fredbassett | Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 9 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

Title : Crow on the Cradle, Part 9 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
Warning : Brief scene of (non-graphic) sexual assault.
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.

Ricky Carey leaned across a desk littered with empty coffee mugs to open the window in the small office. He was dying for a fag but Mason’s harridan of a personal assistant would have him on a charge if she caught him lighting up inside the building. With the majority of the lads riding shotgun for the guests, he was stuck inside by himself, so he’d have to make do with an open window and hope that cleared the smell of smoke.

The bank of computer screens continued to display activity in and around the sprawling estate. The chimpanzees were amusing themselves as usual by lobbing clods of earth and lumps of their own shit over into the next enclosure. They were surprisingly accurate, as several of the security team had discovered much to their disgust. The big cats were sleeping, not that they seemed to do much else unless it was feeding time, and in the big containment sheds his boss’s newest acquisitions were ripping apart their latest batch of dead chickens and staring moodily at the cameras as if they knew they were under surveillance and resented it.

Carey flicked his ash out of the window and exchanged glares with something that in his opinion looked like an ostrich that had spent the last six months gorging on steroids and lifting heavy weights. The bird – if that’s what it was – scraped at the sandy floor of the shed with a taloned foot and then headbutted the wall. They seemed to have skulls like steel judging by the way one of the sods had managed to crack the armoured glass on one of the vehicles they’d used to take Mason’s paying guests around their enclosure. They’d also proved bloody hard to recapture once the show had been over.

A loud buzz disturbed the silence. Carey swivelled around to stare at the monitors and immediately identified the cause of the noise. Two large black vans had pulled up outside the main entrance.

He pressed the intercom button and demanded, “Yeah?”

The passenger door of the lead vehicle opened and a small bleached-blonde woman in her mid 20s got out, carrying a clipboard and wearing a black jacket with yellow high-visibility stripes that looked at least two sizes too large for her. She stood in front on the gatepost and stared up at the camera.

“Can you open the gates, please? I have authority from Kent County Council to conduct a special inspection of these premises under section 11 of the Zoo Licensing Act 1981.” She lifted up a plastic covered identity card hanging around her neck on a thin chain and waved it at the camera.

The diminutive blonde was looking up at the CCTV camera with a glare almost as hard as the one he’d just been getting from the freaks in the shed. “It’s Sunday,” he said, for once at a loss for a quick reply.

“I am aware of that. Now are you going to open the gate or am I going to have to call on the police for assistance? We do have statutory rights of entry under the Act and I haven’t got all day.”

“You can’t just come barging in here,” Carey told her even though he had a sneaking suspicion that she could.

“I think you’ll find we can,” she commented giving him a pleasant smile. “Now open the gates, please, sir. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll finish.”

“Park at the front of the house. I’ll send someone down to meet you,” Carey said, pressing the button to open the gates.

As the vans swept up the driveway he flipped a switch on the control panel underneath the bank of monitors. “We have visitors,” he announced over the radio. “Official ones from the council. An inspection is about to take place. Please ensure that all animals are confined safely within their proper enclosures and await further instructions.”

They had plans in place for this sort of eventuality, especially after the recent break-in, and if Mason’s small army of keepers wanted to stay in gainful employment they’d better make sure they acted quickly. Carey reckoned they had about half an hour to implement the emergency procedures for making sure no one got an unscheduled freak show. Until then, he had every expectation that the formidable Mrs Willoughby would have no difficulty in keeping a few pen-pushers at bay. For a start off, Mason’s personal assistant was twice the size and weight of the blonde bimbo who was on her way up to the house.

* * * * *

Rain was falling hard in fat drops that hammered through the leafy canopy of the trees, parted the fern fronds and splattered on the ground like small, water-filled balloons. In spite of the downpour, the atmosphere was hot and oppressive, and the wind that was whipping the treetops into a frenzy had failed to dispel the enervating humidity that had made everyone’s clothes stick to their bodies even before the rain had soaked the hunting party to the skin.

