The Valley of Tooth & Claw Read online

  “You call yourself a pilot?” Campbell chided. “Punch it!”

  In response, the chopper lifted another few feet. Still, it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. In any event, Elias and Trevon stood their ground, fingers on triggers. The combined flashes from their weapons’ nozzles lit up the helo’s interior in a dazzling display of oranges and yellows interlaced with a chaotic assemblage of shadow. Whereas behind them, the two professors shrunk in fright, hands clapped over their ears and terror etched on their faces.

  All the while, covered in countless wounds, the leaking and ragged looking theropod refused to back down. Ignoring its mounting injuries, the beast roared defiantly, continuing to close on the helicopter, head down and charging!

  “Reloading!” Campbell called to Trevon as his Glock cut out, the man moving to insert a fresh clip.

  Covering his commander, Trey peered down his weapon’s sight, unleashing a fresh volley ˗

  ˗until his weapon abruptly ran dry as well.

  “I’m out!” Latham shouted with frustration.

  Elias didn’t respond, however. With no amore ammo, there was nothing he could do, let alone say to help the situation. So instead, the commander renewed his assault on the Carnotaurus alone.

  Pop-pop-pop! His pistol sang out, each slug finding its mark.

  Covered in its own blood, the injured titan was almost on them now, maybe ten feet from the helo’s loading bay. And it showed no signs of stopping. Quite simply, Elias and his allies were running out of time.

  Suddenly, the King Stallion jerked sharply, gaining altitude. Both Campbell and Latham lost their balance momentarily. Throwing their arms out to stabilize themselves they stayed standing… for the moment. The chopper quickly shifted again, finally building some proper momentum and their ascent became more gradual.

  As for the Carnotaurus, the beast realized its prey was about to escape. Lost in its bloodlust and desperate to have its prize, the theropod launched itself at the King Stallion in a last-ditch effort, loosing a savage scream as it made for the fleeing aircraft!

  CHAPTER 20

  The dinosaur’s upper body collided with the chopper’s still-lowered access ramp, its head and chest slamming down on the metal slab with a deafening bang! The subsequent impact was tremendous, felt the length and breadth of the aircraft; from the loading bay to the cockpit. The result of which saw the King Stallion buffet sickeningly as it was thrown into a dizzying spin, its whole chassis trembling. Like a seesaw, the sudden addition of the predator’s immense weight caused the CH-53’s tail assembly to pitch downward as its nose went the other way!

  Inside the cockpit, the pilot fought desperately with her controls, trying to keep the helo airborne, a klaxon sounding somewhere in between. Amplified by the aircraft’s metal chassis, the harsh and penetrating alarm came to fill the entire aircraft in a haunting refrain.

  Back inside the cargo hold, Latham and Campbell were thrown off their feet. Amidst the chaos, Trey was propelled to one side, whilst Elias found himself sliding toward the stowaway carnivore and its hungry jaws!

  As for the creature, with its tail and legs hanging out the back of the chopper, the Carnotaurus was holding on for dear life with its tiny, yet surprisingly strong, forelimbs; the monster’s clawed digits hooked into separate sections of the ramp’s metal grating. All the while, the beast thrashed manically, jaws snapping, trying as ever to get to Commander Campbell.

  At the same time, Elias spun awkwardly in place. The angle of the struggling chopper not only made it impossible for him to get back on his feet but was in fact propelling him toward his impending doom. Well-aware he was on borrowed time, the merc instinctively threw out an arm. His body jerked to a stop as his fingers found a gap in the metal flooring, securing a handhold, albeit losing a fingernail in the process.

  “Son of a bitch!” Elias cursed, wincing at the pain.

  Sucking in shallow breaths, Campbell looked to his feet to find the predator’s snout mere inches from the soles of his boots. Recoiling, he brought his knees up to his chest, giving a yelp of surprise.

  “Get to fuck!” Elias glared at the savage beast, kicking out at its craterous nostrils.

  In the meantime, the helicopter continued to buffet and spin, struggling to regain anything that could come close to being called an equilibrium. As for the professors, the academics were pinned in-place in their seats by the G-forces brought on by the chopper’s terrifying descent.

