Terror In The Mist (The Island In The Mist Book 3) Page 7

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  11:03 p.m.

  The backup generators began humming mere seconds after the primary power source was lost. Hardcastle removed the wet raincoat and simply tossed it aside on the floor. He jogged back to the interior office where they’d decided to take refuge. When he stepped into the doorway, the first thing he noticed was that both Charlie and Matt had flashlights in hand, and they were both on.

  “You need to cut those off,” he barked at them. “We’ve got light for the time being, but if we lose it, we’re going to need those flashlights.”

  Matt scowled at him and looked over to Charlie. She was looking at him as if she was waiting for him to tell her it was alright to cut the light off. When Hardcastle noticed it, he felt his blood pressure rise. The last person he felt that Charlie needed to be looking to for guidance was Matt Walker.

  “He’s right,” Matt told her. “We need to save the batteries.” He flicked his light off and she immediately followed his lead.

  “What did it look like out there?” Charlie asked as she laid her light on a nearby desk.

  “Windy,” Hardcastle quipped. He casually pulled out the cushy chair from behind the desk and collapsed into it.

  Matt narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat. “That’s an $800 chair,” he said. He could clearly see that Hardcastle’s pants were soaking wet.

  “Is that right?” he asked, and he kicked his muddy boots up on the desk for good measure. “It sure is comfortable.”

  Matt turned a deeper shade of red and opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it.

  “Did you check on the fence?” Charlie asked, clearly sensing the growing tension between the two men. She wanted to diffuse it as quickly as possible.

  Hardcastle nodded. “Yep, it’s still standing,” he said. He pulled his drenched hat off and began to wring it out over a nearby trash can. “I saw something else too,” he added, keeping his attention on his beloved hat.

  “What?” George asked, suddenly joining the conversation. “What did you see?”

  “The Troodons,” he answered. “They were gathered at the side of the cage, looking at me.”

  George sat down on the edge of the desk as Charlie drew nearer.

  “Did they do anything else?” she asked, figuring there had to be more to it than that. She ran a hand over her hair, caught it in the back, and then used her free hand to retrieve a rubber band from the desk. She put her hair in a ponytail and then yawned. She looked exhausted…they all did.

  “Yeah, and I know this will sound crazy,” Hardcastle replied, shifting in his chair. “But they seemed to be trying to get my attention. They were making some strange noises I’ve never heard them make before.”

  Charlie leaned closer and Matt did as well. “Noises?” she asked. “What did they sound like?”

  Once he was satisfied the water was all gone, Hardcastle took a moment to reshape his hat back to its original form. “Well, it sounded like…” he paused and seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

  “Sounded like what?” George urged.

  Hardcastle took a deep breath and released a yawn of his own. He returned the hat to the top of his head and said, “Again, I know it sounds crazy but…I swear it sounded as if they were trying to speak to me.”

  Matt laughed and Hardcastle shot an icy stare at him but said nothing more.

  Charlie blinked a couple of times and shook her head. “Wait, you’re saying they were making noises that sounded like words?”

  Hardcastle shook his head. “Nah, not exactly,” he answered. “It’s just that their mannerisms and the way they—”

  He paused again as he noticed all three of them were staring hard at him.

  “Look, I know how it sounds,” he grumbled, getting up from the chair. He suddenly seemed angry. “I can’t describe it…I could just tell they were trying to communicate with me. It’s a feeling I had.”

  “A feeling?” Matt asked with a chuckle. “If I had a feeling that the animals were talking to me, I’d probably keep it to myself, Glenn.”

  “Look,” Hardcastle growled as he took a step toward Matt. “Laugh it up if you want to, I really don’t care. What I do care about is that this storm is still going to get plenty worse before it gets better. I’m going to insist yet again that we to a higher floor. From what I could tell outside, it’s not a question of if water is going to start coming into the building, but when.”

