fredbassett | Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 12 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

Title : Crow on the Cradle, Part 12 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.

Stephen went down on one knee to examine the ground. The vehicle tracks they’d been following had stopped at that point and he could make out the prints of booted feet on the ground, along with something else, almost obliterated by the heavy rain: traces of blood. He scanned the surrounding area but could see no signs of other disturbance as he cast around for evidence of what happened. He could see the tracks veering to one side and followed them to find traces of dark-green paint on the bark of a thick-trunked pine tree.

There was no indication that the vehicle had slid out of control. The wheel marks showed no sign of a skid. Stephen met Lyle’s eyes and delivered his verdict. “Someone staged an accident. There’s blood on the ground.”

“I know, I saw it,” Lyle said. “Do we go on, or search here?”

“We carry on following the tracks. The most likely scenario is that Mason stopped off on the way back from wherever he took her to make it look like they’d run into something.”

The three men set off again at a steady jog-trot. The air was hot and humid and they were all sweating freely. It was like running in a sauna. The clouds were already starting to break up, allowing the sun to shine through the canopy of dripping leaves. A Land Rover wouldn’t make much better speed over the soft ground than they were managing especially not now that Lyle was starting to pick up the pace. Glad of the long hours he spent keeping his fitness up to almost military standards, Stephen simply lengthened his stride and stayed with him, Dewar following hard on their heels.

The low drone of insects surrounded them and once they heard the sound of something large passing close to them in the undergrowth and saw the sway of branches as small trees were brushed aside. As they ran, Stephen wondered what the hell they were going to find and whether Lyle’s almost telepathic bond with his mother would have alerted the soldier to the woman’s death. Lyle’s face was set in a hard mask, giving nothing away. His emotions were firmly locked down.

The wheel ruts at their feet were easy to follow, but Stephen still stayed alert for any more variations. The undergrowth was starting to thin out around them, the enormous ferns giving way to taller pines and to their left bloomed a grove of what looked like huge cream-coloured magnolias. The ground was starting to rise slightly providing an impressive view over the sea of lush greenery that surrounded them.

Two paces ahead of him, Lyle suddenly let rip with a fluent curse reminiscent of Joel Stringer at his best, and swung the combat shotgun he was carrying up, racking the slide and firing in one smooth, well-practised movement. A squawking noise followed and Stephen saw feathered shapes scuttling away into the undergrowth. To Stephen’s surprise, Lyle had fired over the creatures’ heads. Clearly Cutter’s constant reminders that they should kill only when it was utterly unavoidable had done their work. The soldier broke into a run, the shotgun still gripped in his hands.

Stephen glanced around the small clearing. To their left, propped up against a pine tree, was the body of a woman, her head lolling on her chest, one hand resting on the ground beside her. Her feet were bare and it looked like she’d been trying to pull up her trousers but had barely managed to get them past her knees. Her other hand was still gripping the waistband.

It was obvious from the way Lyle dropped to his knees beside her and gently raised her chin that they’d found his mother.

“She’s alive,” Lyle’s voice was charged with all the emotion he’d been keeping pent up inside him for several days.

“Of course I’m alive.” Julia Denton’s voice was breathless and shaky, but held a note of something that sounded suspiciously like amusement. “Don’t hurt my babies, Jon.”

Lyle rocked back on his heels, staring down at her in amazement. “What the fuck are you talking about, mother?”

She gestured weakly with one hand. “The bird-things. I threw up and they were eating it. It’s what mothers do. Regurgitate food.”

Lyle closed his eyes in relief and pulled his mother into his arms. Stephen and Carl Dewar stood guard over the pair of them while she cried and Lyle held her close, rocking her and stroking her hair.

* * * * *

“How much do you remember?” Lyle asked, holding a flask of water to her mouth while Julia drank.

Her clothing was now decently fastened and she was wearing socks and boots again. Stephen had found them scattered around the clearing. Even without the traces of blood that Stephen had briefly glimpsed on Julia Denton’s inner thighs, it would have been obvious what had happened. He remembered Lyle’s report to the meeting in the ARC and knew that the rape had been carried out by Ben Harris, the man who had accompanied Mason when he’d isolated Julia from the main group. It didn’t take a medic to work out that she’d been drugged.

“Enough. Or maybe too much,” she said, meeting his eyes without flinching. “The rain helped keep me conscious.” She reached up with a shaky hand to brush her fingers over the stubble on Lyle’s jaw as though offering what comfort she could to him. “Help me up, Jon. I think I can walk now.”

“Mother…”

She silenced him with a look. “Don’t give me any crap, you little sod. I knew you’d come. We’ve had the hearts and flowers moment, now we need to start getting out of here while you tell me what’s been happening.”

Lyle sighed and held his hand down to her. “You couldn’t just have done things the easy way and told us what you knew?”

She ignored his question and coughed loudly. “Christ, I need a fag.”

“You’ll just have to wait.” Lyle helped her to her feet and put an arm around her waist while she took a couple of hesitant steps. “I gave up years ago.”

