A/N: The prompt for this one was to write a story based around the idea that dogs are the biggest creatures on the planet. 5800 words.
In a lavishly appointed board-room, silent but for the whisper of the air-conditioning, a disparate group of strangers sat and regarded each other from around a gleaming mahogany table.
Seconds ticked by. Throats were cleared and watches were checked. Finally, a man dressed in black spoke.
"OK, I'll bite. Anybody know why we're here?"
Glances were exchanged and bodies shifted nervously. Nobody replied.
The man sighed. "Well, at least I know I'm not the only one sucked in by the offer of a big cheque, a first-class plane ticket and not much else."
A woman in a chambray shirt and faded jeans smiled at him. "You have to admit, the cheque was pretty hard to resist."
He grinned back at her. "That, and the curiosity. Who's going to say no to an offer from Raymond Harris, reclusive billionaire and eccentric genius?"
The man seated next to the woman rubbed thoughtfully at the three-day growth adorning his slightly weather-beaten features. "Perhaps if we all share what it is that we do, it may shed some light on why we're here."
"I'm game," replied the man in black. "Eric Maxwell, mathematician. Specifically, I'm a network theorist, specialising in complex systems." He looked expectantly at the woman.
"Sally Ellis. I'm a zoologist."
Her neighbour smiled indulgently. "Sally is being a little modest. She's actually a post-doctoral fellow, specialising in predator-prey relationships. She was one of my best students."
Maxwell looked thoughtfully at the pair. Expecting a thoroughly boring project analysis job, the presence of an attractive woman had come as an unexpected bonus, but he sensed that the relationship between the two was more than simply teacher and student. "And you are, sir?"
"Aaron Greig. Megalo-cynologist."
Maxwell stared blankly at him. With a genius-level IQ, a PhD of his own, and multiple other degrees, admitting ignorance didn't come easily to him. He waited for further elaboration from Greig, but was eventually forced to ask, "And that is?"
"Mega-dogs, Mr Maxwell. I study the giant dogs. They're my life."
Maxwell sat back in his chair. "OK, so we have a mathematician, a mega-dog specialist and an expert in the hunting behaviour of animals. Interesting." He turned to the fourth and last person seated at the table. "And that leaves you."
Middle-aged, balding and dressed in an expensive business suit, the object of his attention looked up from his phone. "David Guerra. Investment banker."
The others barely had time to absorb this before the door to the boardroom opened and a sprightly, elderly man bustled in. "Ah, you're all here, excellent. I do hope your flights were comfortable. Would anybody like a drink? I trust you've all introduced yourselves? Yes, this is really excellent." He beamed happily at them, and then smacked his forehead, in mock exasperation. "Oh, look at me rabbiting on. Here I am, speaking of introductions and I haven't even introduced myself. Raymond Harris, at your service. Delighted to meet you all, delighted."
Greig cleared his throat. "Mr Harris, I think I can safely say we all know who you are. What we'd like to know is, why are we here?"
"Ah, straight to the point, Dr Greig. Of course, of course. Well, that's rather a long story. I suspect it may be easier if I show you my little project, rather than tell you about it."
"Do you have a PowerPoint?" asked Guerro.
"No, no, Mr Guerro. I'm far too simple for all that techy stuff. What I have is a helicopter. Kindly follow me to the helipad."
As the helicopter climbed steadily, the extent of Harris' 'little project' became more and more evident. The central complex of buildings was surrounded by enormous tracts of land, divided by towering fences, with watchtowers dotted regularly along their lengths. Sections of rolling woodland lay alongside grassy plains, while other areas were covered in rocky hills.
"Quite a place you have here," said Maxwell.
Harris beamed at him. "Do you really think so? I'm so pleased to hear it. I'm really very proud of it all. But you haven't seen anything yet, oh no."
Ellis peered intently out of her window. "What exactly are we going to see?".
"Ah, patience, Dr Ellis, patience. All in good time."
Guerro frowned at this. "Speaking of time, Mr Harris, mine is limited."
"Yes, yes, Mr Guerro," soothed Harris. "Never fear, won't be long now. We just have to pick up two more passengers, and then we'll get right down to business."
Expecting professionals or experts of some sort, the group was somewhat surprised when they landed at a small outpost ten minutes later, and discovered that the new passengers were children. The boy and girl were blonde and blue-eyed, aged around ten or so, and remarkably similar in appearance.
Harris bustled them on board. "These are my grandchildren, Lyra and Tom. Twins, in case you couldn't tell. I have them for the holidays, and simply couldn't resist bringing them along. Right, is everyone safely buckled in? Off we go."
At another outpost, deep in one of the forested sectors, a man dressed in khaki frowned at the display of a small tablet. Swearing under his breath, he shoved the tablet in one of his jacket's multitude of pockets, and retrieved a two-way radio from another.
"Base? Boon here. Tell Harris he'll need to postpone his little joyride. Spot's getting restless." As he listened to the reply, the frown became a scowl. "Well, they can bloody well turn around, then! Nobody's becoming a chew-toy on my watch."
The squawking from the two-way increased in intensity. Boon gritted his teeth. "This is a mistake. Don't say I didn't warn you." He switched off the radio in disgust and stomped off towards his Land Rover. "Bloody billionaires."
Smiling proudly, Harris gestured grandly at the panorama spread out far below them.
"Gentlemen, and" -he winked at Ellis and Lyra- "ladies. Behold my dream. The ideal I have dedicated the past several years of my life to, along with a not inconsiderable part of my considerable fortune."
The others took in the diverse but otherwise unremarkable land that stretched out beneath and all around them.
"Some sort of nature reserve?" hazarded Guerro.
"Close, Mr Guerro, oh so close. A nature reserve, but with a twist. A nature reserve that the whole world will want to see. One with that spark of danger that makes wildlife so intriguing, yet rendered completely safe by the wonders of modern technology."
Greig looked away from the window. "Mr Harris, pardon my directness, but can you please get to the point?"
Harris giggled like a schoolboy. "Oh, you must forgive an old man his indulgences, Dr Greig. For such an exciting project, I couldn't resist stringing out the reveal, just a little. Tell me, what is the one type of creature that has never been successfully tamed or trained, that has never been kept in captivity, that has stubbornly resisted all attempts to domesticate or subdue it, often at the expense of the lives of those who have tried?"
"Why, the mega-dogs, of course. . ." Greig trailed off, and his eyes grew wide. He couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to him, before now. The sheer impossibility of the idea had prevented him from thinking of it. "Please tell me you haven't."
Harris clapped his hands, in glee. "Oh, but I have, Dr Greig. I have. I have tamed the mega-dog. It wasn't easy, believe me. Years of research, millions of dollars, you have no idea. But we persevered and found a way. By introducing specially selected fragments of DNA from their smaller domesticated counterparts, along with a few other genetic tweaks, we have created mega-dogs that can be managed." He grinned at the banker. "Mega-dogs that can be marketed, Mr Guerro."
"Marketed!" spluttered Greig. "Are you insane? Do you have any idea just how dangerous mega-dogs are? Do you know how many people they've killed? Why do you think nobody in their right mind goes anywhere near them?"
Harris gave him an innocent look. "But you do, Dr Greig."
"Yes, but I'm a trained professional, damn it. I know what the hell I'm doing, and I've still nearly been killed more times than I care to remember. Mega-dogs are a hundred tonnes of ferocious, unpredictable, wild carnivore. You can't seriously be thinking of letting the public anywhere near them, no matter what genetic tricks you and your mad scientists have come up with."
"Oh, these are no tricks, Dr Greig. The science is rock-solid, and our current generation is behaving flawlessly. There hasn't been a single fatality among the staff tasked with caring for our dogs They're just like your family pet, only the size of a three-story building. Don't forget that humble house-dogs were once wild and dangerous wolves, until genetic manipulation turned them into man's best friend. This is just the same."
"With respect, Mr Harris, it's not," said Ellis. "The development of the domestic dog was a complex, gradual process, that took place across thousands of generations, over millennia. It seems a little hubristic to think you could replicate that in a lab, over the course of a few years."
