Behemoth (Apex Predator Book 1)

by David Meyer

  The pod trembled violently. The scraping gained volume, drowning out the other noises. And still Caplan kept up his steady assault, slicing deeper and deeper into the pod.

  Suddenly, the cut burst like a broken seam. The pod yawned open and a dark, egg-shaped mass appeared.

  Pearson took a few steps back. Aimed his gun at the mass.

  Caplan swung his beam into the pod, identifying the mass as a large fur-covered creature. Its limbs were pressed tight against its body. Its face, from what he could tell, featured a broad snout, short ears, and long, sharp teeth. Thick hoses connected it to the black box.

  The creature winced, turned away from the light. Its coat was golden brown on the sides and streaked with black. Its legs were long, powerful, and covered with black fur.

  Slowly, the creature’s paws stretched outward. Its limbs unfolded into the void. It began to wiggle about, as if awaking from a long slumber.

  Pearson swallowed. “Okay, you saved it. Can we go now?”

  Caplan studied the animal. Was this one of the creatures that had killed Tony? He wasn’t sure.

  The creature planted its paws on the bottom of the pod. It rose on all fours, seemingly doubling in size. The hoses ripped away from its body. A low-throated growl rang out.

  The creature stood up on its hind legs, stretching the pod and causing the silken strands to snap, snap, snap. Finally free, the animal stretched upward. Three … four … no, five feet in length. Its front paws reached for the sky. Its low-throated growl took a turn into the deep-end.

  “Zach.” Pearson’s voice turned urgent.

  The creature fell back to the earth, its front paws crashing softly against the pod’s tattered remains. It wasn’t gigantic. Just five feet long and maybe three feet in shoulder height.

  The creature whirled around. Bared its teeth.

  And charged Caplan.

  Caplan had just enough time to see its savage, orangish eyes before the creature was upon him. He dove to his right. The creature raced straight ahead and slammed into his legs. He felt its fur, felt the power behind it. The glancing blow ripped the axe and flashlight out of his hands. His lower half twisted in a quarter-circle and he slammed face first to the muddy earth.

  The creature, clearly some kind of wolf, ground its paws into the muck, sliding to a slippery stop. Twisting around, its paws slapped the ground, finding a footing.

  Caplan struggled to his knees. His flashlight lay several feet away, its dull beam glinting along the mud-soaked ground. His axe was a little closer, but still out of reach.

  Growling, the wolf charged again.

  Pearson planted his legs. Taking careful aim, he squeezed his hand cannon’s trigger. Gunfire, suppressed to a dull roar by a silencer, rang out.

  The wolf flinched and slid to a halt six or seven feet from Caplan.

  Pearson squeezed the trigger again. The pistol reverberated in his hands.

  The wolf twisted as a bullet crunched into its hide, just above its right shoulder blade. Snarling loudly, it backed up a few steps, mud slurping under its heavy paws. Its orangish eyes flashed in the dim light. As it backed up into one of the Vallerio’s dark corridors, it howled at the sky. Seconds later, blackness swallowed up the strange beast.

  Caplan frowned. The snarls and howl were vicious and bloodthirsty. But they were also unfamiliar to him. Clearly, the wolf wasn’t responsible for Tony’s death.

  He crawled forward, retrieving his axe and flashlight. Twisting the beam, he saw no sign of the animal.

  Pearson gave him a sharp look. “You’re welcome.”

  “For what?” Caplan hiked back to the remains of the pod. “I had things under control.”

  “Sure you did.” Pearson’s gaze moved to the forest. “So, what was that thing? A gray wolf?”

  Kneeling down, Caplan sifted through the tattered silken bonds. In the process, his beam glinted against the black box and he saw a small, heavily varnished plaque. “Canis dirus,” he read aloud.

  “So, we’ve got a name for it.”

  “There are just a handful of wolf species in the world,” Caplan replied thoughtfully. “And you know what they all have in common?”

  “What?”

  “None of them are called Canis dirus.”

  Chapter 24

  Date: June 19, 2016, 2:37 p.m.; Location: Sector 48A, Vallerio Forest, NH

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Pearson’s eyes cinched tight. “That it doesn’t exist or something?”

