by C. G. Mosley
Once he was satisfied that the room was indeed clear, Cliff glanced through the hole and into the recreation room below. He knew that if Victor woke up to find him gone, there would be inevitable hell to pay. The thought made him begin to regret his decision and he began to make his way back toward the hole. Suddenly, he remembered the whole reason he’d climbed up there to begin with.
The sedatives, he thought. He paused a moment and shook his head. He’d been so busy looking for dinosaurs in the room that he’d lost his focus and forgotten his objective. I’ve gone this far, it would be stupid to go back down empty handed, he considered.
With the light on his rifle showing the way, he began to open cabinet doors and drawers. He wasn’t even sure what exactly he was looking for, but he guessed they would be in a medicine bottle with a label of some kind. As bad as he wanted to rush through the search, he was also cognizant of the fact that he needed to remain as quiet as humanly possible. The door was open and he had no idea if the intelligent dinosaurs Charlie and Matt had spoken of were out there or not.
Cliff had reached the final cabinet and as he rummaged through it, the sound of soft whispering pulled his attention toward the broken door. He whipped his head around quickly and the assault rifle moved quickly with him. He kept the light on the door for a long moment and listened intensely. He saw nor heard anything.
Cliff’s heart raced and he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck as he anxiously awaited on any sort of indication that something was just outside the door. He didn’t get one.
Your mind is playing tricks on you again, he thought. It’s the exhaustion…it must be the exhaustion…no one could possibly be out there.
He slowly moved toward the broken door and carefully moved into the hallway. He took his time and discreetly surveyed both directions before he actually stepped out of the room. Once in the hallway, Cliff held his weapon pointed in the direction of the stairwell. Just as his pulse was beginning to return to a normal pace, Cliff suddenly heard a voice that startled him.
“Need me…wake me,” the voice said, just above a whisper. It was obviously Victor.
Cliff smiled, lowered his rifle, and turned to face his counterpart. He knew he was probably about to face the consequences of leaving his post.
“Victor, you just scared the hell out of me,” he said with a slight quake in his voice.
Only Victor wasn’t standing there when he turned around. Cliff was instead greeted with a flash of movement in front of him followed quickly by intense pressure and pain in his throat. He opened his mouth to scream but his vocal cords had been severed. Cliff instinctively began furiously striking the attacking Troodon on the side of its skull, but the animal only responded by gnashing its teeth deeper into his flesh. Blood spurted from his wound and Cliff lost consciousness in mere seconds.
Chapter 22
“It’s an absolute miracle that you didn’t bleed to death,” Harley said as she examined the bloody mess that remained of Glenn Hardcastle’s left arm.
“I’m too stubborn to die,” he replied with a weak smile. “I knew sooner or later one of these bastards was going to get the best of me, but if they’re gonna kill me, they have to do better than this.”
“They’ll just take you a piece at a time if need be,” Jonathon quipped as he knelt down next to him. “Let me look at that again,” he said, reaching for Hardcastle’s arm.
Though they’d done a great job of slowing the bleeding, there was still blood oozing from the wound. It was just a matter of time before Hardcastle would lose consciousness and succumb to his injuries. Jonathon bit his lip and inhaled deeply through his nose as he came to terms with what needed to be done. He glanced over at Harley.
“It’s better, but he’s still bleeding,” he said. “Infection is a concern also.”
Harley could see the concern on Jonathon’s face and she knew he was right. Hardcastle, for his part, sat motionless with his eyes closed and his head back. He was clearly in pain and the loss of blood had left him extremely weak.
“I’ve got a Zippo in my pocket,” Hardcastle murmured, as if he’d suddenly developed the ability to read minds.
Jonathon looked at his old friend with sad eyes. “I think it’s the only way to make sure we keep you alive,” he replied.
Hardcastle kept his eyes closed and said nothing.
“However,” Jonathon said with a smirk, “I’d be fine with you dying and getting out of our way. I don’t need you slowing us down.”
Hardcastle sighed and opened one eye to look at him. “So, this is what you’ve been doing the past couple of years? Becoming a comedian?”
Jonathon continued to smile but did not respond. He instead reached into Hardcastle’s pocket and retrieved the lighter. Harley had discovered a small propane stove and had set it up on the counter against the back wall. Jonathon tossed her the lighter and she promptly lit it. She then placed a frying pan on top and allowed it to begin heating up.
“Well, since you brought it up, what exactly have you been doing these past couple of years?” Jonathon asked him.
Hardcastle shifted in his chair. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he grumbled.
“Let me take a guess,” Jonathon replied. “You’ve been training dinosaurs as if they’re circus dogs…am I right?”
“Apparently, you’ve been talking to Cornelius Cold,” Hardcastle answered.
“And he’s probably wishing he’d never listened to me,” a new voice called out from the stairway.
“Mr. Cold?” Harley replied as the man limped into the light.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, sounding relieved and tired. “Thank God I found you.”
Jonathon rose to his feet. “You survived the plane crash?”
Cold nodded and leaned against a wall to take the weight off his sore legs. “You almost sound like you’re disappointed,” he replied with an exhausted smile.
