fredbassett | Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 10 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

Title : Crow on the Cradle, Part 10 of 15
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, Cutter, Claudia, Abby, Conner, 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.

“I have the Home Secretary on the phone again, Sir James,” Lorraine told him, her face as impassive as ever. “Would you like me to tell her you’re still unavailable?”

Lester glanced at the clock on the wall. He’d avoided his pursuer for the past hour by switching his mobile phone off and getting Lorraine to tell the irritating woman that as far as she knew, he was on his way into the office and was expected shortly. But if he played hard to get for much longer, he wouldn’t put it past the Home Secretary to track him down in person.

“Do put her through,” he said, settling himself down in his chair. “And get Cutter on the other line, if you can. I want to know if he’s turned anything up yet.”

A moment later, Lester’s phone buzzed and he steeled himself for the tirade he knew he was about to be subjected to. Gillian Clement wasn’t known for her even temper and she hated being crossed. “Home Secretary, so sorry to have kept you waiting. The hands-free system in my car appears to be malfunctioning.”

“Then get it fixed, James,” she snapped. “I’m sure your budget will run to that, although if you carry on the way you’re doing at the moment, you’ll find yourself sequestered in the Welsh Assembly by the end of the week. I thought I’d made myself quite clear on the subject of Mr Mason?”

“You did, Home Secretary,” Lester acknowledged.

“Then why are your people currently masquerading as zoo inspectors?”

“Masquerading as zoo inspectors? I’m sure there must have been some mistake.”

“You heard me, James, and don’t play innocent, it doesn’t suit you. I’ve seen photographs: that blonde girl, Maitland, plus your mad Scottish professor and his pretty-boy assistant. I want them out of there and I want them out of there now.”

Lester leaned back in his chair and stared at the Spartan helmet on his desk before answering. “I’m terribly sorry, Gillian, but I’m afraid I can’t oblige. Your Mr Mason is dabbling in something that concerns the anomaly project and even the size of his donations to the party can’t buy his way out of that.”

“That is a wholly offensive suggestion.” Gillian Clements’ voice had taken on a hard edge that Lester recognised all too well. “Get your bunch of cowboys out of Farnley Hall immediately.”

He glanced down at the piece of paper on his desk with a list of car numbers and registered owners. When he’d given the order to Cutter’s team to put their plan into action he’d been operating on nothing more than a mixture of hope and instinct, but then Temple had handed him a possible trump card.

“You must have misheard me, Gillian,” Lester said, knowing how much it annoyed her when anybody had the temerity to address her by name. “I said I’m afraid I can’t oblige. My enquiries have turned up some quite interesting information on Mr Mason and his associates. Does the name Gallifrey Ventures mean anything to you, by any chance?”

Her hesitation told Lester all he needed to know and he allowed himself a small smile, even though Lorraine had just appeared in his room and indicated, with a shake of her head, that Cutter and the team hadn’t yet been successful in their search of Mason’s premises.

“I shall be speaking to the Prime Minister about your actions, James. You’ve gone too far this time.”

“You’re blustering, Gillian. We both know why you won’t be involving the PM, but I can assure you that I most certainly will be doing exactly that, first thing tomorrow morning. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He replaced the handset with more force than usual and smiled benignly at Lorraine. “If the Prime Minister rings, do put him through.”

“Do you expect him to?”

“No. But I might be pleasantly surprised.”

She smiled back at him. “I’ll make some more coffee, shall I?”

* * * * *

The sound of gunshots in the distance died away. Dewar pulled his radio from his pocket and thumbed the transmission switch. “Boss, was that you?” The crackle of static was all that greeted his words. It looked like the storm was playing havoc with their comms. He tried again. “Boss, have you got a problem?”

As he spoke, the tyrannosaurus lifted its bloody jaws from the still-quivering corpse of the huge herbivore and stared around as though it was somehow aware of the high-powered hunting rifles trained on it. A low growl issued from its throat and the creature’s nostrils twitched.

Carl Dewar swore violently under his breath, earning him a disapproving glance from one of the women. “The wind’s changed,” he said, tightening his grip on his own rifle. “Our scent’s being carried to it. If you’re going to take the shot, gentlemen, I’d suggest now is a good time.”

Tony Porter smiled and needed no second urging. The crack of his rifle was almost drowned out by a loud burst of thunder, but the red blood that bloomed on the creature’s neck bore witness to the man’s accuracy. Another volley of shots followed tearing into the tyrannosaurus’s thick hide. It shook its great head and roared, more in anger than in pain, from what Dewar could see. It took a step towards them, head thrown back, exposing its throat.

