Chapter Fifteen
Raoul's face slammed onto the cargo bed of the truck, his teeth clamping down painfully against the dirty rag that had been wrapped around his head and across his mouth. It stank of oil. He might of grunted, but his head was still thumping from the pain of being cuffed by a big man with a big gun to notice any sound. The fall to the ground had not done much to help either. Bits of dirt from the shingle were still smeared up his face, some of the small stones were in his mouth, hard and unfamiliar. He was certain he'd swallowed some before they gagged him.
He felt the tickle of blood down his face, leaving an irritating itch that mingled with the harsh grit on his cheek. The edges of his mouth were already sore from the rag. The fabric had been pulled tight when they gagged him, and he could feel his lips stretching, a nasty pressure only getting worse.
He tried to sit up. A useless effort. His bound hands, tied just as tight behind him, left him unable to balance. His fingers waggled before he toppled sideways, banging his head again. His attempt had given him a view out the back of the truck though.
Dark figures were wrestling with other figures. For a moment it looked like people arranging mannequins that wouldn't stand still. There was a lot of growling and cursing, both from clear voices and gagged voices, in English, Spanish and some unfamiliar languages. Sounded European of some sort. One of the struggling figures pushed back against the two men handling it.
"…Oo uckng ogs!" Diego's voice. Raoul recognised it even distorted by the rag across his mouth. Diego was pushed against the tailgate of the truck and then dealt a swift punch to his stomach. His eyes bulged then squeezed shut, a wheezy sound rushing out of him.
"Temper temper,'' said one of the men, voice gravelly and full of scorn, before they bundled him up onto the cargo bed and pushed him over. He landed with a heavy thump beside Raoul, trying to cough and retch behind his gag. There was more scuffling going on outside, and soon Ricardo had been roughly thrown in next to them, his face already purpling and swelling from the beating he'd taken. His half-lidded eyes were almost fully closed, forced shut from the growing lump above his eyebrows and on his cheeks. A single red line crossed his bald head, a bead of blood bubbling and dripping from the end of the cut. He was groaning quietly, pitifully. Sounded a lot like Diego. Sounded like a lot of men when they've taken a beating. God knows Raoul knew that well enough.
Outside, in the growing dark, someone laughed. A humourless and throaty giggle, laced with that note of triumphant supremacy and careless confidence only found in arrogant assholes. And Raoul's fists clenched together. The ropes that held his wrists tight creaked and strained, and he hissed against the rag in his mouth. His body felt hot.
A silhouette appeared by the tailgate. The bastard with the hat and wiry hair. The one who'd cuffed him to the ground. Raoul couldn't see his eyes, just a sliver of weathered skin across his lower jaw from the taillights. Raoul's body felt hotter still, mixed with a churning in his stomach. The man sniffed noisily, the contents of his nose sounding somewhat mobile. The man lifted his hand, making the shape of a gun with his fingers, big digit pointing at each of them while his thumb cocked the invisible hammer. He made quiet little gunshot noises with each shot he took, executing them all like lambs in a slaughter pen. The others were silent as they watched, eyes twitching slightly when that hand pointed at them, the childish action as threatening as a real and loaded weapon.
The finger pointed at Raoul, and the breath came harder through his nose, a growl escaping his bound mouth, sounding animalistic in his throat. He glared back, defiant, challenging. No thought to himself. No thought to his crew. Or his wife, or his children.
There was only the hatred, and the white-hot fire in his blood. It engulfed everything, diminishing sense and the painful knowledge this was his fault. But he was damned if that would defeat him. Even if a real bullet was coming, he'd look at his killer all the way to the end. And so he looked right back to where he guessed the bastards eyes were, and he poured every ounce of promise into that look. A promise of mad vengeance. And God knew Raoul was capable of that as well.
The man turned away from them, no more troubled by Raoul's fury than the breeze. He pointed at something.
"Those other's all trussed up and stowed? Good." He thumped the tailgate twice. "One of you lads sit in with these hogs and lets get going. Don't want to worry the neighbours do we."
He vanished from sight, passing through the red glow of the lights, and someone else, another man, sprung up into the cargo bed with them, the metal of a rifle glinting in his hands. He kicked and prodded them, none too gently, towards the cab end of the bed and then yanked the tailgate shut, tucking himself onto the wheel arch and levelling the rifle barrel at them. Raoul could see his jaw chewing something. He said something in a language Raoul didn't understand, and then the engine of the truck flared into life.
Shingle crunched under the tyres and the world outside of the truck turned, twisted and wobbled in a blur of flickering light, passing shadows and deepening gloom as the trucks turned off the ford in the stream and moved into the forest. Leaning and grasping trees passed by, reaching for them and disappearing into darkness. Ferns thrashed and slapped at the truck, and mud almost constantly splattered the sides. Raoul could hear the wet thwacks against the trucks body. Occasionally, the patter of water, shaken free from the trees above, would land on the tarp covering them.
Raoul's eyes were adjusting to the dark now, discerning the shapes and outlines of Diego and Ricardo, reduced to hunched and curled up lumps. The truck bumped over something, drawing a groan from Diego.