  All the while, the alarm rang painfully in Campbell’s ears, pushing him to the brink of madness. Beyond the hulking figure of the theropod, Elias made out the glimmering surface of the lake shining below. He couldn’t be sure how high up the helo was as the water itself was all he could see, the sacrificial platform, not to mention the rest of the village, gone from sight at this point.

  Returning his gaze to the dinosaur proper, he watched as the monster’s jaws opened and closed feverishly. Like a rabid dog, gelatinous strands of salivate went this way and that, the dogmatic killer refusing to give up.

  Unexpectedly, the chopper shuddered, its powerplant seemingly unable to manage the strain being put on it any longer. With this, the helo dropped what felt like a hundred feet, although Elias couldn’t really be sure. Campbell’s stomach proceeded to flip flop but worst of all he lost his handhold! Cursing, the merc fell toward the Carnotaurus’ waiting maw once more˗

  ˗only for the beast itself to be shaken loose by the King Stallion’s gut-churning descent. But this proved short-lived. The reptile put its forelimbs to use once more, its onyx claws scraping frantically across the metal beneath it, seeking out another footing… which it promptly found. Ultimately, the creature only sacrificed five or six feet before its claws carved twin sets of ragged gouges into the metal flooring, bringing its hulking body to a stop.

  Gravity continued to conspire against Campbell however, who dropped helplessly toward the waiting monstrosity. He screamed as its fang-laden mouth came to fill his field of vision, blocking out all else! With only a foot to go, a sharp and abrupt pain stabbed at Elias deep in his shoulder, a pressure taking root about his wrist as well, and his fall was miraculously cut short. When he looked, Elias was confronted by an almost unbelievable sight.

  To his utter amazement, he found one of Trevon’s hands wrapped around his wrist; the only thing stopping him from falling into the theropod’s maw. As for Trevon himself, the other mercenary hung from the fold-down portion of one of the cargo bay’s seats like some kind of an acrobat, the veins in both his arms damn-near popping through his skin.

  “I’ve got you!” Latham shouted over the wailing alarm, straining visibly. “Now finish it!”

  Campbell nodded and his features grew grim.

  Looking away from his friend, the Scotsman eyed the waiting Carnotaurus. Still shrieking, the great predator tried to drag itself toward him, hatred burning in its cat-like eyes. Elias knew then this thing wasn’t meant for this world. It belonged to a bygone age of ‘kill or be killed’.

  And so, Elias lifted his arm, lining up his target.

  Pop! A single slug left the man’s Glock, boring into the dinosaur’s right eye socket!

  The yellow-golden orb disintegrated in a fountain of blood and other bodily fluids, the bullet swiftly emerging out the back of the carnivore’s skull in a shower of blood and brains! The theropod spasmed for what could have only been a fraction of a second. Then, going limp, the beast lost its grip on the grating and fell from the struggling helo.

  Silently, the Carnotaurus plummeted toward the water below, turning over in the air as it went. In the end, it was only a matter of seconds before the creature’s massive corpus smashed brutally into the azure surface, shattering it. The resulting craaack! reverberated for miles and with it a tremendous geyser rose into the air, the lake water foaming from the impact.

  Whereas above, the chopper righted itself almost immediately, the pilot finally regaining control as its powerplant recovered. The alarm cut out quickly thereafter. I
n the cargo hold, gravity took over once more and both Elias and Trevon battered rather unceremoniously into the waiting floor, each man calling out in pain as they landed. As for their companions, no longer trapped in their stalls by the G-forces, Professors Miller and Trentham bolted after the mercenaries.

  Crouching by them, the academics helped the winded men into sitting positions.

  “Are you alright?” the professors asked in unison.

  Elias and Trevon nodded as they each tried to catch their breath.

  “I guess we’re even now, huh?” Trevon grinned in Elias’ direction, leaning on Professor Trentham.

  “You’re forgetting about Baghdad,” Campbell winked as Miller helped the Scot onto his feet.

  “What happened in Baghdad?” Professor Miller raised an eyebrow.

  Neither Campbell nor Latham answered, at least right away. Instead, the pair exchanged smirks.

  “It’s a long story,” Trevon finally told her, laughing a little.

  Kate’s eyes drifted to Elias, the woman wearing a curious expression.

  “C’mon,” the Scotsman looked her in the eye, “it’s time we were going home.”

  #

  The sight of the wine-colored saurian plunging back to earth brought only a modicum of satisfaction to the priest. After all, nothing could replace his people’s God.

  As for his deity, the Oxalaia’s mutilated carcass lay to his left. He was not the only tribesman or woman in attendance. Dozens of men, women and children had returned from their hiding places to view the corpse of their fallen protector. Murmurs of disbelief permeated the crowd now encircling the scaly cadaver and the holy man discovered he did not have the words to alleviate his people’s fears. How could he? He was just as despondent as they were.

  Unable to look any longer at its broken frame, the grey-haired shaman eventually averted his eyes to the sky. The strange grey vessels that had spirited away their captives were little more than black dots against the blue tapestry now. Watching them recede, a pained grimace inched across the shaman’s face and he cursed them for having come to his valley. Not only did he curse them, he prayed they would never return.

  EPILOGUE

  Slaine Industries HQ

  New York City, New York.

  Travis Humphries took a breath, the young man attempting to steady his nerves. He hovered by the door to Slaine’s office, straightening his tie one last time before raising his fist to knock. Mustering the courage after a few moments, Travis rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame.

  “Enter,” was the muffled response from the other side of the thick oak door.

  Travis pushed down on the handle and stepped inside, butterflies bouncing around in his stomach. The office was decidedly darker than the corridor he left behind, the lighting kept to a minimum despite it already being late in the day. Travis’ eyes struggled to adjust as a result. Still, he could see it was a spacious setting filled with an array of contemporary-style furniture, such as low-lying coffee tables and couches, its curved walls lined by shelves complete with leather-bound books.

  Classy, Travis thought. This was the first time he had been inside Slaine’s office.

  As for the man in question, Daniel Slaine was behind his desk, albeit standing with his back to Travis, the man apparently deep in contemplation. Slaine stood with his hands clasped behind his back admiring the early-evening view of the city beyond his bay-style window. Dressed in a dark-colored suit, he almost melded with the dim surrounds. That being said, what light there was reflected off the man’s shaved pate.

  “Do you have it?” Slaine asked, his voice low.

  “Yes, Mr. Slaine,” Travis reached into his pocket to retrieve a black USB stick. “Everything relating to the Javari Valley expedition is on here,” he held the USB up even though Daniel didn’t bother to look.

  “Everything else has been wiped from our servers?” Slaine sought clarification. “All files erased?”

  “Yes, sir,” Travis replied.

  “Good. Javari Valley’s secrets must remain just that… secrets,” Slaine told his subordinate. “The world is not ready to know the truth of what resides there. Everything we thought we understood about our world˗ and its natural history˗ stands to be rewritten by what was discovered down there in that jungle.”

  “What now then?” Travis wondered aloud.

  “Perhaps one day we will return to unlock Vale do Javari’s secrets,” Slaine answered thoughtfully, “to attempt to explain the unexplainable. But for now, we must protect those secrets. Will you help me do that, Mr. Humphries?”

  “Yes, sir,” Travis answered.

  THE END

  Read on for a free sample of Objekt 221: A Dinosaur Thriller

  Chapter One

  The Final Specimen

  IT SOUNDED like the end of the world. Heavy, thick drops of rain fell in sheets across the landscape, pummeling trees and flattening grass. The air—filled with a palpable dewy sweetness only an hour before—hung as fatly as a gloomy fog as far as the eye could see. Blinding lightning and screaming thunder shook the building to its core.

  Jason Beale looked up at the faint line of dust that fell from the ceiling. He could still feel the reverberations of the last blast of thunder as it rattled its way through the building. The sky, black with clouds, had sucked all light out of the building. He reached up and clicked a button on the side of his protective acrylic facemask. He immediately saw the world in night vision—a high-contrast green glow. The corridor lit up in front of him. He turned to look at the rest of the group.

