He changed stances, taking aim at the bear’s face. Maybe he could sink a bullet into its skull. Maybe even its brain. Then he could whirl back to the mastodon, pump its feet and legs full of bullets. It was a long-shot, but what else could he do?
The bear raced forward, its paws scraping the floor with fury.
Caplan’s finger twitched against the trigger. It was only fifty feet out now. He wanted to shoot, but his brain told him to wait, to be patient. He wasn’t sure why, but somehow he knew it was the right decision.
Forty feet. Gaining speed, the bear passed the mastodon.
It’s a race, Caplan thought. And we’re the prize.
Thirty feet.
He could smell blood now. Wet fur, leathery skin, and rancid breath, too. The stench was overpowering, but the rising heat was even worse. Sweat dripped from his arms, his hands. He felt light-headed and off-balance.
Twenty feet.
Gritting his teeth, he squeezed the trigger as far as he could without firing the weapon. Then he steeled himself. Even if he managed a kill shot — a very unlikely proposition — the bear’s momentum made a collision almost inevitable.
Abruptly, the bear put on the brakes.
Caplan eased up on the trigger. What the hell is it doing? he wondered.
The bear leapt in front of the mastodon. With a piercing bellow, it rose up on its hind legs.
It’s… protecting us?
The mastodon blurted out a surprised trumpet. Then it charged the bear. Crashed into it and sent it spinning, rolling into the gate.
The bear flew back to its feet. Blood dripped from its furry chest as it once again rose on its hind legs. It swung its powerful arms, clobbering the mastodon’s head and scratching the creature’s face.
Caplan raced back to the crank. With the screams of Corbotch’s big shots ringing in his ears, he began to turn the mechanism. Slowly, the gate rolled sideways.
A fresh breeze, smelling of leaves and rain, blew through the gap. Feeling renewed, Caplan pushed harder. Morgan joined in to help and the gate rolled open another few inches.
The mastodon trumpeted again. Lowering its head, it swung its trunk at the bear’s legs. But the bear pounced on the trunk, forcing it to the ground. As the mastodon bucked like a wild horse, the bear sank its jaws into the creature’s neck. Blood spurted out fountain-style. The mastodon continued to thrash about, but with far less strength.
Morgan and Caplan gave the crank another full turn. The gate slid open a few more inches. “There.” Morgan released the crank. “That should do it.”
Roaring at a deafening volume, the bear opened its jaws for another vicious bite. But at the last second, it spun toward Morgan and Caplan.
And started to run.
The creature’s enormous size caused Caplan to do a double-take. It looked even bigger than he remembered. What the…? he thought. Is it… bigger?
Heart pounding, Caplan hoisted his rifle. But before he could aim it, the beast shifted a couple of feet to the side. Still running, it rose up on its hind legs and slipped between the narrow gap afforded by the open gate. Once outside, it dropped to all fours. Its paws pounded against concrete.
And then it was gone.
“It wasn’t protecting us,” Morgan said, her voice tinged with curiosity. “It was using us. Using us to get outside.”
Chapter 48
The mastodon was dying, but it sure didn’t act like it. Instead, it thrashed weakly about on the floor, bathing itself in its own blood. It tried to regain its footing on numerous occasions and blurted angrily with each failed attempt.
Caplan stared at the creature’s face and for the first time, noticed that its bright orange eyes were staring right back at him. They hinted at deep insanity, the sort of insanity that couldn’t be reached via natural means.
Lifting his gaze, he stared at the security checkpoint. He heard brutish growls and snarls. But no gunfire.
Squinting, he noticed six or seven big shots on the ground, some moving and some not. The others, he decided, had probably retreated back up the ladder to Research.
“If we wait any longer, we’ll be next,” Morgan whispered.
Caplan followed her through the open gate. He found himself in a dark concrete passage, supported by the occasional pillar. Although sturdy, the tunnel was in rather dilapidated shape. “This tunnel looks old,” he remarked.
“It is old,” she replied. “According to rumor, it was bored out of the ground by one of James’ ancestors.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Because he liked tunnels?”
They walked a little farther, following the tunnel as it curved to the southwest. A jet of warm wind accosted them, bringing with it the lingering scent of mud and pine needles. The outdoors… the Vallerio! Ahh, Caplan couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so eager to stride into the wild. A load lifted from his chest. His feet felt light in his muddied trail-runners.
But that wonderful feeling lasted mere seconds before reality crashed down upon him. The power was still down, meaning Sector 48A’s electric fence was out of commission. 1-Gen animals, newly hatched from their incubators, were probably swarming the Vallerio at that very moment. And of course, there was still the matter of the short-faced bear.
The growing short-faced bear.
“We should slow down,” Morgan said out of the blue. “The bear could be waiting for us.”
“Or the lion could be chasing us,” he countered.
Her gait shifted, morphed. She picked up speed, matching his pace. At the same time, she tried to mimic his silent footsteps with mixed results. He watched as she picked her way through the crumbling concrete chunks, dirt, twigs, and other debris. While he admired her effort, he knew it would only go so far. Speed and stealth were second nature to him, thanks to years spent in the wild. A test tube girl like Morgan, on the other hand, was simply out of her element.
Morgan winced as some old leaves crunched under her shoe. “What was that back there?” she whispered.
“You mean the animals? That’s your department, not mine.”
“I mean you jumping between me and the mastodon.” Her tone turned angry. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
“I know.” He exhaled. For five long months, he’d practiced speeches on the off-chance he’d ever see her again. But now that the opportunity had arrived, he had no idea what to say. “It’s just… well, I owe you.”
“Owe me?”
His face flushed, burning like fire. He tried to look at her, but couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “I was there when Tony died.”
Her facial muscles stiffened.
“He came to me on January 6,” Caplan continued, “and asked to borrow Roadster. Long story short, I agreed, but with one condition. I wanted to go with him.”
He paused, giving her an opportunity to respond. When she didn’t, he dove back into the story. “He directed me to a place he called Sector 48A. I still remember pulling up to it, seeing that electric fence. I asked him how he knew about it. He told me he’d first seen the fence on one of the video feeds.”
“And?” Morgan’s tone was firm, distant.
“He wanted to plant some cameras. So, he cut through the wires and crawled under the fence. Everything was fine until…”
“Yes?”
“Until he was attacked.” A flood of emotions grabbed hold of Caplan, tossing him to and fro. “These things… they snatched him away into the darkness. Seconds later, they sent him flying back toward the fence. He was cut up and bleeding like crazy. But he was still alive.”