Chapter Thirty-Four

Clint smacked his shoulder painfully into the wide dash of the bus as he fumbled his way up the two steps, his wet boots slipping on the muddy and slippery edges. Outside, madness swirled. The bellowing honks of those bony headed animals mixed with the buffets of the storm and the thrashing hiss of the jungle. The sounds themselves seemed to chase after him, driving him up and into the safety of the bus.

He got to his feet and stumbled again as something smashed into the side of the vehicle, rocking it on its axle. There was a sound of rending metal and then more snorting and bellowing. He staggered up, the case tucked under arm and Wallace's shotgun slung over his shoulder. He threw himself into the driver's seat, tucking the case and gun down by his side and started the engine, sending that one working headlight cutting through the darkness ahead.

The blurry shapes of running dinosaurs sped through the light, their colours mixing with the dull yellow of the beam and then fading back into the black of the night. He couldn't tell which was which now. They were all monsters to him in this mayhem. All of them hellbent on maiming or murdering him. He looked in the side mirror, movement catching his eye in the edge of the red glow from the taillight.

It was Wallace. Only for a moment though. In a blur, he had rammed himself into something and tumbled over the edge of the slope. The flailing tail of dinosaur went with him, and maybe someone else. Lockwood maybe? Could have been. No time to wonder now. Time to fucking go!

He looked behind him, seeing the wet and confused faces of Williams, Viv and Marsden. The Canadian was looking at him with a glare he wanted to shrink from. Her blue eyes were like narrowed slits of ice. Don't you try anything. Jesus, please don't. Clint's hopes for any further calm were dashed away as someone else fought their way through the bi-fold doors, growling and spitting. Clint watched Cutter, feeling nothing but regret, fear and hate. Hate for himself that he had sided with this prick. Hate that he still needed him, now that he'd picked his side. Clint pulled the lever and closed the doors, shutting the storm and the charging animals outside.

"Where's that British shit?" wheezed Cutter, holding his leg and clenching his teeth. "Well?"

"He went over the edge of the slope,'' said Clint, revving up the engine. "I think."

"You think!?" Cutter almost shrieked it. "Well don't just sit there, fool. Get us out of here and down the damn road. We need to find him!" He hissed again, cursing loudly. He swung round to the others. "And you three, did you see him? Huh?"

"I saw him hit you,'' said Jane calmly, looking at Cutter evenly.

"Funny,'' said Cutter. He leered back round to Clint. "Come on!" Wished I'd seen Wallace hit you.

Clint put the bus in gear and drove them away from the house, leaning on the horn and trying to steer his way through the last of the fleeing dinosaurs. Numerous slaps against the windows left black splats of that hideous venom the frilled ones could spit. He manoeuvred the bus back onto the road and began turning it in a wide arc around the bend that led down the slope. Feels like steering a fucking tanker. Jesus this thing handles like a tug.

They rolled downwards, the short trees on the slopes eventually swallowing and surrounding them. The rain continued to lash against the windows but eased slightly as they delved deeper. Clint kept the bus slow, squinting to see any sign of Wallace. Seems damn hopeless though. What are the odds the one man that knows the way out of here is still alive?

"There!" said Marsden suddenly. "On the left." Clint could hear them all shifting in their seats, craning forwards against the windows, trying to see the warden. He was doing something similar. Clint slowed the bus up, and Cutter leant forward across the dash.

"Yes. There he is." Cutter turned and pointed at Viv. Clint felt the immediate apprehension grip his body. Cutter was making no secret of his thoughts towards Viv and Williams. He squeezed the steering wheel. "You. Go get the Englishman." He pointed his gun at her, and Clint could see her jaw squirming. Williams was shifting too. He won't care if they all die. But he'll care less if they die first. Prick.

Viv looked like she wanted to scratch Cutters eyes out. Clint didn't blame her. Probably wouldn't try and stop her either. But then that would end in only one outcome. And Clint wasn't sure how much more of it he could watch. He caught her eye.

"I'll cover you,'' he said, trying to find the most reassuring voice he could find. Viv just snorted at him.

"Like that's worth much." She stood up and made her way down the bus, stomping down the steps and looking out into the storm. Clint could see she was on the alert. Just up the slope they had escaped from those frilled monsters. Chances are there were more in that jungle.

He watched her dart out into the rain, dashing across the single beam of light at the front and making her way up the slope. He pulled the shotgun up and made his way to the door, watching for any sign of any other movement, straining his ears against the storm. The slightest hint of a hoot or snarl and he'd probably start firing out of sheer panic. I need a smoke.

Viv was coming back, dragging Wallace with her. There was no sign of Lockwood. One look at Wallace's face told Clint everything. My God. Another one? Shit. They boarded the bus, Wallace looking like he didn't know where he was. He was filthy, scratched and soaked through. His face though. That was the worst. Even if it wasn't slack on one side, his face carried all the awful agony of regret that Clint could feel inside him. Pretty much the only thing he felt now. After seeing Gail get devoured like that, he felt more and more disconnected to himself. Watching her die had been as bad as having her gun to his head. Both had just made the guilt sting worse.

