In short, the medicine worked!
It worked right against TJ’s wall in a big, splattering, horribly disgusting mess. TJ slapped his hand over his mouth to keep the last week’s worth of food from making an appearance, not that the additional mess would matter at this point.
Rex stood up straight. A small amount of relief was clearly visible in his dinosaur grin. Suddenly, the rumbling returned like an angry sea monster growling up from the depths of the ocean. Rex’s cheeks puffed out and an instant later the medicine worked again, this time from the other end as the dinosaur unleashed an epic flood of prehistoric puke that hit TJ like water from a fire hose.
Rex immediately seemed to feel better.
TJ immediately wished he were dead.
***** ***** *****
Ellen had become a TV zombie. She’d been binge watching Doctor Who for hours when her eyes caught sight of the clock.
“Holy crud!” she shouted. She rubbed her eyes, hoping that would somehow turn back time. Nope. Still nine o’clock. “I completely forgot about dinner. I spaced for hours. I don’t even…”
Before she could sink any further into her tizzy, TJ walked in from the kitchen, freshly showered, holding a freshly cooked frozen pizza. He set it down on the coffee table and took a seat beside Ellen. “No worries, Mom. I got ya covered.”
Ellen tried to think of something to say, but she just smiled and took a slice of pizza. It wasn’t until after both had finished their first slice that anyone spoke.
“Mom, did I puke on you a lot when I was a baby?”
A shiver ran down Ellen’s spine at the memory of it. “Yeah. Actually you did. You had a really sensitive stomach.”
TJ took another slice. “Sorry,” he said.
Ellen tossed her crust on her empty plate. “It’s okay. I’m over it. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Just curious.”
Ellen chuckled. “Getting thrown up on is all part of being a parent. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to experience it someday.”
TJ stifled a laugh.
Someday is already here!
Chapter Twelve
Brock Horne hadn’t slept in days. Not since the storm. He’d known this would happen. He’d tried to tell them. Scientists never listened. Never! They always thought they were so smart. They thought they had all the answers even though they often didn’t know the questions. They were so wrapped up in their experiments, in getting results, in cutting things apart and breaking things down to see how they work, that they were blind to common sense. They just couldn’t see past their test tubes and beakers and Bunsen burners.
And then it was too late.
Like now.
“You sure you want to leave a dinosaur egg in the middle of the Everglades?” he had asked. “You’re totally, one hundred percent sure that’s not a stupid idea?”
“Certain environmental factors cannot be mimicked in a lab,” they complained. “The field trial is imperative.”
“You’re sure?” he had asked again.
“Well, of course, they could be,” they had ultimately admitted. “But setting it up would be very time consuming.”
“And expensive,” another scientist added.
Time and money. That’s what it always boiled down to.
Idiots.
Now Brock was forced to clean up the mess that he’d seen coming a mile away. A hundred miles! He’d been tracking those kids since he’d gunned down that alligator. Field teams had been scouring every inch of the swamp. If the egg were still in there, they’d have found it by now. Someone must have found it, taken it. The kids were in the general area of the habitat. They were as good a lead as any. Once the pawnbroker had pointed him toward the Beaumont boy, it was easy enough to find the Redfield girl. It was a small town. Everyone knew everyone. Knew their business. Brock could sit in a booth at Lulu’s for an hour and learn everything about Greenmarsh that he needed to know.
If he could keep from getting distracted. Ellen Beaumont made that difficult. Brock didn’t often allow himself to be distracted. He was a professional. And a career man. Always do the job. Always focus on the career. His father had drilled that into him from a young age. That was probably why Brock and his mother had packed up and moved to the other side of the country. He’d only seen his old man a few times after that. Still, he followed in his footsteps just the same.
Brock had been reminding himself of that ever since stepping into Lulu’s and setting eyes on Ellen Beaumont. He needed to stay focused on the job.
The way things had been going, this should have been relatively easy. It hadn’t taken him long to realize those kids were hiding something. The Beaumont boy, TJ, in particular. He’d clearly been shaken when Brock had stopped by to return the helmet. And when people get shaken, they make mistakes. They slip up.
Brock hated thinking about them this way. They were just kids. Popping in to intimidate a ten year old? It made him sick to his stomach. But better it was Brock than Osborne.
Speaking of Osborne, Brock needed to check in with him, which meant he’d better have something new to report. He’d been sitting in the Humvee for almost an hour, waiting for the old man to come home. According to folks around town, he was called Doc. The records indicated he used to be a veterinarian. Lost his practice after he punched a client. The resulting lawsuit cost him nearly everything. Now he operated a little clinic out of his house, off the books. He took whatever meager payment the mostly poor folks of Greenmarsh could afford and never turned anyone away because they couldn’t pay. Didn’t sound like the kind of guy who’d sock someone in the jaw.
The Beaumont kid had visited Doc last night. Brock chuckled when he recalled tailing TJ from his house. The rope ladder. Leaping and rolling through the bushes. The kid must have thought he was some kind of secret agent on the run from international terrorists.
If he only knew.
