by David Meyer
The mastodon reared up, bellowing fury from its trunk. The short-faced bear, growling and roaring, scrabbled for purchase. It kept its balance long enough to dish out a few more swipes. Then it leapt backward and came crashing down on the North American jaguar.
“Hot damn,” Caplan said under his breath. “I didn’t know animals were so violent back then.”
“They weren’t,” Morgan said. “At least, there’s no evidence to that effect.”
“Then what do you make of this?”
“I don’t know. But it’s 1-Gen all over again. Like a feeding frenzy without any actual feeding.”
Caplan’s eyes moved from the dead American cheetah to the carcasses of other animals. “Animals kill for sport, right?”
“Sure. But this isn’t sport. They’re destroying each other.”
The faint sound of leather scuffing against metal floated into Caplan’s ears. Whirling his head around, he stared at the ladder. “We’ve got company,” he said.
“Then we’d better move fast.” Morgan pointed at the back wall. “See those cylindrical things?”
“They look like bars.”
“That’s because they are bars. They’re made of reinforced steel and built directly into the gate.”
“Gotcha.” Caplan traced the crisscrossing bars from left to right, from top to bottom. All in all, the gate covered an area roughly twenty feet in length and fifteen feet in height. “How do we open it?”
“The crank is left of the gate,” she replied. “It was part of the original design.”
“Ever used it?”
She shook her head.
The scuffing noises grew louder. Spinning around again, Caplan saw a dress shoe exit the shaft, stepping onto a rung just below the ceiling. He lifted his rifle, took careful aim. Squeezed the trigger.
“You don’t want to do that.” Reaching across the entranceway, Morgan gently pushed down on the gun.
“Speak for yourself.” But Caplan released the trigger anyway. She was right. He would’ve loved to wing a few of Corbotch’s friends. But he couldn’t risk attracting the attention of the 2-Gens.
Caplan twisted around just in time to see the short-faced bear sink its teeth into the North American jaguar’s right shoulder. At the same time, the American lion clawed the jaguar’s belly, carving it open and causing organs and blood to spill to the floor. The jaguar screeched at high decibels before collapsing into a blood-soaked heap.
“Now.” Morgan snuck through the entranceway. “While they’re distracted.”
Shocked by the gore and frenzied violence, Caplan numbly followed her to the left wall. As they slunk alongside it, he kept one eye on the floor, making sure he didn’t trip over anything. His other eye, however, remained fixed on the bloodbath.
The American lion leapt on the jaguar’s belly, ripping out more organs and callously tossing them to the floor. The American mastodon trampled on the jaguar’s hind legs, shattering the bones. And the short-faced bear bit into the jaguar’s face, ripping at its eyes and snout. Within seconds, the creature’s carcass had been completely dismantled.
As the survivors turned on each other, Caplan’s fingers tightened on the rifle. Outside of sharks, he’d never seen such predatory violence before. How had they become like this? Had the process of de-extinction somehow turned them into bloodthirsty monsters?
At the corner, Morgan turned right. Hugging the wall, she made her way past ruined stations, broken equipment, and abandoned incubators. Caplan followed close at her heels, gun at the ready.
Jaws and claws dripping with blood, the short-faced bear rose up to its full height. Its head swiveled and cocked to one side.
Then its eyes bored into Caplan’s.
Oh, shit, he thought.
Abruptly, the American lion leapt into the air. It smashed into the bear, knocking the creature to its side. Before the bear could recover, the lion was scrambling on top of it, jaws chomping furiously as it tried to strike a deathblow.
The mastodon lifted its horn, blew out a couple of notes, laced with strange insanity. Then it charged the bear and lion.
The bear swiped its arm like a club, nailing the lion’s head. The lion lost its footing and spilt to the floor. The bear rose up, saw the mastodon. Claws clicking loudly, it climbed to its feet. As it dodged the charge, it turned its head again.
And looked at Caplan.
Caplan’s heart raced.
