Primitive: All Tied Up With String #5 Page 3

  “I think you know why I’m calling, Richard. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.”

  Murray heard the phone being fumbled on the other end. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I heard about your … situation. I’ve been seeking a resolution to your dilemma.”

  “You said I would never run short. It’s been two months, and we’ve hardly any meat. Sales are dropping, demand is higher than ever, and people are enraged. I’ve never seen anything like it. Customers are rabid. It’s like Black Friday in the supermarkets. You should see the stuff people are writing on Twitter. It’s a disaster.”

  “Fuck Twitter. That machine never made a celebrity of anyone worthy. Calm down. I have a resolution.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m going to provide you with your own greenhouse, right there in the UK. No more travel, no more demands. We’ll cut out the customs searches and checks, and the hours of travel that can be used to make your business more productive. I can supply some animals to get you started, and still produce from this side too. Once you catch up on the breeding side, we’ll be back on track.”

  “This seems like a long-term solution. I need something now. Something yesterday.”

  “Well, unless you know another man who breeds this particular type of animal, I’d say you’re shit out of luck.”

  Murray said nothing.

  “I thought not. I’ll make the preparations and provide you with a workforce. They will keep our secret safe. Just make sure you keep your mouth shut, and do everything they say.”

  “How will you get the animals here? Through customs?”

  “Never you mind. I have my ways, for those of little faith. You’ll be amazed at what can be achieved when you grease the right palms.”

  Murray nodded. Breathed a sigh of relief. “Sure.”

  “Nice doing business with you.”

  *****

  “The camera is fucked, Bethany. I don’t have a spare lens. We can’t use this.”

  Bethany winced, and the screams of the pulsating crowd were becoming unbearable. The concrete beneath her feet thundered and trembled, as if an earthquake was consuming London. The van against her back wobbled. “I don’t give a fuck. We need to capture this; this is our time, no one will scoop us to this. Use your fucking iPhone for all I care, I don’t give a shit. Just do your fucking job.”

  “An iPhone won’t connect back to the studio. We need to re-establish our live feed.”

  “Use Skype, then. I don’t give a shit. Or fuck the live feed. Just capture it! This will make us superstars in the news field. Just … just capture…”

  The roar came again. Monstrous, cacophonic.

  Ungodly.

  Matthew rubbed the gooseflesh on his arms. Bethany uncovered her ears. “What in the dark annals of Hell can make a noise like that? It sounds like a plane taking off!”

  Matthew slipped his iPhone from his pocket and tapped the camera icon. He took a deep breath and slowly peered from behind the protection of the news van, using the phone as his viewing device. He saw nothing but colourful blurs as thousands of panicked people thundered past, their plight bearing the soundtrack of desperate screams as they sought refuge from the unknown threat. Whites and reds and blues combined to create a chaotic rainbow of terror. Screams and unanswered shouts for help stabbed at his eardrums. He shook his head, ignored the unbridled panic, and tried to focus on the scene before him.

  A gap appeared in the melee, and the focus of the phone sharpened to reveal the majestic Wembley Stadium, perched behind its iconic double entrance slope. Its rounded glass façade shone and flickered with the multi-coloured glow of nearby businesses and restaurants. Matthew noticed the beautiful metal arch that hung above it like a magnificent halo, the structure aglow with red and blue lights. For a moment, the chaos was forgotten as Matthew revelled in the presence of the iconic sports landmark.

  Then, he laid eyes on the behemoth.

  An unfathomable sight, one that did not belong. He rubbed his weary eyes and resumed his stealthy observation, certain that the image was a wicked trick of his overactive imagination.

  It was no trick.

  The large silhouette beneath the arch, one that rivalled the stadium for height, was enhanced and backlit by swirling torrents of black smoke. It roamed sideways with poise and purpose, every movement punctuated by a thunderous boom, but the grace of its distinct shape was unnatural, unfamiliar to the naked eye. It seemed … alien, almost fictional. The shape of the figure was familiar though, although Matthew failed to recall the source.

