The Jurassic Chronicles (Future Chronicles Book 15)

by Samuel Peralta

  "Get in," the man says.

  An almost perfect face stares at me from behind the wheel. Silver-green eyes fringed with dark lashes. A startling contrast to his teak-brown skin. Jet-black hair falls in waves over a broad forehead creased in a frown.

  He's beautiful, so beautiful. Something tugs my gut, and I clamp down on the urge to touch him.

  "Come on," he says, his voice urgent.

  When I just stand there motionless, he barks out, "Come, or you risk being put away in a hellhole of a jail. One from which you have no hope of getting out for a long time."

  He's right.

  I know the legal system in this country is so inept that once I am in it I may well be lost forever. I slide in, and before I’ve shut the door, he’s driving off.

  Tearing my eyes off him, I snap the seatbelt into place, grip the backpack between my thighs, then grimace. The asteroid slice still has the blood of the dead man on it. I shudder and, changing my mind, place the backpack on the floor.

  "Make sure you hold on to that," he says as the vehicle jumps forward. I gasp as it almost kisses the fender of the car ahead.

  He swears, then veers the vehicle around so suddenly that I throw my hands out against the dashboard to balance myself.

  The sound of a siren grows in the distance.

  He swears again before putting on a burst of speed. Driving us straight over the barrier separating the opposing lanes of traffic.

  I scream as we hit the road and land right in the path of oncoming vehicles.

  "You trying to kill us?" I choke out.

  He doesn’t respond, just grips the wheel, focusing on the road.

  I shut my eyes tight as an oil tanker blares its horn just inches away.

  He swerves around the massive vehicle, then to the right again before diving straight off the road and into the paddy field on the other side.

  The muddy water splashes over the windshield and he flicks on the wipers. All the while, the car's ploughing through the field, the water furrowing up on both sides.

  "Mad. You're quite mad," I mutter aloud.

  But efficient. No way can the police, or anyone else, follow us now.

  He doesn’t let up till we hit the other side and slam onto a dirt road.

  "Please, can we slow down?" I yell to be heard above the noise of the vehicle bumping along.

  At which he says, "You don’t want them getting their hands on you. Or that." He points to the backpack and I freeze.

  He knows what's in there?

  Of course he does, it's the reason he appeared like that and got you away from the cops.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  As if reading my mind, he says, "We're headed for a safe house to wait them out."

  Before I can ask anything more, he turns off the road. The vehicle slides to a stop in front of a two-story bungalow. Switching off the engine, he jumps out, making for the building.

  I slide out more slowly and stand there hesitant, staring at the backpack with the Ashdown.

  I'd sworn not to be a dreamer like Dad. Is that why I'd decided to become an accountant? Not that it had helped much. I'd passed out of university a year ago and still hadn't found a job.

  It's ironic that the only way to pay off my student loans is by selling his dream.

  Except the Ashdown is covered with a strange guy's blood and there's no way in hell I want it anywhere near me now.

  Can I leave it here in the car?

  Perhaps I should take it with me.

  I'm trying to decide when he calls out, "Hey, do you want to come in or what?"

  Reaching in, I grab the pack and swing it onto my back, then half jog to the bungalow. The door slams behind me.

  I step in, only to be hit by an icy blast from the air conditioning. The sweat trickling down my back chills, and I shiver.

  I walk through the living room to the door on the far end and freeze. Given the dilapidated condition of the building from the outside, it's the last thing I'd expected to see.

  The opposite wall is covered with a floating virtual screen showing lighted dots of different colors. A control panel folds out of a slim U-shaped desk. Multiple virtual displays float over the desk. As I watch, the screens shift and change places.

  It’s like something between sci-fi and pinball. Everything feels futuristic yet retro, in a way that's just a little off.

  And the man's standing there, looking at a small handheld screen. He tilts his head to one side as if listening intently, yet I don't see him wearing an earpiece. He motions me to a chair against the wall on the far side.

