Island Rampage: A Dinosaur Thriller

by Alex Laybourne

  The plants and ferns that had been so thick and lush a few meters before stopped suddenly. The change in terrain made for easier walking, and while the pair’s speed increased, it was not for long, as the heat of the day had them both drenched in sweat and panting in no time.

  “What the hell do you think did this?” Dennis asked.

  They had stopped to rest, leaning against a large tree. Above their heads, at least two and a half meters above the ground, a series of deep gouges at least an inch deep had been cut into the hardwood tree.

  “I have no idea, but I don’t think we really want to find out,” Clarke said, sparing no more than a short glance up at the wounds scythed into the trunk. “How are you doing for ammo?”

  Dennis checked his rifle. “I’m down to my last clip for the M16. I’ve got two dozen in the Glock and, well, my blades can go all day and all night.”

  “Yeah, well I hope we never get close enough to need hand-to-hand skills,” Clarke answered.

  “How about you?” Dennis asked, turning his back on the tree.

  “I’ve got a half a clip loaded, another one in my pockets. A full Glock and a grenade,” Clarke replied, reeling off his numbers without hesitation or double checking. “It’s not going to be enough.”

  “What won’t be?” Dennis asked as he cleaned one of this hunting knives on the thigh of his trousers.

  Clarke didn’t answer. His eyes were focused on the trees. He caught sight of movement, but it had been too quick for his eyes to focus.

  Slowly, his hand crept down his flank towards his hip, where he unclipped the Glock he had holstered there. He moved slowly, not wanting to spook whatever was watching him.

  With his fingers hooked around the butt of the Glock, he heard the delicate swoosh of a knife being removed from its sheath. Dennis had spotted them too.

  The shadows moved again as something darted from behind one tree to another. It was small, crouched down low to the ground.

  Clarke followed the movement, the sweat covering his body turning cold as he focused his vision.

  Behind him, Dennis moved, turning away. His attention was caught by something else. They were surrounded. It did not bode well.

  It happened in a blur. Dennis moved like a ghost, charging forward. There was a grunt and a cry.

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, please God, don’t shoot,” the frantic, fear-laden voice called out.

  Clarke cast a glance back at Dennis, taking his focus away from the watchful eyes in the trees. He saw Dennis standing with a man pinned up against a tree. The man was dirty and dishevelled. His nose was bleeding, no doubt from where Dennis struck him. His hands were raised in surrender, but Dennis still held the blade of hunting knife tightly against the stranger’s throat.

  Clarke looked back, caught between two choices. He could not make out the shadow anymore and knew he needed to act fast before Dennis killed an innocent man.

  Turning, he directed his attention towards the pair of man. Placing his hands on Dennis’s shoulder, he spoke in a whisper. “It’s alright, let him go.”

  “You know him?” Dennis asked, not yet ready to lower the knife.

  “I know his face. He worked in one of the labs,” Clarke answered.

  This information seemed to be enough for Dennis, who lowered but did not re-sheath his blade. “What do you think you are doing, sneaking up on people like that, squinty? You lab geeks are all clueless,” Dennis snapped.

  “Who are you?” the man asked, his eyes darting quickly from side to side, scanning not the two men standing before him, but rather the trees behind them.

  “Name’s Clarke. I worked security for Black Arrow. This here is Dennis Blankenstijn. He works security also,” Clarke answered, looking over his shoulder, trying to work out if this man was seeing the same shadows he had noticed.

  “Black Arrow. You must know Zippy … I mean, Abbott,” the man stammered, his agitation growing.

  “Christopher Abbott?” Clarke asked, intrigued by the man’s behaviour.

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “I know him. Good man. Zippy, you say? I’ll remember that,” Clarke said. “And you are?”

  “God, he’s going to kill me when he finds out I told you. I’m Rob, Rob Reddan. We really need to move now,” he said, the words hurried to the point of being slurred.

  “Why, what’s out there??” Dennis asked, catching himself too late.