  Caplan stood up and checked his watch. His heart palpitated as he noted the time. Morgan and the others had less than two and a half hours to live.

  He reoriented himself toward the heat and crackling flames. He estimated they’d traveled close to three miles prior to finding the strange pod, leaving roughly four miles to go. If they kept up their fast pace of six miles per hour, they’d reach Hatcher by about 3:20 p.m. That would leave them just 100 minutes to infiltrate the station and administer the antibiotics. It was a tight window. Tight, but manageable.

  That is, assuming nothing slowed them down.

  He set forth again, gliding through the soggy forest. Along the way, he warded off some fresh doubts. Yes, he’d grown increasingly bold ever since meeting Corbotch in that dark alleyway. And yes, maybe that boldness bordered on recklessness from time to time. But at least he wasn’t standing around, frozen with fear as others faced imminent death. At least he was trying to help, to do something.

  Pearson hustled to Caplan’s side. “I asked you a question,” he said angrily.

  “I don’t know what it means,” Caplan replied after a moment. “It looked a little like a gray wolf. But it was broader, stockier, heavier. I’d say it outweighed even a large gray wolf by some forty to fifty pounds. Plus, its fur was the wrong texture and color.”

  “So, this Canis dirus … it’s some kind of mutant?”

  Caplan shrugged.

  They continued to walk, tramping softly across the mud. The temperature climbed a few notches. It never got hot, but it was definitely warmer. The crackling rose a few decibels. Shifting his flashlight beam, Caplan saw pieces of metal, maybe 100 yards out. Painted with digital camouflage, they blended well with the greenish needles and brown branches of surrounding pine trees. Flickering streaks of orange and columns of gray smoke surrounded the metal.

  Caplan picked up speed, breathing faster and tasting ash in the air. Wet branches, covered with sticky white sap, snagged at his shirt, his arms and hands. It felt like he was walking through an ancient corridor of living skeletons, their bony fingers repeatedly grabbing him, smearing his skin with awful white goo. He tried to wipe the residue onto his jeans, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of it.

  Skirting to the left, he entered a tiny clearing filled with tall stalks of grass. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at what remained of the Blaze. It lay squashed in the mud, mangled and stripped into so many pieces as if were a child’s plaything. Its complete destruction, this mighty instrument of man’s ingenuity, unnerved Caplan for a split-second. If civilization’s finest technology couldn’t survive the ancient evil that held court in the vast Vallerio, then what hope did he have?

  Fires, small to mid-sized, impeded his view of the wreckage. They burned slowly, keeping their heat, in an almost supernatural effort to gain traction on the damp soil and soaked grass blades.

  Caplan’s eyes teared up from all the smoke, the embers. “Can anyone hear me?” he shouted.

  No one responded.

  He hiked forward. A wall of sweltering heat, many feet thick, met him head-on. He heard the silent screams of the dead just beyond it. The smell of freshly-charred flesh and well-curdled blood hung heavy in his nostrils.

  He plunged into the grassy field and his pores opened wide. Buckets of sweat poured down his body and evaporated before reaching the ground. Wiping the salty liquid from his eyes, he studied the wreckage. The cabin door hung from its hinges, mangled by the crash into a multi-sided shap
e unrecognizable by modern geometry. Flames roared inside the cabin as well as inside the cockpit. Despite the heat, a shiver ran through him.

  Where are they? he wondered.

  More sweat poured out of his body and fell prey to the heat, leaving him dizzy and dehydrated. He took a few steps forward, but the heat turned unbearable and he was forced to halt. The clearing felt like a giant grill, dialed up to the highest settings.

  Spots of color appeared where none had previously existed. He stumbled backward, sideways. His feet caught on something and he felt himself turning, slipping, sliding.

  Falling.

  His right side smacked against the mud. Blinking, he stared at a face. The face stared back at him, eye sockets agape as if they had seen things no man should ever see.

  Tilting his head, Caplan saw other faces, other bodies. They lay quietly amongst the bent grass and well-trodden mud, their souls long released into the great beyond. His fervent wish to keep others from succumbing to the Vallerio Forest had gone unfulfilled.

