by Roland Smith
Butch shook his head vigorously and explained once again that Noah wanted the hatchlings and the people captured alive. He told them that they could use violence to protect themselves against the bad people, but under no circumstances were they to harm the hatchlings. He started to go over the rules of engagement again to make sure they understood, but midway through, Noah’s Warriors turned their attention toward the lake over his shoulder. Butch whirled around. A boat was rushing across the water and headed their way. Noah Blackwood was at the helm, his white hair swept back like a lion’s mane.
Noah always flew into the compound, landing on the helipad in back of the building on the island, and he rarely left to visit his people face-to-face. He preferred to check in on them through the dozens of closed-circuit cameras scattered around the compound. The only people allowed inside the monitoring room were Noah, Butch, and Violet, who virtually lived there. She spent so many hours inside the dim room that half the time she was unaware that Noah had taken off and was no longer in Brazil. If his absences bothered her, she never mentioned it. When Noah landed, she’d run out to the helipad and throw her arms around him as if he’d just returned from a short joyride, even if he’d been away for weeks, or months.
Noah was known to the people inside the compound as the Creator. By the time he climbed out of the boat and onto the dock, at least a hundred people had gathered to get a glimpse of him, and more were on their way. Noah gave the adoring crowd a cursory smile and a wave, then nodded for Butch to come over.
“The hatchlings are right outside the south gate,” Noah said. “Or at least they were there a couple of minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you just —” Butch stopped himself, remembering that Noah had switched all the comms off. “Who’s with them?”
“Grace and that Dylan kid. I didn’t see Marty or anyone else. They were heading east along the perimeter. If you go through the south gate and send some warriors through the east gate, you’ll be able to squeeze them.”
Butch had already thought the same thing, but didn’t mention it. It was always better to let Noah think he was the one making the plans. “I’ll get right on it,” he said, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get on anything until Noah got back on the boat and returned to the island. The warriors and workers were staring at Noah as if Zeus had just paid a visit from Mount Olympus.
Noah finally seemed to take notice of the growing crowd. “Oh,” he said. “I’ll go back to the island and monitor it from there.”
“Okay,” Butch said. “After I get the kids and the hatchlings corralled, I’m going to stay out until I run everyone down. We need to get this thing over with. What do you want me to do with Yvonne?”
“I don’t want to see her again,” Noah answered. “She’s served her purpose.” He gave the crowd another smile, a half-hearted wave, and returned to the boat.
Butch headed back to the truck and started it.
* * *
Marty had watched their entire conversation on the Gizmo screen, from outside the fence, fifty feet up a tree. When Noah had showed up in the boat, he’d almost flown the bot in closer to eavesdrop, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t like Butch, but he had a lot of respect for the man’s observational skills.
Marty watched Noah Blackwood head across the lake toward the island, then turned the dragonspy back to the truck bouncing down the road, overflowing with tattooed triplets.
His plan, such as it was, was working.
Noah must have seen Grace, Dylan, and the hatchlings through the security cameras. And if he had to come out of his fortress to tell Butch, that meant his communications were out, too, or else he would have just called or radioed.
Having Dylan join Grace and the hatchlings along the fence was not part of Marty’s original plan, but when he’d laid it out for them, Dylan had insisted on sticking with Grace.
Gallant, but risky.
Marty didn’t think that Butch would hurt Grace, but he wasn’t so sure about Dylan. He’d told Dylan about Butch trying to throw him overboard on the Coelacanth, but even that hadn’t changed Dylan’s mind. Grace had sided with Marty, but not very vigorously.
It’s almost as if she —
As soon as he thought this, he knew it was true.
How about that? My cousin has a boyfriend.
He watched the truck bumping over the rutted road, surprised that the triplets were able to hang on. It slowed, then took an abrupt left, which did throw three of them to the ground, but they were on their feet in a second trying to catch up.
Where are they going?
Marty expected them to come directly toward him, not head cross-country through the jungle. Ten minutes later, Butch slammed on the brakes, launching another set of triplets, to uproarious laughter, including from the three who had been hurled into the trees. All the riders jumped off the truck. Half of them ran into a metal shed and came out carrying ropes and long sticks. Some of them climbed back into the truck, while others followed Butch down a narrow path. Before Marty knew what was going on, Butch had opened a second gate. The triplets ran through. Butch slammed the gate behind them and started back to the truck.
Marty swore. If he had been paying attention, he would have gotten the code.
Butch maneuvered the old truck around and headed back the way he had come, slowing down, but not stopping, so the triplets he had dumped could clamber back into the truck bed.
Marty crossed his fingers, praying Butch would take a left when he got to the main road, and not a right.
Left … left … left …
Butch took a left.
Marty uncrossed his fingers and flew the dragonspy ahead to get into position, hoping Butch didn’t take another turn. It was the longest ten minutes of his life. He wanted to check on Grace and Dylan. He wanted to check on Butch. He wanted to check on the triplets trotting along the fence. But he kept the dragonspy exactly where it was. Finally, he heard the truck in the distance.