  I peel off the backpack and set it down near the door, hoping to put some distance between me and the bloodied Ashdown. As I move away, a thrum of agitation, almost a plea, pings my back.

  Before I can rationalize my actions, I've retraced my steps to pick up the backpack and placed it next to me on the floor. The door is just behind me. I turn my chair slightly, enough to see the exit from the corner of my eyes.

  The man is too intent on whatever he’s been doing to notice.

  He flexes his arms, and the thin shirt stretches over his muscles, drawing my attention to his wide shoulders. Warmth curls in my belly, and I swallow, trying to fold it back inside.

  He touches one of the displays, and the lights swirl into a complex pattern of colors. His movements are quick, economical, much like how he’d driven the SUV through traffic. Insane traffic that he’d navigated through to get us here in one piece. And now he’s focused on the screen in front of him and on his handheld and listening to the earpiece; all while a part of him is watching me. Observing, studying my reactions. It's as if his consciousness can function on many levels at once.

  As if he's a high performer who's able to split his attention across many tasks at the same time.

  So efficient.

  Almost too efficient.

  Like a highly trained person. A soldier, perhaps?

  Or someone highly evolved.

  Someone not quite human.

  "Well, we lost them." Turning, he folds his arms over his chest.

  He sounds confident. As if there was never a doubt that he’d outrun the cops. As if he knows something I don’t.

  "Who are you?" I ask, the words coming out jerky.

  "Very amiss of me not to have introduced myself. I'm Alexei—"

  "You aren't a cop, are you, Alexei?" I interrupt him.

  "Call me Alex," he says.

  He doesn’t elaborate more though. As if waiting for me to guess. As if enjoying the confusion evident on my face.

  I frown, feel my heart begin to beat faster. He doesn’t have to confirm or deny it. I know already that he is not a policeman.

  "So what are you?" I ask. "A meteorite collector? A fossil hunter, perhaps?"

  He waves his palm in the air in a strange S-shaped gesture, which I am not sure how to interpret.

  "A hunter … yes. A seeker of truth, like your father," he says.

  I go still at that.

  "You knew my father?" I choke out the words.

  My gut twists, and a feeling of dread grips me. Something's not quite right. Something on the fringe of my consciousness that I almost grasp, and then it's gone before I can place it.

  Disturbed, more than I care to admit, almost without realizing it, I lean back in the chair, as if trying to put some distance between us.

  Then everything inside me goes on alert when he says, "I helped him find the Ashdown." He nods to my backpack, adding, "We were together on his last expedition."

  A part of me follows what he says. The other jumps ahead, putting things together. Finding connections in what has already taken place.

  "So you were there when he—"

  "When he died. Before he could share his discovery with the world," he replies, watching me with those pale eyes as if waiting for my reaction.

  The hairs on my arms stand up.

  "We thought he'd taken the Ashdown over the cliff with him. Imagine our surp
rise when we found it was with you," he says.

  Our?

  His eyes dart once more to the backpack, and something in his look makes me realize: he’s after it too.

  And he knew my father.

  And suddenly, it's as if the walls are closing in on me. My breath comes out in short gasps and my heart beats against my rib cage.

  I half rise from my seat, but he motions for me to stay.

  The flickering lights from the screen reflect off his skin. His eyes glow as if he's thinking, processing.

  I don't know this guy at all. And here I am with him alone, in a strange country. Was I better off with the police?

  No, you're not.

  I start at that. "What the—?"

  "If you'd gone with the police it wouldn't have ended well," he says, glancing into the distance, his eyes unfocussed as if he can see something I can't. As if he's looking into the future.

  But wait!

  How did he know I was thinking of the police? Can he read my mind?

  I can.

  I jerk to my feet so quickly the chair almost overturns.

  "I won't hurt you, but you must listen," he continues, ignoring my reaction. "That thing you're carrying"—he points to the backpack—"do you have any idea what it's worth?"

