Island Rampage: A Dinosaur Thriller

by Alex Laybourne

  When the first man fell victim to the small creatures in the long grass, Amare grew angry. He could not help feeling cheated by the cheap way the men threw away their lives.

  Bringing his rifle to his shoulder, he took aim and waited. The man would call for help. All the cowards called for help. When he did, Amare would happily oblige.

  The call came, and Amare smiled as he pulled the trigger, finding the satisfaction he sought in seeing the man’s head explode.

  The second man made it to the trees, almost impressing Amare with his attempts. His screams a few moments later ruined everything. Amare waited, but nothing more came. Turning his back on the forest, he pulled a cigarette from the pack he always kept in his pocket, lit it, and took a long, deep drag.

  Coughing the smoke out in rings, he sat down, as the next soldier on shift climbed up to the tower to begin his watch.

  “Evening,” the man spoke.

  Clarke, an Australian by birth, but not by nature, had worked for Black Arrow for seven years. Amare liked him well as well as anybody else in the camp. Clarke had a strong dislike for everything Australian, including the military he had served for so long. His views on the ever-increasing impact of politics and political correctness on the military extended well beyond his own country’s borders, but the majority of his ranting monologues would always circle back to his homeland.

  “Evening. We just lost two men over the wall. Both dead now,” Amare answered, reeling off the facts and nothing more. A cold man, he played his cards close to his chest, unless his hand was being forced, which was something that rarely happened anymore. People soon learned how to deal with him, and he would not have it any other way.

  “Pisser. Guess that means replacements,” Clarke said, unable to hide the density of his accent.

  “They were useless. Their loss would not be noticed,” Amare replied, rising to make his way down to the floor.

  “Not leaving me alone up here, are ya? I thought we could play a round or two of Two-Up,” Clarke said, spinning an old rifle casing over his fingers.

  “No, I hate that game. You cheat,” Amare grunted.

  “You can’t cheat at Two-Up, mate. You just can’t guess ‘em right,” Clarke called after the disappearing figure, whose dark skin hid him from the world before he even reached the bottom of the ladder.

  Amare made his way across the courtyard to the Black Arrow housing complex. Climbing into bed, he fell into a deep and troubled sleep. The ghosts of the past always found him. No matter where he fled in the world, they would always be waiting.

  Chapter 6

  Construction on the central island, whose name of Hot Pocket had spread even to the Black Arrow crew, had progressed ahead of schedule. The fear driven into the workers had them all the more eager to complete the building, collect their wages, and head back home.

  Amare watched the main building bloom into a finished project of modern technology. It was such an eyesore on the stunning visual landscape that was the island, that it became almost beautiful as a result.

  Around them, the perimeter fence had been extended, and a more permanent, double-reinforced construction had taken its place; iron and concrete surrounded by a ceramic coating that offered enough protection to stop any modern missile from breaching the barrier. It also had a secondary element: a solar-fuelled electrical current. Anything that touched the fence from the outside was immediately hit with enough juice to barbeque a charging rhinoceros.

  Within the walls, an artificial ground had been laid down, and four more buildings had been erected. In the process, the construction crews, who had since grown accustomed to the labour camp conditions that Amare sustained, were able to abandon their tents in favour of one of the permanent structures. A good thing too, for they discovered the island came with a storm season; hurricane-style winds, torrential rain, and thunderstorms that sounded more like the creatures from War of the Worlds descending to earth than anything else.

  The temporary sleeping area was washed away the first night the men moved into the building, known only as Building C.

  “Chalky, chalky do you read, over?” The twang of Clarke’s Australian accent was unmistakable, even above the sound of the approaching storm.

  “I told you not to call me that,” Amare barked.

  “Sorry, mate, gotta call ya something,” Clarke offered in response.

  “What do you want?” Amare had no interest in talking. He loved the storms and wanted to enjoy every moment of it.

  “We just finished construction on the two sub joints out here. The weather is setting in, so I wouldn’t risk sending anybody back your way, but when it clears, I reckon a single crew would be enough to finish off what we need,” Clarke explained. It was clear to hear the bragging in his voice at having finished his section first.

  Since the building work on the main structure had finished, the work had been split over the two remaining islands. Smaller complexes were created, with additional manpower being sent daily. On any other part of the planet, the scale of the operation being put into place would have been considered a marvel.

  “Send them straight to the other island. I don’t need them here, and they lost four men yesterday,” Amare said, his eyes scanning the growing mound of paperwork on the table before him.

  Not a record’s keeper by nature, Amare could not pinpoint the time he fell into the bad habit. Paperwork meant a paper trail, and paper trails could be followed.

  “Alright, mate. Good call. Anyway, the storm is really starting to set in. It’ll be silence from us until it’s over. The big guy is visiting in the next clear patch, so we should make sure we push these guys for all they are worth. The end is in sight.” While Clarke and Amare did not agree on a great many things, their dislike of the island was a shared facet of their lives.