Carl Dewar glanced uneasily at the sky. The cloud bank had reduced the light level to such an extent that even the high-powered scopes on the various rifles were failing to deliver the goods. It had taken Tony Porter three shots to bring down something that looked like a cross between a rhino and a giant bear. Dewar had no idea what the thing was, but he’d been within a heartbeat of trying to finish it off himself when it had looked like it had been about to charge straight at the group.

Porter’s second shot had gone wide when a crack of thunder had disturbed the man just as he’d squeezed the trigger. Porter had reloaded competently and quickly, and his third bullet had stopped the creature in its tracks, earning him congratulations from the others, all eager to take their turn at increasing the rate of extinction amongst animals that Dewar had never expected to see outside the confines of a picture book.

The mercenary glanced down at his watch. Mason had been gone three-quarters of an hour and would hopefully be on his way back by now. Dewar wasn’t enjoying being stuck in the middle of what was starting to resemble the central African rainforest in the middle of a storm that was well on the way to being the worst he’d ever experienced. Mason’s guests were determined to get their money’s worth and Dewar knew perfectly well that any suggestion that they should make their way back to the time portal would be greeted with derision.

A long, rumbling growl of thunder rolled towards them, followed immediately by an explosive crack in the air as sheet lightning flashed across the sky. The noise spooked a small herd of herbivores that had been grazing about 500 metres away, seemingly oblivious to the storm, and equally oblivious to the fact that some of them had been just about to feel the punch of a high velocity hunting round.

A second crack followed hard on the heels of the first and this time fork-lightning split the clouds, leaping to earth and striking a tall pine tree a couple of hundred metres away. Dewar glanced at the vehicles, wondering whether he should order everyone into the Land Rovers, whether they liked it or not. The metal shells, connected to the ground by the rubber of the tyres should provide some protection from the lightning. He’d been in a small plane flying over the jungle in Rwanda once when it had suffered a lightning strike. The plane had been unaffected and the pilot had remained remarkably calm but it had nearly given him a brown-trouser moment.

Tony Porter caught the look on his face and gestured up at the trees. “It’ll hit them before it gets anywhere near us.”

“I’m sure you’re right, sir,” Dewar said tactfully, mentally cursing the fact that his employer wasn’t around to deal with the fall-out from any decisions he had to take.

“Oh my God!” Lizzie Henderson’s voice was low and awed.

Dewar turned around, looking where she was pointing, and any hope of persuading the hunting party that discretion was the better part of valour in their current circumstances promptly evaporated.

The Tyrannosaurus rex stalked into view through a clump of low-lying ferns at the edge of the forest. Dewar had seen one before at a distance, but this was closer than any of the others had been and he felt a sudden flush of adrenaline through his system accompanied by a visceral twist of fear in his guts that he hadn’t experienced for a very long time in the presence of any animal.

It stood nearly six metres tall, even allowing for its stooped posture, and would measure at least 12 metres in length, from its heavy, massively-jawed head, to the tip of its long tail, held horizontally out from its body. The creature was a mottled green-brown that blended well with the foliage of both the forest and the more open area into which it was now accelerating at a surprisingly graceful run.

This was one creature on which Carl Dewar had done his homework. It paid to be prepared when there was a good chance you were going to get a crack at one of the most impressive apex predators ever born. He knew opinion differed on whether T. rex had been a hunter or a scavenger, but he’d agreed with Mason’s assessment that few carnivores would pass up a fresh corpse, which was why the guests had been happily warming up on any number of other creatures, leaving a trail of fresh meat across the landscape that had been bound to attract attention.

The noise of the storm wouldn’t cover its approach for long. The huge, muscled thighs were powering it across the soft ground faster than a horse could gallop, its small forearms tucked up close to the deep chest. The powerful jaws were already open, gaping wide in a skull that measured at least 1.5 metres from the deep, flared nostrils to its thick neck. Its bite would sever a human being in half without any noticeable effort.