A rickety, brown sedan pulled into the driveway. The kindly old man who stepped out of it struggled with an armload of groceries. It was the perfect opportunity for Brock to offer up some neighborly assistance. He took a brisk pace up the road but didn’t run so as not to attract attention. He reached the end of Doc’s driveway without being noticed.
“Sir?” Brock called. “Need a hand with those?” He didn’t wait for a response. He just walked up the driveway, being sure to relax his stance so he’d appear casual. He hoisted two bags out of the trunk and took another out of Doc’s arms.
Doc studied him, obviously trying to place him. Brock was used to the look. It was the same look every person from every small town he ever passed through had given him. “I don’t know you,” Doc said without the hint of a question.
“No, sir, you don’t.” Brock returned Doc’s skepticism with a friendly smile. “I’m new in town.”
Doc opened his door and gave Brock another once over before inviting him in. “Did you come to Greenmarsh just to help old men with their groceries?”
Brock laughed. Greenmarsh may not have much going for it, but it certainly didn’t lack for spunk. “No, sir. I’m just traveling through. Shouldn’t be in town long. I just happened to be passing by when I noticed you could use some help.”
Doc set his bags on the table. “That right?” He studied Brock again, looking for something else this time, looking deeper than just his face. “You weren’t passing very fast, seeing how that monstrous vehicle of yours was parked just up the street.”
Brock’s casual façade faded quickly. His back went straight as a board, his shoulders snapped back, and his chest stuck out like it was second nature. He transformed in an instant from friendly neighbor to intimidating stranger.
Doc shrank away from him. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here. Or, better yet, save your reasons and just get out of my house.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that just yet, sir.” Brock reached into his pocket. Doc started to shake. Brock could see the rapid thundering of the old man’s heart in the veins on his
wrinkly old neck and sweat beading on his brow. “I’ve got a few questions for you.”
“Just…who are you?” Doc staggered back, bumping into his kitchen table with his hands up. Brock hoped he wasn’t the type to get all heroic and try to fight him off. That would have been crazy. Still, he sure as heck looked like he’d like to try. Apparently, Doc isn’t the kind of man who goes down without a fight.
Brock pulled out a badge. “Brock Horne, investigator with the Florida Board of Veterinary Medicine.”
Doc’s massive sigh of relief almost knocked Brock off his feet. Doc took a seat at the table and tried to steady his trembling hands. He took several deep breaths, calming a little more with each one. A sudden rush of anger flashed across his face and sped up the process. “And just what in God’s name are you doing coming into my home under false pretenses? I’m calling my lawyer. All this business was supposed to have been settled years ago.”
Brock helped himself to a seat across the table from Doc. “I apologize for my deceit, but, given our history, I figured that had I identified myself, you’d have told me to go piss in the wind.”
Doc pounded on the table. “You would have been right.”
“Then I wouldn’t have been able to ask for your help.”
Skepticism tightened the muscles in Doc’s jaw. “Why would I help you? You took my practice.”
The file on Doc he had read ran through Brock’s head like a recording. “Because you assaulted that man.”
“To protect an animal,” Doc fired back. “And I’d do it again.”
Brock nodded. “I figured you’d say that. Which means we’re speaking the same language.”
Doc was confused. “Come again?”
“There are more animals that need your protection,” said Brock.
Doc leaned back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. “Go on.”
“I’m working a joint operation with the Fish and Wildlife Service. They say there’s a smuggling operation working out of this area. Trappers are taking alligators out the Everglades and shipping them out for who knows what. We believe the smugglers are using local vets to treat the animals prior to shipment.” Brock raised his hand to calm Doc when he saw him getting worked up. “Relax. We don’t think you have anything to do with that. The smugglers were using less reputable, back alley vets, but we’ve shut them all down. With nowhere else to go, we believe they’ll start coming to people like you, people with the knowledge and resources but without the licenses. I’m just hoping you can keep an eye out for anything suspicious.” Brock slid one of his cards across the table. “And give me a call if anything pops up.”
The card sat like a landmine in the middle of Doc’s kitchen table. He looked at it like he didn’t know whether it was armed or not, whether it was safe to touch. He tapped it with his pointer finger. When it didn’t explode, he took it.
“Have you noticed anything odd lately?” Brock pressed his advantage while he had it. “Anyone asking for rare kinds of medicine or asking medical questions about nonindigenous animals?” He studied the flicker of Doc’s eyes, the pulse in his neck, looking for any sign that he might be lying. “Anyone bring in any kind of animal that you’ve never seen before?”
Doc’s eyes peered up and to the right. Brock knew what that meant. The old man had thought of something. Something out of the ordinary. “No, nothing like that.”
A short moment of silence stretched between them. Brock decided not to press any further. He had a potential asset now, a new source of information. No sense in jeopardizing that. He had learned all he needed to. Brock stood and shook Doc’s hand. “Thank you. Your help could save a lot of animals. My apologies again for the deceit.” He marched out of the house without waiting for Doc to stand, taking a final quick scan of the house for anything he might have missed.
“Smugglers, eh?” Doc said just loud enough for Brock to hear. He could feel the old man’s glare boring into the back of his head. Brock glanced over his shoulder and noticed Doc turning the card over and over with his fingers as if still not certain whether or not he could trust it. Then he tucked the card into his pocket, and Brock closed the door behind himself.