It was impossible to tell how far they went. The road they used twisted and turned, seemingly taking them deeper into the island. Further from the river and their boat. Further from any chance of leaving now. And for all his fury, Raoul knew however far they went, a bullet was likely waiting for them at the end of the road. The thought was like quenching water on a raging fire. Mad vengeance didn't carry you far when you were bound and at the mercy of your captors. His only hope was the unknown reason why they weren't all shot dead at the stream. Not much of a hope, but better than lying face down in the ground with a hole in your skull.
Raoul shut his eyes, tight as he could, scrunching his face up and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. Faces flashed in his mind. His crew. His wife. His children. Maria. The nausea and guilt swirled in his stomach at the thought of all of them. Julian as well, and his slack half face in his sliced open head. The nausea swirled harder. His defiance earlier was being pushed to one side the longer those faces lingered. Loving faces. Hopeful faces. The faces of his children that would never know why their father never came back.
He'd had to wrestle with that thought for months now. Knowing that however hard he tried, Maria was always going to pull him away from his family. The awful realisation he'd leave them all, for her. For no better reason than the fire between them when they'd fucked. It had sickened him then. It sickened him now. But it was far better than the cold sucking feeling of knowing he wasn't going back because he'd be dead.
He agonised over the hopeless questions they'd all have because he'd simply vanished. And the empty answers they'd get. He could almost see Sofía opening the letter she'd get, confirming her husband as missing in the line of duty, and the following shrugs his superiors would offer as any explanation. Justified shrugs. They'd be just as clueless about what really happened here. Knowing only he had deliberately disobeyed orders and pursued criminals into the island. Would that be his final send off? Brave Captain Vega, ignoring protocol for the sake of petty revenge and taking his faithful crew to their deaths? Raoul snorted. There was nothing brave about any of this. He suspected he hadn't shown an ounce of courage at all so far, relying on sheer bloody-mindedness and nagging anger. Took for you to be beaten and bound to see what an unhealthy cocktail that was.
His children flashed once more behind his eyes, the sound of their laughter an aching echo, and the nausea became a sting so painful he winced, and then the shrill whine of brakes slowing the trucks to a wobbling stop snapped his eyes open and he thumped into the metal of the cab.
The engines were idling, and the swirling fumes from the exhaust twisted in the red glow of the taillights as the trucks just sat there. The man with the rifle just chewed and looked at them, his face as impassive as a rock. Raoul heard some shouts, maybe someone whistling. And then there was a great whining squeal. Someone shouted again and the truck moved forward. Raoul watched out the back, the world on its side, as they passed through a large metal gate. He caught glimpses of the metal edges, the thick mesh and steel cables of a massive fence adjoining the gates. He couldn't see the tops. There were men, closing the gates now, before they vanished into the dark as the trucks moved on.
The truck was veering and turning now, as if winding through a series of bends. More glimpses of other things now. Structures of some sort. No, tents. Big, safari style ones. And some more solid looking huts now. Possibly wooden. Faces flashed in the red lights, eyes unfriendly and hard in each of them, before they melted into darkness. Raoul blinked. One face looked directly at him. A face half in shadow, skin pale and features slack. The face was tilted on its side like a hanged man before the figure turned from the light, melding into a tree stump as they passed. Raoul blinked again.
The truck slowed to a stop, and the engine was turned off. Made Raoul realise how hard he, Diego and Ricardo were breathing. The sounds of building terror, making every breath an effort. Especially when you knew those breaths were becoming more precious the more you took.
The man with the rifle grunted something, then hopped out of the back and vanished. The sudden absence of anyone pointing a gun at him made Raoul wiggle towards the tailgate, ideas of escaping clamouring in his head, despite being bound at the wrists and ankles. The other two looked like they had similar thoughts. Raoul wondered if Maria, Elena and Edwardo were in a similar position. Were they even alive? He growled into the rag across his mouth.
He managed to wiggle to the tailgate, rolling over and trying to shoulder it open. A solid edge of metal dug into his shoulder with every thump, doing little in getting the tailgate open. He could hear voices, somewhere in the dark. Ricardo had edged over now. His tied feet kicking awkwardly and trying to poke at where he thought the handle to open the damn thing may have been. Raoul growled again, needing to feel like he had control over something, and then the voices were louder, and hands were suddenly on him. Strong hands, rough and merciless.
The tailgate fell open and they were bodily dragged out and into the dirt. The stink of petrol fumes from the exhaust was thick in his nose before the hands came again, taking him by the arms and dragging him through the dark, the tips of his boots gouging the earth. He could hear Diego and Ricardo struggling behind him, dragged in similar fashion. Bodies and voices were all around him, the number of their captors impossible to tell. A lot more than Raoul's crew though.
A tent loomed up from the dark, flaps pinned against the thick canvas. Raoul was dragged inside, the dark within deeper than the dark outside. In an instant he was flung to the floor, with Diego and Ricardo hauled inside and flung next to him. Ricardo landed badly, his elbow taking the brunt of his fall. He groaned loudly through his rag. Then came the rest of the crew. Edwardo, manhandled by three men, was kicked in the back of the knee, his enormous bulk toppling into the ground like a felled tree. Maria and Elena came after, no difference in their treatment. Elena was hissing and struggling like a mad cat held by the scruff of its neck. Her eyes were wild, angry. Someone slapped her across the face and pushed her down. She landed in a muffled thud, still struggling. Two or three kicks made her curl up, quite still and silent.