"Oh, I understand your doubts, Dr Ellis. Nobody comprehends the enormity of what we've set out to achieve more than I do. But rest assured, we have achieved it."
"And what exactly do you plan to do with these cuddly mega-dogs?" asked Maxwell. "Not many families would have big enough backyards to want one as a pet."
"Well, research, for starters. Mega-dogs have long been an enigma to science. How did they become so large? How do their physiology and anatomy work? Land-based vertebrates of their size shouldn't be possible, yet clearly they are. Now that we have access to live specimens, we can start to unravel their mysteries. The scientific possibilities are endless."
Maxwell raised his eyebrows. "So, their development was entirely altruistic? All for the good of the human race?"
"Yes, of course." Harris cleared his throat. "Well, mostly. Naturally, our shareholders expect some sort of a return on their investment. Surely that's only fair?"
"That depends," Greig replied, grimly. "How many people are going to die to generate that return?"
"None, of course, Dr Greig. Jack Russell Park is entirely safe. That's why I've brought you all here - to demonstrate that. And once I've proven it to you, you can tell the world."
"Jack Russell Park?" asked Ellis.
Harris chuckled. "Yes, do you like it? Our first donated DNA came from my Jack Russell terrier. The park is named in her honour."
"Jack Russel Park," muttered Maxwell, shaking his head. "I have a bad feeling about this."
Harris looked eagerly out of his window, as they descended towards a heavily wooded section of the park . "Right, let's start with something small, shall we?"
As the treetops grew closer, the passengers noticed that they were swaying back and forth, as if agitated by a strong wind, yet the helicopter's flight remained smooth and stable. They became aware of a rumbling, pounding sound, audible even over the beat of the rotor.
As they soared over the canopy, a clearing opened up abruptly ahead, and the source of the sound pounded into view.
Greig gasped, as more and more of the creatures raced into the clearing. "Chihuahuas!"
"Chihuahuas?" exclaimed Maxwell. "Those things are the size of elephants."
"Elephants?" replied Harris. "Hardly, Dr Maxwell. They're at least three times as big as an African elephant. Yes, the Chihuahuas were an early breed. A test case, you might say. We though we'd start with something manageable."
Greig shook his head, watching the last of the herd disappear back into the trees. "In the wild, mega-dogs attack each other on sight. They're solitary creatures. How on Earth did you get them to congregate?"
"Oh, just one of the many tweaks we've made to the wild mega-dog genome. Upgrades, you might say."
"I wouldn't," muttered Ellis.
Harris' reply was cut short by the buzzing of a telephone on the wall by his seat. He picked up the receiver. "What is it?" Frowning, he listened intently for a few seconds. "Surely that's not necessary? Oh, very well, if we must." Hanging up, he turned and smiled brightly at his guests. "It seems as though we have a minor technical difficulty. Nothing serious, but we'll be having a short stop at one of our maintenance outposts, while the pilot sorts things out. Make yourselves comfortable, and please help yourselves to our fully stocked mini-bar."
"Just fix it, damn it!"
The helicopter pilot closed the engine access hatch. "I'm not the mechanic, Mr Harris. You're gonna need to get her out here. Oil pressure's low, so we're grounded 'til we get that sorted."
"So get the bloody mechanic."
"Slight problem there, sir. I radioed base, and it seems the other bird is busy ferrying some of your scientists to LA. It's not due back for eight hours."
Harris swore. His perfect introduction to the park was rapidly unraveling. Sitting in a stranded helicopter for hours wasn't likely to leave a favourable impression on anybody. Unless. . .
"How far is the nearest monorail station?"
The pilot scratched his head. "About five hundred metres, I reckon."
Harris' smile was back. "Get me base on the radio."
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard our state-of-the-art monorail. Our little helicopter glitch actually gives us the opportunity to really see Jack Russell Park - to experience what our future guests will experience. We'll see the wonders of the park in air-conditioned comfort, as the monorail whisks us back to base. Please, settle in and enjoy the ride."
Barrelling along a rough-hewn forest track, Boon listened to the daily reports coming in from around the park. Everything appeared to be under control, and he was relieved to hear that there were no further reports of unrest from Spot's area. As far as he was concerned, Harris's stupid helicopter breaking down was the best thing that could have possibly happened. He keyed the transmit button.
"Right, I want a complete ban on activity around Spot's sector. No vehicles, no air traffic, no staff, no nothing. If anybody within five clicks of his location so much as farts, they'd better do it quietly, or they'll have to answer to me. I want that puppy nice and relaxed."
The monorail didn't even cross Boon's mind. It wasn't due to start officially running for at least another month, and nobody thought to tell him about its unexpected early debut - despite the fact that it ran right through the middle of Spot's sector. Squinting into the setting sun, Boon found his thoughts drifting to the first beer of the evening.
Given the eyes he'd been making at Sally, Greig was somewhat surprised when Maxwell took the seat next to him. The mathematician sipped on his whiskey, and contemplated the scenery rushing past the monorail. "What do you think?"
Greig took a pull on his beer. "About what? Harris? The park? Or the sheer idiocy of turning the most terrifying predators in the history of the planet into a tourist attraction?"
"All of the above."
"Well, Harris is clearly a very smart, very wealthy man, which I guess gives him some chance of pulling this off. But I'll reserve judgement until I've seen more of the dogs. In the wild, they're highly intelligent and very unpredictable, and although I'm no geneticist, I find it hard to believe that Harris has managed to breed that entirely out of them."
Maxwell drained his drink. "Some chance? I'm afraid you're being generous, my friend. You know what one of my main roles is? Assessing the probability of complex projects succeeding. It doesn't matter whether it's an oil-well in Africa or a server-farm in the Ukraine - it all comes down to numbers, in the end. Assess the variables, calculate the risks and crunch the numbers. Too many unknowns, excessive risks, not enough data - those are all red flags."
"And there are red flags here?"
Maxwell grimaced. "This place is one big red flag. If it had come across my desk for pre-approval, it would have gotten the big red 'rejected' stamp in about five seconds."
"So I take it you won't be extolling the virtues of Jack Russell Park, once you get back home?"
"Dr Greig, right now my primary concern is actually getting home. I'll worry about what I do or don't extol, when I have the luxury to do so."
Greig looked at him quizzically. "Surely you're being a little over-dramatic?"
Maxwell sighed. "Let's hope so." He wandered off to find another drink.
The monorail was plunged into darkness as it raced through a tunnel bored through the heart of a rocky peak, before emerging into an area of grassy plains, painted red by the light of the setting sun. Chin in hand, Ellis stared out of her window, puzzled by something strange about the view, some unusual quality of the light. As the train crested a gentle rise, a series of shimmering reflections revealed the explanation. They were still in a tunnel, only this one was constructed of some sort of transparent material, and seemed to stretch right across the plain.
Gleefully, Harris clapped his hands. "Oh my, we're in for a treat now. Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be amazed. Welcome to Pocket Beagle Plains."
The monorail fell into shadow, and Ellis gasped as an enormous paw dropped into her field of view, before lifting up out of sight again. The process had to repeat itself several times before she realised that she was seeing the feet of a gigantic dog, running alongside the train. She craned her neck to look up at the underbelly of the creature, towering high above the monorail in its tunnel.
In her amazed awe, it took some time for her to realise that the train was slowing down. The dog matched their pace, and gradually, they both came to a halt. Apprehensively, she stared at the now immobile feet, and then leapt back in shock as a huge brown eye appeared at the level of her window, looking right back at her.
Harris chuckled. "Don't be alarmed, Dr Ellis. Pocket beagles are among the most curious of the breeds. He doesn't mean any harm, he just wants to check you out."
Despite the several whiskies now warming his insides, Maxwell managed to resist the urge to say, "And who can blame him?"
Crouching low, the beagle carefully inspected several windows and then sniffed along one side of the tunnel, before stepping clean over it and sniffing the other. Apparently satisfied, it raised its head and stood up.
"Wow," breathed Lyra, with her face pressed up against a window. "That's so awesome."
"I'll say," agreed Tom, with his face pressed alongside hers. "Hey, it's raining!"
Greig coughed, delicately. "Er, I'm afraid that's not rain."
