We left the men to their ruminations and followed O’Toole to the edge of the crowd. The name was already showing on his character tab as we approached. “Smith?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. O’Toole said you wanted me to show you the phase 2s.”

“And how it all works,” added Cris.

“I can imagine it takes a lot of concentration to keep on top of the dinos,” I said.

“Not really, sir. Once an order is given, you don’t need to keep issuing it. They’ll fight to the death or until you call them off.”

“Are the herders tied to a particular type of dinosaur?”

“No, sir. The technology was designed so that even if one of the operators gets injured, another could put the headest on and carry on the fight.”

“It can’t be that easy,” I argued.

“It is, sir. It’s just electrical signals. The woman that delivered the training explained that their implants act as an inhibitor to conscious thought. Well, as conscious as an overgrown ‘guana can get. They still breathe, sleep, eat, the basic functions of survival, but it cuts off their ability to do what comes naturally. The hunting, the biting. The helmets work to restore those impulses along with signals that basically paint a target as food.”

“Is that why the ones in the town started to get their mojo back once we’d destroyed the helmets?” I asked, diplomatically skirting the soldiers we’d also killed in the process.

“It is. We have the control units locked away under constant watch. The battery packs are meant to last for at least eight weeks between replacements, but after the debacle at Marnmouth docks Milley wasn’t leaving anything to chance. All it would take was a loose wire or a faulty pack and the creatures would run rampant in the camp.”

“Do you have any other groups of phase 2s?”

“Yes, sir. Six more in other camps. The ones nearest the largest cities.”

I came to a stop in front of a vast T-Rex pen. The bars were inches thick, not that they were needed. The monstrous carnivore just stood there, swaying gently while staring off into the distance. A blood-soaked, half-chewed wooden pallet lay below its mouth from the last feed. A question came to me about the whole thing. “What were you supposed to do with the phase 2s anyway? It just seems a ridiculous waste of time and money.”

Smith and O’Toole studied their feet like schoolboys caught smoking behind the bike sheds. It was the lead herder who answered. “We were supposed to mop up any survivors, sir.” He tensed, expecting an attack.

My skin prickled with simmering anger. “Don’t you have family in any of the cities?”

“To begin with, most of the CID were kept in the dark about what was coming. Those of us that trained on the island obviously knew what was coming and took precautions. A full briefing was carried out before the phase 1s were released. As soon as it was over, steps were taken to evacuate everyone’s families from danger. They’re all safe.”

The flippant way he talked about securing the lives of their own ignited my fury. I lunged forward and lifted Smith bodily from the ground. “What about all the other families?” I demanded, shaking him like a ragdoll. “Do you know how many people you’ve killed?”

“It was… just… a job…” he babbled. “I’m… sorry.”

I was close to giving him whiplash when Cris gently eased my arms down. “They were just following orders.”

“That’s what the Nazis said,” I replied, pushing the man away.

“And they had the Nuremberg trials,” she explained, calmly. “These men will face justice. They can defend themselves when the time comes. Until then, we need them. The fuse has already been lit, there’s no point shouting at the match.”

“Stop being so reasonable!” I snapped, summoning my malevolent flail. “Have you forgotten the containers? What those things did to the people?” I strode forward, threatening them with Malkar’s ghastly head. The pervasive aura and my looming rage had them backing away.

“I’ll never forget,” she replied. “But mourning can come after. You’re wasting time when seconds count.”

Most of the crowd were watching us. Smith and O’Toole were rapt on the severed orc head that swayed on the end of my weapon. I relaxed as much as I was able, letting the flail drop. “You’re right. I just… I can’t stop picturing their faces.”

Her soothing hand reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Nor can I. For now, we need to picture the faces of the people in the tunnels. The ones relying on us.”

I glared at the two soldiers, trying to contain my anger. “Tell me about this job. How did you expect to do any killing when you’d get the flesh torn from your bones as soon as you set foot in the city?”

“I can show you, sir,” offered Smith, rubbing at his bruised chest. “If you follow me into that hangar, you’ll see.”

“Move!” We hurried past the cages and their docile occupants. The old aircraft hangar doors were wide open, but there were no planes inside. Instead, it had been turned into a garage of sorts, except the vehicles would never win any awards for style. “What on earth are those things?”

“They’re specialised carts that keep the herders safe from the other dinosaurs. On the streets, at least,” said Smith, urging me to come and inspect one.

The concrete floor of the cavernous space looked like it was infected with a hundred blisters. The pustulent protrusions were the only thing I could liken the weird vehicles to. Around ten foot wide at the base, the chassis was barely half an inch from the ground. The flat rim curved up to the glass dome which acted as the panoramic windscreen for the driver. Smith picked up a remote from a nearby workbench and pressed a button. With a hiss-pop, the lid flipped open.

“This just gets more bizarre by the minute,” I muttered as Smith climbed aboard. I pictured myself in a coma, even though I knew the comforting fantasy was false. This world was just beyond the pale.

He thumped the clear bubble which didn’t carry the report of glass. “Impenetrable. To bullets and teeth. A special type of reinforced polymer.”

“What’s with the terrible, alien-spaceship-from-Mars shape?” asked Cris. “It’s like you robbed the set of a bad sixties sci-fi movie.”

“The idea is they’re low enough to the ground to be impossible to flip. They can’t be bitten through, and they can withstand sixty tons of pressure. The team who came up with the plan were submarine specialists. The idea was that we could move from area to area, directing our herd safely.”

“Until you hit the first small stone and you ground to a halt,” I said, scuffing my boot along the concrete to hit the low-set rim.

Smith plonked himself down in the seat and fired the engine. “No problem there, sir,” he said, pressing an icon on the display screen. The vehicle responded by lifting from the ground like a Los Angeles lowrider, replete with the whine of hydraulics.