From where he sat, he couldn’t see the gate himself. In fact, he couldn’t see the fence at all through the green blur of leaves. His plan depended on his not being caught by Butch or the triplets. He was straddling a branch, a hundred yards from the gate, and even then he felt vulnerable. Butch McCall could see and sense things other people couldn’t.
He heard the truck come to a stop, the engine shut down, a door open and close, and then footsteps.
He stared at the Gizmo and held his breath. On the screen was a perfectly focused image of a ten-digit keypad. If Butch stepped in front of the keypad the wrong way, or noticed the strange insect dangling on a hanging vine three feet from the gate, it was over. Grace, Dylan, and the hatchlings would be captured for nothing. And they would be captured. Of that there was no doubt. It was part of the plan.
A scarred and battered index finger appeared on the screen and punched four numbers.
6-6-2-4
Marty let his breath out and shook his head.
I should have known. 6-6-2-4. N-O-A-H.
Butch and the triplets filed through the opening. Marty flew the dragonspy twenty feet straight up and put it into a hover. Butch was examining the ground on the other side of the gate. The triplets were gathered around him, waiting for instructions. He sent a set of triplets back through the gate. They piled into the front seat of the truck, turned it around, and headed back in the direction they had come.
The tattooed jaguar guys know how to drive. Good to know.
Butch closed the gate and said something to the rest of the triplets. They began moving east along the fence line. But not Butch. He remained standing outside the gate, looking off into the forest as if something wasn’t right. Marty knew there was no possible way that Butch could see him, but it still made him nervous.
Butch stood scanning the trees for at least a minute before heading after his men. The camera above the gate swiveled and followed him. This was what Marty had been waiting for. The cameras were not motion sensitive. They were being toggled manually by s
omeone inside the compound. His only chance of getting inside unseen was to have the camera pointed away from the gate like it was now. But still he waited, following Butch along the fence until he was certain Butch wasn’t doubling back.
Finally convinced that Butch had been fooled, Marty climbed down from his perch and carefully made his way over to the gate.
N-O-A-H
Click!
Marty was inside.
“I’m still having a hard time understanding Marty’s plan,” Dylan said.
“You aren’t the only one,” Grace said, wondering how far they had walked, and how long the fence was. They hadn’t even reached the first corner yet.
“So you don’t get it, either,” Dylan said.
Grace shook her head. “Not exactly. I’m used to Marty’s plans, but what I never get used to is how open-ended they are.”
Dylan pointed at yet another dead monkey clinging to the fence. “That’s number fourteen.”
Grace had lost count. “Here’s what I think Marty’s thinking. We’re all going to be captured anyway, so why not take advantage of it by getting the code to the gate, which is likely the same code used on all the keypads inside, and get someone inside they don’t know about?”
“I’m not sure we would have been captured anyway,” Dylan said.
“Really? They captured everyone else. Why wouldn’t they be able to capture us? And even if they didn’t manage to grab us, where would we go? We’re marooned in the middle of nowhere, with two baby dinosaurs, and all of our friends are on the other side of this fence.”
Dylan pointed. “And there’s dead monkey fifteen.”
* * *
Luther was walking in circles. One room after another. There were seventeen rooms altogether. He’d lost track of how many laps he’d done. Sometimes he went clockwise, sometimes he went counterclockwise, depending on his mood. He’d found the cameras in all the rooms. All of them out of reach. He gave each of them a smile and a wave when he strolled by. He also checked every door he passed. When he found it locked, which it always was, he turned to the nearest camera and gave it a thumbs-up, like a happy security guard.
He walked into the chicken room, which, not surprisingly, smelled like chicken poop. Buck had been in the room for several hours planting carrots. Sometime during the night, or maybe the day — Luther had lost track of time — the invisible prison elves had dropped off several bags of fertilizer and a box of vegetable seed.
“You still doing loops?” Buck asked.
“You still planting veggies?” Luther asked.
“Yep.”
“Think we’ll be down here long enough to eat them?”
“Maybe. Sylvia and Timothy have been down here awhile. Did you find anything new?”
Luther shook his head.
“You know, your rounds might be ticking them off.”
“I hope so,” Luther whispered. “Eventually, they’re going to screw up and open a door at the wrong time. I’m going to be there when they do.”
“When I tell you that you need to stop making rounds, you need to stop making rounds.”
“Huh?” It seemed like an odd thing for Buck to say. In fact, everyone had been acting a little oddly the past few hours, and Luther didn’t think it was because they were prisoners. Something was up. “What do you mean?”
“No rounds when I tell you to stop,” Buck repeated.
“Fine,” Luther said.
“How’s Doc?” Buck asked.
“Not too good,” Luther said. “He’s drifting in and out of consciousness. When he’s awake, they have a hard time keeping him in bed. He has a terrible temper.”
“He has a terrible concussion,” Buck corrected, loudly enough for the chickens to hear in the far corner of the room. “If he doesn’t get some medical help soon, he could die.”
Doc did have a terrible concussion, but the consensus was that he would be okay if they could keep him down for a few days. Buck’s theatrics were an attempt to get more medical supplies, which they would need if they were going to be down there for any length of time.
Luther turned to the nearest camera. “You hear that? We need help!”
Buck stared at him like he was crazy, which Luther was used to.
“What?” Luther said. “We know they’re watching and listening. And we know they speak English, because the stuff shows up after we talk about it in English. Might as well open a dialogue with them, even if it’s one-sided.” He looked back at the camera. “And I’m still waiting to hear how Wolfe is doing. Let me know as soon as you can.”
“While you’re waiting to hear back, think you can get these eggs to the bunkhouse without breaking them?” Buck pointed at a small bucket. In the bottom were four eggs.
“Sure.”
“And this.” He handed him a feed sack.
“Chicken?”
“What else?”
“One chicken between eight people doesn’t go far.”
“Seven,” Buck said. “I don’t eat meat.”
“That’s right. I forgot.”
Luther grabbed the bucket and sack, and headed to the bunkhouse. He found everyone pretty much in the same places they’d been when he left. Jake was looking through the portholes. Flanna was sitting next to Doc. Laurel was at the table working on her lexicon. Sylvia and Timothy were asleep. Of all of them, Sylvia and Timothy were the two Luther was most concerned about. They were putting up a good front, but he knew their injuries and long captivity had done a number on them. They were thin, pale, and weak. Marty and Grace were going to be shocked when they saw them.
If they ever see them again. If we ever get out of here.
Luther put the chicken and eggs in the kitchen, wishing Marty was there to make something delicious out of it. Whoever was going to cook, and it was usually Timothy, was going to have to get to it soon. Without refrigeration, meat didn’t last long. He wandered over to the portholes where Jake was standing.
“Anything new?” Jake asked quietly.
“The tells are all in place,” Luther answered.
The tells were small blocks of wood, cardboard, and wadded-up paper he and Jake had secretly placed in front of every corridor door. If someone opened a door, it would push the tell away from the door. They were trying to figure out if one door was being used more than another. What purpose this would serve, they didn’t know, but they both felt sitting around doing nothing was not an option.
“Want me to do a round?”
“Nah,” Luther said. “I’ll go again. I’m not very good at sitting.”
Jake grinned. “I noticed.”
“How’s your dad?”
“He hasn’t had a blowup since your last round, so I guess that’s good.”
An alligator swam passed the porthole, which seemed to take forever.
Luther cupped his eyes and peered through the glass. “How big do you think these things are?”
“Twenty feet,” Jake said. “Maybe bigger, which is impossible, but a couple of days ago I would have said that seeing dinosaurs was impossible.”
* * *
“Dead monkey nineteen,” Dylan said.
Grace pointed ahead. “And the end of the fence.”
“Technically, it’s the corner of the fence.”
“Whatever.”
They turned left. The hatchlings followed along, keeping Grace and Dylan between them and the fence.
“Dead monkey twent —”
A set of triplets stepped out from behind a tree, pointing blowpipes at their heads.
Grace put her hands up in the air. Dylan followed suit.
“No sudden moves,” Dylan said.
“No kidding,” Grace agreed. The triplets looked a lot more fierce in person than they did on the Gizmo.
A second set of triplets stepped out of the woods carrying sticks and ropes. Grace looked at the hatchlings. Their heads were whipping back and forth between the two groups, obviously agitated.
“So this is th
e plan?”
“We’ll be fine,” Grace said, not believing it for a second.
The men started to unfurl the ropes.
“No!” Grace said.
The men stopped and stared at her.
“The hatchlings will come with us peacefully. There’s no need for ropes. You’ll hurt them.”
The men continued to stare. Grace repeated the same three sentences in the six languages she knew, but they didn’t appear to understand any of them. They eyed the hatchlings and tied nooses on the end of their sticks. Grace ducked under the blowpipes and stood in front of the hatchlings.
“Are you crazy?” Dylan said.
“I don’t think they’ll hurt me.”
“Exactly. They might just skip to the poison-dart-killing part.” Dylan tried to step over to her. One of the men whacked him in the head with his pipe. “Ouch!” His face flushed, and his hands turned into fists.
“Don’t,” Grace said. “I have this under control.”
Three more triplets ran up, followed by another set. There were now twelve jaguar men surrounding them.
“Really?” Dylan asked, holding his ear.
“If they had really meant you harm, they would have put a dart in your neck.”
“That’s comforting.”
Butch walked up behind the triplets.
“Oh my God!” Grace said, feigning shock and surprise just as Marty had told her to. Butch had to be convinced that they didn’t know he was anywhere near South America, or he’d know something was up.
Butch’s smile broadened. “Happy to see me?”
“No.”
“I’m crushed.”
“How did you get down here? What is this place?”
“Shut up!” Butch said. “I’m sure your grandfather will explain everything if he isn’t too ticked off to even look at you.”
“Noah is here?” Grace asked, but this time she wasn’t faking being shocked.
“He’s been here for days. We flew in together.” Butch looked at the hatchlings, who hadn’t moved. “What were you trying to tell my guys when I walked up?”
“I was telling them that there’s no need for the ropes. The hatchlings will follow us wherever we go. And where are we going?”
