Day of the Predator

by Alex Scarrow

  ‘That’s bul , man,’ mut ered Juan, fol owing his gaze.

  ‘We ain’t gonna kil anything with these pointy sticks.’

  Howard nodded wearily and grunted something back, but his eyes were on Chan, standing next to that weird redhaired girl, as he ham-stedly at empted to whit le a sharp end on a three-foot cane. She and the odd Irish boy …

  they’d given their names as Becks and Liam, but if they were covert agency operatives from the year 2001, they were covert agency operatives from the year 2001, they were probably aliases.

  Which agency, though? Who sent them?

  As far as Howard knew, no government, anywhere, was meant to have functioning time-travel technology. Although obviously the most powerful nations – the Chinese Federation, the European Bloc, the United States –

  must secretly have been developing it. And those two presumably must be eld operatives working for one of them, here to protect Chan.

  The Irish boy seemed to be cal ing the shots, with Whitmore, Kel y and the technician, Lam, happy for him to do so. Howard was content to go along with the status quo for now. Happy to carry on playing the role of timid young Lenny Baumgardner, a high-school student with straight As and a perfect school at endance record. It kept things simple for the moment. After al , the presiding question now was one of survival – the basics: food, water, shelter.

  But his focus had to remain, whatever happened, on the mission, on what he’d set out to do: to end young Chan’s life and absolutely guarantee that the uniquely bril iant theoretical concepts his older, twenty-six-year-old mathematician’s mind would one day produce would never see the light of day. Bril iance like Chan’s was rare; the kind of genius and intuition that comes along once in a generation, once in a century even.

  Chan’s work was going to end up being as life-changing as Einstein’s once was. More so, in fact.

  as Einstein’s once was. More so, in fact.

  Without that published thesis the famous Waldstein would perhaps never have been anything more than an anonymous hobbyist inventor working in his garage. While the world of 2055 might be facing a dark time ahead with water, food and energy shortages, global warming and catastrophic levels of over-population, at the very least, history, as it was, would stil be safe; at the very least, mankind would not be meddling with dimensions it had no possibility of understanding, dimensions that could contain anything.

  Just because a door can be opened … doesn’t mean it should be opened.

  But Chan was here now … and not in the year 2029, sixty-ve mil ion years away from helping mankind make its biggest-ever mistake. Howard wondered whether that meant his mission was as good as done. Did he stil need to kil him? After al , the explosion, presumably caused by something to do with those two agents, perhaps some side e ect of time travel and the elds of energy it radiates, had propel ed them far back in time. Surely further back in time than any prototype time machine currently in development could ever reach. And how would they know when they were, anyway? Sixty-ve mil ion years to choose from. Like a needle in a haystack. Like a needle in a whole barn ful of hay, in fact.

  Go ahead, pick a year … see if you get lucky. He smiled.

  It’s done. The world’s safe now. It’s done.

  It’s done. The world’s safe now. It’s done.

  Which was a relief, because now al he had to think about was the business of survival, here in this jungle with nothing for company but over-large dragon ies and whatever other giant creepy-crawlies and Cretaceous creatures lurked in the jungle. And, of course, a bunch of frightened kids and several men who ought to be showing a lit le more backbone.

  Howard had done his bit for mankind … now, just surviving in this wilderness for the foreseeable future – he wasn’t ready yet to be a dino dinner – that was for him. He looked up at the thick edge of the jungle ahead of him: a ribbon of dark green foliage and tal canopy trees that wrapped itself al the way round the clearing. And God knows what big hungry things are wandering around in there.

  ∗

  ‘Oh, that’s just great. That’s just bloody great.’ Liam stared at the swiftly surging river: a tumbling torrent of white suds that swirled around and over a bed of worn boulders.

  ‘So, it runs al the way around us,’ said Kel y. His smart linen business suit was smudged with dirt and sweat. Not the most practical clothing for jungle trekking. He’d tied o the jacket round his waist and rol ed up the sleeves of his white shirt. The tie was stil on, though, Liam noticed. A token that Kel y was not quite ready to abandon hope that help might arrive at any moment and he’d want to look his best for it.