Four men stood around them, guns levelled at them. All silent. One of them was the one from the truck Raoul was in. He was still chewing. The air was thick with the promise of unpleasant things coming. Raoul could see it in the eyes of the men around them. Could see it in the eyes of his crew.
The moments dragged on, filled only with the groans and ragged breaths of Raoul's crew and the occasional uninterest sniff from the odd gunman. They were waiting for something. A kill order, maybe? None of them looked particularly in charge. Clearly just the guards then. Maybe a chance to buy some more time then. If only Raoul get this rag out of his mouth. You bought chances with words.
Instead, a voice called from outside.
"They want the one in charge. The Captain." An American accent, sounded irritable and impatient. One of the men looked like he'd been asked a question on quantum physics.
"Which one's the Captain?" he said. Another American. There was a huff from outside.
"I don't fucking know do I? Find out."
A huff now from the chewing man as he approached where Edwardo and Diego lay. He poked Diego in the ribs.
"You the Captain? Huh!?" Poke poke. He jabbed Edwardo with his gun barrel. "What about you, fat man? You in charge?" Edwardo mumbled back at him through his rag. "What? Speak English, asshole. It'd better not be you. I aint dragging your fat ass around."
"What's the hold up Cal?" called the voice from outside. Cal spat his gum out at Edwardo and dragged a sleeve across his mouth.
"I don't speak Spanish, so I can't understand these people." There was another huff and someone stomped in, glaring at each of Raoul's crew. A short man, thick-set and balding. A sheen of sweat coated a round face. His eyes lingered on Raoul for a moment longer than the others. The man rolled his eyes.
"Fuck sake Cal,'' he said. A fat finger pointed at Raoul. "It's that one."
"How'd you know that Hadley?" said Cal, still looking like he was solving quantum physics.
"Because he's the only one with stripes on his epaulettes you dumbass. Get him up and get the rest of this lot…comfy." Raoul was suddenly dragged to his feet. Hadley stood in front of him, looking slightly up to meet Raoul's eyes. "You're coming with me." Hadley sniffed, his nostrils flaring. Looked like a man who had no problem with mistreating people, and this went a bit beyond mistreatment. Raoul sniffed back at him.
Hadley pulled a knife from his belt and swiftly slit the ropes about Raoul's ankles. The release of pressure was difficult to enjoy when the point of the knife was suddenly up under his chin. Felt like Hadley was about to start shaving hairs off his throat.
"I don't like hauling dead weight when the weight's still breathing. You walk, y'underdstand? You try and run, I'll have trouble finding space to stick you with this you'll be so shot full o'holes. You got that?"
Raoul just looked at him, finally giving him the slightest of nods. Slow and careful. Showing he wasn't afraid, or at least pretending he wasn't. Hadley smiled as if they were friends agreeing on something, then nodded at the tent flap and gave Raoul a little prick in his back with the knife.
Raoul walked, aware of another man behind him, a large gun in his hands and pointed at his back. His skin prickled. It was difficult not to when you knew a gun was pointed at you. He'd never even see the shot taken if they decided to kill him there and then.
They steered him out into the night. Out into the open where he could finally see what kind of a place he might die in.
Tents, huts and vehicles were arrayed before him, much like he'd glimpsed on the way in, but this time it was clear to see the order of it all. It was like a small town. The murmur of voices and calls drifted on the air. Floodlights and lanterns hung on posts dotted about the network, illuminating the scene and throwing shadows in every direction as people moved. Enough light to show Raoul the tall fence they had come through in the truck. He looked up at the top, seeing a row of pointed spikes and twisting mesh. Looked strong enough to withstand a herd of elephants. Took him a moment to realise the actual animals it was intended for, the realisation of where he was once again taking him by surprise. Easy to forgot about the dinosaurs when your own kind were more of a threat.
The looming dark mass of trees swayed in the breeze beyond and the edge of the camp, encircling the tents in places or meandering and weaving through the area in a haphazard line or the occasional clump. The very picture of a temporary jungle dwelling. Except these bastards looked like they'd been here a while.
And now, as Raoul was prodded towards another tent, shapes appeared from the dark on his left. Strange shapes, some on the ground and some hanging from large wooden frames. Ropes or chains swayed gently, holding large lumps of something. Huge lumps. People were moving about the shapes, flashlights in hand and pointing, calling and shouting. Light fell across one shape that was on the ground, and Raoul gasped.
The dinosaur lay, legs splayed and enormous head lolled on one side. About as dead as you can be. One of its legs had been cut off. Raoul could see the neat and clean cut, leaving just a dull round wound on the end of a big stump. The light passed over its head, and Raoul saw it was one of the ones with the three horns. The famous one, he knew, but he was damned if you could remember its name. Didn't really matter now. It was a corpse, and a corpse being pillaged at that. The horns had been cut or sawn off near to the base. All three of them. A series of red wounds lined the edge of its huge crest, a sign of yet more removal of something. Raoul could see one intact knob of bone that they hasn't managed to prize out.
More shapes lay beyond, more defiled and butchered animals. Poached for their horns, their spikes or teeth. God knew what else. There was a lot of open wounds in the dinosaurs. One of them lay without a head. Didn't have much else going for it either. Just a fleshy lump of scales and one leg left to show for itself. Raoul looked away.
