AN: Re-working an old story. Apologies to those of you who read and reviewed it 10 months ago and then were left hanging. It's changed a bit, and this time there really are more chapters to come.
Enjoy! And please let me know what you think.
...
He could hear the angry roar of the creature, feel the ground shake as it pounded toward him. Only a few more steps.
The shimmering, fractured light of the newly-opened anomaly played in the trees ahead. Seven steps, just seven steps. Six. Five. The creature was almost on him. Four. Three. Two...
He fell rather then jumped through the anomaly. His shoulder hit hard against the rocky ground, and he rolled once to break the fall. But his fingers were already pressing the buttons, a well-practiced code, on the small black device in his hand, and seconds after he cleared the portal, it expanded then imploded behind him, and he collapsed on his back, gasping for breath.
After only a minute's rest, he was back on his feet, the device safely back in his pack, his 500 Tactical Cruiser at the ready in his hands, as he surveyed the new era. Mild climate, ancient pines, the calls and cries of various reptiles. Cretaceous? Maybe.
At one time, that would have spawned a glimmer of hope, hope that he had found the right anomaly this time: the right place, the right time. But he had been through so many now, and there was no way of knowing for sure. With only a prototype anomaly device and a partial map of known anomalies, he had long since moved into the realm of the unknown, the unmapped. And he had long since moved beyond hope.
He was a changed man. He had lost everyone he had cared about, failed everyone he had known. He was once respected and trusted, a member of the elite field team with the ARC. Now he was a fugitive, fighting his way through time, trying to find a way to change what had happened. A way to save them all.
With only an anomaly device and a gun. And the inability to give up.
Taking a deep breath, he started to walk.
…
He knelt by the headstone, and slowly traced her name with his fingertip. Abigail Sarah Maitland.
Abby. His dark eyes swam with tears that he struggled to keep from falling. He knew if he started to cry, the dam might break and he might never stop. He had never felt so broken.
The ARC owned a large plot of the cemetery. There were dozens buried here – soldiers and civilians alike, those that had died struggling to contain the anomalies and the creatures that came through. Nick Cutter was buried here. So was Sarah Page. And now Abby had joined them.
They had found her body in the woods. Rex had led them to her. She looked at peace, finally at peace, even with the blood that stained her clothing from the knife in her lap.
The tear had slipped down his cheek unnoticed, and when he tasted it in the corner of his mouth, he fiercely wiped his cheek dry.
"I'm coming, Abby," he whispered. "I'm coming."
…
It was faint, very faint. At first, he wasn't sure that it wasn't just his imagination playing tricks on him. He inhaled deeply again. No, he was sure of it. There was a slight tang of smoke in the air. Not enough to be a forest fire. More like a campfire.
His heart started to pound, even as his mind fought against the hope that rose, unbidden, in his chest. The first hope he had felt in years.
He could definitely smell the smoke now, and a hint of something else. Something cooking. He struggled not to break out into a run. "It could be anyone," he told himself, barely realizing he was speaking out loud. "Other people have stumbled through too. What are the chances, that you actually found the right one? Especially now."
He had to be getting close now, but he still couldn't see the fire, and in the growing dusk, he couldn't make out any smoke either.
"Where are you?" he growled, frustrated. He strained his eyes to see in every direction. The trees were sparser here, giving way to bushes and brambles, and there were more rocks and outcroppings. The light attached to his gun only illuminated a small area around him, and he knew if it got much darker, he would have to stop or risk falling and injuring himself.
He stopped, unclipping the light from his gun so he could shine it around him. Then he heard it. A soft, muffled voice. A woman's voice. And nearby. He couldn't make out what she was saying, but there was definitely someone out here.
He took a few more cautious steps, now following the voice as well as the smell, and within seconds he came around a cluster of rocks and could see the flickering of a fire and a figure, half in the shadow, sitting near it. He took a few steps forward, and his doubts disappeared.
"Abby!"
…
Abby let out a cry and scrambled backwards, shock responding like terror in her body at the sound of another human voice in a world populated only by dinosaurs.
She barely registered that the figure rushing toward her was crying out her name. He stopped short when he saw her fear, standing just within the light of the fire that now separated them.
Abby blinked, and stared, then started to gasp for breath as tears flooded her eyes.
His once-immaculate hair was now a little long and in disarray. His combat boots were scuffed and worn. His clothes were a mix of different human eras – medieval style rough cotton trousers held up with cord, and a faded t-shirt that was missing both sleeves. The arm of a crude woolen sweater hung from his battered military backpack, and he held tightly to a combat rifle that had seen better days. Three raised but faded red marks ran across his shoulder, disappearing into his shirt, and a newer scar marked his face from eyebrow to cheekbone, narrowly missing his left eye.
And it was his eyes that she recognized, over anything else. Dark and deep, though now weary and pained.
"Becker!"