Fic, Endangered Species, Part 2, Slash, Stephen/Ryan, 15

[fredbassett]

Title : Endangered Species, Part 2
Author: fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Stephen/Ryan
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Lyle), don't sue
Spoliers : None
Summary : Something nasty in the woods
Tags : Fic, Slash, Stephen, Ryan

Two minutes later, they heard the first shots. The soldiers redoubled their pace, hampered now by a section of younger trees and some deep drainage ditches. It wasn’t long before they heard the first yell, followed by more gunfire. Trying to stay within the swathe cut by the creatures, the Special Forces team started to make faster progress than Stephen could, for all his fitness, but in response to an earlier order from Ryan, one of the guys stayed with him.

Without warning, a massive shape crashed through the trees, no more than three metres away. The soldier in front of him whirled round, bringing up his gun in one fluid movement, searching for a target. It wasn’t hard to find. A huge shape, blacker than the surrounding night charged at them, impossibly fast, making the sort of noise normally only heard in certain types of nightmare, usually fuelled by far too much alcohol.

A burst of semi-automatic fire did nothing to slow the beast down. Trees splintered like plywood. Stephen threw himself to one side, his shoulder hitting a tree trunk with a painful crack. He held onto the rifle, recovering fast, cocking the bolt with the ease of long practice. It was probably the first time he’d ever fired a sniper’s rifle from the hip, but this wasn’t the time or the place for finesse.

A massive tail swung round as the creature turned towards the new threat. Stephen jumped out of its way, grabbing for another bullet, wishing he’d asked for something other than a single shot weapon.

The roar of more automatic fire split the night, the muzzle flash temporarily blinding both Stephen and their attacker. It turned, blundering wildly, hit by multiple bullets, which had probably done little more that sting it, but the light and the sharp smell of cordite confused its senses and it turned away from the stinging nuisance, away from what had until a moment ago been its prey, seeking easier pickings.

“What the fuck is it?” breathed the soldier.

“Probably the world’s biggest ever predator,” said Stephen, something approaching awe in his voice. Another burst of fire came from somewhere to their left and they set off again at a run.

Stephen’s radio cracked as he ran. He heard Ryan’s voice, distorted by static, “Hart, the woods are swarming with the fuckers! Get to the house, try and pick some of them off if they come across the front. They don’t seem to like the lights too much.”

Stephen glanced at his Special Forces escort and checked he’d also heard Ryan’s instruction. The man nodded and gestured with his gun barrel for them to move off. From all around, they heard the sounds of what closely resembled a pitched battle tearing through the night. They ran, hunched over, staying low, hopefully staying out of the way of the bullets, weaving through the undergrowth, moving closer to the glow of the lights surrounding the hotel.

They hesitated at the edge of the trees, getting their bearings, hearing the snap of branches and the groan of the trees themselves, pushed over by creatures that the thin pines should never have had to coexist with. By creatures that homo sapiens sapiens should never have had to coexist with.

Humans were not designed to go up against Tyrannosaurus rex, no matter what movie producers thought. It might make good cinema, but it was a crap way of prolonging your life expectancy. The creatures could run at something close to forty miles per hour, they had jaws that could bite a man in half with no discernible effort and a tail that could deliver a swipe that would send even the biggest, heaviest person flying, bones broken.

The lawn fronting the hotel and the drive was still floodlit, the lamps casting a hazy yellow glow over a wide area. Stephen could see at least three tyrannosaurs prowling the edge of the trees. What the hell was going on?  He’d never read anything which indicated that the sodding things hunted in packs. For a long moment, silence fell, then a roar which would have stopped a bull elephant in its tracks echoed into the night and others answered it.

A burst of gunfire came from their left, and without waiting for instruction, Stephen ran, hoping the soldier had his back. The dash across the grass seemed interminable, he was running towards the lights set into the shrubbery by the main doors, his night vision torn apart by the brightness. Then something moved in front of him, rearing up like a massively over-sized horse on its hind legs, but infinitely more threatening.

He veered to the right, thumbed back the bolt on the L96, and fired again from the hip. Either the muzzle flash or the bullet caused the beast to jerk backwards, Stephen wasn’t sure which. He hoped it was the bullet. He carried on running, but this time past the main door to the hotel. He couldn’t risk leaving a scent trail directly inside.  There were kids in the hotel and the sodding thing was just too close. He had to lead it away. But it was bigger than him and faster than him and it was also as mad as hell.. Oh shit.

The sound of gunfire on all sides tore at Stephen’s senses, destroying his ability to think or plan. All he could do was react, throwing himself one way, then the other, avoiding snapping jaws and wildly swinging tail. He turned, rolling and firing at the same time, the report of the rifle ripping into his brain, tearing rational thought into even smaller pieces. How the hell Ryan’s guys could use their submachine guns and still think straight, he’d never know.

The 7.62 mm bullet tore through the tyrannosaur’s brain, taking a sizeable section of skull with it. And the fucking thing was still lumbering towards him, like something out of a Hammer Horror film, only here, the script writers weren’t necessarily on his side. He grabbed for a bullet ……and dropped it.

