Laura Martin - Code Name Flood

Ignoring the boys’ bickering, I studied the girl curiously. “Why do you care about the, what did you call them? The carnotaurus numbers?”

“That is a good question,” Todd said, looking from the man to the girl. “Who are you people?”

“Wait a second,” Shawn said. “You don’t know them, Todd? Why did you run towards their boat?”

“Did you see a better option?” Todd asked, eyebrows raised.

“Clearly savages,” the older man sneered, turning to the back of the boat, where a small black motor was perched. “I told you we shouldn’t have picked them up, Chaz. Don’t get too close, they probably have fleas.”

“Fleas?” Todd said in indignant disbelief. “And who are you calling savages?”

I put a restraining hand on him; now was not the time to insult the people who had just saved us.

“At least you don’t have to report their deaths now. Think of the mound and a half of paperwork you just avoided,” the girl said good-naturedly. “Besides, we’ll send a team back to attach tags and trackers before the carnotaurs wake up, so it isn’t a total loss.” The man huffed into his moustache and pulled a handle on the motor. It sputtered to life.

“We’ll drop you off a mile or so down the shoreline,” the man said coolly. “That way other members of the herd won’t be able to find your trail. Although I suggest you bathe the one who fell into the nest. The stench of a hatchling can linger for months if you don’t.”

“Months?” Shawn squeaked, looking pale.

“Actually,” the man said, wrinkling his nose, “you would all benefit from bathing. You smell like faeces.”

“That would be me,” I said, raising my hand. I couldn’t smell the dinosaur poop I’d landed in anymore, but I’d probably become immune to it. The man had called us savages, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. My green tunic and leggings were liberally stained and spotted with dinosaur dung, a film of wet sand still clung to my skin, and my red hair hung in wet tangled ringlets. Shawn and Todd didn’t look much better. Shawn was dripping wet sand onto the floor of the boat, shirtless, his hair smashed down on his head in dirty clumps. Todd had somehow ripped a large gash in the shoulder of his tunic so it drooped to the side, his bow and other gear a tangle of straps across his chest. In sharp contrast, the girl was immaculate in her crisp blue jumpsuit with its neat red badge on the upper shoulder that depicted the silhouette of a long-necked brachiosaurus.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Scientists.” The girl grinned. “We’ve been studying dinosaur populations around the lake since before the pandemic.” She extended her hand, and I shook it. “I’m Chaz, by the way, Chaz McGuire. This grumpy but brilliant man is Dr Steve Schwartz.” Dr Schwartz didn’t acknowledge his introduction as he fiddled with the puttering motor positioned at the back of the boat. I glanced around, taking in the small craft’s flat wooden hull. Narrow benches built into the sides of the boat were the only available seating, leaving the centre of the boat open with enough space for the five of us to move around comfortably. Lying open near Dr Schwartz’s feet was a blue duffel bag. Leaning over, I peered inside it to see equipment I was all too familiar with as the daughter of a biologist – small sample bottles, logbooks, and various bits of technology used to measure, catalog, and label scientific findings.

What had that girl, Chaz, said? That they had been studying dinosaurs since before the pandemic? How was that possible? The pandemic, set off by the resurrection of the dinosaurs over 150 years ago, had moved swiftly, decimating over 99 per cent of the human population within days and forcing the remaining survivors underground. Well, I amended, most of the survivors. Todd’s village, the Oaks, was proof that not everyone had found refuge underground. Yet this girl acted as though the pandemic had come and gone and they’d gone right on studying dinosaurs. It made no sense.

“Do you live in a tree village like Todd?” Shawn asked, the confusion in his voice echoing my own thoughts as he shrugged into the damp tunic Todd handed him.

Todd shook his head as he eyed the girl’s strange jumpsuit. “There aren’t any villages within miles of the lake. Too dangerous. They must be compound moles like you guys.”

“Not possible,” I countered. “There are only four compounds, and none of them are anywhere close to here.” They were in fact located on the northern, southern, eastern, and western corners of what used to be North America. And up until I’d met Todd, I’d believed that they were the last holdouts of the human race, used as safe houses for the survivors of the pandemic. Now I was faced with yet another person who apparently lived outside the Noah’s rule.

Chaz grinned while she watched this exchange, as though she was enjoying a private joke. “We aren’t affiliated with the compounds or any tree villages. Good guesses, though. Actually—”

“That will be enough, Chaz,” Schwartz said sharply, cutting her off midsentence. “You’re making me regret promoting you to my assistant. One more word and you’ll be back scooping out pens.”

Chaz cringed, and I cocked my head to the side as I considered what Schwartz had just said. What pens could Chaz possibly have to scoop? I glanced back at the bag of scientific equipment again. Who were these people? Before I could ask, Schwartz turned a lever on the motor, and the boat suddenly lurched forward. My feet went out from under me, and I yelped, toppling backwards into Todd, who hit Shawn. Someone’s elbow connected with my head as I landed hard on my back. The boat continued its surge forward, the bottom vibrating underneath me so hard my teeth clattered together.

“Thanks for that,” Todd called over the roaring motor as Chaz helped him to his feet.

“Sorry,” Chaz said cheerily as she extended her hand to me. “Schwartz isn’t really a people person.”

“You don’t say,” Shawn said wryly, shooting Schwartz a dirty look. Grabbing Chaz’s hand, I attempted to clamber to my feet, but my pack caught on something, bringing me up short. There was a sharp ripping noise, and I stood up as my pack tore open, and its hastily packed contents spilled out. As if in slow motion, I saw my father’s map fall. I’d been consulting it so frequently that I hadn’t bothered to tuck it back inside my compass for safekeeping. I lunged for the map but missed as it got picked up by the wind and tumbled across the floor of the boat. Moments before it was about to go airborne and out, a booted foot smashed down on top of it, successfully halting its escape. Sighing in relief, I grabbed for it. The boot didn’t move. I looked up into Schwartz’s annoyed face.

“What is a savage doing with a map?” he asked, bending down to retrieve it before I could protest. Schwartz’s expression went from annoyed to fearful as he surveyed the meandering line that led from North Compound to the centre of Lake Michigan. “Chaz, get your weapon out,” he snapped. “Don’t let them move.”

“What?” Chaz asked, looking just as confused as I felt. “You mean the tranquiliser gun?”

“Of course the tranquiliser gun. Don’t make me say it again!” Schwartz bellowed. Chaz scrambled to follow orders and whipped her large black gun up to her shoulder.

Dr Schwartz let the motor sputter out and die as he continued to study my map as though he’d seen a ghost. The boat bobbed up and down in the waves, and my stomach rolled sickeningly. I didn’t think I liked being on a boat.

“Tie them up,” he finally said, rolling my map up and storing it in the duffel bag at his feet. Shawn opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut as Schwartz picked up his own tranquiliser gun. One by one, we put our hands out and allowed ourselves to be tied.