No, it wasn't stinging anymore. It was stifling, crushing. Every look of scorn Williams gave him, every hard word from Cutter, every life gone just made him want to lay down and bury his head in the sand and not believe he had caused all this. Only you have. You know you have. And they know you have now too. No hiding it anymore. No hiding that for a few extra bucks you turned their lives upside down. Fuck.

Cutter stomped down the bus, tucking his gun and knife into his belt. He loomed up over Wallace, his beard glistening with rainwater and the darker colour of blood. Only now did Clint notice Cutters nose looked a bit bent. More than a bit actually.

"Got a few good knocks in there, Englishman,'' he said, sniffing noisily. "Suppose I can't blame you for having a go." He grabbed Wallace by the shirt collar and sank his fist into Wallace's stomach once, twice, three times, all of them mercilessly hard. Each punch sounded like a wet, solid thud, followed by a wheeze from Wallace. "Once more,'' said Cutter quietly, bringing his face close to Wallace's. "Only try something once more, and I will start cutting parts of people off. You hear? They'll be on the plane, but with how many hands or feet is up to you." He sunk one final punch into Wallace and then shoved him down into a seat.

"You want him to drive?" said Clint, wrinkling his nose as he watched Wallace fold into a heap in the seat. A man couldn't look much more defeated.

"No. Englishman and me are going to sit right here,'' said Cutter with a smile, as if there was nothing finer in the world right then. "He can direct you. Can't you?" Wallace mumbled something, and Clint found himself stood there, unable to move just yet. He looked at Wallace, seeing the loss on the man's face. Clint felt that stifling feeling again. He caught Williams eye and it got worse. Jesus Christ. Gail should have just shot me. But even then, he knew he didn't mean that. He kept thinking of that plane, how lucky he was if he could just get on it. Cutter kicked him in the shin, not hard, but not gentle.

"Come on then, my little shitting dog. Next stop, the airport please." Keep it up, asshole. I've still got this shotgun.

Clint shuffled back into the driving seat, scratching at his neck and trying to stop his lips from twitching in time with his jittering thoughts. He sniffed, it coming out more as a snort, as if that could reset his spasming face and wash away the conflict going on in his head. Just a few more hours. Just a few more hours. He took another glance at the case, knowing there was nothing more important than its contents. It was still cold to the touch. Wilson must have been confident the embryos in this batch would last. Just get to the plane, get to that manipulative fuck Dodgson and get your money. Then you are done. He stole a look at Cutter in the mirror. The man looked as ruthless as a shark. Unless he fucks you too. Clint dragged Wallace's gun closer and revved up the engine, snorting again.

He eased off the brakes and let the sloping gradient of the road do the work, freewheeling mostly and allowing himself time to look in every direction, expecting monsters to come charging out of the trees. Or from the seat close by. Monsters are everywhere. He looked at himself in the mirror, quickly looking away. The accusation in his own eyes was too much. That and the haggard and drawn face that looked back. He looked almost as bad as Wallace. Almost.

He followed the road, squinting through the rain and trying to make sense of Wallace's mumbling directions. The bus felt like it was driving through treacle, and Clint could feel a faint grinding, vibrating up through his hands and feet. It didn't feel good. He caught Cutters eye in the mirror.

"You think Dodgson will pay up?"

"Oh, he'll pay." Cutter was running the nail of a thumb across his eyebrow, occasionally prodding gingerly at his bent nose. "From what I've seen here, he'll pay through his arse for it. Don't you worry." I always worry. Especially when it comes to the likes of Lewis Dodgson and you. Clint just nodded slowly, holding Cutters eye. Desperate to see any sign of deception. And I know all about that.

His eyes darted across the other passengers, expecting a glaring sea of eyes. There was only one set. Jane Marsden, with those cold, cold blue eyes behind those dirty and cracked glasses. She looked like hell herself. They all did. But there was something about the way she was watching him. It was less antagonistic, more…curious. As if she was trying to work something out. He could see her hand resting on her thigh, her fingers gently tapping at her pants pocket. Clint didn't like it one bit. Damn Canadian. She's got a lot to answer for, pushing me into volunteering for that damn rescue mission. And how did that turn out? Everyone that was in that truck is now dead. Except for me. Come on Clint, lets just fucking keep it that way. Stop flapping and start surviving. You can do this. Just don't think about it.

Someone was moving down the aisle slowly, grunting and rumbling. Clint groaned inwardly as Williams sat down across from him, throwing dark looks at Cutter and Clint in equal measures. Cutter just sneered at him. Clint risked a glance at the Captain, immediately wishing he hadn't. Seemed the old Jamaican had mastered the look of accusation as well. Clint did his best to ignore him, choosing to hang on every word Wallace said when he offered direction. Didn't last long.