The bear turned to the lion. With a mighty roar, it slashed a paw at the creature’s skin.
Morgan and Caplan reached the next corner and started forward again, drawing ever closer to the Pleistocene death match. The available light from the flickering flames was exceedingly dim on this side of the facility. But Caplan could still see the beasts continue their relentless assaults on each other. Blood poured freely from their many wounds. But they didn’t bother to step back, to take breathers. They just kept biting, stabbing, stomping, and slamming into each other with unimaginable force.
Morgan and Caplan stopped in front of a large crank. It was chest-high and embedded into the concrete. The massive gate stood a few feet away, sandwiched between upper and lower brackets.
Caplan tried to study the crank. But a nearby carcass, that of a giant four-legged creature, distracted him. Against his better judgment, he stared at its bloodied fur, its carved up skin, its empty eye sockets. He didn’t recognize it, but it had possessed sharp claws and even sharper teeth. If it couldn’t defend itself against the other 2-Gens, what hope did he and Morgan have?
“The gate’s on wheels and moves sideways,” Morgan whispered. “So, we just need to unlock the crank and give it a few turns. The gate will open and we can make a run for it. Should be easy enough.”
Loud blasts pierced the air. Projectiles soared across the Lab, slamming into the gate and chewing up the walls.
Caplan threw Morgan to the ground and dropped on top of her. “You were saying?”
She opened her mouth to retort. But another volley of gunfire caused her to duck.
Anger surged through Caplan as he tried to shield her from the gunfire. He was tempted to grab his rifle, to return fire. To take out a few of Corbotch’s allies. But instead, he shifted his gaze along the floor. “Follow me,” he whispered.
Crawling quickly, Morgan and Caplan reached the carcass. Then they curled up into little balls, making themselves as small as possible.
A ghastly growl rang out. Lifting his head, Caplan saw the mass of Pleistocene beasts separate. He shot a quick glance at the entranceway and his gaze fell upon a small crowd of armed big shots. A grin curled across his lips. I hope you liked your little dinner party, he thought. Because the menu’s about to change.
With an earsplitting roar, the American lion took off across the basement. Claws clicking, it raced past the burning central platform. It reappeared as a shadowy streak a few seconds later.
More gunshots rang out. Shoes slapped against the floor. Then the horrible screams started. Caplan squinted, trying to make sense of the madness. But all he could see were big shots toppling like dominos.
Morgan pinched Caplan’s arm. Cocked her head toward the crank.
Caplan nodded and followed her back to the mechanism. As he grabbed hold of it, she unlatched a small box. A couple of dials and levers sat inside it, along with a key already in its lock. She turned the key. An audible click rang out.
Steeling his muscles, Caplan prepared to turn the crank. But an emphatic trumpeting froze him in place. Glancing up, he saw the American mastodon.
It lowered its trunk. Looked directly at him and Morgan. Its feet rose up and came down again, pounding against the floor.
Then it charged.
Caplan released the crank and grabbed hold of his rifle. It wasn’t nearly enough firepower to stop a creature of that size. The best he could hope to do was redirect it.
Morgan turned around and reached for the pistol tucked into her waistband. Before she could draw it, Caplan jumped in front of
her. She gave him a dirty look and shoved him out of the way. Then she lifted her gun and took aim at the beast.
Caplan did the same. But before either one could fire, a powerful bellow filled the air. Then the short-faced bear barreled into the mastodon’s rear legs. The mastodon stumbled, lost its balance. Its front limbs splayed wildly and it came crashing down upon its knees. Trumpeting angrily, it rose up again and continued forward.
Caplan’s finger squeezed the trigger. But a sudden movement gave him pause. Horror filled his soul as he saw the short-faced bear streaking in their direction.
He changed stances, taking aim at the bear’s face. Maybe he could sink a bullet into its skull. Maybe even its brain. Then he could whirl back to the mastodon, pump its feet and legs full of bullets. It was a long-shot, but what else could he do?
The bear raced forward, its paws scraping the floor with fury.