“Did anyone else survive?” Harley asked.
Cold’s expression turned grim. He bit his lip and shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “I barely escaped before the fuselage became engulfed in flames.” He then turned his attention to Hardcastle. “How is he?” he asked, glancing at his gruesome injury.
“I’ll live,” Hardcastle mumbled. “You all can chit-chat later…how about we get on with this?”
“Get on with what?” Cold asked, looking at both Jonathon and Harley.
“We’ve got to cauterize his arm or he could get an infection—or slowly bleed to death,” Harley answered.
Cold winced as he imagined what Hardcastle was about to experience. He then limped over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “What happened to you?”
“Velociraptor,” Hardcastle answered weakly.
“Well, you’re a lucky man,” Cold replied. “I’d venture to say that a raptor usually doesn’t allow its prey to escape.”
“Well, it’s not often that a man survives a plane crash either, pal.”
Jonathon handed Hardcastle a rag he’d found on the counter. “You’re gonna want to stick this in your mouth and bite down hard on it,” he suggested.
After taking the rag, Hardcastle eyed it a moment then looked back at Jonathon. “I don’t have any idea where this rag has been,” he said.
Jonathon smiled and looked to Harley. “Are we ready?”
“I’m ready if he is,” she answered, looking at Hardcastle. Cold squeezed his shoulder tightly.
“Let’s get on with it,” he growled and he then shoved the rag into his mouth.
Harley gave Jonathon a hold him down look and without further delay pulled the scorching hot pan from the stove. Hardcastle closed his eyes tightly and Jonathon grabbed his injured arm. He could feel Hardcastle’s muscles tense up in anticipation of the unbearable pain that he was about to endure. Mr. Cold grabbed his right arm and the two men prepared themselves to keep their friend as still as possible.
Harley firmly pushed the flat bottom of the frying pa
n against Hardcastle’s wound. He screamed but the sound was muffled by the rag in his mouth. Surprisingly, he didn’t jerk or thrash his body as badly as Jonathon had anticipated. He’d always known the man was tough as nails, but the way he was handling the current situation made the respect he had for him grow.
“You’re doing great, bud,” Jonathon said, doing his best to offer encouragement.
Hardcastle offered no response of any kind and suddenly his body went completely limp.
“Oh my God,” Harley said, surprised. “I think he just passed out.”
“Probably for the best,” Mr. Cold said with little empathy. “If he’s unconscious, you’ll be able to take your time and do the job right.”
Harley looked closely at the burned flesh and waited to see if there were any places where blood continued to ooze. Jonathon took the moment to ask Mr. Cold more questions about what he’d been up to the past few hours.
“So, what happened to the plane?” he asked.
Cold looked away from Hardcastle and locked eyes with Jonathon. “Pterosaurs,” he answered. “There was a swarm of them that seemed to come out of nowhere…we were overwhelmed. There was nothing the pilot or anyone else could do.”
“You see these gashes?” Jonathon asked, pointing to his face.
Cold nodded.
“A pterosaur attacked us when we were floating down to earth. I’m not sure why so many of them were in the air at the same time. Must’ve had something to do with the hurricane.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “The crash site didn’t seem so far away…what took you so long to get here?”
Cold shifted his feet and crossed his arms. “Well, the pilot didn’t die immediately,” he said rather sadly. “I dragged him from the plane but he was too injured to walk.” He paused and shook his head. “I think he had a spinal injury.”
Jonathon felt a knot form in his stomach. “You stayed with him until he died?”
Cold nodded somberly. “I did,” he replied. “I kept hoping someone would show up to help, but unfortunately no help came.”
Harley shot Jonathon an icy stare. He remembered when she’d wanted to go check on the crash site but he’d talked her out of it.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathon said softly, turning shamefully away from Harley.
Cold turned his head and seemed to stare somewhere beyond the solid concrete wall in front of him. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said with a nervous laugh. “There was nothing anyone could’ve done.”
“That should do it,” Harley said, tossing the frying pan aside. “He still lost a lot of blood…I’m not sure if he’s going to be okay or not.”
“He’ll be fine,” Jonathon replied quickly, and Mr. Cold nodded in agreement.
Harley looked at both men skeptically.
“Trust us,” Cold said flatly. “You don’t know him like we do.”
Suddenly, Hardcastle began to moan softly and his head rolled forward.
“See there,” Jonathon said. “He’s already coming back around.” He knelt down in front of him and asked, “Are you alright, bud?”
Hardcastle swallowed and nodded his head. His breathing was heavy. “I think I just need to lie down for a little while,” he whispered.
Mr. Cold and Jonathon pulled him to his feet as Harley prepared a place on the concrete floor for him to lie. She found an old dusty jacket hanging from a hook in the wall and quickly fashioned it into a makeshift pillow. Once he was settled onto the floor, it only took a few minutes before he drifted off to sleep. Harley continued to look at him with a skeptical glance. Clearly, she was still unconvinced that he’d somehow survive his injuries.
