fredbassett | Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 3 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

Title : Crow on the Cradle, Part 3 of 15
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, Cutter, Claudia, Abby, Connor, OCs.
Disclaimer : Not mine (except all OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Lyle’s mother is on the scent of a story and it looks increasingly like the ARC team aren’t the only ones with knowledge of the anomalies.
A/N : this is my first official Primeval Big Bang! With many thanks to

lukadreaming for incomparable beta work and for holding my paw throughout a very long writing process. The total word count is 51,277 and I will be posting in 15 parts.

For all the pub’s cheerful exterior it seemed to be the sort of place where non-locals were greeted with cool stares and blank looks, and although the man behind the bar had a smile on his face, Abby could see that it lacked warmth.

A moment after they’d stepped through the door, a large man with cropped dark hair and an equally short beard shot with grey slid down off a stool, a wide grin on his face. “Joel, long time no see, mate.” The grin broadened. “Still can’t get your fucking hair cut or shave properly, can you, you lazy bastard?”

Abby watched as Stringer pulled the other man into a hug, grinning widely. A moment later, he stepped back and gestured to Abby. “Dan, this is my friend, Abby Maitland. Abby, Dan Ratcliffe’s the guy who saved my arse more times that I care to remember when I was still wet behind the ears.”

“I’ve had worse Ruperts,” Ratcliffe commented. “At least you had enough fucking sense to do as you were told. Come on, let’s get a drink and go through into the back room.”

At the man’s greeting, the atmosphere in the room thawed noticeably. They received a genuine smile from the landlord and nods from the other customers, and Abby’s discomfort lessened almost immediately, but she was left wondering why strangers were met with such obvious distrust.

The back room turned out to be what Abby’s grandmother used to refer to as a ‘snug’. It was a small room with chairs and stools grouped about low tables, with a dart board on one wall and a few mismatched pictures on another. In spite of the smoking ban, the room still smelled faintly of cigarettes and the yellowing walls and ceiling told the tale of how much tobacco had been smoked there in the past.

Dan Ratcliffe held a chair out for Abby and then settled down on a stool. He hesitated for a moment and glanced at Abby.

“Anything you want to say to me can be said in front of Abby, Dan. We work together.”

Ratcliffe raised his eyebrows but seemed to relax slightly. “Remember my daughter?”

“Little Ellie? Used to sit on my knee and make me read Tales of the sodding Riverbank until I was bloody hoarse?”

Ratcliffe grinned. “Aye. You always were as soft as shit with her.”

The door to the snug opened and a slim, dark-haired girl dressed in tight black trousers and a baggy sweater came in, followed by a man a few years older than Stringer, whose dark, watchful eyes darted around the room before he gave both of them a coolly appraising stare.

Ratcliffe stood up and shook hands with the man, while Stringer stared at the girl in amazement.

“You’ve grown,” he laughed, pulling her into a crushing hug and lifting her off her feet.

Abby smiled at the girl and held out her hand. “I’m Abby Maitland. I’m a friend of Joel’s.”

The girl gave her a friendly smile and shook the proffered hand. “I’m Eleanor, but most people call me Ratty.” She waved a hand at her companion. “This is Mole.”

The pair of them sat down. Eleanor Ratcliffe pushed her hair back from her face and Abby noticed several long, vivid scratches down one cheek. The girl looked as though she’d run straight through a bramble patch without stopping. She glanced at her father and waited for him to speak first.

“Thanks for coming so quickly, Joel.”

“You mentioned Ed Mason,” Stringer said. “I still owe him one for that business near Malmesbury.”

“If I remember rightly you upended him into a pile of cow shit.”

“No more than he deserved,” Stringer grinned. “What’s he been up to now, Dan?”

