by David Meyer
With a faint smile, Mills turned her attention back to the strange room. Sixteen wheels, identical in shape and size, occupied most of the space. They were positioned in a perfect circle. Thick cables connected them to a centrally located bank of computer monitors and machines.
Shelves, cabinets, metal tables, and other pieces of furniture sat outside the circle of wheels. For nearly an hour, Mills had strained her eyes in the near-blackness, searching for clues to their whereabouts. A small part of her knew it was a foolhardy exercise. Her time would’ve been better spent fixing up the broken fence and cabin. But still, she continued her search.
Mills snuck a glimpse at Elliott, at a scattered array of tools. The woman sat next to one of the wheels, driven by a seemingly-urgent need to pry one open. Mills understood that need. She felt the exact same thing when it came to the mysteries—how they’d gotten there, the extinct animals, the strange barn-like building and even stranger basement—that surrounded her.
Mills opened the top drawer of a small chest. Swiftly, she searched the contents. They were relatively innocuous—extra file folders, binder clips, packages of light bulbs—until she reached the bottom of the drawer.
Her heart beat a little faster as she pulled a laminated sheet of paper, eleven inches by fourteen inches, out into the open. She squinted at it, barely making out the small printed words. “I got something,” she said.
Elliott dropped a flat-head screwdriver, letting it clunk against the floor. Then she picked up a slightly larger one and returned to the wheel. “Yeah?”
“It’s a map. Of the Vallerio Forest.”
Elliott’s grip tightened on the screwdriver. “You sure?”
“That’s what it says. The Vallerio Foundation is listed as the author.”
“And James Corbotch owns the Foundation. I guess that settles it. We’re here because he put us here.”
“Yes.” Mills scrunched up her brow in thought. “But it doesn’t make sense. This can’t be the Vallerio.”
“Why not?”
“The saber for one thing. The woolly mammoths for another.” She shook her head. “The Vallerio isn’t some distant jungle, isolated from civilization. It’s in the U.S., for cripes sakes.”
“Yeah, but in northern New Hampshire,” Elliott replied. “It’s like America’s version of Siberia.”
“It’s still in the U.S.”
“The Corbotch Empire fenced off the Vallerio well over a century ago. They use cameras and armed guards to keep people out. And they paid off bureaucrats to make it an official Prohibited Area, so pilots can’t even fly over it. It’s the Fort Knox of forests.”
“So, what are you saying? That they did all that to protect a few supposedly extinct species?”
“I’m merely saying if sabers or mammoths lived in the Vallerio, it’s not inconceivable that James could keep it a secret. Seriously, how could anyone possibly find out?”
“By getting dumped here.”
“Good call.” Elliott removed a long screw. Abruptly, one side of the wheel came loose. She ducked out of the way, narrowly dodging a piece of heavy plastic as it thudded to the ground. “Ohmigod.”
Mills turned around. With the side removed, she could see the wheel’s interior. Its core was hollowed out. A lumpy object, shaped like a flattened S turned sideways, lay inside it. Shadowy, curvy lines connected the object to areas inside the wheel.
A sweet, sickly scent spread through the basement. Mills’ face twisted involuntarily. “Ugh,” she said. “What is that?”
“A person,” Elliott said, backing away. “A dead person.”
The body of a twenty-something year-old man rested on curved cushions, similar to those in a dentist’s chair. His back and head were upright. His knees were propped above his rear and feet. His head lolled to one side, mouth ajar as if ready for a bi-annual check-up.
A gray surgical gown rested gently upon the man’s body. Wires and tubes snaked out of the back wall and under the gown, presumably connecting the corpse to the wheel.
Mills gazed upon the man’s face. It was tanned, clean-shaven, and Hollywood-handsome with all the right angles in all the right places. But his skin was cold, pale. His eyes were dry, lifeless. “He looks … peaceful.”
Elliott reached a tentative hand toward the body. Mills slapped it hard.
“Ouch.” Elliott withdrew her hand like a snake had bitten it. “What was that for?”
