Escape From Dinosauria (Dinopocalypse Book 1) (24 page)

Jamie stretched out her hand. “The cure.”

“You have a choice to make.”

“You want my soul? Is that it?”

“You do not have one.”

“You want to rule the world? You want your queen…”

“There will not be a world to rule. I will not be a zookeeper, Jamie. I will not be feeding animals.”

“Give me the fucking cure.”

“Your decision?”

“I can’t even think with all this ringing in my ears.”

Kresevich returned to her and took her hand. He helped her to her feet like the gentleman that he was, and put his arm around her waist to walk her out of the creepy chamber.

The pain behind her eyes increased; it felt like she had been punched in the head several times without an opportunity to defend herself. Her body felt weak, and this sudden weakness frustrated her. The Russian grandpa was going to take advantage of her. He was going to get everything he wanted.

“I forgive you,” he said, as they walked out of the room.

Images flashed before her eyes. Jordan, dead in the chair at the hotel. Massive creatures roaming the streets of Dinosauria while buildings burned and people screamed. Izzy, screaming with a millipede wrapped around his face. Running along rooftops with ease. Blood dripping over the bridge and into a dark river. The bright spotlights from helicopters. A
Triceratops
crashing through the brush, its bird beak stuffed of brambles.

“I am a dreamer,” Kresevich said. “I wish we had more time together. You would see the good in me, and believe in me.”

“Out. I want out.”

“My word is all that I have to give you, and I have given it. Thankfully, we have a following. There are people who adore what we do, and what we have delivered to the world.”

Jamie wasn’t going to let the pain in her skull prevent her from fighting back. Kresevich had devised some clever way to dispose of her and maintained his calm demeanor. He could get away with it because he was a cold-blooded killer. His dreams included oceans of blood and cities trampled beneath the feet of gigantic prehistoric beasts.

“There is so much I want to show you,” Kresevich said. “I know you blame me for everything that has happened to you, and that is your right. I was the one who told Tanaka that he should bring you here, with Jordan Vance. I told him that you would protect his dream, that Mr. Vance would be able to tell the world what happened here, to warn people and protect the integrity of everything he worked for. It was all for you, Jamie. The activists at the airport, Doctor Israel’s bunker—I made sure that you survived, and made sure Kenshin found you. Doctor Israel had enough of his favorite cocktails to keep you alive. Everything was for you, Jamie Kennedy.”

Jamie swallowed a gulp of air. Grandpa Russia had done his research, sure enough. But there was no way she was going to let it bother her. There was still a fight to be won. She had to get her mind right. This was her comeback. If she didn’t get up from the canvas this time, she was finished for good.

His voice came to her as an echo, somewhere distant and full of longing. Each word he spoke was tinged with sadness and regret. Her vision blurred and she was clinging to him, his arm tight around her. There was no way she could be angry with him or his intricate plans to conquer the world, because she did not understand any of it. Her survival was the only thing that mattered. None of it would make a difference if she couldn’t get out of Dinosauria alive. Her last bit of strength and emotion was being drained from her, and she needed to hold on.

For what? How could she fight?

Her own grip around Kresevich’s waist weakened. She saw herself standing beside Jordan again, the wind in his hair as they looked out at the ruins of the desolate resort.

And then she heard voices. Hundreds of voices, all of them arguing with each other. After her experience with Izanami, she knew people who had been cursed with the injections were crying out for help.

(“I am close, Ms. Rock.”)

Kenshin.

3

The smell of blood rose to her nostrils, and she inhaled it deeply. Intoxicating and welcome, she could taste the salty, metallic liquid in her mouth without ingesting any of it. The smell was almost enough. Like smelling salts between rounds, the blood had quickened her pulse and caused her heart to thump to a faster beat.

Sitting in front of her, a yellow plastic bucket full to the brim with blood made her stomach grumble with delight. The loud noises in her head ceased. She crawled to the offering. Unidentifiable, meaty chunks had been dumped into the blood and looked like glistening meatballs cooked in a gourmet sauce.

Jamie shoved her hands into the bucket and withdrew them. She could not stop herself from greedily licking her fingers. Never mind the taste. Never mind the fact that she was about to drink blood and cannibalize pieces that had likely belonged to another human being. She was hungry as fuck and she needed to eat
now.

Kresevich stood over her and watched. She didn’t care. She scooped a handful of meat into her mouth and chewed voraciously, gooey blood dripping from her mouth as her tongue rolled the meat between her teeth. Soft and pliable. She tried to compare it to chicken; people did not taste like chicken at all, but rather, medium-well ground beef. Jamie was eating a cheeseburger. A beer would do an awesome job of washing it down.

Morality didn’t figure into it anymore; she could have been eating the president or the entire board of directors of Apple. Hunger and survival were more important.

Jamie grabbed a second helping and shoved it into her mouth.

The voices in her head quieted and the headache faded. She belched acidic, sour bile up her throat and retched. Meaty pieces coated in blood and slime splashed next to her. Another belch ejected another round of vomit.

“I will do anything to make you happy,” Kresevich said.

Out of breath and covered in gore, Jamie said, “Thirsty.” She tried to wipe the water from her eyes.

At least Kenshin’s robotic, cool-as-a-cucumber voice wasn’t popping into her head right now. She had that much going for her.

They were in a shower room, so the blood would likely wash off the tile easily enough. Men stood on either side of the exit with rifles resting against their shoulders like good little toy army men. The tips of Kresevich’s shiny black shoes were wet and a small hunk of meat was stuck to a heel. His hands behind his back, he appraised her from beneath bushy white eyebrows.

