Prehistoric: (A Prehistoric Thriller) (Bick Downs Book 1)

by Michael Esola

  The cold emotion of his statement hit Downs hard, and it was in that moment that he knew damn well that Jamison didn’t give a toss about the others. He only cared for himself and his own well being. Downs’ gut instinct had originally told him that when they were all assembled at the start of the boardwalk tour. Now it was cemented as he heard first hand and up close Jamison’s lack of sympathy and compassion for another fellow human being. Despite this Downs decided it strategically best not to show any ill will towards Jamison.

  “I have a plan,” Jamison whispered. “And by the way, we have company.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  Corstine found the visitor center’s glass door and the area that had been serving as their makeshift offices completely wide open, as if someone or something had left it so. Once inside he moved about those first few steps with supreme caution, the pistol raised and in front of him as if he were a NYPD police officer. Corstine knew how to handle the deadly weapon in his hands. That wasn’t the part that he questioned.

  What Corstine questioned was the ability to kill. Did he have it in him? As he continued to put one foot in front of the other, this thought swirled and then settled in his head. Noise back at the glass door caused Corstine to pivot on a dime, and before he knew it Jeremiah stood there panting, and staring down the barrel of his pistol.

  “Hurry inside, my boy,” Corstine said.

  Corstine slid past Jeremiah and closed the glass door. The thing appeared to be jammed. He fumbled nervously with the door until finally it closed, and he latched the lock down.

  Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to swallow inside his parched throat, he turned and faced his son, standing there in all his glory. Jeremiah stood just above six feet in height with broad, powerful shoulders and a strong chest that screamed of someone spending ample time pushing weights in the gym. He sported a light black goatee with short cropped black hair. Jeremiah Corstine was thirty-five years of age to be exact.

  Corstine’s eyes stared into his son’s. The words did not come to the tip of his tongue, despite the fleet of thoughts growing inside his head, but nothing escaped his mouth. Jeremiah cracked a smile, and at that moment Corstine saw the young child who used to run around their lavish house in his underwear, raising hell and causing an all out ruckus.

  Jeremiah smiled once more and let out a long, drawn out sigh. “Perhaps now isn’t the best time for a teary eyed reunion Dad. Let’s first get the hell out of here.”

  Corstine finally broke his silence. “How’d you get here?”

  Jeremiah flashed a grin and more teeth. “Got my resources. You know I learned from the best.”

  The pitter patter of feet on the roof stressed the need for immediate action. They paused in silence as the sounds spread out everywhere over the surface of the roof.

  “Quick, my boy. Follow me,” Corstine whispered.

  The two made their way down the hall and towards Corstine’s office, essentially his home away from home. Jeremiah followed closely behind his hobbling father, the sounds atop the roof still evident and bristling with life.

  Finally, the two arrived at Corstine’s office. Upon entering, Corstine insisted on closing the door, despite the fact that if the creatures in fact got in the building, the measly door would provide little to no protection. Jeremiah had a good look around the place, finally taking in the settings and scenery that he had only seen via Facebook and the occasional Christmas or birthday card.

  Jeremiah felt an odd sensation being there, and it was even stranger to be so close to his father. He watched as his father fumbled through his desk drawer for something before finally retrieving a small object. Jeremiah watched as Corstine slid his prized Turkish rug aside, the rug they had happily purchased at Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, on one of their many family trips when he was just a little kid.

  For a moment Jeremiah’s brain was walking down memory lane, thinking of all the good times he had with his dad on their numerous family trips and world travels, before finally reality took him back to the office. Corstine got down on one knee and carefully took hold of the prized rug, pulling it ever so gently several feet across the floor. Watching with his eye, he kept pulling until the far end of it crossed a certain point on the ground. Corstine then got up to his feet and made his way around the rug. Meanwhile, Jeremiah was watching and found this to be particularly odd.

  Corstine once again got down on one knee and removed a small object from his pocket.

  A key, Jeremiah thought to himself, now having a full and unobstructed view of the object that Corstine had retrieved out of his desk drawer only moments prior.

  Then Jeremiah saw it, the small key hole located on the ground in a secret area that had been completely covered by the Turkish rug. He watched as his father inserted the key into the floor and turned it, the ground making a slight clicking sound.

  Corstine smiled. “There it is. Glad this thing still works.”

  Corstine fielded the key back into his pocket and turned to look at his son. “Really great to see you. Excellent. It really is, and, my boy, I’m terribly sorry it has been so long and under such dreadful conditions.”

  Jeremiah shook his head and shrugged it off, though his emotional strings were being tugged as well. The emotionally rock solid and stable part of his brain had already determined now was not the time to get all teary-eyed.

  “Now,” Corstine said with a slight smile. “Now’s the tricky part of this.”

  Jeremiah watched as his father once again put the key back into the small keyhole. Jeremiah realized that his father must have made an error the first time, but he decided it best not to say anything.

  “The trick,” Corstine continued, “is to just get the door propped open enough to grab hold.”

  Jeremiah watched as the key went into place. Corstine managed to wedge the trap door high enough to barely grab hold on the side and fully open the surprisingly heavy door.