Another burst of gunfire sounded, very close. The already ruined skull jerked again and the giant predator started to topple sideways. Relief hit Stephen hard. He fumbled again for a bullet, cursing his clumsiness. This was no time for an attack of nerves. Actually it was, said the still sane part of his brain. Things the size of a house were trying to eat him. Flight was infinitely more sensible choice than fight when faced with these monsters. So why the hell wasn’t he running?

The Special Forces soldier who’d saved his life and whose name he still didn’t know, skidded to a halt next to him, and just for good measure pumped another clip of ammunition into the twitching corpse.

Slamming a replacement clip into the machine pistol, the man remarked, “I never did like Jurassic Park.”

“These things are Triassic.”

“Sodding movie makers. Can’t believe anything you see on the screen these days.” He put one hand up to his earpiece, then said, “OK, I’m onto it ……. The captain wants something heavier. I need to get to the van. I’ll cover you as far as the entrance.”

“Not a good time to be on your own,” said Stephen. “I’m staying with you.”

For a second the soldier looked like he was going to argue, then he sighed and said, “Keep behind me. I’d rather face these things any time than the captain in a bad mood, so I’d prefer you to stay alive, if you don’t mind, sir.”

“I’ll do my best to oblige,” muttered Stephen, wondering vaguely if the whole bloody lot of them knew about his liaison with Ryan. He supposed that after their captain’s remark in the bar, they probably all did.

Then they were running again. A second T. rex came lumbering towards them across the gravel. The small part of Stephen’s brain that wasn’t gibbering with fright registered the fact that the standard CGI versions were right in at least one respect, the tail was held out almost straight as it ran, in counter-balance to its body weight. And oh fuck, it was fast. Too fast. Way too fast. He dropped to one knee, bringing the rifle up to his shoulder and fired. Once. Twice. This time he didn’t fluff the re-load. The second bullet took it in the head as well. There was no time for another shot, but thankfully, his escort was on the case as well and another burst of fire brought this one down.

For fuck’s sake, how many of the things were there? Surely to God the rest of Ryan’s mob must have taken some of them out as well?

Stephen’s brain had given up trying to block out the noises around him. The harsh clatter of automatic fire merged with the roars of the creatures, threatening what was left of his sanity with total sensory over-load. And then somewhere not far away he heard the thin scream of a human in agony, abruptly cut off into a silence that was almost worse than the scream had been. But he carried on running. They were taking casualties now, that much was obvious and it looked like the others were still on the far side of the open area, separated from the hotel by at least four more of the buggers. This was beyond the realm of nightmares now.

Somehow they got to the side of the hotel. There were no lights round there, but they didn’t need lights to know that there was another T. rex between them and the van. It stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. A very large, very angry sore thumb, with very big teeth.

“Does staying still work?” asked the soldier, sounding improbably calm. “Or is that another fucking myth?”

“I’ll tell you when I know,” said Stephen.

But it wasn’t their presence which attracted the creatures attention first. There was a sudden flurry of movement close to ground level. Something small and furry shot out from the bushes next to them. The huge head swivelled, homing in on a long-haired white cat that had chosen this moment to make an ill-advised dash from cover. As a distraction, it couldn’t have been bettered. The tyrannosaur gave chase, like a ridiculous, but distinctly unfunny cartoon cat after an absurdly small mouse.

The soldier wasted no time. He was at the back of one of the vans in seconds, dragging the doors open and disappearing inside.

Stephen stayed on the corner, doing what Ryan had originally wanted and taking pot-shots at the brutes from a safe, or rather relatively safe, distance. He kept his aim high, not wanting to risk stray bullets hitting one of their own, going for head shots only.

He saw at least two on the far edge of the lawn topple and fall, cut down from both sides. He began to think they were starting to win. Or at least he hoped and prayed they were.

“Ever fired anything bigger than a rifle?” asked the soldier, still sounding like he was holding a polite conversation in a bar.

“No, but I’m a quick learner.”

And so, in the space of less than three minutes, Stephen was given a clear and remarkably concise lesson in how to fire a shoulder mounted rocket launcher. If truth be told, like most guns, it amounted to little more than point it and pull the trigger. That was something Stephen was pretty sure he could handle.

His escort dragged a box of shells out of the back of the van and over to the corner of the hotel. They were ready, all they needed now was a target. The beast that had chased the cat was still nosing around in the middle of the gravel, probably looking for another appetiser. The soldier went down on one knee, the long barrel resting on his right shoulder.

The tyrannosaurus lowered its head, snuffling, jaws open.

A small scrap of white fur huddled in front of it in the middle of the gravel. Its lack of movement the only thing saving its life.

A door banged loudly, startling and incongruous. Something started to run across the gravel crying, “Snowball!”

“Jesus H. Christ,” breathed the soldier, “who let a fucking kid out?”

Something about the high pitch of the young voice seemed to cut right through the rest of the tumult, attracting the interest of every beast left standing and three of them turned as one, heads tipping this way and that, trying to locate their prey by a mixture of hearing and smell.