  ‘I think we’re on a sort of island,’ Kel y continued.

  ‘I think we’re on a sort of island,’ Kel y continued. They’d spent the morning exploring the immediate surroundings beyond the clearing. Whichever direction they’d taken they’d soon come across the energetic roar of water and glimpsed the glinting, fast-moving river through the thinning jungle.

  Island was about right. Approximately three or four acres of jungle with a central clearing, shaped roughly like a tear drop. The pointed tip of the island was where they stood now staring at the rol ing water. The river split in two around their spit of land; to the right of them it broadened out into a wide, slower-moving channel. Slower-moving, but stil brisk enough so that Liam wouldn’t dare chance trying to cross it. But then he couldn’t swim. More than that … water scared the bejeezus out of him. Not that he needed the others to know anything about his pet fears right now.

  To their left the river compressed into a narrower channel thirty feet across, lined with boulders, and became a violent roaring ribbon of snow-white froth and energy. A fool might try to swim the wider channel, but only a completely mad fool would at empt a crossing on this side.

  ‘We’re trapped on here,’ said Laura, looking around at the others. ‘Aren’t we?’

  ‘At least we’ve got drinking water.’ Liam shrugged. He gave them al a cheery smile. ‘So it’s not al bad news.’

  Becks took a couple of steps down the wet shingle towards the raging river and silently appraised their surroundings. After a while she turned round. ‘The island is surroundings. After a while she turned round. ‘The island is a suitable defensive position.’

  ‘Defensive?’ cal ed out one of the students. Liam turned round. It was a large boy, whose cheeks glistened with sweat beneath a mop of dark frizzy hair and he was stil wearing his name tag: JONAH MIDDLETON. ‘Defensible against what, dude?’

  ‘Dinosaurs,’ ut ered Laura, her voice shuddering slightly. Whitmore nodded. ‘Yes, dinosaurs.’ He turned to Franklyn. ‘How good’s your knowledge of the late Cretaceous?’

  ‘Pret y good,’ he replied. ‘You want to know what species we can expect to encounter?’

  ‘Please, tel me we don’t get the T-rex,’ blurted Laura.

  ‘Not that.’

  ‘Oh, we got those al right.’ Franklyn put his hands on his hips. ‘But they’re more likely found on open terrain. Not jungle like this.’

  ‘It’s the velociraptors that scared me,’ said Lam. His head bobbed energetical y as he talked, his dark ponytail wagging like a dog’s tail as he looked from one person to another. ‘Seriously scary things, those.’ He nodded sombrely. ‘I seen al three Jurassic movies, guys … and it’s those smart lit le ones you got to watch out for.’

  ‘There are no raptors.’ Franklyn shook his head.

  ‘They’re Asian and died out eighty-ve mil ion years ago. We should expect to see … lemmesee … ankylosaurus, that’s the tank-shaped one with a spiky club for a tail. Pachycephalosaurus, that’s the upright one with, like, a Pachycephalosaurus, that’s the upright one with, like, a cyclist’s safety helmet on his head. Triceratops … you al know that one, right?’

  Heads nodded.

  ‘Parasaurolophus … the duck-bil ed one with that Elvisqui bone sticking out backwards.’

  ‘But those are al herbivores, aren’t they?’ said Whitmore. ‘
What about the carnivores?’

  Franklyn pursed his lips. ‘We got rex, of course, but no raptors. That’s the good news.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ sighed Laura. ‘That means there’s bad news.’

  ‘Wel … I’m afraid there are several varieties of the smal er therapods,’ he said, by way of explanation. Liam shrugged at him. ‘And those are what?’

  ‘Therapods – same genus as the raptor,’ Franklyn continued. ‘Smal predators, three to six foot tal . They walk on their back legs and have poorly developed front arms. They’re pack hunters.’

  ‘Three to six foot?’ said Liam. ‘That doesn’t sound so bad, then.’

  ‘Yo, dude,’ said Jonah. ‘You actual y, like, seen the Jurassic Park movies?’

  Liam shook his head. ‘No. I presume it’s one of them talkie motion pictures?’

  Several of the students glanced at each other.