  The figure arched its head into the air and let out another horrendous roar.

  Which is when Matthew remembered.

  “Fuck…”

  *****

  Murray kicked the door open, and ignored the sickening crunch as the handle embedded itself into the wall. He stormed across the office and slammed his palms down on the desk, his eyes bloodshot and weary and seeking answers. A deep groan gurgled in his parched throat and he clutched his stomach; as well as the seventeen pounds, he could swear the constant strain of the past three months had removed five years from his withered frame.

  His product manager, a middle-aged man called Paul, with a round face, unruly black hair and a muscular frame, stared back at him. He paused, and crossed his arms as a smug grin appeared on his face.

  Murray spat, “I don’t find this funny.”

  “Nor do I, Mr Murray. Business is no laughing matter. It’s the way you barged in here that made me chuckle, all in a huff, acting as if you have a say in this matter.”

  “You know I do, this is my company. My name is on the fucking door.”

  Paul smirked. “You’re a lucky passenger riding on the success of Mr Banks, and nothing more. Please, don’t mistake his business acumen for generosity.”

  “Shut up. Why did you call me down here? You said something about the animals.”

  “Yes. They’re … how do I put this in simple terms? Ever been to a hotel and found it uncomfortable, discovered your ability to sleep is hindered?”

  “Stop talking in fucking riddles.”

  Paul licked his lips, enjoying Murray’s discomfort. “The animals are having some difficulty … with adjustment, with the change of climate, their new surroundings. They’re unsettled, agitated. Aggressive even, something that I never witnessed under Mr Banks's care.”

  “So?”

  “It affects the meat, Mr Murray. If the animals can’t settle, they can’t breed in comfort. Happy animals provide succulent meat, it’s the key rule. They aren’t happy, and their urge to be elsewhere heightens with every moment that passes. The stress is a factor that we cannot ignore. And, more importantly, it reflects badly on Mr Banks.”

  Murray ran his hands over his bald head and sighed. Resigned himself to the fact that Paul was right. Turkeys or dinosaurs, the comfort rule was bound to be the same. “So … how do we … do you fix it?”

  “We don’t. The United Kingdom is shades away from Africa in terms of heat and climate, Mr Murray. This is a primitive battle that simply cannot be won. It stretches back millions of years. You need to send the animals back to their homeland to restore the status quo. Sooner, rather than later.”

  Murray sighed. “We’re just getting back on track. Orders are being fulfilled for the first time in weeks. To renege on this agreement would cripple us…”

  “And continuing to breed here could have serious repercussions.”

  “I don’t care. We keep it going, stay on track. Just for a little while longer. In the meantime, assess the animals, keep an eye on them.”

  “Mr Banks won’t like that.”

  “Yeah, well, Mr Banks isn’t here. I am, and I’m making the decision. This is my company, with or without him. If he wants to play devil’s advocate, he can jump on a fucking plane and do so. Until then…” Murray trailed off, turned, and left the office.

  “You’re making a huge mistake.”

  But he was gone.

&n
bsp; “Sir, you can’t go in there.”

  “Out of my way, Bruce.”

  “I can’t do that –”

  “Don’t make me fire you, dickhead.”

  Bruce nodded once and stepped aside. “Mr Banks won’t –”

  “Tell it to someone who gives a shit.”

  Murray opened the reinforced door and stepped into the breeding area. The dank smell of animals and foliage tickled his nostrils. A smaller version of the underground sanctuary in Africa stretched before him. Trees, plants, vivid movement within, a rounded balcony. His eyes immediately looked to the rafters, checked the structure of the tall building. Richard had metres of earth and steel above his dinosaurs, a solid protection from their potential instincts, where he had a single metal sheet. There was no comparison, and where it hadn’t bothered him before, Paul’s mention of aggression and unsettlement rooted deep in his conscience.

  He was worried.

  No, he was scared. Terrified.