A soft chirruping from a few metres away drew Stephen’s attention. One of the creatures that they’d seen on arriving in the clearing was staring at them, head cocked on one side. He raised his rifle and thumbed off the safety as a precaution.

“Leave the poor little bugger alone,” Julia told him. “I think I’m going to put in for adoption. He’s quite sweet. And it’ll do Jon good not to be an only child any more.”

“You know I don’t like sharing my toys,” Lyle protested, clearly knowing when to go with the flow and let his mother do what she could to lighten the mood.

Stephen admired the woman’s composure. It was the first time he’d met Lyle’s mother but it was obvious she had the same toughness he’d witnessed often enough in her offspring. He raised his eyebrows enquiringly at Carl Dewar who had been trying to make contact with Ryan’s group.

“Either we’re out of range of the radios or there’s a portal somewhere fucking up the comms,” Dewar told him. “Do you want me to head back to the others and get some transport?”

“Safer to stay together,” Lyle said. “This isn’t a good environment to go solo in. Ryan will send a vehicle after us as soon as he can. In the meantime, we start walking. Help her up on my back.”

“I’m not being bloody carried!” Julia’s voice was loaded with indignation.

Two pairs of hazel eyes faced off against each other until Lyle finally shrugged and held out his hand again. His mother brushed her soaking wet hair back from her face and then took it. “Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

“Been there, done that, worn the fucking teeshirt,” Lyle said wryly.

“And refused to talk about it as well…”

“I’m a roughy toughy soldier, I don’t talk about my feelings.”

“And I’m a tabloid hack, sweetie, I don’t have feelings.”

Stephen could see that Julia’s eyes were becoming more focussed and she was no longer shaking, but even so, he knew their progress was going to be slow. After they’d been walking for fewer than 15 minutes, he realised that Lyle had started scratching his thumbs again. It was the one gesture everyone in the team had learned to watch for.

Stephen slipped off the safety catch on his rifle and wondered what was about to hit them, and from what direction.

* * * * *

“What happened to her?” Ryan slammed Ed Mason hard against the trunk of a tall pine tree.

“We were attacked. Something dragged her out of the vehicle!” The man’s eyes darted around the clearing looking for back-up and not finding any. He hadn’t asked where Dewar was and Ryan hadn’t volunteered the information.

Ben Harris had already been relieved of his weapons by Blade and was looking distinctly truculent. Neither Ricky Carey nor Mason’s remaining guards showed any inclination to risk their lives by interfering.

“I don’t believe you.” Ryan jerked his head at Blade who promptly shoved Harris into the trees. Ryan did the same with Mason, pushing the man none too gently ahead of him. Mason started to bluster about friends in high places so Ryan silenced him with a hard thump of a fist between his shoulder blades.

Ryan glanced behind him for a moment, checking that they weren’t being followed. The carcass of the dead tyrannosaurus dominated the scene, reminding Ryan all too forcibly of his last brush with the creatures. His men had fanned out, taking up defensive positions while Ditzy conducted a rapid triage on the wounded.

Anne Churchill had been freed from beneath the badly damaged Land Rover before they arrived. She appeared to have a broken arm, a badly gashed leg and severe concussion. Her husband – although uninjured – was in a state of shock. Charlie Marsh, the man with the broken leg, was white-faced and in obvious pain, but he’d accepted the painkillers and simply gritted his teeth, waiting his turn for medical attention. Jim Fletcher, one of the mercenaries, was unconscious and suffering serious blood loss. He’d lost half an arm to their attacker and would have died already if one of the others hadn’t got a tourniquet on it to staunch the bleeding. From the look of him, Ryan didn’t rate the man’s chances too highly.

They had four working vehicles, only two of which were capable of crossing the river unless the flood had abated considerably by the time they got back there. The other fitted with a high exhaust had been damaged beyond repair, so they’d have to make do with what they had. The dead were being loaded into the back of one of the Land Rovers. Carey and Kermit had done their best with the mutilated remains of one of Carey’s colleagues, but it hadn’t been an easy task. Both men were covered with blood and the whole clearing stank of blood and guts.

Ryan knew it was only a matter of time before something large and hungry started to take an undue interest in them. Mentally, he willed Ditzy to hurry, even though he knew that the medic – assisted by Abby – was working as quickly as he could. A light breeze was carrying the scent of death through the forest and flies were buzzing loudly all around them. Even Connor’s normal exuberance was notably absent and Cutter had shown no signs of straying beyond the perimeter that the soldiers had established. He’d met Ryan’s eyes as he and Blade had isolated Mason and Harris from the rest of the group but had made no attempt to call them back or interfere.

A sharp cry of pain disturbed the silence. One of Mason’s men was doing his best to manoeuvre the injured woman into one of the vehicles without hurting her, but it wasn’t an easy task.

Ditzy and Abby had moved onto Marsh now and were immobilising his leg prior to transfer onto a stretcher. The ride back – and across the river – was going to be a painful experience for the wounded.