Ratcliffe looked at Abby again then appeared to make his mind up. “We’ve been watching him for a while,” he said quietly, even though there was no chance of their conversation being overheard. “He’s poured millions into a private zoo that he bought five years ago when the previous owners called in the receivers, even though he only opens it to the public on about half a dozen days a year. The inspections have always come up clean, but no one really trusts the bugger, not with his history. Then he started gradually replacing all the old staff, bit by bit, nothing too obvious, but a year ago, he finally laid off the last of his local labour. Since then, he’s gradually increased the strength of his security staff until he’s got more thugs on the payroll than keepers.”

Abby listened with interest. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard of a private zoo employing security guards, but most places made do with just a couple of guys to make sure that no one broke in and stole any rare breeds or hurt any of the animals, an all too regular and occurrence, unfortunately. But there were other reasons zoos employed security guards. She was developing a suspicion that the man nicknamed Mole was a member of the Animal Liberation Front and, from what she knew of Ed Mason’s past reputation, she wasn’t surprised he’d come to the attention of the ALF.

Stringer raised his eyebrows, inviting his friend to continue but it was Ratcliffe’s daughter who took up the story.

“I did a work experience stint there when I was 18,” she said. “Shovelling shit, mainly, but I did learn a bit about animals. I was thinking of applying to university and becoming a vet, but when push came to shove I couldn’t stand the idea of having to put healthy animals down just because some bugger had got tired of looking after them. The zoo animals were different, more exotic… more… interesting, but then I saw what happened to them when they were kept in cages for too long and that lost its appeal as well.” She stared Stringer in the eye and said, “I decided that I could maybe do more good in other ways. And I remembered the sort of things you used to do.”

Abby watched as Stringer shifted slightly in his chair, clearly not entirely comfortable with the idea of being a suitable role-model for a teenaged girl. Abby’s best guess was that Eleanor – Ratty – Ratcliffe was now in her early 20s, but it was obvious she still looked up to Joel Stringer.

“So what got you interested in Mason?” he asked.

“He’s a shit,” Ratty declared. “And animals started dying when he took the place over. Healthy animals suddenly disappeared, their bodies disposed of before anyone at DEFRA or anywhere else got the chance to take a look.”

Stringer raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

“I think he’s up to his old tricks again, killing things for fun,” she answered. “He’s got a local vet in his pocket, Frankie Hughes. She’s prepared to say they died a natural death and in return, he pays her a big fat sum every time, which our Frankie uses to pay her bills and keep herself in booze. The carcasses are disposed of quickly and that’s it. No one is any the wiser.”

“So you decided to take a closer look at what was going on,” Stringer said and it was a statement not a question.

The girl nodded, shooting a quick look at her companion. “Mason had a lot of building works done in the past year. Bloody great big sheds, from what we could find out. Contractors coming and going at all hours, but again, not local labour. The sheds were classed as temporary structures, so he didn’t need planning permission, but no doubt his mates on the council helped smooth the way for him. I…” Another glance at the other man. “We… decided that we needed a closer look at what was going on in there.”

Stringer grinned. “You’re as bad as your bloody dad.”

Dan Ratcliffe laughed and punched Stringer lightly on the arm with what Abby suddenly realised was a false hand. “You’re one to talk. Who do you think she got half of her bloody ideas from?”

“I obviously didn’t do a good enough job of covering my tracks,” Stringer said ruefully.

“The little madam used to listen at doors when she was meant to have been in bed,” Ratcliffe said, his fond tone belying the words. “Go on, brat, tell him your grand plan.”

“We dug a tunnel under the wall,” Ratty grinned. “That’s where Mole came in.”

A slow smile spread over Stringer’s face. “Newbury bypass, I presume?”

“You were there?”

Stringer nodded. “Spent most of my time there above ground rather than under it. I used to do a lot of climbing, so I was happier in the trees.”

“Which camp?” the man called Mole asked, obviously testing Stringer, even though he clearly had Ratcliffe’s endorsement.

“Skyward, most of the time, but I nearly got arrested for decking one of Turner’s fucking mercenaries at Rickety Bridge when the bastards were trying to evict us.”

“Fuckers,” Mole acknowledged.