Brock took the Veterinary Board of Medicine Investigator badge from his pocket and tossed it in the glove box where it mingled with the heap of other badges he kept there. FBI. Federal Gaming Commission. Highway Patrol. This one had been made special for this job. He wasn’t even sure the Florida Veterinary Board of Medicine had investigators, let alone badges. But people see a shiny shield, and doors start opening. Those skeptical looks disappear, and people start talking.
The phone in the passenger seat rang a sorrowful tune. Brock knew who it is before he even looked at the caller ID. “Hello, Osborne.”
“Have you found anything even remotely linked to our missing subject, Horne, or are you at that greasy dive stuffing your face with cherry pie and ogling the waitresses again?” Osborne was a perpetual pain in the butt. There wasn’t a pleasant cell in his entire body.
“I have some solid leads,” Brock said through gritted teeth.
Osborne sounded like he wanted to reach through the phone and slap him. “Then come in and brief the team! It’s time we turned leads into actual results. This mission has taken way too long already. We should have achieved our objective by now. I want you at the compound in fifteen minutes.” Osborne hung up.
“God, I hate that guy.” His stomach twisted in knots at the thought of stepping into that compound and looking at Osborne’s beady little eyes and pointy bird nose. He wished he could turn the car around and go to Lulu’s. I could use a slice of cherry pie right now. Then he thought of Ellen. He wished he could sit in the corner booth at Lulu’s and watch Ellen pour coffee for that crazy conspiracy theorist. But instead he turned down the dirt road and drove toward the swamp.
The Humvee jostled over giant roots and muddy holes. Several small bridges allowed Brock to travel over streams and some of the more flooded areas. They were part of a thin path carved all the way into the heart of the Everglades, the tip of the Florida Peninsula. The Humvee stopped at a small concrete building with red paint on its side that read Nike Missile Site HM-69.
Chapter Thirteen
Sitting through an entire school day can be rough. Teachers droning on about the War of 1812 and the Pythagoras Theorem, followed by sloppy joes in the cafeteria, then on to more droning about chlorophyll and sentence structure. But when you have a dinosaur waiting at home, school is absolute torture. Of all the amazing adventures TJ could be having with his new pet, geometry factored in at zero percent.
Science class was especially challenging. After the briefing on the science project was done, it was all TJ could do not to raise his hand and challenge the scientific establishment’s understanding of Earth’s history. He could blast a meteor-sized hole through the extinction theory. But he thought it best to doodle in his notebook instead. A rough drawing of a dinosaur just to rub it in. Perhaps he’d fight science another day.
By day’s end, TJ’s head was spinning, his heart was racing, and all he wanted to do was race home to Rex. But Eddie Figley was the worst human being on the planet, born with the ability to instinctively know how to ruin TJ’s life. He and the two growths that seemed to be permanently attached to his butt surrounded him at the edge of the schoolyard.
“Where you off to, Turkey Junk?” Eddie laughed like he was the cleverest person alive.
“Well, after school ends, most people go home.” TJ looked for an opening, but the three human-shaped piles of poop had him boxed in pretty good. “That’s kinda what I was hoping to do. You guys want to stick around here and kick bunnies or whatever, that’s cool, but I think I’m gonna take off.”
Eddie widened his stance, ensuring TJ couldn’t get by him.
For whatever reason, even though he’d suffered through years of abuse, TJ had finally had enough. He’d played dead for too long, and all that did was make it easier for Eddie to walk all over
him. Maybe TJ had just reached his breaking point. Maybe having a dinosaur at home gave him a little confidence boost. Regardless of the reason, Eddie didn’t know how to react when TJ stepped up to him and got right in his face.
“Listen,” TJ said, nose to chin with Eddie. “I don’t know what your problem is, and I don’t care because it’s your problem. If you’re bored, get a hobby. If you’re trying to impress these two,” he pointed to the goons with Eddie. “I suggest you have them removed from your gluteus maximus and get some new friends. Whatever your issue is, work it out on someone else.” TJ shoved past Eddie, feeling like he could bench press outer space.
Eddie and his goons stood there looking stupid, shocked, and awed. It was as if they were so totally blindsided, they didn’t know how to move. Eddie finally shook from his stupor to call to TJ as he strutted away. “What do you have to race home to? Your daddy ran at the first sight of you, and your mom is probably out trying to find you a new one.”
A red, hot fire sparked to life in TJ’s gut. Everything inside him flared up like dry tinder. His stomach, his small and large intestine, his entire digestive system. His pancreas, appendix, and gall bladder. The fire seeped into his blood and he burst into flames from his brain down to his toes. He turned on his heels and closed the distance between himself and Eddie in a blink and drove his fist into Eddie’s chin.
Pain shot from TJ’s knuckles up his wrist, but the heat in his blood was so intense that it burned away before it moved past his elbow. TJ’s other fist smashed into Eddie’s nose before the two goons pulled him off.
Blood pooled in Eddie’s hands as he clutched his twisted nose. “Freakin’ psycho!” He spat blood on the ground when he yelled.
Rex Page 8