  Amare said nothing as the radio fell silent. He stood and walked from the room. Heading for the roof, he stood in the wind and listened to the storm build around him. He could feel its power and sought to energize himself through it.

  With construction on the individual islands complete, the final stage of the project was able to begin. Interconnecting skywalks were built and heaved into place, connecting the three islands. Simple in their construction, the encapsulated suspension bridges were secured in place with carbon-fibre-reinforced polymer cables.

  Johan stopped walking in the centre of the bridge that connected the main island with the long, thin, third island. The bridge had a gentle swing to it, but the fair weather that had set in since the storms abated made conditions for a final inspection near perfect.

  “I am impressed, my friend,” he said to Amare, who had accompanied Johan and Godfrey on the inspection of the complex.

  “I never fail,” Amare said. After all of the years, Amare had never understood the need for small talk and praise. He knew his place and did what was asked of him.

  “I know that. You are a trusted confidant. That is why I want you to remain on this island.” Johan turned to face the man he thought of as a son.

  “To finish building, of course. It would be my honour, sir.” Amare bowed his head.

  “I know the island is not your favourite place. You are not a fan of the sea, but I need to have my best man on the job.” Johan reached out and laid a hand on Amare’s shoulder.

  “I will not fail you.” Amare stood tall.

  “The construction crew will leave in three weeks. You and a group of men will remain behind, to oversee the island and ensure that everything runs according to plan. The bidding will take place on October fifteenth. Once that has happened, I would expect the rest to happen swiftly.” Johan nodded as he spoke, his eyes once again returning to the sea. A large shadow passed beneath the water, travelling between the two islands, moving directly beneath their feet. “Once the money has been transferred, we will step back from the island, and leave it in the control of those that bought it. You stand to make a lot of money on this deal, Amare, and I am sure you will want to talk ab
out your future when this is done.”

  Amare did not answer. He had no need for money, no interest in doing anything other than what he did. His bank balance was spread over seventeen different institutions in five countries. He did not even know the number that would be used to verbally enumerate his wealth.

  Johan resumed walking, making his way back to the secondary island, where they had one final location to inspect.

  The third island was long and thin, no more than half a mile across at its narrowest, which also served as its midpoint.

  Two locations had been built, the crews moving about via helicopter, never straying from the compound that had been erected for them.

  There was one building on the north side of the island and another on the south. One was designed to be the main control center; the security hub. The power and override controls for the defences of the archipelago were housed in the short, squat building. The ground-level floor sat atop a deep underground level where the main controls were located, along with a hidden bunker that offered a reduced but nonetheless effective laboratory space; a scientific fallout shelter of sorts. A secondary satellite telecommunication portal would supply an emergency transmission beacon should it be required.

  The building on the lower level was an operations chamber, where the main security campus would be located. It was a two-level structure with a vertically extending viewing tower rising from the centre; it had the look of a lighthouse when viewed up close.

  CCTV cameras were positioned around the islands, strategically placed by the Black Arrow team before as well as during the construction process. In total, there were almost one hundred cameras split between the three islands, with requirements for more to be added once the buildings were fully converted and furnished.

  Once Johan, Godfrey, and Amare reached the third island, they took the lift down to the ground level. The building had nothing else to offer, being merely a grounding point for the bridge. An armed group of Black Arrow guards stood waiting for them, having confirmed that the path was clear. Quad bikes took them from to the northern and southern buildings. Once there, armed guards took the small group through the buildings pointing out the various features that had been requested.

  “I am very impressed. Good job, good job,” Johan repeated every few rooms.

  He could smell the money, and knew that when the islands opened up for auction, all of the usual suspects would be interested in entering a bid. He looked forward to the North Korean offer. They had been looking for a new experimental land mass for some time, and the possibilities offered by the local wildlife would triple the asking price. Nobody else knew about the beasts that lived in the jungles; only his own men knew, and their silence had been arranged. The construction workers were also taken care of with that regard.

  Johan had no plans to reveal his secret weapon too early. He would let the bidding war settle, and then throw it in the pot to sweeten the deal.

  The sun was starting to disappear behind the volcano as they emerged from the southern building. The final stop on their tour of the islands.

  “Godfrey, please give me a moment with Amare here. Prepare for our departure, this will not take long.” Johan stared at Amare as he spoke, a slight smile gracing his aged face.

  Amare had no idea how old Johan was, but he had a timeless presence about him. Amare did not believe in witchcraft, but if anybody was to convince him of its existence, it would be Johan.

  They stood in silence inside the main building, waiting for Godfrey’s footsteps to fade to an echo.

  “You wanted to talk to me?” Amare said after a time.

  “Yes, Amare, I did. I know that you are a man who sees the world differently. I have known about this since I first met you. That night you killed those men, and presented me your finger will always shine in my mind. As we reach the end of this project, I have been left to wonder about how we will organize the trips home for those that worked on the project. I think I will leave this in your capable hands, my friend. I am sure you will be able to work something out.” As was their custom, Amare nodded and looked down at his feet, while Johan walked away.