They were talking about what the press had dubbed the Third Battle of Newbury waged between road protestors, constructions contractors and the police in 1995 and 1996 over the construction of the notorious bypass. Abby knew a little about what had gone on from the rare occasions when Joel Stringer could be encouraged to talk about his somewhat colourful past. She knew that his forte at the time had been the tree top protests where people had roped themselves to the highest branches amidst a network of wooden platforms and aerial ropeways, until rope access specialists – widely regarded as renegades and mercenaries by the climbing community – had been employed to bring them down.

Mole, as his name implied had been at the opposite end of the spectrum, one of the tunnellers who had dug a network of underground passages and occupied them, to prevent heavy machinery being brought onto the sites. With that background, he would have been an ideal partner in the infiltration of Mason’s zoo.

A picture was starting to form in Abby’s mind about what the pair of them had been up to, but what she wasn’t sure of yet was why Stringer had been called in. Occasionally stopping to sip at her pint, Ratty started to describe how they’d checked out the zoo’s perimeter and noticed higher than normal levels of security, which was why they decided to go under the defences rather than over them. They’d finally broken through two days previously and had made their break-in attempt the night before.

She listened in amazement as Ratty’s story unfolded and beside her, Joel Stringer was taking everything in. She saw the expression on his face when the man called Dewar was mentioned and knew that the name meant something to him. Ratty’s description of their flight through the woods was vivid, and the shadow of fear in the girl’s eyes told its own story. Neither of them had expected to escape, that much was obvious, and Ratty’s voice faltered when she tried to describe the creatures that had pursued them.

“Like fucking great big ostriches on steroids,” Mole said, taking up the story where the girl had left off. “Only twice as vicious and twice as bloody ugly. They had heads the size of my forearm and bloody great big beaks.” His voice sounded defensive and challenging, as though he expected disbelief, but when it didn’t come, Mole took up the story again. “I was on the ground and the fuckers were pecking at me. I was rolling over and over, trying to grab something to swing at them. Ratty was down as well. I honestly thought we were fucked…” He reached out and squeezed the girl’s hand. “And I knew that if those bastards didn’t get me, your bloody dad would.” He shot an apologetic look at Dan Ratcliffe. “I was expecting a few of Mason’s bully boys, not fucking great big mutant turkeys or whatever the hell they were.”

“How did you get away?” Abby asked, forming her own private opinion about what they’d actually be faced with, but not wanting to voice her suspicions until she could talk privately with Stringer.

“One of Mason’s guys abandoned their tranquilliser guns and started spraying some real lead around – thank fuck. They took down the one that had been about to rip Ratty’s head off and the other one was spooked by the noise and took off like a bat out of hell.”

“He grabbed me and we legged it for the tunnel,” Ratty said. “We had a bit of a start on them and I know the woods on the other side of the wall better than they do. But there were times when I really didn’t think we’d get away.” She squirmed uncomfortably in her chair and a look of something like shame shadowed her face.

On impulse, Abby reached out and touched her arm. “You did well to get out of there.”

The girl gave her a tired smile. “Lost my bloody camera, though, so we’ve got sod all evidence.”

“Our word against theirs,” Mole said, clearly frustrated. “The tunnel will have been filled up and concreted in by now. They won’t fall for a trick like that twice. But at least we have some idea of what the fuckers are up to now.”

“What do you think they’re doing?” Abby asked, curious to see what their take on all this was.

Mole shrugged. “Some sort of genetic experiments, I guess. Hard to work out what else could explain things like that. They were like nothing I’ve ever bloody seen before.”

Hardly surprising, Abby thought, considering that creatures like that hadn’t walked the earth for several million years. She lacked Connor’s encyclopaedic knowledge of prehistoric creatures, but she guessed that Ratty and Mole had been pursued by Terror Birds, gastornis or maybe phorusrhacos, but either way, the beasts had come through an anomaly.

It looked like Lester’s suspicions of Ed Mason had been well-founded.

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From:

thelibraniniquity

I'm enjoying the set up for this!

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Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 3 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

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