Day of the Predator - Alex Scarrow [73]
Broken Claw had led many such attacks in past seasons, always the first to gnaw his way through the hide and into the bellies of such creatures, slashing and pulling through the vulnerable insides as the creature still stomped and roared, pulling himself towards the throbbing red organ in its chest. It was slashing at this that usually felled a Many-Teeth. Broken Claw and the others knew that this organ – which seemed to have a life of its own, which every species of creature seemed to possess – was the source of its very life.
In the seasons of his youth, the jungles had once been full of the larger stupid species. So many of them in fact that they often killed many more than they could eat, often only bothering to consume their favourite organs and leaving the rest of the carcass to rot.
But there were fewer now, far fewer of the bigger creatures. They only existed on the plain these days.
Broken Claw understood a simple principle. They had hunted too many of them. They had been too successful for their own good in the jungle, and his family pack had been forced to migrate from one jungle valley to the next several times during his lifespan. Now too, in recent seasons, this jungle had become sparsely populated – another hunting ground that they’d almost completely exhausted.
There certainly was not enough food available in the jungle valley for these new creatures as well.
Slowly, lightly, he glided forward across the loose shale, mindful that his agile feet not dislodge anything that might make the slightest noise. Behind him he heard the soft barking cough of one of his mates warning him not to get too close to these things. He ignored her. He needed to listen to the noises these things made. Perhaps their sounds could be learned, even mimicked. Perhaps they could employ the same technique they used on the Many-Teeth, identifying a sound that could be practised and used by their young to lure one of the new creatures away from the others.
If just one of them could be isolated. They could study it, understand how dangerous it could be, understand its weakness. Perhaps in the last moments of its life, even share some of its intelligence. Then he could find out if this creature also had the same fluttering red orb in its ribcage, the organ that provided life.
CHAPTER 40
65 million years BC, jungle
Liam gazed up at the behemoth slowly ambling their way. ‘You’re sure it’s a plant-eater?’
Franklyn laughed. ‘Yes, relax, of course it is. It’s an alamosaurus.’
Liam watched the enormous long-necked creature walk with ponderous deliberation across the open plain towards the patch of jungle behind them. He could feel each heavy step through the trembling ground.
Jay-zus-’n’-Mother-Mary, that thing’s the size of a small ship!
He guessed he could park a double-decker tram in the space between its fore and its hind legs and still have room to stand on top. The creature’s tiny head, little more than a rounded nub on the end of its long muscular neck, swept down close to the ground as it closed the distance between them. Finally coming to a halt to inspect the small bipedal creatures standing in front of it.
‘Are you absolutely certain?’ cried Liam, watching the thing’s head hover at shoulder height just a few yards in front of him.
‘Yes! He’s probably more scared of you than you are of –’
‘Oh –’ Liam shook his head vigorously – ‘I, uh … I very much doubt that.’
‘See? He’s just checking you out,’ said Franklyn, slowly stepping forward to join Liam and Becks. ‘Hey there, big man!’ he cooed softly. ‘It’s OK, we’re not carnivores.’
‘Well, actually, I am,’ said Whitmore. ‘A little veal and a nice bottle of Sancerre on a Saturday night.’
Small beady black eyes, in a rounded head not much bigger than a cider keg, studied Liam intently. Its nostrils flared for a moment as it inhaled the curious new smell of humans, then curiosity