  “Oh believe me, Dennis, there are worse things than dinosaurs on this island.” There was a cool, calm, terror in Rob’s words that even Clarke felt a cold shiver tumble down his spine.

  Neither man offered any challenge when Rob stepped away from the tree, nor did they flinch when he pulled a pistol from the waistband of his trousers.

  “Ain’t you a regular gangster,” Dennis said with a smile.

  “Follow me, and try to keep up,” Rob replied, his character changing with his position amongst the Black Arrow men confirmed.

  The trio moved through the trees. To their left, a large, dome-headed creature crashed clumsily through the trees. Its armour-plated back made it look like a cross between a giant turtle and a hippopotamus.

  “Don’t worry about that thing. Stupid as they come, placid too. All it does it wander around looking for food. There’s a whole family of them that live in this part of the wood,” Rob spoke without slowing. “We need to move fast, those things have kept their distance for now, but we don’t want to linger.”

  “You just said that those things were not anything to worry about,” Dennis chimed in.

  “Not those things. I’m talking about the vicious creatures that have been following us since we first met,” Rob replied, once again not slowing his pace to offer any further explanation.

  The incline grew as they started to make their way further up the volcano. The rocky ground became a scramble in some places, and while they stuck to the cover of the trees wherever possible, Clarke saw large expanses where the trees had ben felled, creating clearings and open expanses.

  “We thought we had gotten lucky. We made it through the raptor zone without too much trouble, only lost one guy. We thought the dinosaurs were leaving us alone because of where we made camp,” Rob said, his sentences leaving the two men feeling as if they had misheard other part of the conversation. “Then that first night they came. Bastards. You need to watch out for them. They are demons, truly they are. I’ve never seen anything so evil. I guess you have to be, to survive here, in this place.” Finally, Rob stopped walking, and turned to face the two men. “We are here.”

  They looked around and saw nothing that gave an indication of shelter, although a pile of burned sticks and small bones nestled against the base of a tree told Clarke that people at least congregated in the area.

  “I don’t see anything—” Dennis began, but Rob cut him off by giving a shrill two-finger whistle.

  The surprising loud, ear-piercing cry carried up into the trees. A few moments later, a long knotted vine fell down, unwinding from above like a rope ladder.

  “You spoke too soon, mate,” Clarke answered, slapping Dennis on the shoulder.

  “Come on, up you go,” Rob said, directing the two men towards the vine.

  “What the fuck is this, some treehouse boy’s club?” Dennis muttered as he grabbed the vine and started to climb.

  “Second branch. Stop there and wait for me,” Rob called after him. “Hurry, those things won’t keep watching us forever.”

  Clarke turned around, surveying the trees once more. He thought he could make out the eyes watching them. At least three, by his estimation, but they were small, or at least, kept themselves low to the ground; perfect for moving through the fern-laden brush of the lower section of the island.

  “Your turn, chief,” Rob said to Clarke.

  The Australian shimmied up the vine like a monkey, disappearing into the trees. Rob followed him, his ascent somewhat more clunky than the others, but much smoother than his initial efforts. He looke
d down as he climbed, watching for any sign of the creatures. In previous excursions into the forest, they had followed them back, trying to climb the rope after them. So far, they seemed to lack the skills needed to do it, but Rob was sure they were playing with them. He could not believe those creatures could survive on the island without being able to climb.

  Conditions were cramped with three men, two in military gear, crouched on the same branch, but Rob managed to coil the vine up. Clarke watched, impressed at how the former lab rat wound the vine and hooked it over a splintered shard of the trunk.

  “Follow me. Watch your step,” Rob said, continuing to lead the group with a growing bravado.

  Rob moved easily over the branch, crouched down, his arms out to either side for balance. He moved without hesitation, the only way to cross such a divide.

  The tree branch came to a rocky cliff face set into the side of the volcano. A quick scramble, the least dangerous part of their journey, saw them standing in an entrance way into the volcano. Only visible from one spot on the floor, it was a miracle that they had found it.