Attendants in white robes rushed into the room with towels. Two women with shaved heads, one with a case of PBR under her arm. They helped her up and began to wipe her down with the towels.

“You’re kidding me,” Jamie said, her eyes locked on the shitty beer.

“A little taste of home,” Kresevich said.

“Savor this moment, because I’m about to beg.”

“No need.”

The attendant with the beer put the case on the floor and cracked it open. She produced a beer can and snapped the lid with a pleasing
chock
sound. Head foamed out of the can and over the attendant’s fingers. She held it out for Jamie, who greedily took it.

PBR
did
taste like home, and home never tasted so good, or
cold.

She crushed the can in her fist, ripped a loud
barf,
and was handed another beer. She slammed it, crushed the can, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and dropped it on the tile. The familiar sound of tin hitting the ground. Yeah, just like home.

“You’re still being nice to me,” she said. “You don’t give up.”

Kresevich was handed a pile of folded clothes. He turned and dropped them on the counter beside the sink. She recognized the black fighting trunks and sports bra, gloves sitting on top.

“Perhaps I am too kind,” he said. “I will let you die as you have lived. You are a warrior, Jamie. It is my last gift to you.”

She stared at her gear. “Where’s Doctor Israel?”

“Does it matter? He is safe. He will continue his good work, although I am sure he has nearly reached the limit of his skills.”

“At least tell me what’s out there.”

“In the octagon?” Kresevich’s offered his familiar chuckle. “I would give you one guess, and I am sure you would be right.”

“What if I had said yes to your offer? Were you still going to make me fight?”

“I know you too well. You were not going to say yes. Perhaps in my wildest dreams. Perhaps.”

“Wait. One more thing. You said there were two other people behind this, two major players working with Tanaka. Who are they?”

“Again, I ask: what does it matter?”

“I want to know who to kill after I fuck you up.”

Kresevich offered a polite smile. He looked to his men and the attendants. “Clean her up. Seven minutes.”

Awesome. She was going to fight a dinosaur for Kresevich’s amusement. At least she would get one more shot at redemption. He was right: it really was a favor to her.

She showered, dressed, and was escorted out of the shower and into yet another massive, dark chamber. Only this time, she knew what to expect when the crowd roared and music exploded into her ears.

4

“THUNDER!”

Entrance music.

“THUNDER!”

AC/DC.

“THUNDER!”

Her entrance music. Loud, powerful. Blasting through speakers. Hundreds of people were standing in the small, makeshift arena that looked like it might have been a gymnasium. The ground felt rubbery.

Her hair was up. Gloves were on. Mouth guard was in. Music was playing. Whatever awaited her in the octagon didn’t matter. Kresevich had one last “gift” for her, and she was more than happy to accept.

There it was, surrounded in chain-link fence—a bit bigger than a standard octagon, but it would serve its purpose.

How much strength did she have in her? The messy feast she had enjoyed in the showers helped a little bit, but there was no telling how good her coordination and balance would be. She had always been able to study her opponent before a match, and she was being tossed into the octagon cold. The odds were against her.

Probably not. Fuck the odds. She was Jamie Rock.

Kresevich’s soldiers escorted her toward the fight. Pieces of food and other objects were tossed at her from the audience; they were booing and insulting her. She didn’t notice it at first because the music had pumped her up, got her in the zone. Not once in her career had she been booed by an entire audience.

The creature was already inside the octagon. Its scaly, reptilian flesh rippling with hard muscle, it reared back on its hind legs and bellowed a hateful roar. She thought about a plastic dinosaur toy, because they had sometimes been painted in myriad colors, like her opponent; from the crown of its head and railroading down its backside, crimson coloration made it seem as if the creature had been painted with blood. Its tail was completely blood red, and the red darkened along its flanks and ribs to become charcoal-black. Yellow, runny eyes flickered back and forth, and its tiny arms flexed as she approached the octagon. The creature seemed to be an archetypical dino, a sort of red-black raptor at least twelve feet long from its snout to the tip of its tail. Standing erect, it would tower over her and could probably climb right out of the octagon if it wanted. In its current posture, the bottom of its jaw would be a good three feet above her, and its hungry, snapping mouth would add another element of reach that she never had to encounter with a human opponent.

She might have killed a
T. rex
, but she had all kinds of space to do that with.

If the raptor turned its body, its tail would serve as another weapon. Even if she climbed along the cage and tried to use it as a launching point, the creature’s mouth and tail could close the gap quickly. Could she jump onto its back and hold on?

There wasn’t enough time to figure this shit out.

The music stopped.

When the door opened, she did not look back at the soldiers who likely expected her to make a run for it. She had powers of her own, and though she did not know the extent of them, all she could think about was the opponent in the cage, the opponent waiting for her.

The hinges on the door behind her squeaked when her feet touched the canvas. The door shut.

(“Jamie. It’s me.”)

Jamie shook her head. She bounced on her heels and tried to shake the tension out of her arms and legs. She needed a song in her head. Had to tune out the audience. Establish a rhythm for her feet.

(“It’s Wayne.”)

The words sent shockwaves of uncertainty through her body and slowed her movement. Was she hearing right?

When the beast charged, all doubt in her mind was shattered. Head first, it stomped forward. Jamie tried to spring sideways and launch herself along the edge of the cage in a series of cartwheels, but the raptor’s head caught her in the ribs and sent her sprawling onto her side. She landed hard, and luckily for her, the tail missed her completely as it swept over her.