revealing themselves only when they pounced.
The coastal woodlands were comprised mostly of blue gum and eucalyptus, their leaves so dark now that they looked like bits of funeral shrouds. Tracy followed the winding trail as it began to slope into a canyon. The trees were so tall and thick in places, the partial moon's glow only penetrated enough to lay a scalpel of light upon the path.
Even where moonlight revealed the way, Tracy proceeded with caution fearing the surface roots on the jungle floor, which spread across the animal-trodden path, would trip her. Every few feet, low-hanging branches presented another danger to her, but she kept one arm up and hurried along.
Soon, she would reach the bottom of the slope where she could either turn back toward the sea or head deeper into the jungle where her prospects might be bleak.
Frantically wondering which way to go, she descended the last fifty feet. The trees flanking the trail gave way to an impenetrable tangle of low-lying thorns, called African Box. A few immense ferns, ideally suited to the frequent rains, overgrew the path and Tracy pushed through them, the nettles like small hands grabbing at her.
A shallow stream cut a course through the bottom of the canyon, and she paused beside it to catch her breath.
The night was soundless.
Hugging herself, she realized how cold she was. In jeans and a tank top, she was adequately dressed for a sunny spring day on the beach, but not for the cold, damp air of a jungle night.
Spurred by cold and fear, Tracy stepped off the stream bank and onto a bank of loamy soil eroded from the heavy rain a day earlier. She tried to jump across the narrow stream, but landed a few inches short, soaking her tennis shoes. Nevertheless, she fought through more mud up a steep embankment, and then turned east toward the next arm of dense forest. She could tell east by the position of the moon and from that, she could stay on a course that would take her further up the coast to where the lab was supposed to be.
Yeah, she thought. Good luck.
She would have a hard time getting anyone to believe her story. She had no illusions about that. They would tell her she was just being paranoid and that what she'd heard was little more than a lynx or a cougar, common to the jungles of Tasmania.
But she had to try. Someone would believe her. Someone had to!
Behind her, a couple hundred yards away from the slope she had just descended, something shrieked. It was not entirely an animal cry, but it wasn't human either. More screams followed, each one unique in its tone and pitch, answering the first shrill call.
I thought that doctor said I'd be safe on this side.
Tracy halted on the steep trail, one foot firmly planted against a small boulder. She looked back as her pursuers simultaneously began to wail, reminiscent of a pack of wolves, yet far more frightening. The sound was so bloodcurdling it penetrated her flesh like a needle to her marrow.
"What are you?" she whispered. She suspected they could see as well as cats in the dark. Could they smell her as well, like dogs can?
Her heart began to slam painfully in her breast.
Tracy Mills turned and clambered up the steep embankment and into the dense forest. She heard the wailing grow louder behind her, but she dare not look back. There was only one way to go.
Forward.
Forty-Two
----
P ETER C ARLSON ' S MIND WAS IN overdrive. As he stood in the lab, these sophisticated machines were a stark reminder that not all that glitters is gold.
Carlson stepped over to his desk and gazed down at the latest genetic mapping of the Thylacine fetus. The short arm of chromosome 12 was not consistent with the original gene map. There were still thousands of base pairs that didn't match up. It could only mean one thing.
At that moment, Ellen Choy entered the lab.
"They changed the DNA," she said.
"How do you know?" Carlson asked, having already suspected as much.
Ellen held up a sheaf of papers, "Because I stole
The coastal woodlands were comprised mostly of blue gum and eucalyptus, their leaves so dark now that they looked like bits of funeral shrouds. Tracy followed the winding trail as it began to slope into a canyon. The trees were so tall and thick in places, the partial moon's glow only penetrated enough to lay a scalpel of light upon the path.
Even where moonlight revealed the way, Tracy proceeded with caution fearing the surface roots on the jungle floor, which spread across the animal-trodden path, would trip her. Every few feet, low-hanging branches presented another danger to her, but she kept one arm up and hurried along.
Soon, she would reach the bottom of the slope where she could either turn back toward the sea or head deeper into the jungle where her prospects might be bleak.
Frantically wondering which way to go, she descended the last fifty feet. The trees flanking the trail gave way to an impenetrable tangle of low-lying thorns, called African Box. A few immense ferns, ideally suited to the frequent rains, overgrew the path and Tracy pushed through them, the nettles like small hands grabbing at her.
A shallow stream cut a course through the bottom of the canyon, and she paused beside it to catch her breath.
The night was soundless.
Hugging herself, she realized how cold she was. In jeans and a tank top, she was adequately dressed for a sunny spring day on the beach, but not for the cold, damp air of a jungle night.
Spurred by cold and fear, Tracy stepped off the stream bank and onto a bank of loamy soil eroded from the heavy rain a day earlier. She tried to jump across the narrow stream, but landed a few inches short, soaking her tennis shoes. Nevertheless, she fought through more mud up a steep embankment, and then turned east toward the next arm of dense forest. She could tell east by the position of the moon and from that, she could stay on a course that would take her further up the coast to where the lab was supposed to be.
Yeah, she thought. Good luck.
She would have a hard time getting anyone to believe her story. She had no illusions about that. They would tell her she was just being paranoid and that what she'd heard was little more than a lynx or a cougar, common to the jungles of Tasmania.
But she had to try. Someone would believe her. Someone had to!
Behind her, a couple hundred yards away from the slope she had just descended, something shrieked. It was not entirely an animal cry, but it wasn't human either. More screams followed, each one unique in its tone and pitch, answering the first shrill call.
I thought that doctor said I'd be safe on this side.
Tracy halted on the steep trail, one foot firmly planted against a small boulder. She looked back as her pursuers simultaneously began to wail, reminiscent of a pack of wolves, yet far more frightening. The sound was so bloodcurdling it penetrated her flesh like a needle to her marrow.
"What are you?" she whispered. She suspected they could see as well as cats in the dark. Could they smell her as well, like dogs can?
Her heart began to slam painfully in her breast.
Tracy Mills turned and clambered up the steep embankment and into the dense forest. She heard the wailing grow louder behind her, but she dare not look back. There was only one way to go.
Forward.
Forty-Two
----
P ETER C ARLSON ' S MIND WAS IN overdrive. As he stood in the lab, these sophisticated machines were a stark reminder that not all that glitters is gold.
Carlson stepped over to his desk and gazed down at the latest genetic mapping of the Thylacine fetus. The short arm of chromosome 12 was not consistent with the original gene map. There were still thousands of base pairs that didn't match up. It could only mean one thing.
At that moment, Ellen Choy entered the lab.
"They changed the DNA," she said.
"How do you know?" Carlson asked, having already suspected as much.
Ellen held up a sheaf of papers, "Because I stole
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