  ‘Talkie motion pictures? You did say you were from the future, didn’t you?’ said Kel y.

  ‘Wel , not as such. Not directly … no. Actual y I’m fro–’

  ‘Caution!’ said Becks, striding back up the shingle

  ‘Caution!’ said Becks, striding back up the shingle towards them. ‘Con dential information.’ Her glare silenced the stirring murmur of voices. ‘That is unnecessary data. You do not need to know anything about the operative, Liam O’Connor.’

  ‘Actual y, I think I’d like to know a lit le more about you as wel ,’ said Whitmore. ‘I mean who the h–?’

  ‘Stop!’ barked Becks. ‘This conversation wil now cease!’

  Laura made a face. She stepped forward and planted herself in front of Becks. Both girls about the same height, eyes locked in a silent chal enge of each other. ‘Oh? And who exactly made you the boss?’

  Becks silently appraised her. ‘You are a contaminant and a mission liability.’

  ‘What? What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Becks’s cold glare remained on the girl. For an unset ling moment Liam wondered whether she might just reach out and snap Laura’s neck like a dry twig. He’d seen Bob e ortlessly do far worse to countless grown combat-t men.

  ‘Becks!’ he cal ed out. ‘Leave her alone!’

  The support unit nal y spoke. ‘Liam O’Connor is …

  boss. I am just the support unit.’

  ‘Support unit?’ Laura’s face creased with a look of bemusement. She turned to Liam. ‘Sheesh, what exactly is the problem with your sister? She got some kind of behavioural problem?’

  ‘She talks like some kind of robot,’ said Keisha.

  ‘Wel now, since you –’ Liam was about to explain, but

  ‘Wel now, since you –’ Liam was about to explain, but Becks cut him o again. ‘Irrelevant data.’ She took a step away from Laura towards him, Laura’s chal enge instantly dismissed and forgot en. ‘Recommendation, Liam.’

  Liam nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘A bridging device can be constructed.’ She turned her gaze towards the roaring river to their left. ‘The narrowest width is precisely thirty-two feet, seven inches.’ Her eyes then scanned the tal and straight trunks of the nearest deciduous trees along the riverbank. ‘These trees are al of suitable length.’

  ‘And just how are we supposed to fel a tree!’ said Lam.

  ‘Al we’ve got is Mr Kel y’s penknife, some bamboo spears and a bunch of freakin’ useless hatchets.’

  Liam decided he’d bet er start sounding decisive and leader-like. ‘Wel now, listen. Me and Becks’l gure something out, so we wil . Right … Becks? … Sis?’

  She looked at him. ‘Question.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are we stil pretending to be brother and sister?’

  The others stared at them.

  Liam sighed. ‘Not any more.’

  CHAPTER 25

  2001, New York

  Sal spun round in the chair at the sound of the rol er shut er rat ling up. ‘Maddy?’

  Maddy ducked beneath and into the archway. ‘Yeah, it’s me,’ she replied, in a dul , lifeless voice.

  ‘I thought you’d left us. Maybe gone for good.’

  Maddy’s face creased with a tired smile as she crossed the oor. ‘It did cross my mind.’

  ‘You shouldn’t blame yourself. But look –’

  ‘Don’t, please.’ Maddy raised a hand to hush her. She slumped down in a swivel chair beside Sal. ‘I screwed up. I was hasty and impatient and kil ed Liam in the process. I’ve got to nd my own way of dealing with that. And it’s not going to help you trying to tel me that I shouldn’t be beating myself up over it.’ She buried her face in her hands, pushing up her glasses and rubbing tired eyes.

  ‘No, listen to me,’ replied Sal, sit ing forward. ‘Bob says he might not be dead.’

  Maddy peered through her ngers.

  ‘In fact, Bob’s been analysing the tachyon signature around the window we opened. He’s almost certain that we caused a portal, not an explosion.’

  The screen in front of them ickered to life. The screen in front of them ickered to life.

  > Sal is correct. An 87% probability of a random portal.

  Sal reached out for her arm. ‘He’s alive, Maddy. Do you see? Alive.’ She made a face. ‘Probably.’