"What happened to you, Barker?" said Williams, looking like the question was as baffling as the answer might be. Clint frowned, unsure if he even knew.

"I told you. I got desperate." It sounded weak, saying it again out loud. As it had before. Williams was shaking his head slowly, a big frown tumbling over her eyes.

"So desperate you couldn't come to me first? You worked for me, what, seven years? Have I not earnt your respect in that time?" Clint rolled his lips back from his teeth, not liking this. Not one fucking bit.

"It wasn't about respect,'' said Clint, a little too quickly.

"Clearly,'' said Williams.

"It was my problem,'' said Clint, steering between a tight section of trees. "Fucking jungle," he muttered. "You think I wanted you to find out how much debt I had? How my time away from your damn ship was spent at the casino's, pissing my money away?" He huffed, unable to stop himself now that he had started. "I got myself into that mess. So I found a way out of it. A way to make things better."

"And this is what better looks like, is it Barker? Dead people and those left alive held at gunpoint?" Williams frown was unbearable. Always had been, the asshole.

"I did what I had to,'' said Clint, desperately trying to hold his resolve.

"Pah!" spat Williams. "You did what they wanted you to do, and look what its cost. Is it true, you caused the explosion on my ship?" Took him longer than I thought. Clint let out a sigh, feeling his insides prickle and squirm. Nothing worse than being scolded by your boss. Ex-boss, I should say.

"Yes,'' said Clint flatly. Williams just watched him.

"That's all you have to say? Criminal damage and Lord knows how many bodies washed up on the shore, and you got nothing? Some of those bodies were my crew. Your crew, once upon a time." That one stung. Clint almost winced. "You put us all here Barker. You and your desperation."

Wallace indicated the next turning and Clint swung the bus round slowly, entering into a long and winding stretch of sloping jungle. The engine rumbled and growled, mirroring Clints thoughts as he drove them on silently, trying to ignore Williams. That grinding was getting worse, but instead of a distraction it just brought his mind back to Williams and his damn frown of disapproval.

"You think I wanted any of this? You think it doesn't make me sick?" He yanked the steering wheel down hard as he rounded a bend, his actions feeling connected to every word he spoke. "Tried to do right, since we landed on that beach. Tried to help people, thinking it would help myself." His insides were feeling hotter now, his face getting flushed. Stop talking then, idiot. "I didn't want any more blood on my hands than there already was, Captain."

"Far as I'm concerned, all the blood is on your hands. And this murderer here." Williams shot Cutter a glare. Cutter just stared back, his lips slightly twitching. "And I aint your Captain anymore. You don't get to call me that." Fuck, that stings even worse. Why do I still care? I'm almost done with this nightmare. What's just a bit more scorn? "You know what the worst thing is though Barker? All this death and you don't look like you carry an ounce of blame." If only you knew.

Williams pushed himself back up and swung himself along the aisle, using the posts for support. The space where he had been sitting looked so much emptier than it should have done. Clint huffed quietly, wishing the ache would just stop. Didn't seem likely. A big wad of money should help. Shouldn't it?

The bus bumped through a rut and the grinding got worse, the sudden increase in the sound of metal crunching on metal noticeable above the engine and the heavy patter of the rain on the windows.

"Shit,'' said Clint, feeling the bus dragging slightly. More than slightly. Something was very wrong.

"What now?" asked Cutter.

"I don't know," said Clint, frowning. "Feels like the back of the bus is in the ground." Clint slowed the vehicle and brought it to a squealing stop. He pulled the door levers and made to get up, already hating the look of the rain that was about to soak him. Cutter tutted at him.

"Oh no,'' he warned. "You stay right there." He pointed Wallace's knife at Viv again. Oh god, don't say it. "You. Go check what's wrong with the bus." Viv looked back at Cutter, eyes flicking across to Clint. Clint looked away. Viv shook her head, almost pleading now. Pleading to me? What can I do?

"I'll go,'' said Marsden. The woman got up without another word, gliding down the aisle and slipping out of the doors as if there wasn't a dinosaur infested jungle as a bus stop. Clint looked at Cutter.

"You think she'll try anything?"

"Not much to try, other than running,'' sniffed Cutter. "And if she does that, I'll send the next one out there." He smiled at Viv.

Marsden reappeared suddenly, hopping back onto the bus. She shook the drops of water off her coat in Clint's direction.

"It's one of the rear wheels. Looks out of alignment. Probably the work of a charging pachycephalosaurus." She looked at Cutter, clearly implying his ill-advised gunshot had spooked them into the stampede. Although, it hadn't. But she'd never been one to turn down a withering look. "We'll need to repair it." Cutter let out a deep sigh, his lips pursing through the scraggly thatch of his beard.