  Large hands grabbed his armpits. A moment later, he felt himself dragged backward along the rocky, wet soil. “Dead,” he muttered. “They’re all dead.”

  Chapter 25

  Date: January 6, 2016, 3:16 p.m.; Location: Sector 48, Vallerio Forest, NH

  “What the …?” Caplan leaned forward until the tip of his nose practically brushed the windshield. “Did you know that was here?”

  Tony Morgan didn’t reply.

  Caplan pressed the brake pedal. The clunky four-wheel drive vehicle, known affectionately throughout Hatcher Station as Roadster, slid gently along the snow, coming to a stop halfway up a small hill. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the long metal posts and the thick, sparking wires.

  The surrounding forest had been cut back to make space for the curving fence. Metal posts, embedded in concrete blocks and painted to look like trees, rose twelve feet above ground and measured at least a foot in diameter. Thick metal bars, interspersed with wires, connected the posts to each other. There were no safety signs, no warnings to keep back.

  Inside the fence, Caplan saw more trees, dripping with the vestiges of the last snowstorm. His subconscious detected something unsettling about the ancient pines, cedars, and hemlock trees. The landscape, although picturesque on the outside, hinted at a great evil. An evil that ran deep in the soil, spoiling all it touched.

  “I asked you a question,” Caplan said, more firmly this time. “Did you know that fence was here?”

  Tony, clad in a bright orange coat, remained still for a moment. Then he nodded.

  “I’m your boss,” Caplan said. “How come you found out about this before I did?”

  “Because I’m unlucky as hell. Listen, I need to do a few things. So, if you’ll just—”

  “Forget it.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t know what this place is, Tony. But I know we’re not supposed to be here. If we get caught—”

  “We’re not going to get caught.” Tony’s voice rose a few decibels. “Do you want to know how I know that, Zach? Because this area doesn’t exist. Oh, it exists in person. Just not in Hatcher’s systems.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Taking a deep breath, Tony lowered his voice. “A couple of weeks ago, I noticed a little shaft of light while browsing the feeds for this sector. Looking closer, I saw a fence. At first, I thought it was some old relic of the past. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I shifted feeds, hoping to get a better look. But it didn’t work. That got me real curious and I started comparing the feeds to each other. And you know what I learned?”

  “What?”

  “The feeds and our instruments only cover part of this sector, even though our systems say otherwise. In other words, there’s a gap in our coverage of 48. I call that area—which you see before you—48A.”

  Caplan stared at him, then at the fence.

  “All those times I borrowed Roadster, I came here.” Tony exhaled. “I’ve driven and hiked along the fence for miles in each direction. I haven’t seen anything yet. Not even animals. But the Foundation has to be hiding something in there.”

  Caplan’s brain swirled with this new information. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this.”

  “If you’ve got one, I’d love to hear it.”

  Turning his head in either direction, Caplan followed the fence to its vanishing points. It didn’t move in a straight line or even close to it. Instead, it curved and angled wildly. Coupled with the paintjob, which also covered the concrete blocks, the fence appeared well disguised from aircraft and satellites. Not that it mattered much since the Vallerio Forest had been designated an official Prohibited Area many years earlier, alongside such well-known places as Camp David, Mount Vernon, and Groom Lake. Other than Corbotch-approved crafts, no flights of any kind were allowed to enter the airspace.

  Caplan felt vague hints of curiosity stirring in his joints. But equal amounts of dread stirred with them. Dread of what lay beyond the fence. Dread of getting caught. Dread of losing his job.

  “Maybe the Foundation is building a new base of operations.” He shrugged. “Regardless, it’s none of our business.”

  “Says you.” Grabbing the handle, Tony pushed his door ajar and stepped outside. Hoisting a duffel bag over one shoulder, he shot Caplan a mock salute. “Back in a minute, bro.”

  “Get back here!” Caplan banged the steering wheel with a frustrated fist as Tony slipped, skidded across the snow-covered earth.