  A cold ball of fear weighs in my gut.

  "Wha ... what do you mean?" I have an inkling. Yet I want to hear it from him.

  "You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

  "It's worth ... a lot of money," I finally say.

  "Not just money. It's the key to unlocking one possible future for all of us."

  I stay quiet.

  Sure, I know the Ashdown is not a normal rock. It's part of the asteroid that ended a phase of life on Earth. But really, I don't care. All I want is to sell it. To take the money and start afresh.

  "It’s not that simple," he says.

  I swear aloud. "You really are reading my mind. What are you? Psychic?"

  "That's one way of putting it." He smiles but doesn't elaborate.

  Something in his glance though makes me feel he knows more than he is letting on.

  I let loose a breath.

  "Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind," I snap.

  He fixes that pale gaze on me. "Your father died because of it. It’s better you don’t keep it with you."

  "So, you want me to hand it over, is that it?" His features don’t change, and I add, "You just want the money—"

  "You were willing to sell it to a collector you'd never met before. What's changed now? Besides, you'll still be compensated," he says.

  "Is that how you found me? You tracked me through the collector?"

  When he nods, I can't take it anymore. Movements jerky, I half turn, ready to bolt out of there. But, before I can take another step he puts up his hand and says, "Hear me out. It’s really not about the money."

  I laugh at that, a short, bitter bark. "I don’t believe you," I say.

  Believe me, Zoya. I wouldn’t lie, not to you.

  The blood drains from my face. "Don’t do that," I whisper. "It’s eerie. Unreal. As if … as if—"

  "As if I’m not of this world," he completes my sentence. "I wouldn’t normally do it, but we’re running out of time."

  "What do you mean?" I clench and unclench my fists at my side, feeling as if everything is slowing down around me.

  "You know how you were thinking earlier that I didn't seem quite human?"

  I don’t say anything.

  "You were right," he says, his voice matter of fact.

  I laugh, but it comes out hollow, shaky. "So you are what? An alien?"

  He frowns, those beautiful arched eyebrows shooting down over his nose. "Don’t be so crass. You do know what your father was looking for when he stumbled across the Ashdown, right?"

  "Ascendants." I form my tongue around the word that’s been floating around in my brain all this while. "Humans, but not quite. Beings from another dimension. He was convinced they existed."

  He nods.

  And I look at him again, those clean-cut features almost too perfect. Beautiful features that pull on me, drawing me to him, and I know what he’s trying to tell me.

  "No." I shake my head. "It can’t be. He never found any trace of them, none."

  "He found me. He just never got to tell the world." Then he corrects himself. "He was stopped from telling the world.”

  Stopped.

  My mind stutters. The dark knot in my belly tightens, and a shiver runs down my back.

  "Don’t you want to know how your father died?" he asks in a soft voice, almost gentle. "You do know that it wasn't a suicide?"

  And I’m not aware of the tears running down my cheeks, not till I taste the salt.

  I can’t reply, can’t say anything.

  I hadn’t known my father very well, and yet when he died it felt like everything familiar had been taken from me.

  The pressure in my chest grows till I can’t breathe. I take a step back, and another, and then I am running for the door, but something hits me from behind.

  My head hits the floor hard, and I lie there stunned.

  Then I’m being turned around. On my back.

  He looms over me, surrounding me. Heat spools off his chest and slams into me.

  A curl of pain shoots through my lower belly, and his body jerks as if he feels it too.

  A flicker of something darts in his eyes, and then he is leaning in. His face descends towards mine, closer. Closer still. Till his breath, soft, brushes my upper lip, and a bittersweet cinnamon smell rushes over me, intensifying.

  I can't resist.

  Can't resist the beauty arching over me.

  My eyes flutter down, and I lean up, my back half off the floor when suddenly his weight is thrown off me and against the wall, where he lies stunned.

  And behind him, a shadow.