"Far from ideal. You, Englishman." He jabbed Wallace in the ribs with the barrel of his gun. "How far are we to this mysterious airfield of yours?"

"Too far to walk. In this storm, we wouldn't have a chance if a predator picks up our trail"

"Not the answer I wanted,'' said Cutter, frowning.

"There's a maintenance depot, a few miles away from here,'' said Wallace, rubbing his ribs. "We can repair the bus there. It will be fenced, and maybe offer some shelter or food." Cutter rubbed his chin slowly, looking like he was puzzling out some sort of equation. After a few moments he sniffed.

"Fine. You, Barker, you think this thing will make it?"

"Maybe,'' said Clint. You'd better pray it does. I am. "Just tell me which way, Wallace." He tried to sound to the point and full of conviction. But even I can hear the wobble. Shit, I hate this.

Clint pulled the doors shut again and revved up the engine, feeling the reassuring cold edge of the case by his leg. Stupid how such a simple object was so important. Wallace directed him on, and he eased the protesting bus back onto the road, the chassis audibly creaking and that nasty grinding sounding like a metallic fuse counting down to the next problem. And I am sick of problems.

The bus rumbled and clanked on, Clint trying his best to take it as steady as he could following Wallace's directions. The wet squeals of hanging jungle foliage dragged against the windows as they passed, a sound almost as bad as the grinding beneath Clint feet. Every bump or splat from the vegetation could be the swinging tail or lashing claws of monsters, daring Clint to not flinch on every impact. He didn't do so well with that dare.

His nerves were barely hanging together. Over the last few days they had been tested, shredded and patched back together by sheer force of will to survive. It was a process he was very much keen to avoid in future. The second he collected that money from Dodgson he was headed to the Bahamas. Sun, sand and no fucking giant lizards or bald-headed lunatics or murdering doctors or any of these damn accusing looks!

He gave the bus a bit more gas and sped up, splashing through the deep puddles and bouncing them along at a better pace now, despite the sounds coming from the rear wheel. The repetitive shapes of the jungle rolled on by, swaying and leaning out in front of him as he negotiated the track. The single beam from the headlight wobbled and jumped as the juddery wipers cleared the endless downpour from the glass. But what's this? Clint frowned, not quite sure if he was seeing right. The rain was easing, the large drops on the windshield looking not so large.

Soon, the small rivers on the glass were subsiding and the dragging of the rubber on the wipers was becoming irritating. Clint couldn't resist the strange feeling of optimism as he knocked the switch and stopped the wipers. A good omen, maybe? God knows I could use one. He flicked a glance at Cutter in the mirror, and that optimism felt like it took a stab to the guts. The South African was scanning the other passengers, a heavy frown on his face. He had the look of a butcher counting up which sheep to cull. Didn't look like many would escape his knife. Does that include me?

"Take the next right Barker,'' said Wallace. Clint grunted and swung the bus round at the turning. It seemed the omens kept coming. The jungle began to fall away on each side, shrinking away from the road and being replaced by low shrubs and bushes. The road was widening out too, and in the centre of the track tall posts were stood at intervals, the tops revealing hanging lights of some sort. Or so Clint guessed. The bulbs were very clearly off, darkness still very much in control. Cant get all the good omens I suppose.

The bus's headlight began to reveal an approaching fence, not unlike the high article that had encircled the worker village. The tops were inverted, looming over the inner side slightly and punctuated by more lights, once again no sign of illumination. The road ran up to an open gate in the fence, wide enough for two vehicles to pass through at once. Looked like it carried on through the compound and exited through a further gate. Clint guided the bus through the entrance and brought it alongside the low garages and squat buildings. Gas pumps were positioned by one of the garages, and in the glow from the headlight Clint could make out all sorts of industrial looking paraphernalia. Chains, coiled and stacked. Crates and cages. Piles of wooden posts and steel girders, and what looked like a heap of old tyres. Beyond the reach of the light more dark shapes lay, God only knows what they were. The whole place looked like a cross between a junkyard and gas station. No sign of anything scaly yet either. Place looks completely deserted.

"This the place?" said Cutter? "Bit dark isn't it?"

"Power must have been shut off. This place doesn't run off the normal geo-thermal power. Those lights leading up to the fence that we passed under are usually PIR activated. You want light, we need to kick start the generator that will be round the back somewhere." Wallace was looking more and more defeated. Made Clint uncomfortable.

"We don't need power to replace a wheel,'' said Cutter. Cutter snorted up something from his nose and spat it onto the floor. "Or, you don't need power I should say. So lets get moving eh? And you three. Many hands and all that."

Cutter gestured at the others with his gun, and Clint swallowed the lump in his throat. Every time he points that gun… Clint pulled the door lever and the bi-folds opened, the cool wind blowing in. Wallace trudged off the bus, followed by the others. Cutter came last, flicking his head in the doors direction at Clint. Clint had time to notice the fuel gauge on the bus before he got up.