In spite of the firepower they could bring to bear on it, Dewar was experiencing an unwelcome feeling of powerlessness. He could see the same awed look on the faces of both his own men and the guests that he knew he was exhibiting and with a feeling bordering on embarrassment at his own weakness he snapped his mouth closed and nodded curtly to Baz Gunter, a veteran of numerous African hunting trips, who was carrying the Gimpy. Baz had the heavy weapon slung over his shoulder on a strap and was more than capable of firing it like that. He was built like a brick shit-house and had nerves of steel, which Dewar had been glad of on more than one occasion.

One of the herbivores lifted its head and let out a braying sound like a startled donkey only ten times louder. The herd reacted immediately and started to scatter, just as the tyrannosaur barrelled into their midst, bowling one of the creatures over, in spite of its own imposing bulk. With a speed and ferocity that Dewar had never witnessed before, the powerful jaw opened even wider and clamped down on the long neck of its prey. Blood sprayed like a fountain from a severed artery, but the creature’s struggles still continued although its attempts to free itself were obviously futile.

At Dewar’s side, Tony Porter calmly loaded his rifle and remarked, “Looks like this little jaunt is going to prove to be worth the money after all.”

* * * * *

Stephen fought to suppress a grin as Abby contrived to stare down her nose at a woman who topped her by nearly half a metre in height. The woman had introduced herself as Ed Mason’s personal assistant and she was clearly determined to stall them for as long as possible, while Abby was equally determined not to be stalled.

“This establishment received a glowing report in our last periodical inspection,” the woman sniffed, looking like she’d just experienced a particularly unpleasant smell.

“I’m not disputing that, Mrs Willoughby, but the local authority has discretion to instigate a special inspection if it considers one to be necessary, which is why we’re here now.”

“We’re entitled to proper notice,” Mrs Willoughby announced, with the air of a woman who had just played her trump card.

“And you’ve been given proper notice,” Abby countered.

“Turning up unannounced on a Sunday afternoon hardly constitutes proper notice!”

“I quite agree, but sending a letter by recorded delivery nine days in advance of the inspection date certainly does.” Abby flipped through the papers on her clipboard and displayed the forged Royal Mail receipt that Connor had provided, complete with the equally forged signature of one of Mason’s keepers obtained by Connor from the Passport Office’s records by means that Lester definitely wouldn’t have sanctioned.

Stephen was impressed by how well Abby and Connor had set this stunt up and it looked very much like they were about to achieve access to the zoo without having to resort to violence. The so-called inspection team consisting of Abby, Stephen and Cutter were all wired for sound and the conversation was being transmitted back to the vans containing Connor and the military contingent.

By now, Connor would also be monitoring any radio transmissions in the house and grounds as well, although the only one they’d picked up on their way in had been innocuous, but Stephen didn’t believe for a minute that Mason’s set up was innocent. The reports from Stringer’s friends in the Animal Liberation Front were enough to have aroused suspicion without the evidence of Lyle’s agitation and on top of that, Stephen had worked with the Special Forces lieutenant long enough to have a healthy respect for Lyle’s predictive capabilities.

Mrs Willoughby stared down at the Royal Mail receipt slip as though she couldn’t believe her eyes. She didn’t look like the sort of woman who was easily stopped in her tracks, but she clearly wasn’t happy at having been out-manoeuvred like that. “I’ll need to make a phone call before I can allow you into the grounds.”

“You can make all the phone calls you want while we’re conducting the inspection,” Abby said, standing her ground in the face of the other woman’s obvious anger. “To speed things up, I have the assistance of some colleagues who will be looking at the heath and safety aspects of the zoo’s operation. I’d like to start with a tour of the animal containment facilities and we’ll be back to look at the paperwork later. I’d also like to see all your acquisition and breeding records, but that can wait until later as well.”

“Might I ask what has prompted this inspection?” Mrs Willoughby demanded.

“You can, but that is not something I’m obliged to answer. Suffice it to say that the local authority has received reports that have led to concerns that your means of preventing the escape of the animals in your care might be inadequate, but that’s a matter that we’re here to determine. Now, if you’d don’t mind, we’ll make a start.”

They were equipped with plans of the estate that Connor had been able to obtain from Kent County Council, again by means that probably weren’t entirely legal. They also had copies of the last two inspection reports, but what they needed to do was work out whether there was anywhere in the house and grounds that was capable of concealing an anomaly. They all carried portable detection devices and Connor had a larger version in one of the vans, but so far that must have drawn a blank.