Caplan’s finger twitched against the trigger. It was only fifty feet out now. He wanted to shoot, but his brain told him to wait, to be patient. He wasn’t sure why, but somehow he knew it was the right decision.
Forty feet. Gaining speed, the bear passed the mastodon.
It’s a race, Caplan thought. And we’re the prize.
Thirty feet.
He could smell blood now. Wet fur, leathery skin, and rancid breath, too. The stench was overpowering, but the rising heat was even worse. Sweat dripped from his arms, his hands. He felt light-headed and off-balance.
Twenty feet.
Gritting his teeth, he squeezed the trigger as far as he could without firing the weapon. Then he steeled himself. Even if he managed a kill shot—a very unlikely proposition—the bear’s momentum made a collision almost inevitable.
Abruptly, the bear put on the brakes.
Caplan eased up on the trigger. What the hell is it doing? he wondered.
The bear leapt in front of the mastodon. With a piercing bellow, it rose up on its hind legs.
It’s … protecting us?
The mastodon blurted out a surprised trumpet. Then it charged the bear. Crashed into it and sent it spinning, rolling into the gate.
The bear flew back to its feet. Blood dripped from its furry chest as it once again rose on its hind legs. It swung its powerful arms, clobbering the mastodon’s head and scratching the creature’s face.
Caplan raced back to the crank. With the screams of Corbotch’s big shots ringing in his ears, he began to turn the mechanism. Slowly, the gate rolled sideways.
A fresh breeze, smelling of leaves and rain, blew through the gap. Feeling renewed, Caplan pushed harder. Morgan joined in to help and the gate rolled open another few inches.
The mastodon trumpeted again. Lowering its head, it swung its trunk at the bear’s legs. But the bear pounced on the trunk, forcing it to the ground. As the mastodon bucked like a wild horse, the bear sank its jaws into the creature’s neck. Blood spurted out fountain-style. The mastodon continued to thrash about, but with far less strength.
Morgan and Caplan gave the crank another full turn. The gate slid open a few more inches. “There.” Morgan released the crank. “That should do it.”
Roaring at a deafening volume, the bear opened its jaws for another vicious bite. But at the last second, it spun toward Morgan and Caplan.
And started to run.
The creature’s enormous size caused Caplan to do a double-take. It looked even bigger than he remembered. What the …? he thought. Is it … bigger?
Heart pounding, Caplan hoisted his rifle. But before he could aim it, the beast shifted a couple of feet to the side. Still running, it rose up on its hind legs and slipped between the narrow gap afforded by the open gate. Once outside, it dropped to all fours. Its paws pounded against concrete.
And then it was gone.
“It wasn’t protecting us,” Morgan said, her voice tinged with curiosity. “It was using us. Using us to get outside.”
Chapter 48
Date: June 19, 2016, 6:00 p.m.; Location: Hatcher Station, Vallerio Forest, NH
The mastodon was dying, but it sure didn’t act like it. Instead, it thrashed weakly about on the floor, bathing itself in its own blood. It tried to regain its footing on numerous occasions and blurted angrily with each failed attempt.
Caplan stared at the creature’s face and for the first time, noticed that its bright orange eyes were staring right back at him. They hinted at deep insanity, the sort of insanity that couldn’t be reached via natural means.
Lifting his gaze, he stared at the security checkpoint. He heard brutish growls and snarls. But no gunfire.
Squinting, he noticed six or seven big shots on the ground, some moving and some not. The others, he decided, had probably retreated back up the ladder to Research.
“If we wait any longer, we’ll be next,” Morgan whispered.
Caplan followed her through the open gate. He found himself in a dark concrete passage, supported by the occasional pillar. Although sturdy, the tunnel was in rather dilapidated shape. “This tunnel looks old,” he remarked.
“It is old,” she replied. “According to rumor, it was bored out of the ground by one of James’ ancestors.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Because he liked tunnels?”
