Burial Ground

VIII

11:03 p.m.

The pain was excruciating. Galen felt as though he were being flayed alive. Talons struck from every conceivable angle, slashing his arms, legs, chest, and face. His skin was wet with blood, but so far most of the cuts were superficial. There was one on his thigh he suspected might be half an inch deep, and another on the top of his head where a section of the scalp had surely peeled away, yet he was still alive. And that was the only thing that mattered. As long as he didn't bleed to death first, the wounds would eventually heal. Surely the creatures would tire or lose interest soon enough.

He tried to distract his mind from the exquisite agony. They were truly an amazing species, the primitive ancestors of modern birds of prey as the evolutionary scholars believed. Feet similar to those of a vulture, with a massive hooked claw, not for tearing, but for impaling, to hold its prey still while it attacked with powerful jaws and sharp teeth. A long tail with what he assumed to be a rudimentary system of vertebrae from which retrices, the feathers that served the function of rudders in modern birds, grew to stabilize the body so it could run low to the ground. Vestigial wings with essentially useless fingers like those of a bat that appeared incapable of grasping anything with sufficient force nor strong enough to bear the disproportionately large body aloft. A combination of reptilian scales and avian feathers, which one day would supersede their less elaborate forebears. A slender, serpentine neck that offered the lateral motion of a sidewinder. The night vision and acuity of an owl. Even the way it ate intimated an avian digestive tract and gullet. They were astounding, but what surprised him most was their startling level of intelligence. No predatory birds hunted in packs, nor did they understand the potential for their prey to play possum, let alone to test them in such a vicious way that encouraged movement. Perhaps the subtle rise and fall of their chests had betrayed them, and the creatures, these neuquenraptors, weren't about to eat anything that they feared might be dying by some means other than by their teeth. It was the natural order of the wild.

His leg began to tremble with the pain. Or was he shivering because of blood loss?

He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. If he allowed them to continue to carve him up, it wouldn't matter if he survived this initial assault. He would be exsanguinated long before he reached medical attention.

A scream threatened to explode from his chest. It felt like each individual layer of his skin was being slowly peeled away. He was cold. He was terrified. And the torture was just too great.

His mouth opened in anticipation of the cry he could no longer contain.

Tasker had just crested the precipice of the fortification when he heard the shush of wet branches behind him. Whirling, gun at his shoulder, he saw a silhouette beside the wide trunk of a kapok, partially hidden by the buttress roots. He squeezed off a shot just as the shadow ducked behind the trunk. The bullet tore out a chunk of wood and sent splinters flying. Whatever was out there was faster than he was.

More rustling noises from the other side of the path. They were growing increasingly aggressive.

The time had come to put the fear of God into them.

He swung the barrel across the wall of foliage, peppering it with a barrage of bullets that shredded leaves and pounded trunks.

Hopefully, that would buy him a decent head start.

A cracking sound echoed from the outside world, drowning out the scream that erupted from Galen's lips. It wasn't thunder, but rather what sounded like a boulder breaking loose from the granite cliff above them.

The creatures around him stiffened and craned their heads toward the tunnel and the waterfall beyond.

More cracking. Louder. Faster. A rhythmic rata-tat-tat.

Automatic rifle fire.

Galen risked a slight tilt of his head to glance behind him. None of the creatures so much as looked in his direction. All eyes were focused away from him, toward the stone passage.

Without the slightest sound of communication, the raptors all bolted as one. Bodies collided. They snapped and kicked at each other. Long legs churned up feathers from the floor, which the scrum refreshed with new ones. They trampled the diminished flames, leaving Galen with just one final, fleeting impression of their long feathered tails before the darkness became complete once again.

Tasker had just turned to lunge down the slope of broken bricks when more movement caught his attention.

Shadows. Several of them.

Emerging from a black orifice behind the waterfall at a rapid click.

Galen held his breath and listened. All he could hear was their labored breathing. No tread on feathers. Not a single shriek.

The creatures were gone.

The relief was so great that he moaned aloud. His shoulders shook as the sobs he had held at bay for so long racked through him. He whimpered and ran his shaking palms over the tatters of his clothes and the stinging lacerations beneath them.

He tried to sit up and a warm rush of blood seeped to the surface from what felt like every inch of his body.

A hand closed around his wrist and jerked him to his feet. He cried out and stumbled forward. His legs were so weak he could barely stand and his head swam from the loss of blood.

"We have to hurry!" Merritt snapped. The pilot stared at him through the darkness with such intensity that Galen positively felt it. "We don't know how much time we have. They could return at any second." He spun Galen around and shoved him toward the exit from behind. "Run!"

Galen summoned every last iota of strength he could muster and sprinted into the darkness toward where the creatures had just vanished.