Ryan transferred his attention back to the man who lay gasping at his feet. He just hoped that Lester could find some way of neutralising the political threat from Mason’s cronies because otherwise Ryan knew he could well be about to take a long walk off a very short pier. But Mason had information they needed and Ryan was in no mood to pussyfoot about.

“I don’t think Mr Mason believes we’re serious, Blade,” he said quietly. “And we don’t have time to prolong this.” He tilted Mason’s chin up using the toe of his boot. “I want to know what you’ve done with the woman called Claire Thackeray and I want to know now. Do you understand me?”

“If you value your rank, you’ll stop this before you go any further,” Mason said with forced calm.

Ryan met Blade’s eyes and gave a slight nod. The young soldier slid a pair of thin-bladed knives out of a wrist sheath and handed one, hilt first, to Ryan, keeping the other for himself.

It took precisely 90 seconds to extract the information they wanted. Ryan wiped the knife blade on Mason’s jacket and stared down at the man who had watched while Lyle’s mother had been raped and then had left her, drugged, at the mercy of whatever predators fancied a free meal. Mason was cradling one hand to his chest and rocking backwards and forwards on the damp ground, white-faced and shaking. Harris wasn’t in much better shape. Blade pulled Harris’s hands behind his back, ignoring his cries of pain, and secured them with a cable tie.

“Load them into one of the vehicles,” Ryan ordered, striding back to the clearing.

Stringer was waiting for him. “I can’t raise Lyle on the radio,” he commented.

“They were on the right trail,” Ryan told him. “The bastards drugged her, Harris had his fun and then they dumped her. Take Kermit and one of the Land Rovers and find them while we finish off here. Leave us the ones that can make the river crossing. We’ll meet you back there once we’ve got the injured out of here.” He glanced around the clearing. “I want to get out of here fast. The place smells like a fucking slaughterhouse.”

His fellow captain nodded and promptly moved off.

Ryan watched as Blade bundled Mason and Harris into the back seats of the vehicle that held the dead bodies. Apart from the constant drone of insects and the groans of the injured, an unnatural silence had fallen over the forest. For most of the time they’d been working Ryan had heard the occasional bellow from somewhere in the trees, accompanied by the sounds of large creatures moving around - mostly herbivores, if Cutter was to be believed.

“Ditz, when can we start moving?” Ryan kept his voice low but the question still earned him a sharp glance from Tony Porter. From what Ryan had seen of the man, he was no fool. He’d helped Ryan’s men keep watch and he looked like he knew how to handle himself.

The medic finished making the injured woman as comfortable as he could and straightened up. He met Ryan’s eyes and nodded. At a gesture from Ryan, Finn slid into the driver’s seat of the car containing the wounded, with Ditzy to ride shotgun and keep an eye on his charges.

“Go with them, please, sir,” Ryan said to Porter. “And keep your rifle handy.”

“I wouldn’t do anything else around here,” the man commented dryly. “You’re expecting trouble, aren’t you?”

Ryan nodded, not bothering to dress anything up. He wanted to ensure Porter stayed alert and there was no point in trying to sugar-coat their situation. The crack of a branch in the trees drew their attention. A large shape was prowling towards them, head lowered, sniffing the air. Time had just run out for them.

“Professor, Connor!” Ryan spoke sharply and neither man needed telling twice. Finn was already pulling out of the clearing, driving as smoothly as he could, but even so, the lurching movement of the Land Rover must have been a torment for its injured passengers. “Cutter, take the wheel!”

The professor was a good driver and Ryan knew he could rely on him. The soldier wanted to keep his hands free to use his weapons. Abby had armed herself with a hunting rifle that looked absurdly large for her slight frame and was kneeling on one of the back seats, the barrel of the rifle pointing out of the rear window as Ryan sprinted to join her.

The final vehicle in the convoy was driven by Ricky Carey, with Blade at his side. Ryan had heard Ben Harris pleading for his hands to be released and Blade’s laconic refusal. The Land Rover lurched forward, avoiding the gaping jaws of the dead tyrannosaurus. Ryan hoped that the huge carcass would prove enough of a draw for any predators in the vicinity to buy them some time to get clear of the area, but he wouldn’t have wanted to place any bets on their chances.

A loud roar shattered the silence and a massive creature burst from the trees at speed, closely followed by another. Ryan didn’t need Connor’s excited yell in his ear to tell him what they were. He’d last faced these beasts in the Forest of Dean in the dark, in a desperate fight for survival that had cost the life of one of his men. He didn’t relish the idea of a rematch, but as the lead predator scented the air and registered the movement of the vehicles, Ryan just hoped that their retreat wouldn’t become a rout. It looked like their pursuers were more interested in moving prey than carrion.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

bigtitch.livejournal.com

Yay for Lyle's Mum!

And remember, Ryan. When being chased by a TRex, you don't have to outrun the dinosaur, you just have to outrun the handcuffed rapist you just tossed out of the landrover!

I'm loving this whole series!

From:

Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 12 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

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