  Slowly Maddy lowered her hands from her face. ‘Oh my God. You serious?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Maddy turned towards the screen. ‘Bob? You’re sure of this?’

  > 87% probability. The decay signature of the particles while our window was open was very similar in structure to the decay of a closing window.

  ‘Can you work out where we sent him?’

  > Where is likely to be nowhere. He was unlikely to have been geographical y repositioned.

  ‘When, then? When?’

  > Negative. I have no data.

  The momentary look of hope on Maddy’s face quickly slipped away. ‘So we’ve blasted him into history and we’ve no idea when?’

  > A rmative.

  She looked at Sal. ‘And what? I’m supposed to feel bet er about this? This is supposed to be good news?’

  ‘He’s alive, Maddy. That’s something.’

  ‘He’s lost. Lost for good. Might as wel be dead. But don’t you see … it’s worse than that. If he and the other support unit, and god knows how many other people, have been blasted back into history, we’ve real y messed have been blasted back into history, we’ve real y messed up. That’s a whole load of contamination right there.’

  ‘So? We’ve been here before. We’ve xed time before. In fact … look, if they cause a whole load of contamination, that’s a good thing. Right, Bob? That means we’ve got a chance to –’

  > Negative. Contamination is to be avoided.

  ‘But if they change things and we get time waves here in 2001 it’l give us some sort of clue where they are.’

  > A rmative.

  ‘See? We can nd them. It’s possible. For example, if Liam’s any time in the last century he could make his way to New York and use the guest book again.’

  Maddy shook her head. ‘Maybe, maybe. But … they could be any time. Any time, Sal. I mean, not just a year ago, or a hundred. But maybe a thousand, ten thousand …

  a mil ion. God, if he’s just ve hundred years back, what document could he scribble in then? There wasn’t a writ en language here in America in those days. It was just Indians and wilderness.’

  Sal shrugged.

  ‘And if he’s like thousands of years back …’ She turned to look at the screen. ‘That’s possible, right?’

  > A rmative. Provided there is enough energy invested in a portal there is no limit to how far back in time a subject can be sent.

  ‘If he’s gone back thousands of years, Sal, any at empt to contact us could total y change history. I mean real y mess things up. Just look at what happened when those mess things up. Just look at what happened when those neo-Nazis went back to 1941. They turned the present into a nuclear wasteland!’

  ‘I’m just saying
…’

  ‘Saying? Saying what? We’re total y messed up here!

  God … there could already be a freaking time wave on the way! And then what? New York vanishes? More zombies?’

  Sal reached for her arm again. ‘Maddy … please! You’ve got to stay calm. We need you calm. You’re the strategist. You can gure this out. I know you can.’

  Maddy shook her head. ‘Uhh,’ she mut ered. ‘Foster’d gure it out. But me?’

  He’d know exactly what to do. In fact, if the old man had been here, he would have been smart enough not to have caused this problem in the rst place.

  But he’s out there, right? He’s out there somewhere in New York. What about the Starbucks? That was a Monday morning at about nine. If I went there tomorrow morning

  … She quickly realized that wouldn’t work. Foster was gone. He wasn’t back in the arch when the eld o ce bubble reset. Foster was gone from their forty-eight-hour world.

  Gone from Monday and Tuesday. Maddy’s jaw suddenly dropped open. What about Wednesday?

  Sal was looking at her. ‘Maddy? You OK?’

  But where would he be on Wednesday, September twelfth? She tried to remember their last conversation in the co ee shop. She’d asked him where he’d go, what he the co ee shop. She’d asked him where he’d go, what he planned to do with the time he had left to live. He’d said he’d always wanted to visit New York, to see the sights. Just like a tourist. Maddy herself had been to New York so many times before her ‘death’, that she no longer thought like a tourist, no longer mental y checked o the places one had to go see.

  ‘Sal, what places would you visit in New York, if this was like a holiday trip?’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘If you were a tourist? What would you most want to go see?’

  ‘Why are you –?’

  ‘Just tel me!’

  She scowled in thought for a moment. ‘Wel , I suppose the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, the Museum of Natural History. Maddy, why? What’re you thinking?’

  Maddy nodded. Yes. The Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty. She could try those rst.