  Matt rolled his eyes slightly, but said nothing. Hardcastle pretended not to notice because he felt he was on the verge of punching the doctor in the face.

  “A storm surge from a category five hurricane will happen very quickly. When it begins to flood, it’s going to happen a heck of a lot faster than I think any of you are expecting. We should go to higher ground right now,” he added.

  Charlie chewed her lip a moment, then said, “I think he’s right.”

  Matt threw up a hand. “No,” he said. “He is not. I told you that could be dangerous if the storm does something to the building.”

  Charlie continued to stare at Hardcastle and he stared right back.

  “Matt, if you want to stay down here, you go ahead,” she replied. “But I think that Glenn, George, and myself are going to go up to the third floor to ride this out in the rec room.”

  Matt looked at her and his expression was a mixture of bewilderment and hurt. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead, all he could muster was a sheepish grin. Charlie began to make her way toward the door to begin her trek to the rec room when she suddenly stopped and turned back to Hardcastle.

  “If what you say is true, how much water do you think we could be dealing with?” she asked.

  Hardcastle pondered the question a minute and said, “Hard to say. Could be anything from five feet to twenty-five feet.”

  Charlie’s eyes widened. “That much?” she asked, clearly surprised by his answer.

  He nodded.

  “Well, then that settles it,” she replied. “We can’t leave the Troodons out there in that paddock. They could potentially drown.”

  The possibility had occurred to Hardcastle, but he’d kept it to himself.

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “I think the best thing to do—the humane thing to do—would be to release them.”

  Matt suddenly stepped forward holding up both his hands. “No, no, wait,” he stammered. “Now let’s think about this. We’ve put a lot of time and effort into those dinosaurs,” he said. “If we let them go, and we’re unable to catch them again, we will have to start completely over again.”

  Hardcastle smiled at him. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Sucks for you,” he said and he began to head toward the door.

  “No, wait,” Charlie said, grabbing his arm. “Matt’s right, we’ve taught those animals so much. They can respond to all sorts of commands and you just told us a few minutes ago that they even seem to have their own language.”

  Hardcastle winced as he realized he’d said too much. He rubbed his eyes and asked, “So what do you suggest, Charlie?”

  “We’ve got to move them to the lab on the fourth floor,” she suggested. “They’re used to being in there and will be comfortable in there.”

  Hardcastle considered the suggestion and took a deep breath through his nose as he thought. Ideally, if the animals had to be moved, in his opinion the cells on the ground level would be the best option. However, the issue with flooding would remain. In his opinion, moving the Troodons to the smaller cages in the fourth-floor laboratory could work except for one problem.

  “The locks on those cages are controlled by electricity,” he said. “If we lose power again, the locks could release.”

  “The key word there is could,” Matt said. “What you’re saying is, you are assuming they would release.”

  “I’d rather assume that they would release instead of assuming they don’t,” Hardcastle said through clenched teeth. “If you’re wrong, we’ve got big, big problems. We could be trapped in this
building with some dangerous dinosaurs.”

  “Both of you could be right,” Charlie interrupted. “But it doesn’t matter because those cages can be padlocked if need be. The electricity problem ultimately isn’t that big of a problem.”

  “You’re right,” Matt said. “It’s not, because first of all, the power isn’t going to go out again. Secondly, if it did, the locks would not just magically release and let the dinosaurs out.”

  “You don’t know that!” Hardcastle yelled as he slapped his forehead in disbelief.

  “It doesn’t matter!” Charlie screamed at them. “You’re both acting like children at the worst possible time!”

  The two men kept their mouths shut and did not argue the matter any further.

  When Charlie was satisfied that they were done, she said, “Okay, so I think we can all agree that if we’re going to do this, we need to do it now. The wind is going to get stronger and that paddock could go down. We need to do this now.”