Hadley took him by the arm and guided him forcefully into the tent. Looked like nothing more than a tent for storage inside. Wooden crates and boxes were stacked high, with cases and piles of ropes, chain, tools and other assortment of equipment. Lots of hard- and sharp-edged metal. He noticed a very large saw, spattered with blood. Made for a good choice of accommodation if you intended to further intimidate someone. And Raoul was finding it difficult not to feel intimidated.
Hadley and the other man pushed him towards a solid looking post, manhandling him around and forcing him to his knees before re-tying his hands behind the post. They pulled the gag out of his mouth and left it hanging around his neck. His feet were cramped up under his ass and squashed against the post, and the extra space the post took up between his arms and behind his back was already making his chest and arms hurt. The constant ache of muscles pulled in unpleasant directions just added to the list of pains and complaints his body had.
Without a word, Hadley and the other man left the tent. Not even a look at him as they went. As if he was nothing to be concerned about. Maybe he wasn't.
The urge to give into the building panic flared, reminding him how vulnerable he was. Less than vulnerable. People in his position didn't have the luxury of prospects. He'd found himself on the other side of this position once or twice, years ago, and he didn't much care for the side he was on now.
A minute or two dragged by. Felt longer, but it didn't feel long enough when someone came into the tent. Raoul knew him. Difficult to forget a man who had knocked you to the ground.
He carried a bright lamp in one hand and what looked like a little stool in the other, along with Raouls pack. The light bathed the tent in a yellow glow, giving Raoul a much better look at the man now. His hat was gone, and his thatch of wiry grey hair stuck out in all directions. The light picked up every crease in his weathered face, and his cheeks had a ruddy glow about them. The rings on his thick fingers glinted with dull golds and buffed silver. Raoul looked him in his eyes now. Dark brown eyes that held no trace of menace or violence as he moved about the tent. He plonked the lamp down on a crate and then set the stool in front of Raoul. Not quite touching distance, but close enough that Raoul could smell that stink of orange again. The man reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a small case, flicking it open and setting some half-moon spectacles on his nose. He squinted at Raoul through the lenses as he perched on the stool, a sigh of relief leaving him as he sat, rubbing his knee.
"Right then, lets have a good look at you now." His words were English, but the accent was strange. Not American. Not British either. "Ah, that's better. Couldn't really see much out in that forest." He sniffed, nodding at Raoul's face. "Got a good shiner coming up there. Must have really caught you."
He produced an orange from a pocket, and a small flick knife, shaving away the peel and pith from the segments with a careful and considerate technique. For such thick fingers, they worked smoothly and efficiently.
"Not in a chatty mood then mate? Or are your ears just painted on?" He popped a piece of orange into his mouth, his veiny cheeks moving in and out as he sucked and chewed. A line of juice squirted down his chin. "Suppose I can't blame you. Right'o then mate. Guess I'll just do the talking, eh?" Raoul just looked at him, not really sure if he wasn't speaking from the growing fear or boiling fury in his guts. Seemed better to just stay silent for the moment. "You got a look of a seppo about you, but your colours much more local. You half cast? Eh? Reckon so." Another piece of orange went into his mouth, and he pulled out a few items from Raoul's pack. He sifted through them before holding up Raoul's identification badge to the light. "Captain Raoul Vega. Did I say that right?"
Raoul just continued to look at the man. Felt like any acknowledgement would be a victory for his captors. The man tucked the badge into a pocket. He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he continue shaving the orange. The blade flicked and flashed back and forth, the razor edge catching the light with each stroke.
"Takes a brave man to come to this place, Captain Vega. Very brave man. Especially when you got a score to settle, which is why you're here, I'm guessing? Either that or you've got some Roo's loose in your top paddock." He sucked another segment of fruit in and spat out a pip. It bounced off Raoul's boot. "Probably a bit sore about that misunderstanding out on the ocean?"
"Misunderstanding?" breathed Raoul, unable to stop his voice from hissing out of his mouth.
"So you do speak! Good. Good." He stuffed the last few pieces into his mouth and swallowed noisily. "From what I hear, that bit of aggro out on the water got a bit out of hand. I wasn't there myself, so you'll have to fill in the blanks for me." Raoul couldn't stop himself.
"You mean the murder of Government appointed Officers? What blanks do you want filled in exactly?" Raoul's voice had risen. He was in danger of losing control already. This bastard had hardly provoked him yet and he was ready to wrestle his way out of his restraints. "You mean the sinking of a law enforcement vessel and the entering into restricted waters?" Raoul twisted against his bonds, his teeth coming together in a silent snarl. "The killing and poaching of protected species of animals!? Or have I misunderstood any of that!?"
The man sat and regarded him thoughtfully, pursing his lips. He slotted his flick knife away and laced his fingers together.
"It's good to get to talking, isn't it? Helps everyone know where they stand. Or kneel." He rubbed a thumb and finger together, considering Raoul. "Understandable, though, what you did. Probably would have done the same in your position. Even more so if I knew my people had been shot dead by some arseholes." A silence stretched out between them for a moment, the unsaid words as loud as a thunderclap. Raoul felt the chill creep down his spine. "Oh, that's right mate. I know all about what happened when you fellas came ashore at the river. I had some good lads down there." Didn't sound like there was a trace of upset in his voice though. Just matter-of-fact statement.