“Your own good,” Mills said. “What if he’s got some kind of weird disease? I mean, why else would he be in there?”
“I don’t know.” Elliott studied the wheel. “It looks like an isolation chamber. Maybe it was some kind of experiment.”
“Then why is he dead?”
“We know the exterior fence lost power. So, it stands to reason these wheels lost power, too. Animals overran the fence and whoever was monitoring the experiments went upstairs, got themselves killed.” She gazed at the body. “This poor guy was trapped with no food, no water, no oxygen. Death was inevitable.”
“Yeah? Then how come he’s just lying there, all peaceful-like? How come he didn’t try to claw his way to freedom?”
Elliott frowned, but only for a moment. “Maybe you’re right about the disease. If so, this thing isn’t an isolation chamber. It’s a life-support system. And that would explain those wires and tubes. They were used to monitor him, care for him. When the power failed, the system went off-line. People went upstairs to see what had happened. They died before they could restore the electricity.”
“And this guy died shortly after,” Mills twisted her mouth in thought. “It makes sense. But it doesn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why build a life support system in the middle of nowhere? Why not just take him to a hospital?”
Elliott shrugged.
On a whim, Mills marched to the central core of monitors and machines. A little browsing turned up a large logbook made of fine leather. Her brow furrowed as she started to crack it open.
“Get your asses up here,” Toland shouted from above. “The roof is—”
Cracking and crackling noises drowned him out.
Elliott raced to the ladder. Mills lingered for an extra second, her gaze locked on the logbook. Then, for reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, she tucked it into the back of her waistband and darted to the shaft.
As she followed Elliott up the ladder, Mills shifted her gaze skyward and saw streaks of fire zoom across the ceiling like shooting stars. Beams buckled and splintered as the roof disintegrated before her eyes.
Elliott climbed out of the shaft. Then she ran to the door.
Muscles aching, Mills pulled herself up the rest of the way. The logbook slipped as she gained her footing so she took it out of her waistband and clutched it against her chest.
Her bare soles pounded against the floor as she sprinted for the door. She felt heat at her back, at her sides. Flames jumped from machine to machine, chasing her down in relentless fashion.
She reached the doorframe seconds behind the fire. She caught a brief look outside, at Toland and Elliott standing in the clearing. Then more flames sparked up, surrounding the frame on all sides.
The heat drove her back a few feet. Something exploded behind her. Throwing caution to the wind, she ran forward and leapt through the rectangle of fire.
She landed hard on the damp soil, still holding the book to her chest. Elliott and Toland grabbed her elbows, lifted her up, and hustled her away from the building.
Another explosion, the biggest one yet, rang out. The shockwave pushed Mills to run faster and she didn’t stop until she reached the fallen metal post.
“That …” Sucking at air, Elliott hunched down, hands on her knees. “… that sucked.”
Mills flopped onto the ground and watched the structure crumble to the earth. She felt dull on the inside. Dull and hopeless. Despite the corpses of its former inhabitants, she’d still viewed the building as a potential refuge. A place to hide fr
om the saber and whatever other horrors awaited them in the forest. But now, it was gone, returned to the earth from whence it came. And she would soon follow suit, she reckoned. Maybe by the saber’s claws, maybe not. It didn’t really matter. Death was death, right?
“What the hell were you doing down there anyway?” Toland growled under his breath.
“We found something.” Quickly, Elliott filled him in on the map of the Vallerio, the strange wheels, and the dead body.
“So, let me get this straight,” Toland said as she finished up. “You don’t know anything.”
Elliott’s face flushed. “Weren’t you listening? I said—”
He held up a hand. “Do you have the map?”
Elliott glanced at Mills.
Mills shook her head.
“So, all we have is a bunch of useless speculation. We might be in the Vallerio. Corbotch might have put us here. Those wheels might have been life support systems.” Brushing soot from his hair, Toland hiked to the concrete block. “Well? Are you two coming or not?”
