Day of the Predator - Alex Scarrow [93]
He realized that would be a tragedy. Because this … thing, this species, like every other species of dinosaur, just wasn’t going to make it. The world of dinosaurs hadn’t much time left in geological terms. A thousand? Ten thousand years? Maybe tomorrow it was going to happen: a mass extinction event, either an asteroid or a mega-volcano was going to choke the world and kill every land-based species larger than a dog. And this intelligent species, so close in many ways to human, closer in some than man’s own ape ancestor, was going to vanish along with all the other dumb dinosaurs. They were going to vanish without leaving a trace, would never be known about, never leave any fossil markings, never have a Latin name or be exhibited in a museum or discussed by palaeontologists. And that was the cruellest irony. Because here was something that, given just a few more million years …
… could have been us.
The dominant intelligence, a reptilian version of Homo sapiens.
‘My God … you … you’re incredible,’ he whispered.
The creature was now just a couple of yards from him, yellow eyes on the hunk of meat, crouching low, its rib-and-spine-lined back looked so human, like the back of some size-zero catwalk supermodel or some lean gymnast.
‘… fankk … leeeen …’ it uttered again.
Franklyn realized he had to take a picture. The species deserved some evidence, at least one shred of visual evidence, that it had once upon a time existed. He gently placed the meat on the ground in front of him then delved back into his rucksack for his mobile phone.
The creature advanced another foot and then strained its long neck and curiously elongated head to sniff the meat. One slender arm swept forward and a hand with three lethal-looking sickle-shaped claws tapped it, rolled it over … then casually pushed it aside.
Its head cocked; its nostril flaps puckered. And then Franklyn realized the creature wasn’t the slightest bit interested in the stale odour of the mudfish. It was smelling him, reading his odours like a witch-doctor reading bones, like a medium reading the creased palm of a hand.
‘I-I mean no harm. I … just …’ Franklyn stuttered nervously.
Its jaw snapped open, and the tongue inside twisted and curled. ‘No harmmm …’ it mimicked.
‘Y-yes … friend … f-friend,’ said Franklyn, tapping his chest. It was now so close he could have reached out and stroked the bone-hard carapace of the front of its skull. He could feel warm, fetid puffs of air coming from its nasal cavity.
Franklyn had the mobile phone in his hand now. His eyes still on this thing’s reptile eyes, he fumbled with the touchscreen menu and finally got it into digicam mode and pressed the RECORD button.
‘A species,’ he said softly, panning the cell’s camera up and down the beast, ‘p-possibly a remote ancestor of the v-velociraptor … or more likely the smarter troodon.’ He hated that his voice was shaking like some nervous girl’s. If this was going to be a few seconds of footage that was going to make him famous … he wanted to sound like a pro, like a true hardcore adventurer, not some knee-trembling geek. ‘This species … is q-quite incredible. Capable of copying a human v-voice …’
The hominid’s mouth suddenly snapped shut with a loud clack of teeth and then the cluster of reeds began to rustle with movement all around him.
Franklyn looked up. ‘Oh God … n-no …’
CHAPTER 51
65 million years BC, jungle
Liam heard it. A brittle scream, long and ragged and then suddenly silenced. ‘Did you hear that?’
Becks nodded. ‘Affirmative.’ She straightened up. ‘The hominid pack hunters may have returned. We should rejoin the others immediately.’
Liam grabbed his spear. ‘Come on.’
They splashed across the shallow stream, kicking up