"We might need power after all you know,'' he said. "This thing is running low, and we don't know how long Wallace is going to keep us going. There are pumps over there."

"Sounds like a job for you then, my shitting dog,'' said Cutter, turning those eyes on Clint. "You want me to hold that case whilst you go look?" He smirked.

"Funny,'' said Clint.

"I'll take this though,'' said Cutter, and in a flash he reached across Clint and plucked the shotgun up from beside the seat. "Bit of incentive for you to behave to eh?" Clint watched him coldly, feeling the strongest urge to land a punch on that broken nose. Clint pulled out Gail's empty pistol. Still got this card to play.

"Here's your incentive then,'' said Clint, showing him the gun and holding the case high. "Won't take much to fuck these things up." Cutter just chuckled.

"I like you, shitting dog. But we both know your bark is worse than your bite. Certainly explains your last name."

"Fuck you, Cutter,'' grunted Clint, pushing is way past the big man. "I'm going to look for the power." Cutter just grinned at him.

Clint trudged out into the night, feeling the strange sensation of fading safety as he moved away from the bus. Clint watched Williams and the others for a moment, looking at the damaged wheel and then the open gate. Considering making a run for it or worrying about a monster strolling in? I know I am thinking about both.

"Right then,'' barked Cutter. "You, Englishman. Get this thing sorted. And you, kaffa's." Clint's mouth scrunched up, hating the feeling that lanced through him when he saw Williams and Viv's face. That hurt, that anger. The disdain of Cutters face making it so much worse. He walked past the bus, leaving the others to Cutters watchful glare. Marsden offered Clint her own as he passed from view, heading towards the nearest building.

Strips of metal, links of chain and small crates impeded Clints path. He kicked them all out of the way with an air of frustration, the items clinking or clanging into the wooden walls of the approaching building. A piece of metal smashed through a small window, and he heard a few gasps from the others. He ignored them, pushing through the door into the dark of the building and suddenly feeling very, very alone.

The storm outside continued to blow its anger, but it was almost worse in here. It was quiet, and everything felt untouched. The smell of oils, rubber and other metallic substances drifted to him, mixing with the dank and damp smell of the recent rainfall. It felt like he was on a ghost ship of a sudden, adrift with nobody but the empty rooms ahead of him and the constant doubts gnawing away in his head. And who is the Captain of this fine vessel?

The boards groaned and creaked, and the wind began to whistle through holes in the wall. Clint flicked a battery powered lamp on that stood on a workbench and the dim yellow glow illuminated a workshop of sorts. More workbenches lined the walls, with stools tucked under them. Vices and other clamps were fixed to the benches, and on the walls were a few tool boards. Wrenches, spanners and screwdrivers hung in a haphazard manner along with a bewildering array of other tools, and Clint could see the glint of light on iron filings scattered across one bench.

Against one wall was a lower desk with a computer, the screen blank. Paper and folders lay beside it, probably a jobs list for whichever poor soul had to work here and carry out the repairs and maintenance of whatever the hell was brought to them.

Clint envied them. Seems much humbler than sticking a knife in the back of your Captain for a bit of money. He carried on through an adjoining door, the darkness swallowing him again. The emptiness of the next room attacked that feeling in his stomach again, made him feel that isolation. At least, I hope it's empty. I'd take the darkness over the kind of inhabitants on this damn rock.

He spotted what he was looking for, tucked against the wall on the floor. The power cables snaked along the ground, twisting and running in and out of rubber housing and splitting off to either go upstairs through the ceiling or outside. He went back and picked up the lamp and followed the cables, weaving between tall shelving units and other cabinets of unremarkable appearance. High bookshelves were stacked with various manuals and guidebooks for vehicle maintenance or machinery repair. Unfinished cups of coffee sat on almost every surface, and beside one was half a sandwich. Clints stomach growled but he couldn't bring himself to pick it up. The seven or eight flies that crawled all over it made it somewhat unappetising.

Clint followed the cables out of a rear door, stepping out into a kind of fenced yard at the back of the building complex. A decrepit picnic bench sat in a corner, whilst more debris and evidence of supplies and spares were piled in not so neat stacks. Beyond the fence, the jungle loomed, its dark presence a constant reminder of its smothering hold of the island. Clint felt that smothering hold grip tighter. I just want to be rid of this place. Rid of everyone here. Rid of this blame.

The cables snaked their way along the edge of the yard and finally stopped at a generator, tucked against the wall. Clint made his way towards it, looking either side of him and just waiting for something to show itself or come wandering out of the jungle. Rid of those damn monsters as well. If I have to live with demons forever, so be it. But those things can go to Hell. Probably see them there someday anyway.