They walked a little farther, following the tunnel as it curved to the southwest. A jet of warm wind accosted them, bringing with it the lingering scent of mud and pine needles. The outdoors … the Vallerio! Ahh, Caplan couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so eager to stride into the wild. A load lifted from his chest. His feet felt light in his muddied trail-runners.
But that wonderful feeling lasted mere seconds before reality crashed down upon him. The power was still down, meaning Sector 48A’s electric fence was out of commission. 1-Gen animals, newly hatched from their incubators, were probably swarming the Vallerio at that very moment. And of course, there was still the matter of the short-faced bear.
The growing short-faced bear.
“We should slow down,” Morgan said out of the blue. “The bear could be waiting for us.”
“Or the lion could be chasing us,” he countered.
Her gait shifted, morphed. She picked up speed, matching his pace. At the same time, she tried to mimic his silent footsteps with mixed results. He watched as she picked her way through the crumbling concrete chunks, dirt, twigs, and other debris. While he admired her effort, he knew it would only go so far. Speed and stealth were second nature to him, thanks to years spent in the wild. A test tube girl like Morgan, on the other hand, was simply out of her element.
Morgan winced as some old leaves crunched under her shoe. “What was that back there?” she whispered.
“You mean the animals? That’s your department, not mine.”
“I mean you jumping between me and the mastodon.” Her tone turned angry. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
“I know.” He exhaled. For five long months, he’d practiced speeches on the off-chance he’d ever see her again. But now that the opportunity had arrived, he had no idea what to say. “It’s just … well, I owe you.”
“Owe me?”
His face flushed, burning like fire. He tried to look at her, but couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “I was there when Tony died.”
Her facial muscles stiffened.
“He came to me on January 6,” Caplan continued, “and asked to borrow Roadster. Long story short, I agreed, but with one condition. I wanted to go with him.”
He paused, giving her an opportunity to respond. When she didn’t, he dove back into the story. “He directed me to a place he called Sector 48A. I still remember pulling up to it, seeing that electric fence. I asked him how he knew about it. He told me he’d first seen the fence on one of the video feeds.”
“And?” Morgan’s tone was firm, distant.
“He wanted to plant some cameras. So, he cut through the wires and crawled under the fence. Everything was fine until …”
“Yes?”
“Until he was attacked.” A flood of emotions grabbed hold of Caplan, tossing him to and fro. “These things … they snatched him away into the darkness. Seconds later, they sent him flying back toward the fence. He was cut up and bleeding like crazy. But he was still alive.”
Caplan swallowed hard as he remembered the look in Tony’s face. That strange, savage look. Like the man had ventured into some other dimension and seen sights not meant for human eyes. “I ran to the fence. There was still time to help him. But I froze. I can’t explain it. I just … froze.” His emotions flooded out of him, gushing through his pores. And then he felt drained. Drained and empty. “The things, I assume they were 1-Gens, swept over him. They killed him, dragged him away. I never saw him again.”
“But Roadster … it was in Sector 84 …”
“Because I put it there.” He exhaled. “Truth is, I panicked. I knew something big was happening in 48A. And I was afraid of what would happen if anyone found out I’d been there. I figured they might kill me. You too, seeing as how Tony was your brother. Anyway I couldn’t face you after that. So, I resigned and moved as far away from nature as possible, to Manhattan.”
She exhaled a long sigh, as if releasing her own pent-up sea of emotions. “So, you’re a coward.”
“I know.”
“I don’t mean because you didn’t save Tony. Bottom line, Tony was responsible for Tony. He put himself into that situation. And if he were still here, he’d tell you the same thing.” She shook her head. “No, you’re a coward for one simple reason. You ran away.”
New emotions, strange and unexpected, flooded back into Caplan, filling the temporary void in his soul. A deep sense of shame, tempered by the slightest hint of relief. Self-disgust offset by an odd euphoria. And most of all, intense grief mixed with a longing. A longing for normalcy. For the life he’d abandoned. For a life that just might be within his grasp.