  A shape I can't quite make out, except that it's taller than Alex.

  A feeling of anger, despair, spools off it, and I gasp as the emotions slam into me almost like a physical blow.

  Alex springs to his feet, his movements a blur, moving fast, inhumanly fast. And in that moment, I know everything he told me is true.

  The shadow is broad with big, muscled arms and a sculpted chest. Muscled thighs, ending in bare feet splayed on the ground. The thing is covered with dark green-purple scales. It's as if its creator had decided to taint it on a whim. Mar that perfect physique just enough to make it seem hideous.

  None of which stops it from matching the sleeker Alex action for action.

  The thing sidesteps Alex, and in the same motion hits him in the chest.

  I hear the breath whoosh out of Alex, who goes flying back against the wall and lies there.

  This time he doesn’t move.

  For a second I see the shadow in profile, see the column of tightly placed scales running down its back. It turns to me and I gasp.

  Those facial features cannot be human. Not with the row of sharp teeth I see when it bares its thick lips. And those eyes sunken above those flat cheeks. Cheeks covered in scales. But it's not animal, either.

  This is no dumb creature, for I see the intelligence in its eyes. Feel the doubt as it hesitates when it sees me staring.

  The space around the thing glows a dull purple, splotched with green.

  A feeling of helplessness wafts off it, reaching out to me. It pulls at me, twisting at my gut till a sharp pain shoots through me.

  I press against the floor, trying to curl into myself. But I can't bring myself to shut my eyes. Can't stop watching.

  Its eyes blink, and it raises a hand as if to call out to me. I sense an opening in that pain. A vulnerability almost.

  It takes a step forward and I freeze.

  It's holding both hands up, palms facing me, as if a placatory gesture, but I barely notice. All I can see is that scaly body.

  I had run my palm over scales.

  And then my mind goes blank as it take
s another step forward and I find I am sliding back.

  It moves forward.

  And I move back.

  Back.

  I slide all the way back till I hit the wall next to the door, crashing into it. Pain jolts through me, but I barely notice. Try to lean back even more, pushing myself against the hard surface.

  It’s so close now that I can smell it. Dirt, mud, and dust. Very old dust, the kind that has not been disturbed for years, centuries.

  It raises its foot to take another step, only to crash to the side, Alex on its back.

  And then all I see is a blur of bodies as the thing shakes him off and jumps after him. They crash into the table, bringing it down. The room seems to shake and pieces of the ceiling fall on me.

  Getting to my feet, I slide along the wall towards my backpack. As if in a dream I unzip it with trembling hands. When I snap open the box, the Ashdown is glowing.

  The sound of a body hitting the ground and I look up to find Alex sprawled on the floor and the thing walking towards me. It comes closer and the purple patches on the Ashdown begin to pulse.

  Those eyes lock onto mine.

  Brown-green eyes.

  Gentle eyes with long lashes.

  Something brushes against the edge of my consciousness, pulling at me. Pleading. Asking for… what?

  And then the thing is being hurled away from me. It slams into the wall, which shatters with a distinct crack.

  "Get down!" I hear Alex's voice before he throws himself over me as the ceiling collapses around us.

  I lie there stunned, his weight crushing me so I can't breathe. I gasp and try to struggle, only to find my arms are pinned down.

  Panic grips me as darkness closes in, and then he pushes himself off me, rising to his feet, flinging off the rubble. I look beyond him through the dust, to the fallen wall. The space is empty.

  4

  "I'm sorry I tackled you like that," Alex says, his voice apologetic. "You aren't hurt, are you?"

  We've been driving for what seems like hours, and I still feel shaken.

  "You could have just asked if you wanted me to stay," I reply, trying to keep my voice light but can't quite hide the quiver.

  He inclines his head as if thinking that over.

  When he doesn't respond, I ask, "What was that back there?"

  Alex looks at me, his pale eyes glittering in the early morning sunlight.