  Hardcastle nodded and stormed out of the room. Clearly, he was still angry with Matt. George trailed after him, followed by Charlie. Matt leaned against the wall with his arms crossed for a long moment before he left the room. He was furious with Hardcastle and if he didn’t take a moment to cool off, he knew things were going to get much worse. He thought about just staying right where he was and let them handle it. In fact, if it was not for his concern for Charlie, he was certain that was what he would do.

  Finally, reluctantly, he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged out of the room. He decided that Glenn Hardcastle wasn’t as tough as his exterior appearance seemed to suggest. The only people he’d ever known that were as paranoid as he had all been cowards. Clearly, Hardcastle was no different. Somewhere deep inside, Matt secretly hoped that the backup generators did go out. Just so he could tell Hardcastle I told you so.

  Chapter 8

  Jonathon Williams had been unable to get any sleep throughout the entire night. His thoughts were elsewhere…more specifically at a secret island in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. He could not stop wondering about whether or not there were any people on that island when the hurricane made landfall. Although logic told him there was no way that Cornelius Cold would leave people on an island full of dangerous dinosaurs in the middle of a hurricane, something deep in his gut kept telling him otherwise. He’d had feelings like that before, and usually they proved to be right.

  During the night, Lily had been unable to sleep also. However, her insomnia was the product of a nasty head cold. Normally, it was Lucy that got up with the small child as it seemed Lily was in a stage where she much preferred to be in the arms of her mother over her father in times of sickness. This particular night, however, Jonathon scooped her up and took her to the recliner in the living room. There the two of them cuddled under an old patchwork quilt and watched live coverage of the hurricane. He saw pictures of the devastation that had already occurred across Puerto Rico and the projected path of the hurricane seemed to be northwesterly. As far as the United States went, it appeared that the Carolinas were going to take a direct hit.

  The next morning, an orange ray of sunlight managed to pierce through the blinds that were set in the living room window. Much to Jonathon’s dismay, the annoying light seemed to attack him just as he was about to doze off. Fortunately for Lily, she’d managed to get a couple of hours of sleep. The more upright position the recliner provided seemed to be what she needed to finally get a bit of rest. Jonathon had watched his daughter as she drifted off to sleep and he could not help but feel a slight bit of envy.

  The television was still on and there were more live pictures—this time in daylight—of the tremendous damage that Hurricane Simon had inflicted on Puerto Rico again. So far, there were estimates of at least 32 casualties and that number was expected to rise. Jonathon allowed his mind to once again drift back to the mysterious island shrouded in mist right in the center of the Bermuda Triangle. If that storm hit it directly, and it was becoming more apparent to him that it did, the devastation could be severe enough to permanently change the island’s geography. On top of that, there would undoubtedly be many dead dinosaurs scattered from coast to coast.

  Just as he was contemplating getting up and taking Lily back to her crib, Lucy strolled into the room. She was wearing a pink nightgown and still rubbing at her eyes. When she eventually looked down at him in the recliner, she paused to stretch and then smiled prettily when she saw Lily snoozing on his chest.

  “Would you like for me to take her?” Lucy whispered.

  Jonathon nodded. “Yeah, if you put her to bed, I’ll get started on some breakfast,” he replied.

  “You will not,” she countered as she gently took the baby. “You’ll stay right there and rest and I’ll make breakfast.”

  He watched her until she disappeared around the corner that led into the hallway. Once she was out of sight, Jonathon closed his eyes and again felt himself nearing sleep when once again another annoyance snatched him back away. The phone began ringing. He glanced over at the clock and silently wondered who on earth would be calling him at 7:45 a.m. on a Saturday. He was just about to force himself up out of the recliner when Lucy walked swiftly across the carpet in front of him.

  “Stay there,” she said, pointing at him. “I’ll get the phone.”

  He listened as she picked up the phone and began a conversation. It started off friendly enough but quickly turned somewhat heated.

  “Is it really necessary that you speak to him right this minute?” she asked, doing little to hide the anger in her tone.