  After a short distance, Tony slid down a small hill like a baseball player stealing second. Throwing his bag to the ground, he donned a pair of thick gloves and sorted through it. Selecting an aerosol can, he doused the nearest wires with some kind of foamy, white substance.

  Cursing under his breath, Caplan turned off the ignition, jerked his door open, and stepped out into the bitter cold. He lingered for a moment at the open door, soaking up whatever heat he could get from the still-warm car. Then he closed the door. Hunkering down against the biting wind, he hiked across the crunchy, wet snow.

  Tony tossed the aerosol can aside and picked up a pair of sharp bolt cutters. Caplan couldn’t quite see the handles, but figured they were made of fiberglass or a similar material. He knew he should stop the man, but blazing curiosity kept him from doing so.

  Lifting the cutters, Tony attacked the bottom two wires. Sparks flew as he snipped and peeled back four-foot sections of fencing. The gentle buzzing of electricity turned strident. Tossing the cutters aside, Tony flopped onto his belly and crawled under the barrier.

  Caplan’s heart sank to new depths even as his curiosity soared. “This is stupid,” he shouted, emitting tiny clouds of vapor into the icy air. “The interior must be gigantic. You’ll never get through it on foot.”

  “Don’t need to.” Reaching back, Tony grabbed his bag and pulled it into the gap afforded by the cut wires. “I’m just going to plant a few cameras, set up some instruments. At least we’ll have eyes and ears on this place.”

  “Tony …”

  “Give me twenty minutes. That’s all I need.”

  Tony Morgan tossed the heavy bag over his shoulder. After another mock salute, he trudged across the untouched snow, heading to the trees.

  Caplan stopped well short of the fence. Clutching his arms across his chest, he shivered. Part of him wished he had Tony’s audacity. Part of him wished Tony had his cautiousness.

  Darkness swallowed Tony up as the man stepped into the forest. Caplan shivered again as a strange sensation filtered through his blood. Trying to ignore it, he stared at the landscape. The trees floated over the snow banks like ancient pillars of a long-forgotten city. A city abandoned to the elements for reasons modern man would never fully understand.

  “Holy—” Tony’s shout ceased immediately, like a radio station cut off mid-song.

  Caplan cupped his hands around his mouth. “Everything okay?” he called out.

  Wet snow crunched like
gravel. Tree branches shook violently, sending their snow airborne where it turned into a cloud of thick whiteness.

  A roar, not especially loud but full of unearthly evil, rang out. Its sound, fierce and discordant, reached into Caplan’s very soul, touching some ancient, instinctual part of him. Vast amounts of fear, fear he’d never felt in his life, sprung up inside his heart.

  More roars, the stuff of Caplan’s worst nightmares, rang out. Tony’s voice lifted above the ruckus, shouting something unintelligible. The dark corridors between the trees started to tremble, to swirl with unseen activity. The darkness expanded, contracted, and expanded again.

  Abruptly, two things shot out of the forest at cannon-speed. The first thing—the duffel bag—slammed into the fence and fell to the ground, just a few feet from the gap. The second thing hurtled to the snow several feet in front of the trees and rolled twice. As it came to a halt, Caplan saw sprawled limbs, a ripped-up face, and a sliced and bloodied belly.

  Quivering, Tony lifted his head off the blood-splattered snow. He met Caplan’s gaze with wild, unfocused eyes. Eyes that had seen too much and might never see again.

  The wounds, coupled with the sheer force with which Tony’s body had been launched out of the darkness, baffled Caplan. What kind of animal could do such a thing?

  Caplan ran toward the fence. Tony’s wounds were brutal and deep, but not necessarily deadly. He could still survive the attack, albeit with permanent scars, if he received medical attention.

  Caplan slid down the small hill to the fence. As he started to crawl under it, he caught sight of the forest. He could sense its energy, its seething rage. The trees, sturdy columns of nature’s most forbidden city, seemed to separate as if inviting him—no, daring him—to enter their presence. He sensed their determination, their steadfast resolve to protect whatever secrets, ancient or otherwise, lay beyond them.

  His nerves frizzled like electric wires and he hesitated at the edge of the fence. Only for a minute or so, time which he spent staring into Tony’s desperate, horror-stricken eyes.