  Chapter 7

  The team of operatives within Black Arrow Security, the real team, the core unit who knew the reality of the company and their role within it, understood the tasks they were given. They accepted them without explanation, sound in the knowledge that their actions would be correct.

  Their skills extended beyond the tasks they performed on the island. On the final day of construction, as everything being tidied away, these men stood up, knowing the time had come for their actions to carry meaning.

  Collecting the different crews, which had been split into groups and sub-groups, they ushered them into the main building so as to organize their payment and release. A helicopter arrived, ready to carry out the transport back to the large vessel that had been sent to bring them home.

  For the first time in many months, a murmur and general air of excitement and optimism rolled over the island. Even the rumbling volcano and the shuddering crashes the forest made from time to time could not dent their spirits.

  “Shift seven, shift seven, please come inside, you need to sign the paperwork for your payment remittance,” Dave spoke up, shouting to be heard over the excited babble of the crew.

  The men moved inside, and Dave counted each head to make sure everybody was present and accounted for. Once he was content, he closed to doors and addressed the segregated group.

  “Follow me,” he instructed, turning before they had the chance to voice their concerns. “We will organize your payment and you will be on your way.”

  Drawn on by the promise of payment, the sum being a life changing amount for almost all of the men on the crew, they followed like sheep.

  Through the corridor, and down two flights of stairs, into the underground levels they themselves helped build.

  Disquiet grew amongst them as they entered what looked like an unfinished area, moving through a pair of security card guarded set of double doors. Bare brick flooring led them through a bare brick-walled corridor and into a large bare room.

  They filed in, none the wiser. A few questioned the smell, the tainted odour that fell heavy on the senses. Only as the doors closed, did panic set in, and by then, it was too late.

  The first burst of machine gun fire took out the majority of the group, round after round peppering their flesh. Blood spurted into the air at all angles as bodies fell left, right, and centre.

  Those that escaped the first burst hammered on the doors and scratched at the walls in their desperate search for freedom, all to no avail as the second volley of fire strafed across the room like a hose. No body was left unpenetrated, flesh split, punctured burned and scorched as hot lead left its damning mark.

  When the gun smoke cleared, the aroma of fresh blood and lightly charred flesh filled the small room. The door opened on the opposite side of the wall, and Amare walked in. He moved around the pile of fresh corpses, checking for any survivors. He found one man at the back. He had been shot repeatedly but clung to life, coughing and drowning in his own blood. The man turned his head towards Amare, a pleading look set in his ever-fading eyes.

  He opened his mouth to beg for help, but the blade opened his throat and stole his final moments before he had a chance to voice his plea.

  Once satisfied everybody was dead, Amare signalled for the others to come. Four men walked into the room and began dragging out the bodies.

  The remains were deposited on the ground beyond the walls, accessed via a steel reinforced security door built directly into the fence, connected to the main building via an underground tunnel. Designed as an escape route, its first usage as a death tunnel would forever stain the walls and taint the air.

  Deposited beyond the walls, the bodies were soon removed, and the sounds of crunching bone would echo from within the trees.

  On the other side of the building, a similar process was in full-swing, and the bodie
s were transported through the tunnel via quad bike and cart.

  Amare held up his hands and signalled for the approaching bike to stop.

  “The last two groups will need to go to the sea. You will take them, and dump them from the cliffs.” He gave the order and walked away.

  By the time the sun set on the island region, the only men remaining were the Black Arrow crew. Many slept fitfully, troubled by the weight of the innocent lives clutching at their consciences, trying to drag them down to hell. The only one who slept a deep and dreamless sleep was Amare. For the first time in many years, the monsters and ghosts of his past left him be.

  Chapter 8

  The streets of Hong Kong were as crowded and as dirty as Johan remembered them.

  The sun had gone down and darkness reigned over the city. As he made his way through the side streets, moving through the closed market stalls, rats the size of cats and small dogs would scurry left and right around him. The pickings were always good. Their size was no marvel when one saw the offerings left behind. Not just scraps but entire supplies were dumped in the alleyways. Everything not sold at the end of the day was useless to the poor traders. They had no storage or means to keep it fresh, and so they left it behind, safe in the knowledge that between the rats and the poor, nothing would remain come morning.

  Johan knew where he was going. The address for such dealings never changed, and the route he took had become ingrained into his memory over the years.

  Behind him, Godfrey followed; his shadow, loyal and true as always. Godfrey was always different in Hong Kong. The city agreed with him in some deep and unknown way. He would smile and be more relaxed, yet never less vigilant while walking the streets. Johan was sure that, should he cut his friend loose from servitude, Godfrey would remain in this place for the rest of his days.

  They moved from one alley to another, and approaching the Wan Chei district, they found the streets busier. Pimps and whores stood in alleys, deep in conversation about how the night would pan out.