  Corstine let out a personal sigh of contentment as he peered down into the tight and dark space. Jeremiah chuckled a bit. “Don’t tell me this is where you store the rest of your rugs from our family vacations?” The comment managed to grab a big laugh out of Corstine himself, but the jubilation came to an abrupt end. The sound of shattering glass rang out, breaking their sanctity and alerting them that something was now inside and roaming free.

  “Quick,” Corstine commanded. “Hop in.”

  Like an obedient son, Jeremiah did as he was told and lowered himself down and into the tight and darkened crawl space. Once inside he scooted himself to the far corner, knowing full well that with both he and his father inside, things would be quite crowded. He wanted to give them as much room as possible.

  Corstine quickly took one last look around his office before he lowered himself into the crawl space. Once inside he extended his arm back out and managed to maneuver the Turkish rug, until it covered a good portion of the trap door once again. With that Corstine let the trap door down ever so gently, plunging both of them into absolute darkness as all hell broke loose just outside in the hallway.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  A powerful forearm overpowered and overwhelmed Downs as Jamison forced him backwards in a contorted manner. Before Downs even fully knew what was going on, Jamison had violently pulled both of them back behind the rotting eyeless corpse of Nat Kingsworth. Big bulbous green flies continue to buzz in and around them.

  Jamison let go of Downs and grabbed hold of Nat’s neck, using his huge forearm to prop her body up straight. There she sat fully upright, the two men crouched down behind her as the first intruder dropped down and into the nest, not in the least bit a threatening manner.

  The little creature came forward, stumbled a few steps, and then sniffed at the air. The whole scene pointed towards the fact that the little predator looked to be getting its feet wet by walking, meaning it was a newborn, and most likely the mother wouldn’t be too far behind.

  Jamison held his grip tight on Nat’s body as both of t
hem remained crouched down behind her, watching the scene play out before them. The small creature made its way in several feet, paused, sniffed at the air once more, and swatted with its three-toed front limb a few times at the flies that were still buzzing. Like a curious youngster it seemed to be not only preoccupied by the buzzing flies, but downright fascinated by them. It swiped several more times, missing each time but still giving 110% with each try.

  Jamison grabbed hold of a small branch that lay directly to his left and began swaying it back and forth, just in front of where Nat’s forearms lay. Downs lowered his head and closed his eyes for a moment, still having a hard time coming to terms with her ultimate demise. He just kept telling himself that she deserved better than that, she deserved better than the way she was taken and overpowered. Over and over the thought repeated itself in his head.

  Get a grip, Downs forced the thought upon himself.

  Meanwhile Jamison continued waving the branch back and forth like a piece of a meat on the end of a string. He appeared to be taunting the small creature, egging it on. The tactic was working as the small thing took notice of the branch and moved forward towards them.

  Jamison continued to work his magic, waving the branch back and forth as the small creature kept moving forward. He let out a low whistle with his mouth, repeating the process several times. As he continued to shake the branch, the whole shebang was now drawing the creature in now at a quicker pace. As the little predator lowered its head to the ground like a hunting dog tracking its prey, it kept moving forward.

  Meanwhile, Downs could feel Jamison’s breath on his neck, still not fully certain what the big man had planned.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Noise poured in from above as Corstine and Jeremiah huddled close together in the darkness of the crawl space that sat just beneath the office floor. Corstine adjusted himself ever so slightly and could only wonder what was transpiring above. The only separation between them and all out carnage was a slight trap door and a prized Turkish rug. They remained seated with the trap door not more than a few inches from the tops of their heads. Standing was not an option in the dark tight quarters.

  Grunts, snorts, shrieks, and loud bellows of every kind imaginable indicated that Corstine’s entire office had been officially overtaken and flooded by the creatures. They were uprooting everything. Then Corstine and Jeremiah heard what they had feared all along. They heard it loud and clear from the darkness of their holding cell.

  The original noise above them had been soft feet, like the pitter patter of reindeer hooves atop a roof, but that soft pitter patter had sharply transitioned into deep, vibrating, pounding steps.

  “Dear God,” Corstine breathed softly.

  The floor above them rumbled with life, indicating sheer tonnage and weight, pure weight now walking freely down the hallway. It appeared to be coming straight for Corstine’s office. One of the adults was in the building.

  Corstine fumbled for it but managed to grab Jeremiah’s hand and held it. “I’m sorry for getting you into this mess, son.”

  Jeremiah let out a sigh, deciding to let his dad sweat it out for a second before finally responding. “You might not be here right now if I hadn’t gotten myself into this.”

  Corstine squeezed tighter on his son’s hand. “And for that I’m eternally grateful. When we get out of this, I will make it up to you. Promise.”

  Jeremiah didn’t know how he felt about his father’s promise. He had heard the same verbage before, perhaps a few hundred times as a youngster, his father always gone on business and constantly letting him down in nearly every facet of his life. Jeremiah did not despise his father though, but he was constantly weary of him breaking his promises. This was something he vowed never to do to his own children. He simply refused to repeat the cycle, but he figured he would take his father’s word at face value given the circumstances.