Tom peeled his face off the window. "Huh?"
"It's called scent-marking, Tom. The dog is marking his territory."
"But what's that got to do with how it's raining?"
Lyra rolled her eyes. "He's peeing on us, dummy."
Tom screwed up his face. "Gross!"
Harris patted his grandson on the back. "All part of the grandeur of nature, Tom." He turned to the others. "We were actually a little unprepared for the, er. . . volume of scent-marking the mega-dogs indulge in. Fortunately our nano-tube reinforced tunnel is not only incredibly strong - it's also waterproof."
Lyra was watching Ellis, who was in turn watching the huge dog trotting away across the plain. "You look sad."
The woman turned away from the window and smiled at the girl. "Do I? I suppose I am feeling a little sad."
"Why?"
Ellis shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I think maybe I just liked the idea that there was at least one thing out there in the world that hadn't been tamed by humans. Now it seems like that may no longer be true."
As the day faded, they crossed one section of the park after another, with Harris in his element as their tour-guide. Immense Saint Bernards pounded alongside, as they traversed a mountainous sector, while massive dingoes pranced around them as they crossed an arid desert-like region.
Passing through a lightly wooded area, the passengers were surprised to see mega-dogs that were, for the first time, seemingly uninterested in the monorail. Instead, the Alsatian-like creatures were clustered around something a kilometre or so away, with their heads down and tails in the air.
Greig frowned at the scene. "If I didn't know better, I'd say those dogs are gathered at a kill. They look as though they're feeding."
"Well done, Dr Greig," enthused Harris. "You clearly know your stuff. In fact, those dogs are feeding. But not on a kill, oh no. Our dogs are far too mild-natured for hunting."
"Then what are they feeding on?" asked Ellis.
Harris chortled. "What else would one feed domesticated dogs? Dog biscuits, of course."
"Dog biscuits?" cried Tom, his eyes wide.
"Dog biscuits," confirmed Harris. "Well, mega-dog biscuits, anyway. Each one weighs fifty kilos or so. Concentrated protein, vitamins, minerals, along with special components to help keep the dogs manageable."
"You drug them?" exclaimed Greig.
"No, no, Dr Greig. We simply make sure their diet is high in ingredients that have a calming effect. All natural, I can assure you."
"Mr Harris, there are a lot of words I could use about your park, but I can assure you that 'natural' is not one of them."
Meanwhile, back on Pocket Beagle Plains, the moisture left by the huge dog's scent-marking slowly percolated deeper into the dry earth.
As Harris had pointed out, the monorail's protective tunnel was waterproof, however the hardened polymer only extended to just below ground level, and therefore proved to be no barrier to the encroaching, soil-borne dampness.
Buried beneath the monorail's track lay the electrical system that powered it. Although enclosed in a protective casing, to keep out contaminants and groundwater, the designers hadn't thought to consider the effects of mega-dog urine, and the cocktail of components it contained.
Components which included uric acid. Even this wouldn't have mattered, if not for the poorly applied seam-weld holding together a section of casing around a high-voltage cable. Although only mildly acidic, the urine nevertheless began to work its way into the seam, eventually forming a fissure through which moisture began to drip. The cable started to spark.
Back at the park's central complex, the monorail's control-board lay open. A final check of the safety systems had been scheduled for the following day, and several components had been removed for testing. Including the cut-off switch designed to protect the power-grid from short-circuiting.
The last of the daylight had faded, and the landscape through which the monorail traveled was now lost in darkness. A sprinkling of stars overhead provided the only illumination, although a glow on the eastern horizon suggested that moonrise wasn't far away.
Each of the adults were lost in their own thoughts, while the children were rapt in their smartphones and whatever entertainments they contained. The monorail ran with barely a whisper, so when the power-surge came, it was all the more shocking for the calm that had preceded it.
Without warning, the train accelerated wildly, pushing the seated passengers deeply back into their chairs and sending Maxwell, who had been helping himself to another drink, flying across the compartment. One by one, the light fixtures blew, casting the interior of the carriage into darkness. But not for long.
As the vessel's speed grew ever higher, incandescent showers of sparks flew out from either side of the rail it ran along, casting a demonic light into the carriage.
