maybe. I’m going to work my way back to you and see what happens. Remember . . .’
‘I know – don’t open the hatch. Not for anyone or any reason.’
‘Not even . . . ?’
‘Not even if it’s you.’
‘Unless . . . ?’
‘Unless you give the password.’
‘Because . . . ?’
A teenage sigh gusted through my earpiece. ‘Because . . . we are not alone.’
I tried to remember the days when I never took anything seriously, either.
‘See you soon, Mikey.’
‘Good luck.’
‘You too.’
I stood up cautiously, checked around, and headed downhill again, eventually emerging from the trees and into the open ground. I noticed the difference immediately. The weather had seriously deteriorated over the last twenty minutes. The sun was gone and heavy, rain-laden clouds seemed only inches above my head. The wind was stronger here, lifting my hair and blowing it back off my face. Dust, leaves and small twigs swirled in miniature dust devils.
I wasn’t sure what to do but cowering here wasn’t going to help. I had a T-rex behind me, Demiyan Khalife somewhere off to my right, Clive Ronan probably between me and the pod, and the deteriorating weather. I really couldn’t afford to hang around to see which of them killed me first.
The low-hanging clouds bulged with moisture. Somewhere in the distance, lightning flickered pink and thunder rumbled. The storm was almost upon us. I could smell rain in the air.
I had a sudden thought. Ronan might not hang around if he thought his life was in danger, not even for a magic pod, and if he came after us again it could be at a time and place of his own choosing and the advantage would be his. I had to prevent that happening. I couldn’t do all this again. I had to force him to make his move here. It’s typical, isn’t it? We think we’re so wonderful with our careful, complex plans. I’d moved heaven and earth to assemble all the players at the right place at the right time and then the bloody weather steps in and ruins everything.
This wouldn’t be a light shower. You could stand under Niagara Falls and still not get as wet as you would in a Cretaceous rainstorm. Torrents of muddy water would be sweeping down this hillside within minutes. The level of water in the swamp would rise dramatically. Whether it would be enough to sweep away the teapot I had no idea but, whereas I had no problems with Khalife or Ronan being stranded here in the Cretaceous, I had several issues with the same thing happening to me. I’d get back to Mikey and we’d do a sideways jump to further up the hillside. Maybe high enough to put us up in the coniferous zone. Well out of harm’s way. If you can actually be out of harm’s way in the Cretaceous.
Yes. That was a plan. Get back to the pod as soon as possible, check on Mikey, jump to safety, wait out the storm and then have another go.
The weather was worsening by the moment. The air was stifling – the humidity unbearable. With a flash that turned the world pink, giant lightning forked across the sky, followed instantly by the sound of tearing clouds. This thunder didn’t rumble – it ripped across the sky. The bang hurt my ears, still not completely recovered from London Bridge.
And at that moment the rain came down. Straight down, because it was far too heavy to be driven by the wind. I felt as if some prehistoric weather god had pulled the plug and emptied the contents of her bath all over me. I was drenched to the skin in seconds.
There were lots of downsides to this situation but the worst was visibility. I could barely see a yard in front of me. The ground turned to instant quagmire and, what with that and the buffeting rain, I was hard put to keep my feet. Yes, I needed to get out of this, back to the pod, jump to safety, have a cup of tea and a re-think, wait out the storm, and then we’d have another go.
As I came to this decision, Mikey spoke in my ear.
‘Problem, Max. The water’s rising quickly. And it’s racing. Lots of white water. There’s trees and all sorts of things sweeping past. I’m worried we might be . . .’
She broke off.
‘Mikey?’
No response.
‘Mikey, can you hear me?’
Nothing.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I set off in what I vaguely hoped was the right direction and the first thing that happened was that Mr Khalife popped up – literally from nowhere. I never saw him coming at all which was a bit of a shock and I was angry with myself. I needed to concentrate more. He could have been Ronan, or a couple of Deinonychus, or a T-rex, or even an absent-minded duck-billed Hadrosaur trying to get out of the rain. Too much was going too wrong too quickly. I needed to concentrate on one thing at a time. Prioritise, Maxwell.
He was only a couple of feet away
but I had to shout to make myself heard. ‘We need to get back to the pod. Follow me.’
Like me, he was soaked to the skin and having some difficulty keeping his balance. His gun was holstered so I felt no particular fear. I can still run faster than most people I know.
And then the bastard slid his hand out of his pocket. He had a stun gun. Worse – he had my stun gun. What? I had no idea when he could possibly have picked my pocket. I certainly hadn’t noticed anything. He was obviously a very skilled thief.
Turning his head, he called, ‘You can come out now, Mr Ronan,’ and fired it at me.
A hot pain jagged across my chest. My legs buckled and down I went into the mud. The tiny part of my brain that was still working told me it might be a good idea to stay put. Just for a moment. So, I did.
I lay still – no hardship there – and felt the rain hammer down on my face. It was surprisingly painful.
I could hear something splashing towards me. I couldn’t look up. All I could see were black combats very like my own, and some good boots.
They stopped a safe distance away. I didn’t blame him. Mr Khalife had just shot one employer and presumably would have no difficulty doing it again should the situation arise.
And, whether he realised it or not, Mr Khalife was in some considerable danger as well. He wouldn’t be the first to think he’d negotiated himself a very good deal with Clive Ronan only to find that actually he hadn’t. I was rather fuzzily aware that I might be the safest person here.
Khalife gestured at me. ‘As you requested, Mr Ronan.’
‘No – not as I requested. She was taking you back to the pod, you moron. Another five minutes and we’d have her and it. Saving ourselves a lot of time and trouble.’
Khalife stopped smiling. ‘It will not be far away. Easily found.’
There was a pause. Thunder cracked and rolled again. I imagined Ronan peering sarcastically through the driving rain. ‘Where?’
Khalife gestured downhill. ‘Over there. She will take us. When she has recovered.’