Before anyone else could react, Porter calmly reloaded his rifle and fired again. For a moment Dewar thought the man had succeeded in getting a killing shot as blood fountained from the creature’s neck, then it lowered its head and charged straight at them with the speed of a galloping horse.

“Run!” Dewar yelled the order as loudly as he could whilst swinging his own rifle up and trying to aim for a head shot. Nothing else seemed to be working

The chatter of rapid fire told him that Baz Gunter had just brought the Gimpy to bear on the rapidly-approaching problem. Dewar held his breath and squeezed the trigger at exactly the same moment that the tyrannosaur lowered its head and powered forward even faster than before, seemingly unaffected by the blood loss from the numerous wounds it had taken. Screams erupted around Dewar and the mercenary flung himself sideways, grabbing one of the women by the arm and dragging her with him.

The sound of the machine gun came to abrupt halt and was replaced by the unmistakable sound of bone being crushed between powerful jaws. For the first and only time since he’d known the man, Dewar heard Gunter scream. The giant predator crushed Gunter’s ribcage and the scream died away to a gurgle. It shook the body the way a terrier would shake a rat and the man’s head lolled limply from his shoulders. It dropped him to the ground like a broken doll and roared again.

Dewar glanced around to see who was still in view. With the Gimpy out of action, they’d need all the firepower they had to bring the T. rex down. He loosed off a shot quickly and heard two other gunshots at almost the same time. More blood sprayed across the mottled grey-green skin but it still didn’t go down. Dewar had seen an old bull elephant like that once, taking shot after shot without slowing down, the lead punching into its body only seeming to enrage rather than weaken. It had killed three people before they’d finally succeeded in bringing it to its knees, and this creature was larger and tougher than anything modern Africa harboured.

As the tyrannosaur rampaged amongst the vehicles crushing the bonnet of one with a powerful foot and heaving another over onto its side, the complete folly of what his employer had done came crashing home to Dewar. In this world man was the hunted, not the hunter. They’d be lucky if any of them escaped alive. He could hear answering bellows in the forest now and knew the noises came from the throats of more predators: it looked very much like their situation was about to deteriorate further. The predator had seized a second person, Dewar couldn’t tell who, and a third was lying on the ground, mangled beyond belief.

Another shot rang out and a steel-jacketed bullet finally embedded itself in the creature’s brain. It paused, head swinging from side to side, and Dewar realised that the massive hind legs were finally starting to show signs of buckling.

Henry Dawson stepped out from the shelter of the trees, his rifle held to his shoulder. While Dewar was reloading, the man fired, his bullet exploding the creature’s blood and brain matter in a wide spray. Almost as if in slow motion, T. rex toppled sideways, managing to cause maximum damage even in death, as it fell onto the Land Rovers, smashing them like children’s toys. Dewar closed his eyes for a moment in horror. He’d seen people take shelter behind those vehicles.

Less than a minute later, Dewar was still trying to ascertain how many casualties they’d taken as Mason’s vehicle drove into the clearing and came to a halt in front of a scene of complete devastation. From the state of the other man’s vehicle, they weren’t the only ones who had encountered trouble.

Answering the unspoken question, Mason said, “We were attacked. Claire didn’t make it.”

“She’s not the only one,” Dewar said.

One look at the still-bleeding carcass crushing at least two of the Land Rovers clearly told Mason all he needed to know. Despite his tan, the man’s face was now as pale as a shroud. The geese that laid the golden eggs weren’t meant to end up on a dinner plate.

“There’s a river in flood between us and the portal,” Mason said, staring around him in shock. “Evacuating this lot isn’t going to be easy.”

The sound of screaming reinforced Mason’s point. Dewar was impressed by the man’s calm in the face of an event that would almost certainly bring a multi-million pound business venture to a messy end.

“Find the ones that aren’t screaming,” Dewar said. “They’re the ones we need to get out of here first. And check how many vehicles we still have.”

He stared up at a sky that still held more rain and wondered how much this world still had held in reserve to throw at them.

* * * * *

Stephen stared down at the portable anomaly detector in his hand and wondered if shaking it would help. From the rueful look on Cutter’s face, he knew the same thought had crossed his mind as well.