  “NVG,” he called out over the faceplate’s microphone. “Let’s keep this shit-show moving.”

  Nothing had gone right for the advance team all day. From Jacobi clipping a boulder when taking a corner too fast in one of the military-grade LSVs—Light Strike Vehicles—to an equipment failure while trying to catch a bonus specimen on the list, to this ungodly thunderstorm they were now wading through. But they persisted. All 10 men—a combination of field scientists and retired Army Rangers—were crowding through the large corridor at the back of the main floor of Building 5. Beale was in charge of this force as he started counting off names and pointing. Two soldiers per scientist except for Beale’s own group.

  They had run down the list that intelligence had prepared. As of today’s hunting migratory patterns, they were likely to find a specimen in Building 5.

  “Roscoe. Halverson. Tenna. You’re with me.” He stood off to one side. “We go north. Smith. Wilson. Jacobi. You’re east. The rest of you take the west branch. We only need one more NR-401G for the lab. Any other specimens can be subdued or eliminated.” He hefted the shoulder strap of his Mossberg 500 shotgun—the Persuader—off his right arm. “Quiet if possible.” He grinned. “Loud if not.”

  “Hoorah,” the other five soldiers called back as the three teams split apart.

  * *

  “Do you know the history of that bit of military slang?” Halverson asked. He was dressed in similar camouflage to the two soldiers in his group, but he held a motion detector in one hand and a waterproof computer tablet in the other.

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  Beale was the point man of the group, his shotgun held at eye level. Just behind him were the two scientists, Halverson and Tenna. They were both carrying sophisticated tracking equipment. Tenna had what looked like an electronic checklist blinking away, clipped to his utility belt. They all wore the futuristic-looking acrylic faceplate which had a small soda-can-sized air canister attached to the underside.

  Roscoe, a tall man of 25, brought up the rear. He was carrying a Belgian-made FN FAL battle rifle. Many on the team preferred this weapon, or its British variant. He held the rifle in the same manner as Beale held the shotgun but was sweeping his eyesight back and forth in the middle distance of the huge corridor. Roscoe was on high alert, unblinking and staring into the green gloom.

  “Radio operators in World War II,” continued Halverson without taking his eyes
off the motion detector, “shortened the response Heard Understood Acknowledged to HUA. When spoken, it sounded like hooah.”

  “Fascinating,” Beale said, checking his watch. “Six more hours of air.”

  “Oh, that’s not all,” Halverson said. “Airborne Rangers adopted the acronym into one of their own. HOOA. Hooah. Head Out Of Ass.”

  “Shocking,” Beale said.

  “It caught on from there,” Halverson said.

  There was no additional response from Beale as they reached the first doorway on the left. The doorways were larger than expected and it always gave Beale pause. He wasn’t paid to break down the mysterious findings of the advance team—it was his job to deliver them home safe and secure. Right now, he had a bad feeling about Building 5.

  “Entering courtyard,” Beale said into his faceplate mic to the entire team.

  * *

  “Entering courtyard,” came Beale’s voice over Smith’s earpiece. He and Jacobi were escorting their assigned scientist—Wilson—through the east branch of the main corridor. Wilson was carrying a thermal imager while the two soldiers carried weapons—FN FALs to match Roscoe. On his back, Jacobi carried a large, collapsible trap. It would expand to a six by six cube that could be slightly modified to reduce the dimensions as the combination of high-tensile steel and PVC piping was designed to telescope in on itself.

  “Copy that,” Smith responded. “Leapfrogging rooms along the east hall. Stand by.”

  * *

  There was no update from Harrison, Baker, and Leafly in the west corridor.

  * *

  The courtyard of Building 5 was immense. It seemed like a multi-purpose room with a stage on one side, a set of stone bleachers on the other, and numerous structures that defied definition. The room was dominated by a series of sculptures along the north wall. The largest one, nearly filling the space from stone floor to curved ceiling, was a tree that was carved to resemble a woman. Her features were blurred and out of proportion. She looked like the 3D representation of an impressionist’s painting. All the right pieces were in all the right places but the proportions seemed somehow…wrong.