With a deep breath, Mills pushed away her dark thoughts. She couldn’t give up. She had to keep fighting, keep surviving. “We can still stay here.” She nodded at the metal post. “We just need to stick that back in its block, cement it somehow. That should keep out smaller animals. And maybe we’ll find some supplies or tools once the fire burns out.”
“My plan is better.”
Elliott rolled her eyes. “Of course it is.”
“I found a large whiteboard just before the roof started to cave,” he said. “There was a rough map on it.”
“What kind of map?” Mills asked.
“Does it really matter?”
“It might.”
“There was a small box, surrounded by empty space and a bunch of squiggly lines. Farther back, there were trees. I figure the box was the building.”
Elliott smirked. “And you accuse me of speculating?”
“The empty space was shaped like this clearing,” he retorted. “And the squiggly lines matched up perfectly with the fence.”
“Fine. You might have found a map of the clearing.” Mills coughed some smoke out of her lungs. “How does that help us?”
“Above and to the left, I saw a large X.” He smiled broadly, as if he’d just solved the world’s toughest math equation.
“That’s it?” Elliott said after a moment. “What’s the X?”
“Another building?” He shrugged. “Who cares? At least it’s not here.”
Elliott rolled her eyes. “Yeah. This is a great plan.”
Whistling noises rang out. Turning around, Mills watched as small bits of fire shot into the air like missiles. They rained down on nearby pine trees. The first wave of fire quickly burned itself out on the damp wood and needles. But the second, third, and fourth waves were a different story.
Equal amounts of pain, horror, and helplessness filled Mills’ heart as she watched small blazes and gray smoke spring up all around her. A stiff breeze caught hold of burning branches and needles, sending them to new trees and fanning the flames in the process.
Unfortunately, the fire extinguishers were buried in the building’s ruins. And even if they had access to more extinguishers, the flames were far too high to reach. The New Yorker Chronicles would love this. She could almost imagine the headlines. Billionaire Bailey Sets Wilderness Ablaze! The Boozing Bad Girl Burns Down Famous Backwoods!
“Do you think you can lead us to that X?” she asked.
“Do fires like wood?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes. Of course, I can lead you there.”
Mills shifted her grip on the logbook and stood up. “Then do it.”
His eyes scrunched at the corners. “What have you got there?”
“I don’t know.” Mills blinked as she looked at the book, like she was surprised to see it. “I just grabbed it on the way out of the basement.”
“Well?” He stared at her. “What is it?”
She glanced at the sky. It was even darker now and she sensed the approaching cloak of nighttime. But the fire was growing fast, casting wild light throughout the forest. “Later,” she said. “We need to go.”
He grunted in annoyance. But he turned around anyway and paced over the trampled wires. Mills and Elliott fell in behind him. Just before exiting the clearing, Mills took a quick glimpse at the logbook’s leather cover. Squinting hard, she saw two words emblazoned in bronze-colored text.
Apex Predator, she read. Where have I heard that before?
Chapter 47
Date: June 19, 2016, 5:47 p.m.; Location: Hatcher Station, Vallerio Forest, NH
Maybe the 2-Gens killed each other, Caplan thought just before a full-bellied roar shattered his hopes and nearly his eardrums. Or maybe not.
He descended a few more feet. Then he peered into the dark abyss. The floor, dimly lit by flickering flames, was still some ten to fifteen feet beneath him. He saw no sign of the short-faced bear or any other animal for that matter. But he could hear them. He could hear their screeches, roars, and growls. Scuffling, gnashing teeth, and the crunching of sinew and muscle tissue. At the same time, various odors rose up to greet him. Greasy fur. Sweat and body odor. Plus, blood.
Lots and lots of blood.
It’s a promoter’s dream, he thought. An honest-to-goodness Pleistocene death match.
He shifted his shoulders, adjusting his backpack and the rifle strap. Then he glanced up. Morgan’s feet were poised a few rungs above his head. Her eyes, filled with question marks, peered down at him.
His soul longed to dive into those eyes, to unburden itself of the truth behind her brother’s death. To admit he’d stood by while beasts had ripped Tony to shreds. But even if he could, he knew it wouldn’t have helped. His sin required far more than mere confession.
