The faint sound of leather scuffing against metal floated into Caplan’s ears. Whirling his head around, he stared at the ladder. “We’ve got company,” he said.
“Then we’d better move fast.” Morgan pointed at the back wall. “See those cylindrical things?”
“They look like bars.”
“That’s because they are bars. They’re made of reinforced steel and built directly into the gate.”
“Gotcha.” Caplan traced the crisscrossing bars from left to right, from top to bottom. All in all, the gate covered an area roughly twenty feet in length and fifteen feet in height. “How do we open it?”
“The crank is left of the gate,” she replied. “It was part of the original design.”
“Ever used it?”
She shook her head.
The scuffing noises grew louder. Spinning around again, Caplan saw a dress shoe exit the shaft, stepping onto a rung just below the ceiling. He lifted his rifle, took careful aim. Squeezed the trigger.
“You don’t want to do that.” Reaching across the entranceway, Morgan gently pushed down on the gun.
“Speak for yourself.” But Caplan released the trigger anyway. She was right. He would’ve loved to wing a few of Corbotch’s friends. But he couldn’t risk attracting the attention of the 2-Gens.
Caplan twisted around just in time to see the short-faced bear sink its teeth into the North American jaguar’s right shoulder. At the same time, the American lion clawed the jaguar’s belly, carving it open and causing organs and blood to spill to the floor. The jaguar screeched at high decibels before collapsing into a blood-soaked heap.
“Now.” Morgan snuck through the entranceway. “While they’re distracted.”
Shocked by the gore and frenzied violence, Caplan numbly followed her to the left wall. As they slunk alongside it, he kept one eye on the floor, making sure he didn’t trip over anything. His other eye, however, remained fixed on the bloodbath.
The American lion leapt on the jaguar’s belly, ripping out more organs and callously tossing them to the floor. The American mastodon trampled on the jaguar’s hind legs, shattering the bones. And the short-faced bear bit into the jaguar’s face, ripping at its eyes and snout. Within seconds, the creature’s carcass had been completely dismantled.
As the survivors turned on each other, Caplan’s fingers tightened on the rifle. Outside of sharks, he’d never seen such predatory violence before. How had they become like this? Had the process of de-extinction somehow turned them into bloodthirsty monsters?
At the corner, Morgan turned right. Hugging the wall, she made her way past ruined stations, broken equipment, and abandoned incubators. Caplan followed close at her heels, gun at the ready.
Jaws and claws dripping with blood, the short-faced bear rose up to its full height. Its head swiveled and cocked to one side.
Then its eyes bored into Caplan’s.
Oh, shit, he thought.
Abruptly, the American lion leapt into the air. It smashed into the bear, knocking the creature to its side. Before the bear could recover, the lion was scrambling on top of it, jaws chomping furiously as it tried to strike a deathblow.
The mastodon lifted its horn, blew out a couple of notes, laced with strange insanity. Then it charged the bear and lion.
The bear swiped its arm like a club, nailing the lion’s head. The lion lost its footing and spilt to the floor. The bear rose up, saw the mastodon. Claws clicking loudly, it climbed to its feet. As it dodged the charge, it turned its head again.
And looked at Caplan.
Caplan’s heart raced.
The bear turned to the lion. With a mighty roar, it slashed a paw at the creature’s skin.
Morgan and Caplan reached the next corner and started forward again, drawing ever closer to the Pleistocene death match. The available light from the flickering flames was exceedingly dim on this side of the facility. But Caplan could still see the beasts continue their relentless assaults on each other. Blood poured freely from their many wounds. But they didn’t bother to step back, to take breathers. They just kept biting, stabbing, stomping, and slamming into each other with unimaginable force.
Morgan and Caplan stopped in front of a large crank. It was chest-high and embedded into the concrete. The massive gate stood a few feet away, sandwiched between upper and lower brackets.
Caplan tried to study the crank. But a nearby carcass, that of a giant four-legged creature, distracted him. Against his better judgment, he stared at its bloodied fur, its carved up skin, its empty eye sockets. He didn’t recognize it, but it had possessed sharp claws and even sharper teeth. If it couldn’t defend itself against the other 2-Gens, what hope did he and Morgan have?
“The gate’s on wheels and moves sideways,” Morgan whispered. “So, we just need to unlock the crank and give it a few turns. The gate will open and we can make a run for it. Should be easy enough.”
Loud blasts pierced the air. Projectiles soared across the Lab, slamming into the gate and chewing up the walls.
Caplan threw Morgan to the ground and dropped on top of her. “You were saying?”
She opened her mouth to retort. But another volley of gunfire caused her to duck.
Anger surged through Caplan as he tried to shield her from the gunfire. He was tempted to grab his rifle, to return fire. To take out a few of Corbotch’s allies. But instead, he shifted his gaze along the floor. “Follow me,” he whispered.
Crawling quickly, Morgan and Caplan reached the carcass. Then they curled up into little balls, making themselves as small as possible.
A ghastly growl rang out. Lifting his head, Caplan saw the mass of Pleistocene beasts separate. He shot a quick glance at the entranceway and his gaze fell upon a small crowd of armed big shots. A grin curled across his lips. I hope you liked your little dinner party, he thought. Because the menu’s about to change.
With an earsplitting roar, the American lion took off across the basement. Claws clicking, it raced past the burning central platform. It reappeared as a shadowy streak a few seconds later.
More gunshots rang out. Shoes slapped against the floor. Then the horrible screams started. Caplan squinted, trying to make sense of the madness. But all he could see were big shots toppling like dominos.
Morgan pinched Caplan’s arm. Cocked her head toward the crank.
Caplan nodded and followed her back to the mechanism. As he grabbed hold of it, she unlatched a small box. A couple of dials and levers sat inside it, along with a key already in its lock. She turned the key. An audible click rang out.
Steeling his muscles, Caplan prepared to turn the crank. But an emphatic trumpeting froze him in place. Glancing up, he saw the American mastodon.
It lowered its trunk. Looked directly at him and Morgan. Its feet rose up and came down again, pounding against the floor.
Then it charged.
Caplan released the crank and grabbed hold of his rifle. It wasn’t nearly enough firepower to stop a creature of that size. The best he could hope to do was redirect it.
Morgan turned around and reached for the pistol tucked into her waistband. Before she could draw it, Caplan jumped in front of her. She gave him a dirty look and shoved him out of the way. Then she lifted her gun and took aim at the beast.
Caplan did the same. But before either one could fire, a powerful bellow filled the air. Then the short-faced bear barreled into the mastodon’s rear legs. The mastodon stumbled, lost its balance. Its front limbs splayed wildly and it came crashing down upon its knees. Trumpeting angrily, it rose up again and continued forward.
Caplan’s finger squeezed the trigger. But a sudden movement gave him pause. Horror filled his soul as he saw the short-faced bear streaking in their direction.