Day of the Predator - Alex Scarrow [109]
CHAPTER 60
65 million years BC, jungle
Broken Claw looked at the others in his family pack, predator eyes meeting predator eyes. In his claws he was still holding the bamboo spear, the bloodied end of it embedded in what was left of the new creature.
His mind worked hard trying to understand what he’d done. Trying to comprehend the fact that it wasn’t his claws that had ended this pale creature’s life, but the long device that he was holding, something other than him. Something he controlled. Something he had … used.
He turned to the others, clicked and growled and mewled softly.
Do you see? We killed the new creature with this.
Their minds, all younger, less developed. His children stared, yellow eyes burning with hatred, but not quite understanding, not just yet.
But he did. And his older, wiser mind stretched a little further. This long stick he held, he understood now what it was and where it came from. They grew along the river in thick clusters. But now it was no longer simply a plant – the new creatures had fashioned it into something else entirely: a deadly weapon.
Something deep in his reptilian mind shifted. Concepts, very simple concepts, looking for each other amid a busy crowd of instinct-driven brain signals, finally finding each other and embracing.
His pack had no communicable sound for the concept. His mind had no word for the idea. But if he’d had a wider range of words to construct his thoughts from then his mind would have been full of words like use, make, build …
His small mind suddenly produced an image, an image of a fast-flowing river and a tree trunk lying across it – a device the new creatures had built to cross the river.
He turned to the others, clicked his teeth and beckoned them to follow.
What he had growing in his mind is what any human being would have called … a plan.
CHAPTER 61
2001, New York
They approached the archway. Cartwright nodded at his men still standing guard outside. He gestured to Forby to join them inside as the shutter cranked noisily up. The other men he instructed to continue guarding the entrance, allowing no one else inside.
One by one they all stooped under the shutter as it clattered to a halt. As he followed the others in, Cartwright glanced up at the sky above Manhattan, beginning to lighten with the first grey stain of dawn. Another hour and it was going to be daylight, New Yorkers getting ready to go to work, and disgruntled civilians building up around the road blocks either end of the Williamsburg Bridge. Traffic police, TV film crews and journalists were surely soon going to add to that, asking his men and the National Guard soldiers where their orders had come from. What the hell was going on? He and his discreet little under-the-radar agency could do without attracting that kind of attention. The terrorist-bomb cover story those men had been given would hold for a little while longer, but not forever.
The last one inside the archway, he pressed the button and the shutter rattled down noisily again. Forby removed his bio-containment hood and then unslung his machine pistol.
‘It’s all right, no need to aim it at the girls,’ said Cartwright. ‘But just have it to hand, uh?’
Forby nodded and lowered his aim.
‘So,’ he continued, approaching the desk stacked with monitors, ‘the computer? Before it’s all fried?’
Maddy nodded. ‘Yes, of course. DOMINOES.’
Cartwright shook his head. Of course. You idiot, Lester. He looked at the Domino’s pizza boxes strewn across the desk, and would have slapped himself if he’d been alone.
The dialogue box on one of the screens flickered to life as a cursor flashed and scuttled across the screen with new text.
> Welcome back, Maddy.
‘Hi, Bob,’ she said. ‘I’m in time, aren’t I?’
> No system files have been erased yet. You had another seven minutes before I proceeded with your instructions.
‘Christ,’ muttered Lester, ‘you weren’t kidding.’
Sal shook her head. ‘Nope.’
> My camera detects unauthorized personnel in the field office.
‘Yes,’ said Maddy, ‘we have guests.’
> Are you under