claws clenched and unclenched slowly. Underneath the forestâs smell was another scent. It drifted through the trees towards him.
It was the smell of prey.
He listened, trying to isolate his target among the forestâs sounds and smells, tuning out the insects and rotting plants and the rustling of the leaves in the high branches. Suddenly, there it was â a low baleful moan, the unmistakable sound of distress. A youngcamptosaur. It must be one of the youngsters that had fled into the forest. And now it was alone, lost and vulnerable. It was calling for its mother, but its mother would not be coming.
He ran silently towards the sound, his feet deftly picking their way between fallen branches. Soon he saw it through the trees. The young camptosaur was tired and slowing down, wailing out its long, low cries. He knew he would have to act fast or he would not be the only predator determined to make this kill. His heart surged and he felt his body fill with a strange fury.
Without pausing, he ran straight at the camptosaur and leapt. The claws of both arms sunk deep into its back and he brought down his open mouth hard on the back of the creatureâs fleshy neck. It was over in seconds. The camptosaur gave a strangled cry and dropped to the ground as though its legs had suddenly lost all their strength. He held on tightly until there was no movement left and his preyâs heavy chest sank for the last time as its final breath rattled from its lungs.
He fed quickly and greedily, swallowing chunks of raw meat. The smell of the kill would soon attract scavengers and many would be larger than him. Afterevery mouthful, he raised his head to listen and sniff the air before sinking his head back into the carcass to tear off another chunk of flesh.
By the time the first light of the sun began to show through the trees, dappling the ground with orange streaks of light, he had eaten his fill. He left the dead camptosaur to be picked clean by ants, flying scavengers and the tiny feathered dinosaurs that roamed the forest floor. He crept into a thicket to rest, but his ears remained sharply tuned to the sounds of the jungle. Slowly, he became aware that below the humming and squawking of the Jurassic dawn chorus, something else was coming his way. Heavy feet were being placed one in front of the other with the practised care of a predator.
He shifted his position slightly and raised his head so that he could look out over the tops of the ferns without being seen. Between the trees he could see a large, dark shape: a great head, sharp claws and a long, solid tail. It moved slowly closer, the head swinging slowly left and right.
It was his mother. She was searching for him.
His first thought was to run to her side. He took a step, then paused. From deep within him, another instinct was rising. He had watched her hunt, andshared her kills, but now that time had passed. Today he had killed. Now he was a predator too.
He watched from the ferns as her huge bulk moved past, her teeth still glistening with blood. Her sharp eyes scanned the forest but did not see him. Her tail swung slowly from side to side as she passed on into the darkness.
Chapter 7
Henry Marchant 1898
The sharp rays of the rising sun pierced through Henryâs eyelids and into his dream, waking him suddenly. He felt cold. Cold and uncomfortable.
He opened his eyes. A vertical strip of sunlight framed solid blackness and he blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Waiting to see the outline of the heavy curtains, the window. His bedroom.
His feet were freezing. He reached down to touch them and his hand recoiled. They were caked with mud.
A sick feeling grew in his stomach. His heart began to pound. He had walked in his sleep before, but he had never left the house. What had he done? Where had he been?
His hand dropped to the mattress of his bed. It was as hard as stone. No, it
was
stone. He sat upright. He was not in his bedroom.
His eyes began to
It was the smell of prey.
He listened, trying to isolate his target among the forestâs sounds and smells, tuning out the insects and rotting plants and the rustling of the leaves in the high branches. Suddenly, there it was â a low baleful moan, the unmistakable sound of distress. A youngcamptosaur. It must be one of the youngsters that had fled into the forest. And now it was alone, lost and vulnerable. It was calling for its mother, but its mother would not be coming.
He ran silently towards the sound, his feet deftly picking their way between fallen branches. Soon he saw it through the trees. The young camptosaur was tired and slowing down, wailing out its long, low cries. He knew he would have to act fast or he would not be the only predator determined to make this kill. His heart surged and he felt his body fill with a strange fury.
Without pausing, he ran straight at the camptosaur and leapt. The claws of both arms sunk deep into its back and he brought down his open mouth hard on the back of the creatureâs fleshy neck. It was over in seconds. The camptosaur gave a strangled cry and dropped to the ground as though its legs had suddenly lost all their strength. He held on tightly until there was no movement left and his preyâs heavy chest sank for the last time as its final breath rattled from its lungs.
He fed quickly and greedily, swallowing chunks of raw meat. The smell of the kill would soon attract scavengers and many would be larger than him. Afterevery mouthful, he raised his head to listen and sniff the air before sinking his head back into the carcass to tear off another chunk of flesh.
By the time the first light of the sun began to show through the trees, dappling the ground with orange streaks of light, he had eaten his fill. He left the dead camptosaur to be picked clean by ants, flying scavengers and the tiny feathered dinosaurs that roamed the forest floor. He crept into a thicket to rest, but his ears remained sharply tuned to the sounds of the jungle. Slowly, he became aware that below the humming and squawking of the Jurassic dawn chorus, something else was coming his way. Heavy feet were being placed one in front of the other with the practised care of a predator.
He shifted his position slightly and raised his head so that he could look out over the tops of the ferns without being seen. Between the trees he could see a large, dark shape: a great head, sharp claws and a long, solid tail. It moved slowly closer, the head swinging slowly left and right.
It was his mother. She was searching for him.
His first thought was to run to her side. He took a step, then paused. From deep within him, another instinct was rising. He had watched her hunt, andshared her kills, but now that time had passed. Today he had killed. Now he was a predator too.
He watched from the ferns as her huge bulk moved past, her teeth still glistening with blood. Her sharp eyes scanned the forest but did not see him. Her tail swung slowly from side to side as she passed on into the darkness.
Chapter 7
Henry Marchant 1898
The sharp rays of the rising sun pierced through Henryâs eyelids and into his dream, waking him suddenly. He felt cold. Cold and uncomfortable.
He opened his eyes. A vertical strip of sunlight framed solid blackness and he blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Waiting to see the outline of the heavy curtains, the window. His bedroom.
His feet were freezing. He reached down to touch them and his hand recoiled. They were caked with mud.
A sick feeling grew in his stomach. His heart began to pound. He had walked in his sleep before, but he had never left the house. What had he done? Where had he been?
His hand dropped to the mattress of his bed. It was as hard as stone. No, it
was
stone. He sat upright. He was not in his bedroom.
His eyes began to
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