He moved around the generator, finding the control panel and fumbling the buttons and pumps, coaxing a bit of life into it. The buttons were stiff with rust and dried algae, crunching down when he pushed them. He operated the pump and heard the familiar whirring of machinery coming on. The generator coughed a few times and then the whirring became more confident. Let's take this as a good omen again.

Inside the depot, various lights were coming on, shining out of the windows and sending long strips of light and shadow along the yard area. Around the fence, the tall lights were flickering on, shining down in wide arcs around the perimeter. Clint nodded to himself and went back inside, wending his way through the depot, noticing a few more details this time with the light. Maps and charts on the walls, and a calendar with a very nice-looking blonde woman covering her bare tits with her hands, the sapphire blue surf of a sun-bleached shore lapping around her scantily clad ass. Now that's where I am headed!

He headed back towards the bus, the dying winds of the storm tugging and blowing at him as he stepped outside. The storm was losing its momentum, finally exhausting itself and whimpering away. And not a moment too soon. Feel like I can finally hear myself think. Clint approached the gas pumps, selecting a nozzle and giving the trigger a few squeezes. The pumps made a chugging sound and a few spurts of gasoline arced out and splashed onto the grass. Clint grunted in satisfaction, feeling like this small accomplishment was enough to absolve him of any recent wrongdoing. Any excuse, I suppose.

The nozzle was thankfully on the end of a long hose, most likely to accommodate the larger vehicles InGen used about the island. He dragged it towards the bus, flipping open the fuel port and ramming the metal nozzle into the hole. He silently filled the bus, feeling the dull vibrations of the passing fuel flowing through the hose. On the other side of the bus, he could hear the grumbles and murmurs of the others, struggling with the wheel. Occasionally he heard Cutters snort of frustration or derision. Why did it have to be him that was on my team?

The trigger clicked in his fingers and a small overflow of gasoline trickled out. He pulled the nozzle and just let it fall to the floor. He shut the fuel port and walked around the bus, seeing Cutter still stood watching the others. Beyond him, the tall lamps that stood in the centre of the track were all aglow, revealing lit sections of the road and nearby foliage in spotlights of white light. In sequence, they began to go out, the PIR timer obviously reaching its end and shutting the lamp off. One by one they went out, returning the track to darkness.

Clint came and stood beside Cutter, unconsciously tucking the cold case a bit closer to his side. He watched the others. It was quite painful. They had managed to find the bus's jack, and were slowly winching it up by hand, the bus moving up at an agonisingly slow rate. Looked like they were all taking turns, whilst Williams was on his back beneath the rear of the bus, fussing with what Clint guessed was the spare. Wallace was looking tired, but he was going at the jack with an energy Clint couldn't believe. The man's strength seemed endless. In a way, he hoped it was. They needed Wallace. Certainly more than they ever needed me. Clint looked sideways at Cutter, seeing the man watching them. Clint felt cold inside.

"You're going to kill them, aren't you?" said Clint, feeling a gurgle of nausea in his stomach. Cutter pursed his lips, as if deciding what to have from a menu.

"Maybe,'' he said after a moment. "Definitely the Englishman."

Clint felt that cold spread. He knew Cutter was capable, but he didn't think he'd do it in cold blood. He'd watched him fight and throw Gail to that monster, knowing it was life or death for either of them. But this? This icy attitude to the carefree murder of these people? Is this what it takes to survive? To agree with this man?

"Hey, kaffa,'' snapped Cutter, looking at Viv. "Eyes on the task." Viv glared at him and bent back to the jack.

"Do you have to?" said Clint, steeling a glance at the shotgun in Cutters hand and the knife at his belt.

"Have to what?"

"Speak to them like that?" Cutter turned towards Clint.

"That's what they are,'' he said quietly. "You don't like it? You can go help them." Clint felt his knuckles squeezing together on the case handle. But he knew Cutter had him. Hardly like they'd welcome me to their ranks with open arms.

An hour dragged by, then most of a second. Clint felt the annoying prickle of restlessness poking at his insides as he watched them work. In an effort to keep his mind occupied he'd taken a few turns about the compound, making sure the area was still deserted save for them. It was all quiet still. The storm had stopped too, finally blowing away and leaving them to the chirping insects of the jungle. In the distance, the long calls and roars of dinosaurs howled. At least they are far away. In the east, beyond the road and above the top of the jungle, the first faint glows of a red sunrise were seeping into the sky. Another welcome sight. Feels like days since I've seen the sun. Feels good, for a change.

Clint was back at Cutters side now, watching Wallace and Marsden tighten the final bolts on the spare wheel with the old T-bar. The bus was back in action, and Clint could feel the restless energy turning into impatience. He just wanted to be gone now. Get to the airfield and leave. Leave this hell behind for good.

"That's got it,'' said Wallace finally, giving one last turn of the bolt.

"Let's go then,'' said Cutter.

"We should wait out the rest of the night here,'' said Wallace. "It's safer."