Raoul felt his eyes widen slightly, the unbelievable realisation that this man was filled with as much vengeance as he was. Raoul shook his head slightly, incredulously. His defiance flared in the face of this man's apathetic approach to an eye for an eye. Defiance that took a knock when he remembered his crew were all at the mercy of these people as well. Were they all still alive? The man leant close suddenly, right up to Raoul's face, their eyes level. A moments loaded silence hung between them. Raoul could almost see his own face reflected in the man's eyes.
"You've a devil in you, Raoul Vega. A wild devil, just waiting for its chance. Dangerous man, you are. I've seen your like all too often. Dangerous men need putting down."
Here it was then. The bullet at the end of the road. The final moment of brave Captain Raoul Vega, his vendetta for justice and vengeance about to come to a very sudden and very bloody stop. He squirmed against his bonds, one last attempt at something, anything. Someone entered into the tent. Two people. The man in front of Raoul hadn't moved an inch. Just watched Raoul's eyes, a small smile on his face. One of the newcomers spoke. A man. Tall and blonde.
"Thought I told you to wait for us, Byron. Have you learnt anything?"
Byron just carried on smiling, orange smelling breath washing over Raoul as he twisted a ring on his finger.
"Only that we're very lucky we heard our guests coming,'' said Byron. "Captain Vega here is more than willing to fight fire with fire."
"Captain Vega?" said the second newcomer. A woman, Raoul suddenly noticed. Her silky voice did not match her harsh face. "Are we on formal address now? And if this man and his crew are a problem why are they still alive?"
"Dead men tell no tales, as the old buccaneers used to say,'' said Byron. "But dead men also don't tell you if they've got back up on the way. Best we pry it out of the good Captain now than find out when half of the Costa Rican Government come and pull our daks down." The blonde man huffed, striding over towards Raoul and muttering.
"Fucking Australians,'' he said, frowning at Byron. He squatted down in front of Raoul. Sharp features in an angular face, with dull blue eyes. Raoul could smell expensive cologne on the man. A gun appeared in his hands, barrel pointing somewhere towards Raoul's stomach.
"You know how this goes, Captain. You're a dead man. Whether you tell us what we want to know or you don't, we're going to kill you. I don't have time to play games. So the only choice you need to make is if you want a quick death, or the one where we start cutting slowly. What's it going to be? Should we expect more of you? Or did you and your merry little band of lunatics come all this way by yourselves?"
Raoul felt that swirl in his guts you get when someone makes a very real threat. He tested his restraints again in an effort to see if they'd magically come loose and he could think of any other way out of this. Those none-existent prospects he had remained none-existent. His mind felt like it was trying to race through mud. It was difficult to think clearly, all the while difficult to ignore the crystal-clear images of being shot or tortured to death. Probably left to rot alongside the carcasses of those animals outside.
"I said I don't have time for games, Captain." The man cocked his gun and dug the barrel in and under Raoul's chin. "Talk."
Raoul breathed heavily out of his nose. There was no way out. He was going to die. His crew were going to die if they weren't already dead. Might as well talk.
"Fine,'' he sighed, glaring at them all. At least they'd made it easy. If he was going to talk, might as well spin as much of a story as he could. "Nine crews will have already landed on Sorna. Mainland support will be inbound once they establish the location of this place. Which they will do with or without our contact. They knew where we landed and will track our path with little difficulty."
The blonde man made a sort of snarl, baring his teeth. There was the slightest bit of fear in his eyes, mixed in with the cocktail of ruthless cruelty and anger. He stood and pointed the barrel at Raoul's forehead. Raoul closed his eyes, hoping his bluff would be enough to disrupt the activity here.
"Christ you're easily fooled, Sven." This from the woman. She stepped up closer to Raoul now, smirking. The man Sven frowned at her, the gun still aimed at Raoul. "He's lying."
"And you know this how Meredith?"
"Because we haven't tortured him. People who aren't in pain lie. And you gave him the perfect reason to lie." Meredith looked down at Raoul, an appraising look on her face. Raoul pulled his eyes from the gun and looked up at her, the cold washing through him all over again as he recognised her.
The one who had thrown that grenade, out on the ocean this morning. The one who had been there, when hell had broken loose and Julian had lost his life. Was she at the top of all this? She carried an air of command. And she wouldn't be here if she wasn't important somehow. Raoul could feel his fury building again and the urge to direct it at this woman. The Australian, Byron, was still sat on his stool, watching Raoul closely.
"She's right,'' said Byron, scratching at his neck and looking at Sven as if he were an idiot. "He's playing you. And winning." Raoul felt the hope drain out of him. They'd seen right through him. Wasn't difficult. "You'd have been ready to clear out of here on the say so of one man at our mercy." Sven hadn't stopped frowning. "He said exactly what I would have said. Minus a fuck you or two." Sven growled.
"We pay you to kill the animals, Byron,'' spat Sven. "Not applaud this piece of shit."
"Aint applauding him, mate,'' said Byron softly. "Just pointing out how he got the best of you." Sven growled again.
"Well then this ends now." Sven levelled the gun.
"Wait." Meredith sighed. "You pull that trigger all you're doing is wasting a round and disturbing my evening."
"So we're keeping him alive now are we?" said Sven. "I'm not wasting manpower on keeping an eye on these people."