They’d spent the past two hours working their way around Mason’s estate. Abby was doing a very good job of keeping up the cover for their operation. She’d already found at least three infractions of the relevant legislation, mainly in connection with the conditions in which the great apes were being kept but they were no closer to finding out where Mason was keeping the animals that had attacked Stringer’s contacts.

To his surprise, they hadn’t been pulled off the case, in spite of their lack of success, although according to Lyle, Lester had come under heavy fire from the Home Secretary but was holding his ground. The lieutenant was still as twitchy as hell, but had his temper under control and so far hadn’t given in to the temptation to start kicking doors down.

Mason’s personal assistant, the formidable Mrs Willoughby, had dogged their heels during the entire visit, and he knew they were still being watched by the short-haired bloke that he’d instantly pegged as ex-military. Ryan, Lyle and Stringer, together with the rest of the military contingent consisting of Blade, Ditzy, Finn and Kermit were still cooped up inside the vans, monitoring any radio communications within the estate, although so far they’d picked up nothing of interest. Blade had supplied a positive identification of the short-haired bloke as Ricky Carey, ex-Sandline mercenary and logistics specialist.

For what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon, Stephen glanced at the portable anomaly detector. Still nothing. He was about to stuff it back in his pocket when the small screen suddenly lit up and the box emitted a high-pitched series of bleeps.

A moment later, Connor’s excited voice shouted in his ear through the radio, “We’ve got something!”

Stephen half-expected the device to go dead again but it didn’t. If anything, the bleeping simply intensified.

“Half a mile away!” Connor again. “I’ve got a fix on it. We’re bringing up the vans.”

Moments later, the two black vans arrived and Stephen jumped in with Cutter. Abby came out of one of the sheds at a run, the man called Ricky Carey following close behind her. As the rear doors slammed shut behind Abby, Stephen saw the man heading for a Range Rover.

“We’re being followed,” Connor confirmed, from one of the front seats.

A moment later, a burst of static crackled in Stephen’s ear and he heard an unfamiliar voice demanding, “Carey, get medical assistance! We have casualties! I repeat we have casualties!”

The van bounced along the track through the parkland, passing beside the enclosure that held the big cats then heading for a copse of trees next to a long, low mound. The radio communications were suffering their usual anomaly-related problems, but Stephen was able to pick out a few words in reply.

“…company, we have company…”

“…ck that, get a fucking ambulance…” There was no mistaking the urgency in the other voice.

Stringer brought the van to a shuddering halt and before it had even stopped moving, Ditzy had the back open and was out, his medical kit in his hands. Stephen was hard on his heels, as were the rest of the team. The Range Rover containing Carey arrived a moment later. Stephen stared in amazement at the mound in front of them. One end of it gaped open, a raised hatch above it, covered by turf so that – when closed – it would have simply blended in with the rest of the scenery. Inside, a pair of large metal doors stood open and inside them Stephen could see the unmistakeable light of an anomaly, twisting and turning as though held prisoner in the tunnel.

Outside the artificial mound, a battered Land Rover stood with its doors open, dripping water from its interior. Stephen heard a man’s voice, frantic with worry saying, “Help her, for God’s sake, help her!”

Lyle covered the distance between the van and the other vehicle in several long strides.

“It’s not her, Jon,” Ditzy said. “Give me room to work and get that fucking ambulance!”

Lyle pulled out his phone but was forestalled by Carey who’d been almost as quick out of his own vehicle as the rest of them had. “I’ve already called it in. Hello, Lyle.”

The lieutenant gave the other man a slight nod. “Ricky. Are you going to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

“You know as much as me,” the mercenary said. “I presume you’ve been listening to the same radio feed.”

“They’ve built a Faraday cage!” The announcement came from Connor who was now standing inside the mound, staring around him. “That’s why we weren’t picking anything up! Professor, come and look at this!”

Cutter shot a helpless look inside the van, obviously now aware of what Stephen had already seen. Blood. An awful lot of blood. On the back seats, another passenger was staring out at him, white-faced with shock. The man was cradling his own arm and looked like he was about to pass out, but he was in better shape that the woman laid out in the back. Abby opened the rear door and helped him out.

Stephen could hear Ditzy talking quietly and reassuringly. Beside him stood a man of little more than medium height, strongly but not heavily built. His clothes were wet and his short light-brown hair stood up in damp spikes. He had been driving the Land Rover and was now staring into the back of it, his face an impassive mask.

Ditzy straightened up and said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“No!” The denial came from a man in his mid 60s, covered in blood that probably wasn’t his own. “No! You can’t just stop! There must be something you can do!”