  After a pause, she appeared under the archway that led into the kitchen, the cordless phone pressed into her chest.

  “It’s your old friend,” she said in a way that made it clear that whoever was on the line was anything but an actual friend. “Mr. Cold,” she added when he looked at her with bewilderment.

  Jonathon sighed and felt his jaw tighten. A bit of nausea hit him as his pulse began to race. He doubted it was a coincidence that Cold was calling him the morning after the hurricane had most likely swept across the island in the mist. Reluctantly, he motioned for her to hand him the phone.

  “What have you done?” he asked as soon as he put the phone to his ear.

  There was an awkward silence but he could hear breathing.

  “I beg your pardon?” Cold asked. “What is it that you think I’ve done?”

  “Cut the crap,” Jonathon replied. “You left them on that island, didn’t you?”

  There was another pause, this one slightly longer than the first.

  “There were a few volunteers that wanted to stay on the island and ride the storm out,” he explained. He sounded almost apologetic.

  Jonathon closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

  “And let me guess, they’re in some kind of trouble now,” he grumbled.

  “The truth is, we’re not really sure,” he replied. “We have not been able to make any contact with them since a little after 10 p.m., Atlantic time. Obviously, I’m getting a little worried.”

  “Well, you should be,” Jonathon snapped. “And don’t give me that crap about them volunteering to stay there. If they volunteered to stay behind, it was because you made them feel like they didn’t have a choice.”

  “Now that is simply untrue,” Cold argued and for the first time there was a hint of anger in his voice. “The four people that remained behind did so on their own volition and had no contact with me about the matter.”

  Jonathon felt as if he’d sunk further into his chair, as if some invisible weight had just fallen firmly on his chest where Lily had been minutes earlier.

  “So why are you calling me?” he asked.

  “Well,” Cold began. “Obviously, considering the dangers that exist on the island, I feel that it’s imperative that we get over there and check on them as soon as possible,” he said, and then he paused as if deep in thought. Then he said, “I won’t lie to you, I’m fearing the worst. I�
��m not taking any chances on this initial visit. I want to send four mercenaries over there as soon as possible to check on them and get them out of there if need be.”

  “You still aren’t answering my question,” Jonathon said, rubbing at his temples. He could feel a headache coming on.

  “I’m calling you because these men know nothing about the island,” he said. “They will need a guide—a resource. They need you.”

  Jonathon chuckled. He was becoming quite irritated. “Why me?” he asked, begrudgingly. “There are others that know the island.”

  “Really?” Cold asked. “Like who?”

  “Glenn Hardcastle,” he answered quickly.

  There was another long pause.

  “Wait,” Jonathon said, sensing what was causing the silence. “He’s already there, isn’t he?”

  “Again,” Cold continued. “Everyone that remained volunteered. It’s very important that you understand that.”

  “Oh for crying out loud,” Jonathon said through clenched teeth. “What about Silas Treadwell?”

  “You can’t be serious?” Cold said, sounding genuinely surprised. “Treadwell is not in the best of health these days. I think it would be unwise to send him.”

  Jonathon breathed deeply through his nose and as much as he hated to admit it, Cold was completely right about that. “What about Dr. Charlotte Nelson?” he asked. “She is more than capable and—”

  “She is already there too,” Cold interrupted.

  The imaginary weight on Jonathon’s chest got heavier. He opened his mouth to speak but for a long moment, he could not find the words. Finally, he said, “Who else is there?”

  “George Powell, I think you’ve met him,” he replied. “And Dr. Matthew Walker. I’m fairly certain you have not met him.”

  “Is he another paleontologist?”

  “No,” Cold replied. “He is a veterinarian and an animal behavioral specialist.”

  Jonathon gritted his teeth as the realization began to set in that he really was the only capable person of leading a search and rescue team to the island. His nausea continued to worsen and he genuinely felt as if he was about to throw up at any moment. “I swore I’d never return to that island,” he said, sounding defeated.