"Perhaps they could come in useful for our efforts here,'' said Meredith, her hard face betraying no other emotion than cold calculation.
"What use you got for these people?" said Byron, trying out a frown of his own now.
"Given our recent difficulties with our prize quarry,'' said Meredith, "I would have thought it obvious." She sauntered to the entrance of the tent, looking over her shoulder at Raoul. She smiled. "When the fish are nowhere to be found, you try some different bait."
XXXXX
Raoul's eyes opened, and he stretched in his bed. The morning sun warmed his skin, casting him in gold, as his fingers reached out and his arms felt the wonderful joy of extending and flexing. He smiled, turning towards Sofía and running a hand through her hair as it fell across her bare shoulders and across her pillow. She hummed in her throat, rolling towards him. She smiled at him, and that smile became Maria's smile. Her face melded and changed, until all that lay before him was Maria and her naked body, and the promise of a lifetime of fire and passion, endless nights and hot days together.
She reached out and put her hands on his chest, finger nails digging in. Digging and digging and digging until the pain flared across his body and he cried out. She slapped him hard across the face and he cried out.
"Wake the fuck up, hombre!"
Someone was shining a light in his face. He squinted and tried to look away. A silhouette stood in front of him, golden dawn light from behind them flooding in through the tent where he had spent the night tied, cold and alone. He tried to look at them, but the light in his face was too bright. He caught only a glimpse of half a face in the silhouette. An angry face. He could have sworn it was someone he knew before they slapped him again.
"I said wake up! Time to go!"
There was a flash of a blade and the restraints around his wrists fell away. The now familiar process of being grabbed and dragged up and out of the tent ensued. He stumbled, his cramped legs failing him. Hands held him up, not out of kindness but simply out of necessity. He blinked from the growing dawn light, the garish brightness painful against his sore eyes.
He glanced about, trying to make sense of the camp in daylight. Beyond the tents, huts and trucks, the looming fence stood. No matter where he looked, there it was. Took him far too long to realise the entire camp was situated inside the encircling fence. He could not guess at the size of the enclosure, but it was vast.
He was frogmarched through the camp, past sober and grim faces, nobody speaking. Just looking at him. Like some sort of spectacle.
Hadley appeared ahead, thick lips pursed as he re-tied Raoul's hands behind his back. Still no words spoken as Hadley made sure of his knot, and then Raoul was taken to a truck. Might well have been the same one he arrived in last night. They bundled him into the back of it, and he had just enough time to wiggle to the back of the cargo bed before Hadley hopped up behind him, a big shotgun in his hands. Hadley thumped the stock into the floor twice, and the engine started.
Raoul watched out the back of the truck as they drove through the camp, the watching faces and pointing fingers of the rest of the poachers sliding from view as they passed through the heavy, squealing gates and out into what looked like open grasslands now. They bumped along a worn track, and as they turned, Raoul caught a glimpse of a cabin up on a hill, overlooking the fenced enclosure they'd just left. It looked dilapidated for the split second he saw it, and then they were into the forests, swallowed by the trees and ferns. The feeling of slipping away from any kind of world he knew was pointedly sharp.
The words from that woman Meredith last night were now prickling through his memory, like someone dragging thorns across his mind. Or rather, that one word. Bait. Difficult to find any other kind of meaning for it right now. And his part in its meaning seemed alarmingly clear. Not a bullet then, that he'd find at the end of the road.
He felt the breath leaking out of him. The fight, the fury and the vengeance draining away with the hope. Disappearing beneath the crushing waves of defeat, just like Julian had disappeared beneath the waves yesterday. Felt like longer. Longer that he'd carried this anguish. He shook his head slowly, looking at Hadley. The poacher just looked back.
"Is it worth it?" said Raoul. Hadley's thick lips remained just as pursed as before. "The butchery. The risks. This." Raoul tried to raise his bound hands. "Does that pay check help you sleep at night?"
"Does it help me sleep? No." Hadley wrinkled his face as if considering a thought. "But it does pay for the house and the roof above my head so that I can sleep." He huffed some sort of wry chuckle. "You know, it's easy to see people like us as the bad guys. The evil villains. The morally bankrupt that wouldn't know a scruple if it was sucking on our cocks. Or tits, if you're Meredith Crowley." Hadley sniffed, scratching and picking his nose and then inspecting the results. "Truth is, people in this world got to make a living, however they can. And right now, there's a good living to be made from things that aren't from this world. Do you know how much those dipshit Chinese will pay for Triceratops horn? Ground into dust that stuff is the elixir of life if you're from fucking Shanghai."
Raoul couldn't stop the look of contempt. Is this what Julian died for? For what he and his crew would die for? Hadley sniffed again.
"You and your boys think you're doing the right thing?" said Hadley. "The noble thing? Upholding a ballshit law passed for things that got no rights in the first place. This place is a goldmine, just waiting to be plucked, polished and sold. You don't like that simple fact?" He shrugged, spitting out of the back of the truck. "Then who am I to give a fuck?"
Raoul looked away from him, unsure if his sudden nausea was due to Hadley's lack of compassion or the terror he was trying to ignore. The terror won, demanding to be acknowledged. Raoul took a breath.
"Do you know what is going to happen to me?" Raoul didn't know what he wanted the answer to be. Hadley scratched at his chin.