  “Good,” Jeremiah replied. “When we get out I’ll take you up on that offer. Perhaps a round of golf followed by a nice dinner. Your treat.”

  “Done.” Corstine smiled in the darkness, though Jeremiah could not see it, and he squeezed tightly on his son’s hand before finally letting go. The two sat there in pitch black for a few seconds, before both of their heads, as if on cue, shot upwards towards the floor of Corstine’s office.

  They did not have to strain their hearing or tune into what their surroundings were telling them, as it remained fairly obvious what was happening above them as the floorboards creaked and groaned under the stress of sheer weight. The creaking, the groaning, and the stress on the floor came to a stop, several feet from where Corstine and Jeremiah remained hidden.

  It was clear as daylight that almost directly above them stood one of the full grown adult creatures. They could hear it breathing in and out, wheezing with big lumbering breaths. Corstine shuddered just thinking about such a beast, and once again he reached over to grab hold of his son’s hand. He squeezed down tightly on that hand for all it was worth.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Downs felt his arm being twisted up and in from behind. He felt immense pain before it could even register in his brain. A mottled scream of terror escaped his mouth, followed by a ridiculously powerful kick to his stomach, striking him, undoubtedly bruising several of his ribs in the process.

  As he tried to right himself, another powerful blow struck him square in the face. Blood began streaming almost immediately from an open gash somewhere above his eye. He had blacked out momentarily, but as he regained himself and finally came to, he saw Jamison’s powerful strides carrying him away as he made a dash for it, towards where Downs had initially fallen into the nest.

  Jamison’s huge long strides took him out and away from the scene of the crime. In one swoop of a movement Jamison grabbed the young creature, snapping its neck like a chicken, sending its body cracking down over his knee, breaking vertebrae, and essentially delivering a paralyzing blow to the little predator.

  Downs had managed to crawl up and out from where he had been left to bleed out and could see Jamison’s backside. He could see that the former NBA basketball player had begun to scamper his way up the base of a tree and back towards the boardwalk. Downs stumbled again, crawled and tripped his way towards where the dying and crippled little creature lay whimpering and barely breathing. As he reached the poor thing, Jamison called down to him from a distance above.

  Downs craned his neck up to where the big man was, and by the looks of it he had made his way up the tree a considerable distance.

  “It’s not murder, brotha,” Jamison shouted from high above. “I like to call it selective survival. Coined a new term if I don’t say so myself. It’s letting nature do its thing while weeding out those that don’t deserve to find their way out and weaken the gene pool. It’s always been about survival of the fittest, and don’t think for one second it ever hasn’t.”

  Downs mumbled a few responses back, but the words would not come out. It all seemed to be pure gibberish.

  “Oh, and one more thing, brotha,” Jamison shouted. “I’ll tell them that you didn’t make it and that you gave your regards. If you had a trophy wife like I do, which we both know that you don’t, I would have passed the message on that you loved her. I would have done that for you, brother.”

  Jamison let out a loud booming laugh. “Since you don’t there’s nothin’ left to do but sign off and say “Adios, muchacho.”

  And with that Jamison pushed himself up a little further, grabbed hold of the railing to the boardwalk and hoisted himself up and over. With labored breathing and pain radiating from multiple places, Downs was now within an arm’s reach of the crippled creature. Its breathing too was labored, and it struggled as well. Downs leaned closer to examine.

  Is it dead?

  Downs was glad that the thought had come to him, proving that his brain was still functioning. Yet he was in bad shape and in need of medical attention. He knew Jamison was gone and would not return and found very little comfo
rt in the strange little crippled predator that lay almost all but dead at his feet.

  Without warning darkness took him once again as he stumbled and fell backwards.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  John Corstine’s stomach and insides felt as if they were being rearranged and redistributed to various spots beneath his skin. His body rumbled and shook, a sensation he had only experienced once before in his entire lifetime, back nearly a decade ago when he and a buddy visited the National Hot Rod Association drag races in Pomona, California, just south of Los Angeles. Corstine and his close friend had been seated in the front row of the start line, a spot that he had never occupied at the handful of drag races that he had attended prior.

  The seats were so close that when the dragsters fired up and went screeching down the raceway, it felt as though one’s insides were literally being rearranged. It was a sensation that he had experienced a long time ago, but, nonetheless, had not left his memory. Now as Corstine sat in absolute darkness with his only son, that same odd sensation of movement within his internal organs struck him as the creature roared mightily above them.

  The creature above was roaring for all it was worth, the sheer tone and ferocity of it seeming to vibrate even the tight crawl space below. It must have gone up on its hind legs for a moment as an enormous boom rang out from above.

  “What in god’s name is going on up there?” Corstine breathed.

  “Not god,” Jeremiah countered, “Evolution. What in the name of evolution is going on up there?”

  Corstine managed to breathe a sigh of frustration despite the unreal terror that was gripping him inside and out. “Let’s not start that debate again.”

  “It’s not a debate Dad,” Jeremiah countered again. “It’s merely a product of evolution, Dad.”

  Corstine elevated his voice slightly. “And without the good Lord son, there would be no evolution for that matter. Tell me, do you believe in God?”