"I'll decide what's safer,'' said Cutter, looming up over Wallace. Clint was expecting Cutter to shove him away, or display some sort aggression. Instead, Cutter just smiled, as if they were best friends. Clint could almost see the intent in Cutters eyes though. Wallace will be first. Stabbed? Shot? Strangled? There seemed to be an awkward silence, building on the tension that crackled between them all.

Then Viv come flying out of nowhere, swinging a chain and yelling. Clint gasped, the sudden movement and noise startling him. He almost hid behind the case, but his guts cramped up even further when Cutter calmly caught the chain on the shotgun, letting the links wrap around and around it. He yanked his arm and the chain was pulled from Viv's hands. She stumbled after it, sprawling on the floor and getting a mouthful of dirt.

Marsden was by her side, helping her up as Cutter dropped the shotgun and pulled out his handgun, pointing it at Viv and the others. Wallace and Williams were caught frozen, the T-bar in Wallace's hands looking very much like an intended weapon. Looked like their last-ditch effort had failed too. Did Viv move too soon? Shit. What now?

Clint looked at Williams and saw the worry in the mans eyes. Williams knew. Clint knew too. Oh fuck. I didn't want this. Cutter pulled the firing hammer down, and that click sent a shudder through Clint. A flurry of twitches travelled up Cutters face.

"I've had about enough of you lot,'' he growled. He took a step back, giving himself room. "Never trust a damn kaffa." He pointed the gun at Viv and Clint watched in slow motion as his finger curled around the trigger.

Clint found he'd also moved towards Cutter, the cold in his stomach suddenly turning hot. Hotter than anything Clint had felt before. He seemed to move quicker than Cutter. Clint dropped the empty pistol in his hand and pulled Wallace's knife from Cutter belt. He wasn't in control of his body, and he seemed to watch from afar as he plunged the knife into the back of Cutter thigh, twisting and growling.

Cutter whirled round, hissing. His huge frame towered over Clint, seeming to dwarf him. But Clint was already swinging the case. As the cold edge connected with Cutters jaw, the case flew open and the little glass vials of priceless embryos flew out. Some bounced off Cutters chest, the rest spilled to the ground, the glass audibly cracking. Clint didn't care. Didn't care that the money he was so willingly to do anything for was quickly slipping from his grasp.

It was all clear in his head now. God knows it had taken him long enough.

Cutter howled with pain and his arm went wide, his handgun firing off a few shots into the still night. The others ducked for cover. And then it became a blur between him and Cutter. The big man lunged at him, but Clint was faster, swinging that case again. Each impact seemed to hammer home the decision. The right decision.

"You fucking…" hissed Cutter, grasping at Clint. Clint pushed a hand into that broken nose and Cutter roared. Clint picked up the fallen length of chain, and Wallace's shotgun unravelled and thudded to the floor. Clint smashed the case back into Cutter chin, snapping the mans head back. He picked up the shotgun, but Cutter was too close.

"Wallace!" he yelled, tossing the weapon through the air. The warden snatched it and twirled it in his hands, looking ready to take aim. Cutter was still too close to Clint though, a shot now might kill both of them. Maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Cutter barrelled into Clint, tackling him to the ground. Clint's hand brushed the knife still lodged in Cutters leg. His fingers closed on it and he yanked it down, feeling the blade tear through flesh as they tumbled to the floor together.

Wallace and Williams came towards them, but Cutter still had hold of his gun, aimlessly pointing it in their direction. Another shot went off. Clint exchanged a few punches with the big man as they rolled on the floor. Clint pulled at the knife and Cutter roared. And so did something else.

They all looked beyond the gate for a moment, frozen. In the distance, from the deep dark, one of the motion activated lamps came on. A dark shape moved beneath the light. A big shape. Oh shit.

"Wallace!" wheezed Clint. "Go! Get them out of here!" Clint landed another punch on Cutter and the big man sagged for a moment. Clint tried to scramble away from him. There was a thud in the distance. Another light came on. Closer. Clint raised the knife but Cutter slapped it from his hand, sending it spinning towards the others.

Wallace looked pained as he picked up the blade. He looked ready to run at Cutter but he turned and dashed for the bus, Viv and Marsden following.

"Barker, you damn fool!" hissed Williams. "Come on!"

"Go!" yelled Clint. "I'll follow!" Is all forgiven? Is this all it took? Williams grunted, looking torn between wanting to pull Clint free and get on the bus.

There was a howl, and another light came on. The thuds grew heavier. Clint pushed Cutter down, and then tried to move away from him.

"Come on Barker!" cried Williams, extending a hand from the doorway of the bus. The engine growled to life. Down the track, another light came on, then another.