"Do I know? The guys in camp were passing a few rumours. Meredith and Sven got a mind to bag the big catch on this island. Must be something to do with that. Do I care?" Hadley picked at his nose again, and Raoul waited for the predictable answer of indifference. "I try not to think about it. Makes it easier to sleep at night." Hadley looked away from Raoul, sniffing, and that was the end of the conversation apparently. A conversation that offered more questions than answers.
They bumped along in the truck, the minutes stretching by. The world outside flitted by, unnoticed by Raoul. His thoughts were too noisy. Too full of confusion. To full of prickling worry and crushing loss. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the faces of those he knew he was about to leave behind. The nausea in his stomach rolled and swirled and jabbed at his throat, ready to race up out of his body if he focused on those faces.
It was almost a relief when the truck came to a stop. Almost. Hadley stretched his arms, and then sighed.
"Here we are then." Hadley pulled him up and pushed him out of the truck. He jumped down onto the ground and landed awkwardly, his ankle throbbing with a nasty pain. Hadley thumped down behind him and prodded him onwards through a patch of thick woodland.
Raoul looked ahead, seeing two other vehicles tucked into the edge of dense foliage. A few people were stood beside the vehicles. Meredith and Sven amongst them. Byron was there too, towards the back. Sure enough, he was peeling an orange.
But the faces in the back of one of the trucks caught Raoul's eye the most. His crew. Bound and gagged, just like the night before, and looking just as pale, beaten and terrified as when he'd last seen them. But they were alive. All of them. Raoul felt the relief. It felt like perhaps there was a hope after all. Somehow.
"Bring them out," said Meredith suddenly.
There was some muttering and then some sharp shouting, and Raoul's crew were dragged out of the truck. They stumbled and fell, tripped and bumped into each other. The very picture of exhausted and terrified people. Raoul struggled to breath as he looked at them. Struggled to meet their eyes. Diego, looking caught between betrayed anger and disbelieving fear. Edwardo, his eyes wide and wet. Elena, her wiry and stubborn streak beaten into submission. Ricardo just looked at the ground. And then Maria. Her nostrils flaring and her eyes pleading at him. Pleading as if Raoul had any say in what happened next.
Meredith sauntered over to him, a big rifle carried over her shoulders like a milk yolk, her hands dangling over stock and barrel. She looked into Raoul's eyes, her face looking even harsher than it did last night.
"We found out everything we needed from you last night, Captain Vega," said Meredith. "But that doesn't mean we aren't going to torture you." She shrugged the rifle off her shoulders and planted the stock in the ground, lacing her fingers together over the end of the barrel, rocking it gently from side to side. "You know what we're doing here. Its just business, of course. But I must admit, we've struggled with something. There is an animal here we've tried to bring down for weeks now. A predator, perfect for the buyers of our commodities. And we are running out of…ideas."
She took a step away from him and turned towards his crew.
"Choose,'' she said. Raoul frowned at her.
"Choose what?" he said quietly, hating that he knew the answer already. Meredith sighed.
"Choose which one of your crew is going to help us."
Raoul looked at them all, meeting their eyes and hoping they saw the hopelessness in his face. The turmoil. The refusal to be a part of this.
"Fuck yourself,'' he growled. Meredith just sighed again.
"Predictable,'' she said, sounding as if she had never been more disappointed or surprised in her life. She pointed at the crew. "The woman then. The dark haired one, with the tits." That terror from earlier screamed out in Raoul's stomach.
"No!" he said. Too quickly. Far too quickly. He winced, while Meredith smirked.
"Now we're getting somewhere,'' said Meredith. "Perhaps we'll save her for later."
"Meredith,'' droned Sven suddenly. "If you've had your fun, can we please get on with this?" She nodded.
"Captain Vega,'' she said. "I'll say again. Would you like to choose?" Raoul swallowed down the vomit, once again trying to cling to any fading hope of a way out. Trying, and finding nothing. Each face of his crew was like a knife in his heart, twisting and twisting and leaving him no room to shrink away from the question being asked of him. Did they even know what he was being asked to do?
"Me,'' he said, finally. "Take me." The words were the hardest he'd ever forced out, but he knew it was right. Knew in his writhing stomach it was right. Meredith just rolled her lips.
"Good try, but I'd like to keep you around for a bit longer. Now choose."
He felt like everything was being taken from him. Every shred of who he was, what he believed was right, and what was dear to him, was being prized from him and peeled away before his eyes. Stripped and flayed, until there was nothing left but the look in the eyes of those that had trusted him.
Awful things, eyes. They can say so much more than any words ever can. And his eyes must have lingered on Edwardo for just that split second too long. Meredith nodded.
"The fat one then. Good choice."
"No, wait, I…"
But Raoul might as well have protested against the earth spinning.
Edwardo was hauled up, pushed and dragged and forced into one of the trucks, unable to even speak. All he could manage was a pained expression as he limped, the shining wet of a tear in his eye. The rest of the crew were dragged away and back into the truck they'd arrived in. Without another word, they were driven away, and Raoul lost sight on them amongst the trees. As if they'd never been there at all.
In a moment he found himself back in the truck with Hadley, bumping and jostled about as the truck drove on in a different direction. Edwardo's vehicle followed them. Raoul craned his head, trying to get a sight of Edwardo. Another effort at looking for that elusive hope.