  “Welcome to paradise,” Rob said with a smile.

  “How many of you are here?” Clarke asked, peering into the darkness of the cave.

  “There are six of us in total,” a familiar voice answered. “But one is in a real bad way.”

  “Good God, is that you, Zippy?” Clarke answered in the dark inner shroud of the cave.

  “I’m gonna kill you, Rob,” Abbott growled.

  “I didn’t tell him. He guessed, he is Australian after all,” Rob answered.

  “Yeah, well, not through fucking choice,” Clarke replied gruffly.

  “What are you doing here?” Abbott asked, walking out of the darkness. He had a pronounced limp, and his right arm sat in a crude-looking sling. The pistol in his other hand held steady however, trained on Clarke’s chest.

  “We got sent in by the old man. When it went silent here, he got concerned. Didn’t trust you Yanks,” Clark answered with a smug smile.

  “Yeah, it was hard to check in with everybody being eaten and all that.” Abbott turned back towards the cave. “Come on in, we’ve just put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

  Rob chuckled as he moved into the cave with Clarke and Dennis following behind.

  Clarke looked at Dennis and shook his head. The man was holding a knife, concealed against this arm. “These are friendlies. Trust me, we will need them on our side if we are going to survive this.”

  Dennis looked at Clarke for a moment, then his face softened and he returned the weapon to its sheath.

  Moving into the cave, the darkness seemed to reduce. They followed the single track no more than ten meters deep before the cave opened up, splitting both left and right. Two small fires burned on each branch. The right hand side was empty, but the left had a crowd of people grouped together.

  They turned to look at the newcomers. One look at their weapons had people ready to cheer, inwardly at least, for fear of rousing the natives. A second look, upon a closer inspection, revealed their injuries, and the lack of any long-term firepower, and their collective hearts sank.

  “Rob,” a young female voice called out. A petite blonde rushed away from the fire, flinging herself into the arms of the returning scout.

  “You did well for yourself, mate.” Clarke couldn’t help but say, slapping Rob on the back with enough force to make the lab-man stumble.

  “I was worried. When you didn’t come back … I … thank God you are back.” She flung herself into his arms once more.

  “So, did you two come to rescue us?” a strong female voice spoke up.

  From the light of the fire, Clarke identified the person, but could not make out much that than she was a confident woman. He could tell from the way she stood and how her voice carried.

  “We are now,” Dennis chimed in. His words spoken with a sarcastic lilt that Clarke hoped did not carry to the others.

  “We ran into complications,” Clarke added in swift follow up.

  “Yes, we heard your stealthy approach to the compound. You were informed before arriving about the creatures that lived here, right?” Nattie Rose could not help but keep her voice loaded with venom.

  Ever since the storm, things had gone from bad to worse. Her friends had been beaten, burned, and eaten alive, and the anger building up inside her needed to be released.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Clarke answered, adjusting his voice. He recognized the pain the scientist was going through. “I helped build it.”

  “You seem very proud of that fact, Mr …?” Nattie paused.

  “Clarke,” he replied.

  “Mr. Clarke, are you proud of what you built here?” Nattie pushed, trying to find a crack that she could attack. Her entire body tingled and felt as if it would burst if she could not release the rage-driven pressure.

  “Just Clarke, ma’am. I’m a first name kind of guy.” Clarke kept his tone neutral, happy that Dennis remained quiet. “I did my job, building this place. I was not the one who hired you, or ordered anybody to come here. But one thing I do know, is that there is a way out.”

  “A way out? You mean, off the island?” a heavily French-accented voice joined in the conversation.

  “Yes, at the very least it is a safe place, fully stocked and with satellite connections to the outside world.” Clarke could not be sure where the voice came from, and so kept his gaze affixed on Nattie.

  “Why now? We just got this place cleaned up, and we are all having the time of lives here. A regular camping excursion,” the French voice was a mixture of scorn and sarcasm. It irritated Clarke greatly.