Holding on for grim death, the passengers were completely oblivious to the upcoming bend in the track, a bend the train was traveling far too fast too negotiate. The brackets keeping the carriages on the rail held on well beyond their rated breaking strength, but as the bend tightened, the enormous forces at work became impossible to resist. One by one the brackets broke, and at the tightest section of the bend, the final one gave way, in a burst of metallic shards. Free from restraint, the carriages leapt from the rail and cannoned into the protective tunnel, which although incredibly strong, was no match for three hundred tonnes of monorail, traveling in excess of two hundred kilometres per hour.
The carriages tore the tunnel asunder, bursting through it and out into the surrounding countryside, trailing sparks as they smashed through trees and undergrowth. Miraculously they stayed upright, which allowed the passengers to stay in their seats, safe from the worst of the buffeting. All except for Maxwell, that is, who was flung about mercilessly. Eventually, after what seemed an eternity of hellish noise and vibration, the carriages slowly juddered to a halt.
Several kilometres away, a colossal, recumbent figure stirred, lifting its head to sample the strange scents carried on the gentle breeze. Sleepily, it lumbered to its feet.
Spot was awake.
Greig and Ellis gathered the passengers together, a short way from the wrecked carriages. They'd waited for Harris to take charge, but although the old man appeared to be physically unharmed, he was clearly in shock, and in no condition to organise their rescue.
Given the violence of the crash, the survivors were in surprisingly good shape. All except for Maxwell. The mathematician had multiple fractures and was unconscious, which Greig felt was probably a good thing, given the pain he would otherwise be experiencing. The downside of his injuries was that they wouldn't be walking back to base.
This meant they would need to wait for rescue, but a quick search of the carriages had revealed that every single communication device on board was dead, and none of their phones could get a signal. Even so, Greig wasn't particularly worried about communicating their predicament. Harris had informed the base about their monorail jaunt, so it should only be a matter of time before they were missed.
What he was worried about was whatever mega-dogs they were now sharing the sector with.
Harris was maddeningly vague about the issue. "Let me see. The sector after the Alsatians, you say? Hmm, that might be the poodles. Or are they near the Collies? Let me think." His face became grave. "Ah, that's right. The sector after the Alsatians? That one belongs to Spot."
"Spot? What the hell is a Spot?" demanded Greig.
Harris smiled, and a little of the old twinkle returned to his eyes. "Oh, you'll like Spot, Dr Greig. He's the biggest of our mega-dogs. Great Dane DNA, you see. One of our early prototypes. I thought, if we're doing big dogs, why not go really big? And we succeeded, beyond our wildest expectations. To the best of our knowledge, Spot is the largest mega-dog, ever. In fact, he is very likely the largest land-based creature in the history of the planet."
Greig sighed. "And we're in his backyard. Fabulous."
Guerro had been silent since the crash, but spoke up now. "Well, at least Great Danes are a gentle breed. I had one when I was a kid. Wouldn't hurt a fly."
Harris cleared his throat. "Yes, well, as I said, Spot was one of our earlier prototypes. We managed to give him the physical characteristics of a Great Dane. Unfortunately, we weren't quite as successful with regards to the behavioural side of things. Spot is scheduled for removal, prior to the park's opening."
"Removal?" queried Ellis. "Removal to where?"
Harris looked uncomfortable. "Well, when I say removal, I actually mean, ah. . .disposal."
"Disposal! That's a living creature you're talking about."
"Yes, but it's also a fully owned asset of HarrisCorp."
Greig shook his head. "You're a real piece of work, Harris."
Boon sat back and contemplated the ice-cold beer sitting on the table. Condensation frosted the glass, and a single crystalline drop slowly wound its way down the side of the tankard. Grinning in anticipation, he reached forward.
And stopped.
Ripples disturbed the previously pristine surface of the amber beverage. Boon frowned at the glass. There it was again. Circular ripples, this time accompanied by a dull boom, which he felt coming up all the way from the soles of his boots. Another boom, and then another, followed by a series of earth-trembling concussions. The glass toppled over, beer cascading across the table-top.