Must have been close to an hour later when they stopped. Outside, the forest around them was thicker than ever, the daylight above struggling to penetrate down. The world was a realm of gloom, thick with the chirps of jungle insects and sighing trees.
Raoul could hear running water.
Hadley hauled him out of the truck, groaning with the effort, and then Byron was in Raoul's face, holding him up with shocking strength.
"You get to come with me, mate,'' said Byron. "Best stay quiet eh?"
Raoul was then dragged away from the truck, through the trees and shrubs, wet fronds slapping at his face and chest. Byron moved swiftly, even with the task of manoeuvring Raoul through the forest. As if he'd been dragging grown men through woods all his life. Maybe he had.
Ahead, the building roar of flowing water grew louder. Raoul saw the river, through the dim light of the forest. What light that managed to sneak through the dense canopy cast a speckled glitter on the water. Byron pushed Raoul down suddenly and began tying him to a tree, thick bushes all around him. He couldn't see the river anymore.
Byron vanished amongst the trees, and Raoul strained against his bonds. Again. The rope cut into his skin, the sting of it a sharp reminder he was sooner likely to sheer of his own hands than break free. He chest heaved with the effort, and his chin slumped down. The exhaustion didn't take long to catch up with him.
He sat, and waited. Waited for what, he didn't know.
Voices, suddenly, calling and shouting. Sounded like Edwardo. Raoul winced. Sounded like pleading. He could hear the fear. Edwardo's voice broke, the strangled anguish of a man terrified for his life. Raoul tried to ignore it, hating that he was trying, but trying anyway.
Trying to ignore the noise. The thought of Edwardo, limping along, far from his family, broken and afraid, threatened to snap that part of Raoul that had been snapped before. The voices became clearer for a moment. Raoul could hear the unmistakeable voices now of Byron and Sven.
"Leave him here, and make sure that wound is bleeding. We need a fresh scent."
There was a moments silence and then a wail. Raoul knew they'd opened up Edwardo's wound. He screwed his eyes shut.
"Right, that'll do it. Places everyone. If this works, Christmas is coming early. If not, well, there's always more pigs for the chop."
The voices died away, and Raoul was left to guess at what was happening. He strained and pulled against the tree, desperate to either see or hear anything.
There was nothing. Just the mirk of the forest around him. It was as if he were alone in the entire world.
Time crawled by.
The trees swayed and creaked in the breeze above, and still Raoul felt alone. No one spoke. No one moved. He was sure he heard the occasional groan from somewhere, but it slipped by before he could be sure.
Still, time crawled by.
Rain began to fall, the patter of it slapping against the leaves of the trees and ferns. It grew heavier, infiltrating through the canopy above and falling into steady streams around Raoul, soaking into his clothes and leaving him shivering. The light grew darker, the rain clouds above robbing the sky of any sunlight.
And then something changed.
Raoul felt something, in the ground beneath him. The slightest vibration, thrumming up through his hands. It was there for a moment, and then gone.
But something remained. A presence, in the forest, like a breath held before a plunge. Raoul looked around him, certain he would see something. Needing to see something. But all that looked back were the trees.
And then the screaming started.
The kind of screaming that turns your blood to ice. The kind of screaming you never forget. Raoul would never forget it. It was Edwardo. He caught few words mixed into the babble of fear before gunfire erupted in the trees ahead of him.
Sporadic light flickered and lit up the world, and then the sound of a monster, roaring and bellowing. A sound like nothing else Raoul had ever heard.
The world shook beneath him. Shook with a force that felt like an earthquake. Something was coming towards him.
The gunfire carried on, and the sounds of trees splintering and bursting apart came with the terrible fury that was charging his way. The gunfire stopped long enough for Raoul to hear the screaming again, and he twisted and pulled against the ropes that held him in utter panic.
He need to get away. To get free and run from the awful noise and carnage around him. To run from Edwardo's screams. Screams that he'd caused because he'd looked a split second too long at a good man.
The flicker of light from gun barrels appeared between the trees ahead of him, casting a shadow against a creature.
A dinosaur, of gigantic size. It crashed towards Raoul, its bulk shouldering trees aside and its head thrashing from side to side. The same trees burst apart from the gunfire aimed at the animal, and Raoul flinched away from the splinters. Golden beams of flashlights caught the animals body as it moved, revealing shining wet scales dripping from rain.
The beast veered away from Raoul, its head still thrashing, and then there was a horrible tearing noise and something landed in front of Raoul as the dinosaur crashed away through the trees. He watched it go, catching sight of only a vast body on two legs as it ran, the vague impression of something that looked like a camels hump on its back before it vanished into the forest and the rain.
Raoul looked back at what had landed in front of him.
Edwardo's face, locked in a hideous silent scream, looked past him from a pale face. He'd been ripped in half, his guts slithering out of his ruined body, his arms crooked and bent and pointing in unnatural directions. Raoul could smell the blood and stink of his entrails. The fingers on one hand were bent and snapped. Raoul tasted the bile as it came flooding up his throat, carried on a wave of unavoidable guilt.
He screwed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, a figure stood amongst the debris of the trees beyond Edwardo's corpse. A figure as twisted and ruined as Edwardo. Half a face looked at Raoul with nothing but accusation.
And something snapped inside him again.