  “Listen, we are all stuck here together, and those dinosaurs are, well, they are fucking dinosaurs. We are low on fire power and are offering you a way out. Take it or leave it,” Dennis erupted, the slow boil of his impatience reaching its peak.

  For a moment, nobody spoke, and the echo of Dennis’s rage through the cave around them.

  “Don’t you think we have tried that?” Nattie spoke her own rage rising in retaliation.

  “I don’t know what you have tried, but it hasn’t gotten you very far,” Dennis spat.

  “Hey, Dennis, take it easy, man,” Clarke began.

  “Fuck no, dude. You can be all calm and fucking zen, but look at where we are. You remember that time in the Congo? Fucking hell. What about the Sudan? That was a real liquid-shit storm. I’d call that a cakewalk compared to this. I don’t care what they think, or what they have been through, they need to come with us, because I sure as holy fuck ain’t gonna sit here playing pissing Jumanji for the rest of my life.”

  Dennis was panting by the time he finished, his rage a white-knuckled, all-encompassing experience, and yet, Clarke could not help but be impressed with how well he managed to restrain himself.

  “We cannot leave yet,” Nattie answered, the air of snootiness slapped from her mouth by the foul-tempered tirade she just witnessed.

  “Why the fuck not?” Dennis snapped his answer almost before Nattie had finished talking.

  “Because … because we have someone here who is injured, and we cannot move him. We lost a lot to reach this place, and … well, I can’t leave him.” She held the grief back from her voice, but the flicking light of the fire made her tear-filled eyes sparkle.

  “Show us,” Clarke walked forward, approaching the group. The closer he got the fire, the more he saw how scared they were. Even Abbott, who Clarke knew could handle himself, had the look of a boy staring down an offensive line several years older than himself.

  Nattie nodded and people moved to one side. The man lay behind them, shivering and silent. His sweat-soaked body lit up in the flames as if encrusted with diamonds. His skin was pale, bordering on translucent in places. The veins looking almost black as they traced their way over his body. He only had one leg. The bloodied stump of the other had been bandaged with shirts. Even from distance, Clarke could smell the rot eating away at it.

  “He’s one
of ours,” Clarke said in an off-handed comment.

  “Yes, he was a guard, and … and my—”

  “You don’t have to say it,” Clarke replied, placing a hand on Nattie’s shoulder.

  “He’s going to die. I know it, we all do, but … he’s not woken up since we got here, and I don’t want him to die alone. What if he comes around before it’s over? He will think we abandoned him.” Nattie kept from crying, keeping her voice low in order to maintain a modicum of control.

  “I understand. I’ve got some medic training skills, let me take a look. Why don’t you stand back for a second? No need for you to see it.” Clarke softened his demeanour, adjusting from military to mixed social company with ease.

  Nattie stepped away, back into the group, where Rob and his girlfriend took her into their arms.

  Clarke crouched down and gingerly removed the dressing. He stopped himself from gagging at the chocking odour of decay, which grew stronger with every layer of bandage he removed. The limb had been torn away, rather than removed with any degree of skill. The jagged flesh had ripped in all directions, the meat and nerves left behind, dangling like tentacles. The skin around the stump was hot with infection, red and inflamed all the way to the man’s crotch. Even in the dim, flicking light offered by the fire, the extent of the man’s injuries was horrifically clear.

  The flesh hard turned black from the outside in, like mincemeat left out for too long. Flies buzzed around his head, and in the centre of the meat, clinging to the bone as they spread outwards, writhing maggots feasted on the decaying flesh.

  The man gave a groan, but for the rest, he remained oblivious to his plight.

  Clarke lowered the leg, pulled a medi-pack out of his pack and quickly cleaned the wound as best he could, and re-wrapped it.

  The entire process was merely for show. The man would not survive more than a day or so.

  “He’s in bad shape, I’m not going to lie to you. He’s hurting bad. The leg is infected.” Clarke looked at Nattie, who stared back at him. She needed to hear this. “He will be lucky to survive the night. If he does, then he won’t make it through tomorrow.”