Suddenly, he was in my face – gun levelled.
‘Step away from the door.’
And that was his mistake. He left me with nothing to lose.
If someone has a gun then you either want to be ten miles away or right up close. And I was right up close. I didn’t make the mistake of going for him. I went for the weapon. I got both hands on the gun and concentrated on keeping it pointed at the ground.
And he still hadn’t shot me. The gun must be empty.
We staggered across the clearing, both gripping the gun for dear life, slipping in the wet mud and, as we rolled on the ground, the bloody thing went off after all!
There was a one-third chance the bullet would miss both of us, a one-third chance it would hit him, and a one-third chance it would hit me. I lay suddenly still, eyes squeezed tight shut, gasping with exertion and fear, waiting for the pain, the blood, the knowledge of imminent death.
Nothing happened.
I opened my eyes.
Still nothing.
I rolled away, got to my feet, and patted myself down, still not quite believing I was undamaged.
Maybe I wasn’t destined to die in the Cretaceous after all.
Oh yes I was.
Ronan pushed himself up, half sitting, half kneeling, blood spreading a bright, wet patch on his stomach. The hand holding the gun was unsteady and his face twisted in pain and hatred. That was a fatal wound. He really was dying now. He had nothing to lose. I was less than ten feet away. He couldn’t miss. He lifted a trembling arm and pointed the gun at me. The wandering muzzle was doing figures of eight in the air but, at that range, he couldn’t possibly miss me. And he hated me. I took a deep breath and waited for the end.
‘Just one … bullet … left. Let’s make it … count.’
My world contracted. There was just me. And the gun. The only thing I could hear was my thudding heart. The only thing I could see was his gun. I braced myself. The moment went on and on, and then, just when I couldn’t bear it any longer and was about to hurl myself at him in desperation, he shifted his aim a foot to the right and fired, straight-armed, through the open door, directly into the pod.
The bullet thunked into the console. Hard on that sound, I heard a crack, saw a flash, heard another crack, and a cloud of black smoke billowed up from the console. The trip box flashed in response and went bang. Inside the pod, everything went dark. I could smell the burning-fish smell of shorted electrics.
He sagged to the ground, laughing up at the sky. Because he’d won. He was dying but he’d still managed to take me with him. He would be dead in minutes, but I was stranded here. Alone. With no hope of rescue. His was the final victory.
Something moved among the trees.
Oh God, I’d forgotten where I was. That the real peril here was not Clive Ronan.
On my original assignment here, some years ago, I’d had it drummed into me. Never, ever, ever go outside alone. Never, ever, ever go outside unarmed. And if you injure yourself and there’s blood, get back to the pod as quickly as possible because otherwise you’re as good as dead.
The Cretaceous Period was home to the world’s greatest and most fearsome predators. From the great Tyrannosaurus Rex who hunts alone, to the smaller Velociraptors who hunt in packs, they’re all deadly. Years ago, I’d watched my partner, Sussman, being ripped apart by a pack of Deinonychus. And they hadn’t waited until he was dead before feeding.
A shadow flickered on the other side of the clearing. Then another. Things were gathering. Attracted by the blood.
I looked down at Ronan. Still alive. For a moment, I considered dragging him back to the pod.
I heard a sound behind me.
Instinct kicked in.
I left him. I left him there to die alone.
They were closer than I thought. As I sprinted towards the pod, two erupted from the trees to my left. Another one from the right. The classic pincer attack.
I heard Ronan scream something.
I had forgotten how fast they moved. And how agile they were. Because, just as I was running towards the pod, and only feet away from safety, another came over the roof of the pod, straight over my head, landing just behind me.
I don’t think it saw me initially. All its attention was on Clive Ronan. And then it did, swerving and slipping in the mud and coming straight at me.
I swear I flew into that pod. I don’t even remember my feet touching the ground, expecting at any moment to feel the sharp claws digging into my back as they brought me down, its hot breath in my face as they tore at my flesh, ripped out my guts …
I slapped the manual switch as I hurtled through the door, praying battery power was one of the few things still working in this fatally damaged pod.
It was. The door jerked, stopped and jerked again.
Screaming was not the right word to describe the sounds coming from Clive Ronan. Three shapes were closing in.
But there had been four. Where was the fourth?