Cutter's hand closed around Clint shin and pulled him back. Cutter seemed to be on his feet in a flash, that handgun whipping round and pointing at Williams. The gun went off and sparks leapt from the edge of the bus, inches from Williams face. Clint hissed and tackled Cutter, finding himself on his knees and his hand brushing the links of the chain again. He yanked it up and swung it at Cutter as hard as he could. The length of chain wrapped around Cutter this time. Clint caught the other end and pulled, pinning Cutters arms as Clint moved behind him.

Ahead of them, the bus's exhaust choked out a dirty cloud. To their right, the next light came on. A black silhouette snarled in the light. The thuds were coming faster now.

Cutter tried to aim again, gaining his feet, but Clint kicked him in the beck of the knee and brought him down again, keeping his grip on the chain. Felt like he had a wild animal at the leash. Maybe I do.

Clint looked up and saw Williams at the door of the bus, a look of tortured conflict on his face. Clint looked at the approaching shape, then back at Williams, and then finally at the back of Cutters head. Clint felt sick, but it felt right. He looked up at Williams.

"Go Captain,'' he yelled. Williams looked back at him blankly, but finally nodded. Might have been a look of regret on the man's face. Then the bus began to move away, the smell of the exhaust filling Clint's nose.

The bus drove away, following the track through the compound and disappearing through the far gate. Leaving Clint and Cutter in the dirt, struggling with each other. That feeling of being alone had never felt more real. Or more right.

Cutter was looking down the road, watching the lights coming on one by one.

"Barker, you damn fucking fool! What are you playing at? Let me go! Now!"

Clint just pulled tighter, watching the lights coming on, and the shape coming closer. He felt a bizarre grin creeping across his face. He put his lips by Cutters ear.

"What's the matter? Look at you, for fucks sake." Cutter looked sideways at him. "You're shaking like a shitting dog." Cutter's eyes went wide, and Clint felt that satisfaction spread through his body.

Then Hellbitch appeared under the final light and looked right at them. The monster sniffed the air, and that strange long horn on one side of her head raked the air. Her tongue lolled out, and Clint saw the wound his bullet had left. You remember, don't you. I certainly do.

"Barker!" hissed Cutter. No. This is how it needs to be. This is how we pay. He pulled the chain tighter. This is how I pay.

The dinosaur stamped a foot and then came lumbering at them, its bloody wounds still visible against it's sickly pale pink scales.

The animals charged up, towering above them and seeming to blot out the growing blood-red colour of the sky above. Clint yanked Cutter round, giving in to that irresistible urge to shield himself from the oncoming teeth. Clint screamed, his courage finally giving way as Hellbitch' s maw yawned wide. He shoved Cutter towards it and the jaws closed on Cutters torso, the head yanking down and dragging Cutter with it. That long horn raked through the air again and caught Clint in the stomach and upper thigh as he tried to back away.

He cried out as the force of it knocked him down. Cutter was screaming, but Clint ignored it, looking down and seeing a horrible long red wound in his gut and leg. Gristly and red flesh peeped out at him from the tear in his clothes, and he then the pain came searing through him.

He stumbled away, holding a hand to his stomach and feeling hot blood gushing over his fingers. Every step was painful as he tottered towards the gate and the bright light of the nearest lamp. Against the dark sky above, the light looked like a halo. They always say you see a bright light.

He stumbled to his knees, a splat of blood staining the dirt beneath him. He whimpered, feeling tears prick at his eyes. He crawled away from the light, into the longer grass next to the road. The longer blades whipped and brushed harshly against his cheeks. In the compound, Cutter was still screaming, an awful blood curdling shriek, mixed with gurgles and retches. There was a heavy thud and a loud tearing noise. The screaming stopped.

Clint kept going, seeing the edge of the jungle in front of him. Maybe if I could just hide. God this hurts. This really hurts. Am I dying?

He reached the trees, crawling beside them and over the thick roots. Am I a good man? Fuck I don't think it was worth this. The darkness began to cover him, as he wove his way slowly inwards.

Behind him he heard the heavy thuds again. They were coming closer. The tremors in the ground sent small stabs of pain through him.

He crawled for what felt like an eternity, feeling his waning strength finally give out. The ground shook behind him as he collapsed, rolling onto his back. Above him, in the dim but growing light from the sky behind, Cutter looked down at him, grasping hands reaching at the end of limp arms. Clint frowned. Blood speckled on Clints face as he watched Cutter's upper body dangling in the vice-like grip of Hellbitch's mouth. Oh.

Hellbitch twitched her head and Cutters torso slumped to the ground next to Clint, his entrails slithering out and his glazed over eyes looking at Clint with nothing but accusation. A look I am well used to. Only fitting really. And now let's have a look at you, you persistent bitch.

Hellbitch stood over Clint, scaly slips twitching back from the blood covered teeth. The stink of her was thick. Her jaws opened wide, and Clint felt the fear wash through him and away with the odd relief of knowing his debt was about to be settled. I've paid for my sins.

The jaws came down and closed around his head.