  Bruce appeared behind him. “Sir, I encourage you to leave. This is a contained, controlled environment. You can’t be here.”

  “Shove it up your arse, Bruce.”

  “As you wish.”

  Murray glanced down. The trees swayed on an invisible breeze, and insistent rustling could be heard from beneath. He searched deeper, his gaze focusing on the small details. A set of wide yellow eyes watched him through the leaves, studying the new arrival. He saw two black slits, curious and deadly in equal measure. A chill ran up his spine.

  “We need to go,” Bruce said. “They know we’re here.”

  “They won’t hurt us.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Murray chuckled. “In Africa, I saw Richard control a T-Rex with his hands. It was effortless and simple. I may have pissed myself, but it didn’t attack us. They know who is boss.”

  “No. They don’t,” Bruce replied.

  “They do,” Murray insisted.

  “No. You’re not Mr Banks. Only he has total control, in their home environment. And neither are with us today. We shouldn’t be in here.”

  “It shouldn’t make a difference.”

  “It makes all the difference. I’m sure Paul has told you these animals are unsettled.”

  A second pair of eyes appeared in the foliage, followed by a third. A surge of chirps echoed around the room, as if the animals were communicating with one another. Bruce flinched as a hadrosaur leapt and landed on the barrier of the balcony beside him. They marvelled at the animal's muscular legs as it balanced, the pointed tail, the vermilion spine that split its wide green back in two. It studied the men with a contented purr, its orange duck-billed head tilting to the right.

  “Don’t worry,” Bruce said. “Herbivore. Not a meat eater.”

  Murray breathed a sigh of relief. “You ever seen that before?”

  “No. Normally, they’re not this brave. Something has changed.”

  Murray searched for an answer. The words squeaked from his lips. “It’s their habitat. We can make it better for them. Make them feel at home.”

  “No.”

  “Why? What does Richard have that we don’t? You work for him, you know his methods.”

  “And Mr Banks is a brilliant man. But he is also a perceptive man, astute. He has all the cards.”

  The chirping rose to fever pitch, became frantic. A second hadrosaur joined its friend, rocking the balcony beneath them. Trees began to snap and crackle as movement riffled through the undergrowth. Murray backed towards the door.

  Bruce gulped. “Mr Banks has possession of the mothers. These are the babies. They have no direction, no guiding figure.”

  “Nonsense. Babies are separated from their siblings and parents all the time.”

  “We're not talking a kitten or a fucking puppy, sir. These are instinctual hunters, primitive. They can't be kept as pets, and Mr Banks controls their mothers. They’re at the top of the hierarchy. Without the mothers…”

  “…there is no pecking order. Free-for-all,” Murray finished.

  Which is when a Tyrannosaurus Rex raised its dominant head. Its presence set off a chain reaction; the other dinosaurs stampeded towards the door, sensing freedom and escape from their stifled habitat, one that had kept them unsettled and imprisoned.

  Murray saw Bruce disappear beneath a leaping hadrosaur as it crumpled the man with minimal effort. Hot blood spurted across his face. He gasped, blinded by the scarlet mist, and turned to flee.

  Saw the Tyrannosaurus Rex charging towards him.

  Murray felt a weight smash him in the back and he toppled to the floor.

  His head connected with the barrier.

  Then, all was black.

  *****

  “Is that … is that …”

  Bethany, her blue eyes wide with unbridled terror, staggered backwards and sagged at the knees. Matthew clasped her by the arms and shouted in her face, his voice drowned out by the thunderous footsteps that were pounding in their direction. Her eyes flicked to his, hopeless and lost.

  He opened the van door. “We need to go!”

  But Bethany couldn’t move. Wouldn’t move. She was frozen to the spot, slumped on her rump. Matthew stooped to a crouch and tried to hoist her arms. “Bethany, we can’t stay –”

  The van lifted into the air above them and sailed away, missing them by mere inches. Matthew gasped as the downward wind buffeted his face and hair, signalling just how close the vehicle had come to crushing them. Bethany watched it loop into the night air, above the fleeing crowds, spiralling like nothing more than an empty drink can, and disappear behind the steel walls of a building site. She didn’t hear it land on account of the deafening roar that now grabbed their attention.