I’ll get you out of here, he thought. That’s a promise.
He faced forward again. Regripped the ladder with his sweaty palms. Then he finished his descent into the semi-darkness.
His right boot struck the floor and he stepped away from the ladder. Turning in an arc, he swept his rifle across the security checkpoint. Everything—the broken tables and machines, glass shards, blood smears, and pockmarked concrete pillars—was just as he remembered it.
Morgan released the ladder and fell to the floor, landing lightly on her feet. She swung her pistol around, checking the room. Then she exchanged glances with Caplan.
Caplan nodded and turned toward the entranceway. Waves of invisible heat and energy crested over him. His skin grew slick with sweat. His neck flinched at every roar, every snarl, every screech.
He made his way to the left wall and picked his way forward, avoiding the glass. Not that it made much of a difference. The death match had reached a new crescendo and the sounds of violence—chomping teeth, ripping flesh, clicking claws, cracking bones, bodies slamming into each other, into concrete, and into metal—were intense.
The heat thickened and intensified until Caplan found it difficult to breathe. His vision blurred around the edges and he felt none of the adrenaline he’d experienced during his last visit.
He took up position on the entranceway’s left side. Air exited his lungs as he scanned the Lab. Could be worse, he thought. At least you don’t have to clean all this up.
The concrete pillars were still in place, thank God. But the rest of the Lab lay in ruins. The central platform had been reduced to a fiery heap of metal and lumber. The giant skeletons, painstakingly reconstructed and mounted, had been knocked off their platforms and ripped to shreds. Pieces of machinery, broken monitors, shards of glass, and bloody carcasses littered the floor.
Two things, more than anything else, caught Caplan’s attention. First, the incubators. Every last one had been cracked wide open. Now, they lay quietly in their stations, abandoned like snake skins. And second, a tangled mass of heaving flesh, leathery skin, and fur, which occupied much of the Lab’s far right corner.
“I see four anima
ls.” Caplan squinted into the darkness. “No, wait. Make that five. The short-faced bear is still going strong. And is that an elephant?”
Morgan, positioned on the opposite side of the entranceway, kept her gaze locked on the pulsing mass. “It’s a Mammut americanum,” she replied. “The others are a Panthera atrox, a Panthera onca augusta, a—”
“English, please.”
She grunted. “That elephant, as you call it, is actually an American mastodon. I also see an American lion, a North American jaguar, an American cheetah, and of course, the short-faced bear.”
“I don’t suppose any of them are herbivores.”
“The mastodon is.” She breathed softly. “Although it doesn’t look that way right now.”
Caplan focused on the mastodon. In the dim light provided by the burning platform, he saw it stood almost ten feet tall. Using its head like a battering ram, it attacked the other animals with quiet fury. The other animals fought back, biting its legs as well as each other.
The American lion and American cheetah broke off and went for each other’s throats. The North American jaguar attacked the cheetah while the short-faced bear ripped away at all three of them, its sharp claws drawing blood with every strike.
The mastodon backed away from the frenzied mass. For a moment, Caplan thought it was extracting itself from the fight. But then it lowered its head and charged the pile. Its right tusk cut deep into the American cheetah’s belly. The cheetah tried to snarl, but it came out more like a yelp instead. Then its body sagged and it slumped to the ground.
Caplan cocked his head, curious about what the others would do. He didn’t have to wait long to find out. In less than a second, the four surviving animals pounced on the cheetah. They tore at its eyes, ripped at its mouth, and stomped on its body. The cheetah, screaming and shrieking, tried to fight back. But its frenzied movements soon ceased under the onslaught.
Immediately, the American lion charged the North American jaguar, slashing its face and biting its shoulder. The short-faced bear rose up on its hind legs, bellowed out a roar, and plowed into the mastodon’s front right leg. The mastodon shook off the blow and resumed using its head like a battering ram. But this time, the short-faced bear was ready. It pounced onto the mastodon’s head, pinning it to the floor. Its claws swiped at great speed, stabbing the mastodon’s eyes and ears.