"Oh, shit."
The night had grown cool, but Greig was adamant that there be no fires. The risen moon provided a wan light, but did little to cheer the tired, despondent group, waiting impatiently for rescue.
Halfway through a game, Tom's smartphone flashed a final low-battery warning, and went dead. Disgustedly, he shoved the device into his pocket. "How much worse can today get?"
As if on cue, the ground trembled. Lyra, who had been half-dozing beside her twin, looked up in alarm, suddenly wide awake. "I think maybe we're about to find out."
The trembling became a rumble, which then resolved into a rhythmic pounding. As everyone got to their feet, searching for the source of the noise, a massive shadow fell across the moon. Looking up, they were confronted with an enormous figure towering over them, silhouetted against the night sky. Impossibly, the shape grew even bigger as the dog's hackles rose, and with a sound like tectonic plates colliding, it growled.
"Sally, get everyone into a carriage," ordered Grieg. "Harris and Guerro, you'll have to carry Maxwell."
Ellis tore her eyes away from the shadow that half-filled the sky. "What are you going to do?"
Greig swallowed. "The only thing I can do. Lure him away."
"I'm coming with you!"
"Like hell you are. It only takes one of us to act as bait, and I'm faster than you."
"But-"
"Sally, we don't have time for this. Go!"
Before she could protest any further, Greig darted off through the undergrowth, yelling at the top of his lungs.
"Hey Spot, you big lump! Come and get me!"
Ponderously, the shadowy figure turned in his direction. Greig ran on, trying desperately to put some distance between himself and the rest of the group. He stumbled more than once, and was cursing the darkness, when abruptly it was replaced by a fiery, red light. Stunned, he stopped and looked up. A single incandescent flare arced up over the huge dog, and was then joined by another.
Blinking in the glare, he looked around for their source, and spotted a Land Rover racing towards the carriages. The vehicle skidded to a halt, and a burly figure in khaki clambered out, clutching a long cylindrical device. The new arrival had caught Spot's attention, and realising that his role as a decoy was over, Greig pounded back towards the wreckage.
Meanwhile, Boon knelt and placed the device on his shoulder. Taking careful aim, he pressed the trigger, launching a rocket-propelled canister, which struck Spot on the neck, bursting open as it did so.
Immediately, Greig caught a sharp tang in the air. Breathlessly, he ran up to Boon. "Citronella," he panted. "You hit him with citronella."
Boon glanced at him, and gave a curt nod. "He hates the stuff. Watch."
In the harsh light of the flares, Spot's baffled expression was almost comical. He sniffed warily, then, with a whimper like the trumpeting of a thousand elephants, he turned and thundered off, with his tail between his legs.
They made their way back to the carriages, where the others were cheering wildly. Boon soon put a stop to that.
"Don't get too excited - he'll be back. Plus, with the power down, I'm getting reports of perimeter breaches all over the park. Pretty soon we'll have more than Spot to worry about. More vehicles are on their way, but we're not out of the woods yet."
Maxwell gave a hollow chuckle. In all the confusion, nobody had realised that he had regained consciousness. "Humanity is never out of the woods. Mainly because we keep going back in." He grimaced in pain. "Nature is a chaotic system - too many variables. When are we going to learn that we can't control it? Where has trying gotten us? Stuck in the dark, with a pack of monsters, that's where. Monsters that are bigger, stronger and faster than us. And with bigger teeth. We're not getting out of here."
"That's enough!" snapped Ellis, seeing the children's expressions. "Humans are weak, that's true. But we're still here, aren't we? We may not have claws or teeth or strength. But we have our brains, and we have each other."
"That's right," agreed Harris. "And we've have the world's leading megalo-cynologist, we have an expert in the methods prey use to avoid predators, and we have Boon, who is one of the best game-keepers on the planet."
"So, if anybody is going to get out of here," said Greig, smiling at Tom and Lyra, "it's us."
Lyra took Ellis' hand. "You got your wish. All the wild things haven't been tamed, after all."
A/N: The investment banker was in the story primarily to get eaten, but unfortunately I ran out of words. Sorry about that (unless you're a fan of investment bankers).