The red sun hung low as they slipped out from under the uprooted tree, blinking against the sudden brightness. The forest was quieter now—an uneasy, watchful quiet. Every shadow seemed deeper. Every rustle felt intentional.Garrison led the way, crouched low, moving with the tense precision of someone who’d learned the habits of predators the hard way. Marla stayed close behind him, Andrew close behind her, his hand brushing her back every few steps as if he were afraid she might vanish if he lost contact.
They descended from the ridge into a valley choked with ferns taller than their heads. A narrow stream cut through the centre, its water still, reflecting the crimson canopy above.
Garrison raised a hand. “Stay away from the edge.”
Marla frowned. “Because of crocodiles?”
He gave a short, grim laugh. “Crocodiles would be a blessing.”
They skirted the bank, stepping carefully over roots and fallen fronds. The air grew cooler here, heavy with moisture. Insects darted in and out of the shadows, wings buzzing like tiny saws.
Andrew paused. “Why can’t we look at the water?”
Garrison didn’t turn around. “Because sometimes it doesn’t reflect what’s here.”
A chill prickled up Marla’s spine. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning you’ll see things behind you—things that aren’t there when you turn around.” He kept walking. “People. Animals. Sometimes yourself, but… not right.”
Andrew swallowed hard. “Hallucinations?”
“I thought so at first.” Garrison’s voice dropped. “But one of us reached into the water once. Tried to touch what he saw. We never got him back.”
Marla’s steps faltered. Andrew steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.
The stream curved, narrowing between jutting rocks. Something stirred beneath the surface—a flicker of movement, faster than a fish. Marla quickened her pace, refusing to glance down.
A rustling sound crackled in the underbrush to their right. Garrison froze, raising a clenched fist.
Silence.
Then—another rustle. Closer.
Garrison whispered, “Get down.”
They crouched behind a cluster of cycads, their fronds forming a natural screen. Through a gap, Marla saw shapes moving—three of them—slinking low through the ferns. Sleek bodies. Feathers along their forearms. Long, curved claws that scraped softly against the earth.
“Raptors,” Garrison breathed. “Troodon, maybe. Smart little demons.”
One lifted its head. Its eyes glowed softly, catching the red light like polished stones.
Marla held her breath. The creature sniffed the air. Its pupils narrowed.
Then a distant bellow rolled across the valley—the same low, thunderous call they’d heard earlier. The raptors froze. Then, with quick, birdlike jerks, they turned and vanished into the ferns.
Garrison exhaled. “They’re avoiding whatever made that sound.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “Can’t say I blame them.”
Andrew whispered, “What can hunt something as big as a diplodocus?”
Garrison hesitated. “Only a few things. And all of them are bad.”
They moved faster now, weaving between massive trunks and ducking under branches dripping with vines. The ground sloped upward, leading toward a ridge shrouded in strange, mist-like vapour.
As they climbed, the trees thinned, and a faint metallic scent hung in the air.
Garrison slowed. “We’re close.”
Marla peered through the trees. “To the camp?”
Garrison shook his head.
“To the place where everything started going wrong.”
A cold wind drifted past them—unnatural, out of place in the sweltering heat.
And ahead, glowing faintly between the trees…
…was another tear.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
No comments:
Post a Comment