If you see a T-rex in a movie or a holo, they’re always so clean, with perfect dental work and nice markings. In the real world they’re not like that at all. This one’s lower legs and belly were thick with dried mud. Scarred and battered, it had a really gruesome gash down its left flank. Several teeth were missing and its entire snout was caked with dried blood and bits of rotting flesh. Its breath was the most fearsome thing in existence. Saucepan-lid sized nostrils flared in and out, assimilating my unfamiliar scent. The insides were a pale red. I could see its eyes. I don’t know why I’d ever thought it wasn’t fully grown. It was absolutely colossal. And it was looking at me. Instinct told it to attack. Experience told it to avoid humans. This indecision was saving my life, but not for much longer. Instinct would kick in soon enough.
Sound came back slowly. I could hear its massive breaths whistling in and out of its nostrils. I’d long since stopped breathing myself and slowly, very slowly, I eased the pepper spray from my belt. It lunged. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and squeezed the trigger. It bellowed, enveloping me in a blast of fetid air. I threw myself backwards off the rocks, landing on something hard and uneven. I rolled behind a rock and risked a look. It was shaking its head and shifting its weight from leg to leg, obviously in some discomfort, but not enough to slow it down. In fact, I’d just made it mad. Way to go, Maxwell!
I heard a shout from off to one side and the ground exploded about mid-way between it and me. Nice shot! They’d got the blaster. I waited no longer, turned, and ran as fast as I could for the pod. I could feel the ground shaking under me but dared not look back. Another warning shot. It wheeled away and then came at me again from another angle.
The pod was closer now, but my breath was failing. The legs were still pumping but I was going nowhere. Wreckage lay everywhere and I needed to watch where I was going. Falling now would be the last thing I ever did.
And then I saw something that stopped me dead. Just off to my left was a largish piece of metal, dark green with the letters RD T stencilled in yellow paint.
A voice bellowed, ‘Don’t bloody stop, you muppet!’ Another small explosion behind me. I started forward again, almost finished, and a long arm grabbed me and pulled.
‘I’ve got her. Shoot the bloody thing!’
Now there was a volley of fire. Earth and small rocks rained down upon me. I tried to shout not to kill it, but had no breath left. Another hand grabbed my other arm. One last, lung-bursting effort, we all fell through the door together and the mission ended in the traditional St Mary’s manner with a panic-stricken tangle of limbs on the floor and everyone yelling for the door.
Chapter Thirteen
For a long time I heard only the sound of panting and the occasional groan. Farrell said, ‘Max, are you all right?’
‘Of course she’s all right,’ said Peterson, crossly. ‘She fell on me.’ Someone rolled off me. I rolled off Peterson and we all got our breath back.
I took stock. The door was safely shut. Something huge and disappointed prowled outside, but I didn’t care any more. They were all here. They were safe. For the first time in months, the sun came out. Guthrie stowed their useless weapons. Markham sat against the wall with his elbows resting on his knees and his scorched hands held out in front of him. He had a coating of medical plastic on them, but after eleven days it was peeling away. I reached up and got the med kit. ‘Now then, young Markey. How’re you doing?’
‘I’m OK. It’s been a bit of a bugger keeping all these senior staff safe, but yeah, I’m fine. You?’
‘Oh, you know, struggling on.’
I turned and found myself face to face with Peterson. Stepping forward, I gave him a hug. He held me tightly.
‘Oh God, Max.’ He couldn’t say any more.
I was a bit choked myself. ‘Tim, my dear old friend.’ I kissed his cheek. He turned away. Ian Guthrie shook my hand in a grip of iron and in a rare show of affection, clapped me on the shoulder. Obviously an emotional moment for him. This left Leon Farrell.
We looked at each other. I felt awkward. It was Markham who solved the problem. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Chief, give the girl a kiss!’ So he did. A bone-crushing hug lifted me off my feet. I felt a butterfly-light kiss in my hair. He – they all – smelled absolutely awful; the cabbage-smelling masking spray, sweat, mud, and they’d all coated themselves liberally in dinosaur shit in an effort to mask their own smell. Having the four of them in such a small space was making the paint bubble.
I opened the chiller and pulled out a six-pack. I think it’s fair to say they were impressed.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Markham. ‘You truly are the perfect woman. Will you marry me?’
‘I’d love to,’ I said. ‘Sadly, at the moment I’m unemployed, so I need someone who can support my expensive chocolate habit.’
‘No, I’m sorry, absolutely out of the question,’ said Peterson. ‘There’s no way the two of you should ever be joined in matrimony. This world is not yet ready for your offspring.’
I pretended to be insulted, but actually I was quite happy to continue this conversation. I could see Peterson looking around. He would know this was no regular pod. I glanced at the Chief and then looked meaningfully at the seat where he should sit. He shook his head very slightly, so I took it for myself, placing my foot where I could give Peterson a discreet kick when he started asking awkward questions.
He looked me up and down. ‘You’re looking charmingly informal today. What happened to the dress code and what have you done to your hair?’
‘Get used to it. This is not just a hairstyle. This is a way of life.’