The cat chose that moment to break and run and the child swerved after it, seemingly oblivious to the presence of what amounted to certain death on legs no more than three metres away. Before the beast could react, the crump of a rocket blasted through the night, leaving behind a trail of flame. The missile hit the T. rex in the shoulders and quite literally blew it apart, raining flesh and bone in all directions.

The child screamed again and froze. But at least it was no longer running towards the other three that had momentarily come to a halt, heads turning, seeking prey.

A soldier broke from cover on the far side, dodging one of the tyrannosaurs, firing from the hip as he ran. The muzzle flashes seemed to halt them almost as well as the bullets, but the effects were shorter lived. With a roar, the injured beast gave chase. It was slow to start, but soon made up for that.

Stephen’s first shot missed. The sodding thing was moving faster than he’d allowed for. He grabbed another rocket from the box and reloaded, hoping he was doing it right.

With a sudden lurch of his stomach, he realised the running figure was Ryan.

The cat chose that moment to take off again, this time heading back towards the hotel. One tyrannosaur turned after it, huge tail swinging widely. Ryan tried to swerve, but was caught across the chest and thrown through the air, straight into the path of another.

“Oh fuck,” breathed Stephen’s escort, taking careful aim, trying not to rush the shot, even though his captain was lying injured in the immediate path of an enraged dinosaur. Time slowed to a crawl.

It felt like one of those dreams where every move was made in slow motion through thick mud. Stephen watched, horrified, as one huge head lowered itself to Ryan, jaws impossibly wide, a noise somewhere between a growl and a roar issuing past teeth like carving knives. The Special Forces leader rolled, firing the machine pistol upwards, straight down his attacker’s throat. The head jerked back, blood sprayed and Ryan carried on rolling, narrowly avoiding a stamping foot that would have crushed the life from him as easily as the jaws could have done.

Ryan’s ribs hurt and he’d wrenched his knee badly in a desperate attempt to avoid a pair of wildly snapping jaws. He looked round, trying to locate the kid. She was huddled on the ground, the white cat cradled in her arms. Both too terrified to move. Ryan took his hands off the gun, leaving it dangling uselessly from its shoulder strap. He ran, ignoring the stabbing pain from his knee. Scooping the child up into his arms, he ducked under the head, the jaws missing him by inches. He didn’t even know if there was anyone in a position to provide covering fire, he just had to trust his men and what remained of his own luck, although even he knew this was pushing it beyond the bounds of all probability. He was fast, but it didn’t take a dinosaur geek to know that he didn’t stand a hope in hell of out-running these bastards.

As soon as he took off across the gravel, automatic fire burst out from behind him, but he knew its effectiveness was limited since they were restricted to firing over his head. He veered right, hoping to allow someone a clear shot. He was half way to the hotel now, but the crunch of over-sized feet on the gravel told him all he needed to know. He wasn’t going to make it.

A voice yelled, “Ryan, down!”

He threw himself forward and sideways, rolling to protect the child, shielding her with his body, in the hope that the jaws would close on him, not her. Pain from his twisted knee ripped through him, then a second later, the roar of a rocket launcher split the night and enough blood and guts to re-decorate an abattoir sprayed in a wide arc, hitting him in a nasty warm splatter.

Ryan looked up to see Hart crouched on one knee, a dazed smile of equal parts horror and relief on his face.

And then silence fell, thick and abrupt. The loudest noise Ryan could hear was the hammering of his own heart. Then the white cat gave a mew of protest, still clutched tightly in the arms of the child he was holding.

“Vermin cleared!” Lyle’s voice cut across the silence like a knife. “Finish anything still twitching then secure the building. Now!”

The main door opened and Jim Mitchell came running out, shotgun in hand. He saw his daughter still clutched in Ryan’s arms, threw down the gun and grabbed her, stroking her hair and kissing her again and again. The cat hissed in protest and jumped down, and then, as though nothing untoward had happened at all, it picked its way across various unmentionable lumps of flesh and bone, heading for the doorway. Once there, it sat down, stretched out one long hind-leg and started to groom itself.

Stephen dropped the rocket launcher and walked over to Ryan, his eyes fixed on his lover’s face, still trying to convince himself that he really was still alive.

Ryan rolled over onto his good knee and grasped the hand Stephen held down to him. “No, you can’t keep the fucking thing. Lester would have a fit. He made enough fuss about the permit for the Browning!”

“Spoilsport.” The blue eyes that held his were warm, and the grin was that of a man who had come within a hair’s breadth of death and had survived.

Ryan let Stephen pull him upright and for an all too brief moment, their lips met and a warm tongue probed his mouth. He drew back reluctantly, grey eyes staring into blue, one final soft kiss conveying more than words ever could but he said it anyway, just because he still could,  “Thanks.”

Hart’s grin slid into a smile, lazy with relief, holding the promise of warmth and comfort. “Don’t mention it.” He was silent for a moment, but the question had to be asked. “How many did we lose?”

“One. And we found the girl’s body, or what was left of it.”

Stephen squeezed his hand, knowing nothing he could say would heal the hurt, then he stepped back. They still had work to do.

(Part 3 follows separately)