  The Tyrannosaurus Rex passed them by, oblivious to their presence.

  Matthew stumbled to his feet, dragging Bethany with him. They backed away, their whole world shaking around them, and headed towards the crumbling structure of Wembley Stadium, away from the prehistoric beast as it unleashed its uninhibited terror on modern day London.

  The roar stopped as the dinosaur’s head tensed and thrust into the crowd with lightning speed, its giant maw snapping at the absconding masses. The teeth tore into people with minimal effort, spraying blood and mutilated body parts in all directions. People toppled and plunged to the ground, while others tripped and stumbled around them. Some were crushed and others killed by the relenting surge of thousands.

  A young boy spiralled and smashed into a wall, his head twisting at a sickening angle as his dead frame fell out of sight beneath the trampling stampede. Another was seized by the leg and tossed into the air by the dinosaur, its massive jaws snapping shut on his tiny torso as he plummeted back to earth. His tiny arm was shredded from its mooring and flopped to the ground, still adorned in the blue of Chelsea Football Club, and slapped the bloodstained concrete. His mother turned, noticed the massacre, and screamed as she sank to her knees, her wails of despair buried beneath another primitive roar from the carnivorous beast.

  Matthew felt his spine seize as he watched in abject horror; glistening crimson teeth opened wide to beckon to the innocent, to warn them that they were no longer at the top of the food chain. Millions of years of history were abolished in that very moment; everything Matthew had learned from school and college and library books was declared a lie.

  Yet, the terror was primal. Never had he felt so helpless. His found himself watching the carnage, unable to pull away. Bethany groaned beside him and, unable to divert his astonished gaze, he wondered if she was doing the same.

  A police van arrived and screeched to a halt. A plethora of armed response officers landed on the concrete, settled into formation, and fired at the creature, the confusion obvious on their stern faces. The bullets glanced off the Tyrannosaurus’s mottled skin, sparkling like firecrackers and doing no damage at all.

  The behemoth turned a half-circle and swatted at them with its large head. Several officers ducked, but one was not so fortunate; his ra
g-doll frame spiralled into the air and dropped back to earth, dying as his broken body crumpled on the unforgiving concrete. The police van was obliterated in an instant, the siren gurgling to an abrupt halt as the vehicle caved in and soared through the window of a nearby McDonalds, immediately killing the citizens who sought refuge in the fast food restaurant.

  “Look … up … there,” Bethany managed.

  But Matthew had already clocked it, his eyes settling on the elegant rooftop of a residential complex. Strobes and bright camera flashes pricked at the night sky, the beautiful dusk that served as a backdrop to the unforgiving hell. People were taking photos of the carnage below, capturing the moment forever. Matthew felt himself seething with anger. “Fuck sake. And you wanted me to capture this.”

  “Fuck that. After this, if we survive, I’ll happily review a cupcake competition in the arse end of nowhere. No one needs to see this; can you imagine the vitriol of the uneducated on Facebook in the morning?”

  The dinosaur turned, noticed the flashes, and plunged forward, driving its head into the building. A cacophonic thud erupted into the night air, silencing everything around it with an ebbing whoosh. The structure shook as dark clouds of mist emitted from the brickwork and filtered into the steady gaze of the nearby streetlights. Most of the flashes stopped. Matthew saw a number of bricks topple to the ground as the building began to capsize on itself.

  The dinosaur wasn’t done; it charged again, and this time the building fell to the side like a stack of unsteady dominoes. The structure clattered into its nearby twin and the impact destroyed both towers. A mushroom cloud of dust and debris ballooned high above London as the dinosaur walked away, searching for new prey.

  “Jesus.”

  “He won’t help you,” Bethany replied.

  Matthew, despite the carnage before them, stifled a chuckle. “Let’s get out of here.”