Stephen just hoped that Ryan would be successful in keeping Lyle’s urge to apply a size nine boot to anything that stood between him and his search for his mother. He’d already noticed that they were being observed from the top of the stairs by a man in his early 30s who looked more than capable of handling himself in a fight.

* * * * *

The storm was gathering in intensity by the minute but the rain didn’t appear to have dampened Ben Harris’s enthusiasm. Ed Mason watched impassively as the mercenary finally spent himself inside the woman’s unresponsive body and rolled over, sporting a wide grin as he allowed the rain to wash the sweat off his face.

“We haven’t got all bloody day,” Mason commented, turning the key in the ignition. “If you’ve quite finished, we’ve got an accident to stage.”

Harris zipped his trousers up and clambered to his feet. “Sure thing, boss.” He looked down at his victim’s pale face and nudged her with his foot. She didn’t even stir. “Want me to finish her off?”

Mason glanced at the nearby forest. “I imagine there’ll be plenty of things fighting for that privilege. Come on, let’s get a move on.

Harris shrugged and made his way around to the passenger side. As they drove off, Mason took one last look over his shoulder. The world wouldn’t miss a nosy tabloid hack. She would have done better to have stayed in retirement. As it was, she’d soon be providing a snack for some of the ungrateful wildlife that she’d spent the morning carefully avoiding killing.

The rain was rapidly turning the already-soft ground into a quagmire and on a couple of occasions even the Land Rover suffered from wheel-spin. About half of the way back to where they’d left the others, Mason deliberately swiped the front wing on a tree, producing a large dent and making it look as through something had run into them at speed. He brought the vehicle to a halt while Harris slammed the butt of his rifle hard into one of the rear windows, shattering it and spraying broken glass onto the back seat. A few deep gouges from his knife into the metal of the door added to the effect. He’d brought a container of blood to give the impression that the Land Rover had been subjected to an animal attack and once Mason was happy with the results he gave Harris the nod and the mercenary fired half a dozen shots from his rifle into the air.

Harris jumped back in. “Boss, do you think we should check out the river? It’ll only be a detour of a few minutes. It’s fucking hammering down out there and I don’t think it’ll stay shallow much longer.”

Mason watched the water flowing over the windscreen, almost too heavy for the wipers to cope. Harris was right. A storm of this size could easily create a flash-flood. They hadn’t been in the area in these conditions before and they would have to cross the river on their way back to the site of the portal. Checking it out was a sensible idea.

As he drove, the storm gathered momentum. Whether his guests liked it or not, Mason was certain that they’d need to make an earlier than scheduled return to Farnley Hall, although he wasn’t convinced that the loss of one of the party would, by itself, be deemed a good reason to cut their visit short, but a river in danger of flooding couldn’t be ignored.

Five minutes later, he stared in horror at a frothing maelstrom of brown water, carrying with it tree trunks and other assorted debris. Only a few hours ago this had been a wide, shallow almost dry channel. He glanced at Harris and muttered, “Good call, Ben. Reckon we can cross it?”

Harris frowned. “It’s not that deep yet, but it’s fast and it looks like it’s still rising. Two of the other vehicles have got high exhausts so they’d probably be OK, but I’d rather not take this one unless we really have to.”

Yet another rumble of thunder greeted his words as the vehicle lurched away over the soft ground, littered now with debris of leaves, pine cones and broken branches that the storm was bringing down from the trees. Huge fern fronds swayed as the wind gusted even more strongly, slamming into the side of the Land Rover with increasing force, blowing rain in through the broken rear window and diluting the blood that streaked the interior.

“We’d better sit it out,” Mason said, swinging the Land Rover Discovery away from the flood waters. “I think it’s time to break the bad news to our friends that dear old Claire didn’t make it.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

canadian-jay.livejournal.com

Oho! ~~I think that's one the list of Mistakes Villains Make, lol~~ Brilliant! Abby was great and a T-Rex! Yay!

From:

Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 9 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags