“His what?”
“Jefferson didn’t believe in evolution. As part of that, he didn’t believe species could go extinct via natural means. When bones of a Megalonyx jeffersonii came to his attention, he argued they belonged to an unknown species of lion. If that lion could be found, he thought it would help support his theory.”
“Let me guess. Old T.J. wound up with egg on his face.”
“Smart ass.” Despite her words, Morgan smiled a bit. “T.J. might’ve been wrong, but his work helped to kickstart the study of vertebrate paleontology in this country.”
Caplan rubbed his jaw. “How large do giant ground sloths get?”
“They max out at about ten feet from end-to-end. At that size, they tip the scales at roughly a ton.”
“But that one we saw—”
“—had already reached full-size. Yes, I know.” She shrugged. “Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to grow baby woolly mammoths, baby ground sloths, and the like. We needed full-size ones. Ones we could insert into the wild as soon as possible.”
Caplan’s gaze narrowed. “What’s the rush?”
“It took thousands of years, but the loss of megafauna during the Pleistocene epoch has finally caught up to us. Ecosystems across the globe are in a state of near-collapse. According to studies conducted by the Vallerio Foundation, we’ve got twenty to thirty years to turn things around. Otherwise, the Sixth extinction will go full tilt. And if it’s anything like the previous five, at least seventy percent of all species — and that includes humans, by the way — will die out.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Believe me, I wish it weren’t. But the research says otherwise.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Caplan said. “If we need those extinct mammals so badly, then why are you trying to shut this place down?”
“We’re not trying to shut it down. We’re trying to shut the Foundation — specifically, James Corbotch — down.”
“But why? He built this place. Without him, your little de-extinction program wouldn’t even exist.”
“That might be true. But it doesn’t excuse his crimes.”
“What crimes?”
“Those incubators you saw in the Lab are classified 2-Gen, or second generation. The preceding generation of animals, 1-Gen, was born into this world with unexpected genetic mutations. Mutations that left them ultra-violent and, well, bloodthirsty. All they did was kill each other, making them completely useless for our purposes. We decided to destroy the surviving animals, along with the unopened incubators. James agreed with our decision. But secretly, he took them to an uncharted area of the Vallerio.”
Caplan recalled the clandestine fence. He recalled Tony Morgan slipping beneath it and dying at the hands of vicious animals. He remembered the strange wolf, the other silk pods, and how unknown animals had killed the survivors from the Blaze. At long last, everything made sense. “Sector 48A?” he asked.
“How’d…?” Her eyes bugged out. “Tony told you?”
Caplan didn’t respond.
She stared into his eyes for a long moment. “Yes, he took them to 48A. But that wasn’t the end of it. James had plans for our creations. He used them to create something evil.”
“What?”
“A killing ground.”
Chapter 40
With a pathetic whimper, Brian Toland flopped face first onto the ground. He slid across a patch of mud, scraping his belly against tiny pebbles and twigs. When he came to a stop, he didn’t bother rising to his feet. Instead, he just lay there, spread-eagled.
Mills whirled around in mid-step. Her lips curled in anger as she laid eyes upon the older man. She was tempted to keep going, to leave him behind. It would serve him right for all his snippy comments.
But she retraced her steps anyway. After Renjel’s untimely death, she, Elliott, and Toland had hightailed it down the hillside. They’d proceeded to cut through the forest, utilizing brief sprints interspersed with fast walks. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been running and walking. But it felt like hours.
She ground to a halt a few inches from Toland’s head. A burning sensation appeared at the tips of her bruised toes. It extended down the soles of her stinging bare feet. It reached up her calves, her thighs. And it didn’t stop there. Within seconds, her whole body felt like it was on fire. Was this what athletes meant by feeling the burn? If so, she didn’t want to feel it. Not ever again.
Elliott appeared, sliding between two tree trunks and pacing to Mills’ side. Thick mud covered her sweatshirt and jeans. More mud was smeared across her face, her neck, her head. All told, she looked more like a walking swamp than a person.
Breathing heavily, Elliott wiped a muddy hand across her muddy face, with predictable results. “Man up, Brian.” Her free hand clutched her waist in a firm grip. “We don’t have time for this.”
“Screw you.” Toland rolled onto his back. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he still managed a look of complete disdain. “I’d like to see you run this much when you’re my age.”
“If we don’t keep running, I might not reach your age.”
“Quiet.” Mills tilted an ear to the forest and listened hard. “I don’t hear anything. Maybe we’re okay.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Elliott retorted. “We didn’t hear that saber until it… you know.”
Mills knew. She knew it well. One moment, she was staring at Renjel, nursing ridiculous fantasies about romance in the wild. The next, she was watching that saber tear apart his organs.
Her shoulders quivered and tears splashed down her cheeks. Quickly, she turned away, coughing to cover up the faint sobs emanating from her throat.
“What’s the matter with you?” Toland asked.
“Just… just got something in my throat,” she managed between sobs.
He snorted.
This was stupid, so stupid. Randi Skolnick had died. Now, Renjel — the closest thing she had to a friend in this sad group — had followed the woman to an early grave. On top of all that, she was exhausted, hungry, and scared witless by her surroundings. In short, she had every reason in the world to cry. So, why was she so afraid of showing it?
The thought distracted her long enough for her eye faucets to slow to mere trickles. She recalled many other times — break-ups, betrayals, and nasty rumors about her personal life — when she’d hid her emotions. And she realized something as she stood there in that strange and ancient forest. She wasn’t allowed to have negative emotions. Not without serious repercussions anyway.
After all, she was Bailey Mills! The rich and beautiful party girl with the perfect life. She could buy anything, go anywhere, date anyone. She didn’t have to worry about the glass ceiling or whether or not she could pay her rent on time. No, her problems were strictly of the first-world variety. Heck, they weren’t even that important.
One particular memory from 2013 came to mind. During an interview, she’d expressed annoyance that her one-of-a-kind convertible, which had set her back nearly a million dollars, had been sidelined with engine issues. Within minutes, social media users were on the warpath. They raked her over the coals, calling her a spoiled brat who didn’t appreciate the silver spoon from which she’d been fed. Internet memes popped up, contrasting her situation with that of the billions of people who couldn’t even afford a car.
The worst part was that she agreed with them. She was, indeed, a rich bitch. Plagued with guilt, she made a series of public apologies and hit up the charity circuit with renewed vigor. Afterward, she did her best to appreciate the magnificent life she’d been given. Even so, she still felt occasional sadness, annoyance, and discontentment. She did everything in her power to keep those feelings to herself. It wasn’t easy, especially since she lived much of her life in the public sphere. But she soon learned to control those negative emotions, to lock them away in the pit of her soul.