“I’m sorry,” Ditzy repeated. “There was nothing I could do. She was already gone.” He stared hard at the man standing next to him. “How many more casualties have you got and where are they?”

“One with us.” He nodded to the man leaning against the side of the Land Rover, breathing heavily. “Ted’s got a broken arm and several broken ribs. Lizzie was the worst. There’s a woman stuck under a vehicle. I left my men trying to free her. One man’s got a broken leg that needs splinting. I had to give priority to Lizzie. She was bleeding out.” The man’s accent was a soft Texan drawl. Stephen presumed this was the mercenary he’d heard the others refer to as Carl Dewar.

Ditzy’s expression softened for a moment. “You did the right thing. I’m sorry I couldn’t help her.” He put his hand on the older man’s arm as he cradled the woman’s broken body in his arms, even more blood soaking into his clothing. “Sir, we’re going to need to move her.” To Dewar he said, “Is this the only vehicle you’ve got that can tackle the river?”

“There’s one with a high exhaust on the other side if they’ve managed to get it upright again. There’s also one down at the house. Ricky, get it up here now. And bring whatever we’ve got by way of medical kit.”

“On it, boss,” Carey said, taking off at a run.

At a gesture from Ditzy, Stephen moved up to help him manoeuvre the dead woman’s body as gently as they could out of the back of the Land Rover while Abby put her arm around her husband and tried to lead him away. He simply shook his head and knelt on the short grass, still clutching his wife’s hand, his face slack with shock. Ditzy started to examine the man with the broken arm.

Lyle, standing to one side, a rifle now cradled in his arms, stared into the dark tunnel out of which Dewar had driven and demanded, “Where’s my mother, Dewar?”

The look of surprise on the mercenary’s face was unforced. “Lyle?”

“My mother, Carl, where the fuck is she?”

Dewar continued to look genuinely puzzled as Lyle took a step forward, flanked by both Ryan and Stringer. “I don’t even know your mother.”

“She’s on the other side of that fucking anomaly,” Lyle said, swinging his rifle up. “And you’re going to take me to her.”

“Lyle, I have no fucking…”

“The names of everyone in your little hunting party, Dewar, tell us the names…” The interruption came from Stringer.

Dewar glanced at the man still kneeling on the ground, sobbing. “George Henderson. That was his wife, Lizzie.” He nodded in the direction of the other man. “That’s Ted McCallum. On the other side there’s Peter and Anne Churchill. She’s the one who’s trapped under one of the vehicles. Charlie Marsh, the one with the broken leg. Henry Dawson and Derrick Grigson. I think they’re both dead.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “Tony Porter. He was uninjured. He stayed behind to help Mason and my men with the injured.”

“There was another woman.” Lyle’s voice held absolute certainty. “Where is she?”

Dewar’s eyes widened slightly. “She didn’t make it.”

“Her name, Dewar,” Stringer demanded.

“Thackeray. Claire Thackeray.”

Lyle closed his eyes for a moment and then swore violently, starting forwards towards the mercenary. Ryan grabbed his arm and said urgently, “Jon?”

“Claire is her middle name. Bob Thackeray was her second husband. What the fuck happened?” Lyle’s voice was as cold and brittle as breaking ice. He levelled his rifle at Dewar’s right knee.

Stephen saw a look of uncertainty cross Dewar’s face. “I don’t know, Lyle. She was taken ill, Mason said he’d bring her back here…” The uncertainty deepened into something else and the mercenary hesitated. “He said they were attached by something and she was dragged out of the vehicle.”

“Dewar, tell me what the fuck you know and tell me now…” Lyle shook off Ryan’s restraining hand and took another step forward.

“We heard shots and I saw the damage to his Land Rover. I didn’t quiz him on the details. It was fucking carnage where we were.” He met Lyle’s eyes without flinching and demanded, “What the fuck was your mother doing with that lot, Lyle?”

“What she does best,” said Lyle ruefully, the anger draining from him as quickly as it had flared up as he recognised that Dewar was now as puzzled as he was. “Getting into fucking trouble. But I won’t believe she’s dead until I see her body.”

From what Stephen had just seen and heard, Lyle’s mother wasn’t the only one who had got into trouble, either.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

bigtitch.livejournal.com

Eeep!!!
That was really exciting!

I have to say I don't feel sorry for any of them other than Lyle's Mum!

From:

Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 10 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

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