“So, this is one survivor,” Cold said, looking down at Hardcastle pitifully. He then turned his attention to Harley. “What about the other three?”
Harley sighed and put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know yet,” she muttered. “Victor and Cliff made it to the compound but there’s a lot of static when we try to communicate with them on the radio. I think the building is creating some sort of interference that is screwing with the signal.”
Cold nodded. “The building is mostly made of metal so that’s a possibility.” He paused and glanced back at Hardcastle. “Why in the world is he way over here and not inside the compound?”
Jonathon shrugged. “I never even got the chance to ask him,” he said. “We were so concerned with keeping him alive, we just didn’t get around to it.”
“I see. So, the two of you are going to try and get access to the compound using the tunnel?” he asked, changing the subject.
Harley was rummaging through the cabinets, but when she heard Cold’s question, she stopped suddenly. “How could you possibly know that?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
Cold reached toward the small of his back where he’d clipped the radio. He pulled it free and held it up so they could see it. “I heard you tell Victor and Cliff,” he explained.
Harley walked over to him and took the radio. After examining it a moment, she asked, “Where did you get this?”
Mr. Cold’s face turned a lighter shade and he became visibly uncomfortable. “Well,” he said, shuffling his feet. “I didn’t want to tell you just yet…but, I found Hank.”
Harley took a step back and squeezed the radio tightly. “Oh no,” she said very quietly.
Cold nodded. “I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”
For a brief moment, Jonathon thought that she was going to cry. However, her expression quickly turned from sadness to anger and he could see the muscles in her neck tighten. “Did he suffer?” she asked.
Cold shook his head. “I don’t think he did,” he answered.
Harley lowered her head. “Okay,” she said. “Will we be able to retrieve the body?”
Mr. Cold’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “No, I don’t think so,” he said flatly.
Jonathon walked over to Harley and put a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll try to find him before we leave,” he said. “That’s a promise.”
“I’m afraid we won’t be able to do that,” Cold interrupted.
Harley and Jonathon whipped their heads around in surprise. They both stared at him wide-eyed.
“Excuse me?” Harley said. She made no effort to hide her anger.
Mr. Cold held up his hands apologetically. “Let me explain,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t want to search for him—believe me, I do. But unfortunately, we’ve got bigger problems than just dinosaurs I’m afraid.”
Jonathon drew closer to him and rubbed at the soreness in the back of his neck. “Cold, I can’t think of anything worse that would keep us from looking for Hank than these blasted dinosaurs. So, if there is something worse than that, please spit it out.”
Mr. Cold smiled slightly and seemed to open his eyes wider. “Alright, I’ll get right to it,” he said. “The truth is I’ve been holding something back from the two of you—well, from everyone actually.”
Harley crossed her arms, the rifle dangled from the strap and rested against her waist. “Oh, is that right?” she snapped and then took a step toward him. “What exactly have you been holding back?”
“Don’t you both want to know what is causing all the earthquakes we’ve experienced since we got here?” he asked with a chuckle. He seemed to relish the opportunity to let them in on his secret.
“Go on,” Harley urged and she took another step closer.
“This island probably won’t make it another full day,” Cold said. “We’re standing on a ticking time-bomb and if we don’t hurry up and get out of here, we’re going to blow up with it.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What is going to happen to this island?” Jonathon asked bitterly. “Explain.”
“I will,” Cold replied. “But before I do, we need to discuss another matter,” he said. His eyes danced from Harley to Jonathon. He seemed almost maniacal and Jonathon had never seen him act that way before.
“What other matter?” Harley asked, taking
yet another step toward him. She was a mere three feet from him now.
Cold’s eyes finally stopped on Jonathon. “He can tell you all about it,” he said.
Harley turned to look at Jonathon. “What is he talking about?” she asked.
Jonathon shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his hat. “I don’t have a clue,” he grumbled. “But I’m growing tired of this game. Cold, if you’ve got something to say, spit it out.”
“If this island is destroyed, what will be lost with it?” Cold asked still staring intensely at Jonathon.
Harley quickly answered, “The dinosaurs.”
Cold nodded but kept his eyes focused on Jonathon. “What else would be lost forever?”
Suddenly, Jonathon picked up on what Cold was referring to. He felt his pulse begin to race and he immediately began to try and figure out how he could’ve possibly found out about the fountain of youth.
Jonathon took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he began to sense a headache on the horizon.
“How do you know about that?” he asked, his eyes still closed.
“The department I work for has its ways,” he answered slyly.
Jonathon shook his head and clenched his jaw. “That’s not the answer I want,” he snapped back. “Tell me how you found out.”
Mr. Cold raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips a moment as he thought. “Very well,” he said finally. “I don’t suppose it really matters at this point since the proverbial cat is out of the bag.”
Harley let out an exasperated sigh. “Someone please tell me what is going on.”
Cold ignored her and kept his attention on Jonathon. “Let’s just say your friend Silas Treadwell has loose lips,” he said.
Jonathon frowned and walked over to the counter. He placed both hands on the top and leaned forward, his head facing downward. “Silas told you,” he muttered quietly, clearly disappointed.