I’d seen enough. “Ok, Snoop Dogg, we get it. Leave the sticky-icky out of it and show me the control rigs.”

Smith was totally lost and looked to Cris for guidance.

“It’s a reference to one of our gods,” she explained. “Make sure they’re all ready to roll out when we leave.”

“Already done, ma’am,” said Smith, climbing from the bizarre machine. “They were all checked over this morning.”

O’Toole led us back outside and to the right. The single storey building holding the helmets was back under armed guard following the address. It had once housed an abundance of grounds maintenance equipment which was now parked outside or stacked against the wall. One of the men on watch was my mountain friend. I nodded as he opened the door for us.

Smith flicked a light switch and the bulbs blinked to life inside. The space had been cleaned from top to bottom and the remaining racks were now filled with the control units. I marvelled at the bizarre devices which looked like a more compact version of the first VR headsets to hit the market.

“They’re colour coded,” explained Smith. “Here, try the T-Rex on for size.”

He picked up the black unit and gently dropped it on my head. I thought he was trying to gouge my eye when he reached up toward my face. Instead he slipped a finger up inside the helmet and lowered a tiny display screen. It didn’t obscure my vision too badly, and sat roughly where my minimap was already located on the HUD. “Wait, is that what I think it is?”

“You’re receiving a copy of the signal from his optic nerve. You see whatever he sees. The lady designed it so we could more effectively carry out combat missions. Not only can you direct them with what you see, but if the brute stomps out of view while chasing something, you can keep up the fight while you reposition.”

I slipped off the headset and handed it back. “Which one controls the Pteranodons?”

Smith pulled down a green helmet and slipped it on. “You’re connected to the alpha’s vision. The other birds will follow their lead, or you can think separate orders to each one if you want, though that requires a little more focus.”

The view was erratic at best and I started to feel woozy staring at it. Even under the control of the unit’s subduing signal, the head bobbed and looked around like an actual bird searching for prey or threats.

“Show me their cage,” I replied. “I want to try something.”

Smith led the way back outside and we came to one of a dozen aviary-type pens. The huge creatures were perched on horizontally bolted telegraph poles, chittering and snapping their beaks vacantly.

“Just to make sure I’ve got this right, if I call them to me and the headset gets damaged…”

“You’re dinner, sir,” he confirmed. “Be careful.”

“Ok, open the gate. I want to try this out.”

O’Toole chimed in. “Umm, sir, the herders all had weeks of training. Are you sure that’s wise?”

“We’re about to find out,” I replied. “Open the pen.”

Both men were hesitant but they complied with my order. The thick bolts clanked and the hinges shrieked as they dragged the doors open. I watched the creatures waiting all around us for any signs of life, but they were completely out of it.

Now that the way was open, I had second thoughts and turned to Cris. “You might want to put some space between us. If this goes wrong and they eat me, I’ll give up on the idea.”

Smith and O’Toole retreated behind one of the T-Rex pens, but Cris stayed by my side. “You’ll do fine. Let’s see if we can make this work.”

My first attempt at getting the alpha to hop down was rewarded with a bored caw and a stream of shit that splashed down into the straw. “Someone needs to learn their place,” I grumbled at the stink.

Smith was waving to get my attention. “Don’t overthink it, sir!” he called. “Just let it flow! Be the bird!”

“That’s some Chubbs Peterson shit right there,” I said with a sigh.

“Just tap it in, Happy,” added Cris, stifling a chuckle.

I gave her a sideways glance. “I can’t believe you got that reference.”

She winked at me. “You better believe it. Now get a lady a Pteranodon.”

“Demanding gifts. That’s a red flag right there.”

“Do I get a point for the Happy Gilmore catch?”

I nodded. “I’ll give you that one.”

It was now a battle of wills as I stared at the birds. Smith had said to just let it flow, to be the bird. I tried thinking in terms of my eagle form. How it felt to actually exist as a creature unafraid of gravity. The feeling of the wind as it teased its way through each feather. The tiny adjustments in tail and wing that steered my flight.

“Let’s do this,” I whispered, picturing the alpha jumping from his perch.

Nothing.

I pictured myself jumping from the perch.

Nothing.

“What’s the matter with you?” Smith and the others had gone through intensive training to form the bond. Weeks and weeks, and here I was expecting to master the technology in minutes.

“Try and relax,” offered Cris. “I can sense how desperate you are for this to work. No matter what happens, we’ll be back in Marnmouth by nightfall.”

She was right. I was desperate for this to work. Not only in terms of saving time, but also how cool it would be. I took a long, deep breath and followed her suggestion to clear my head. The crafting recipe kept pushing in, tempting me to overthink the situation.

“Mark!” Cris whispered, pointing eagerly.

The alpha was looking straight at me. Intently. Hungrily. “Oh shit. It wants to eat me.”

“No, he’s hearing you. Try and get back into that mindset. See if you can get him to fly down.”

I looked back up at the beady little eyes and thought of nothing. Not my fear. Not my anger. Not my growing feelings. Nada. The dinosaur unfurled his wings and hopped from the perch, sailing down gently on the trapped air. Tucking them back to its body, the creature scuttled towards me, traipsing through the scat covered straw. I wasn’t prepared for how big the thing was up close. My near-death experience on the way to the suspension bridge had been with a smaller relative of this mighty creature. This specimen had to be at least fifty percent larger, if not more.

“Hey, big guy,” I said, reaching out to pet the long bill. Whatever spell it was under, it seemed to enjoy the contact and pressed against my hand.

“They don’t normally do that!” called Smith.

I tensed. “Should I stop?” I whispered to Cris.

“No, he likes it,” she replied. “Try and form a bond.”

I wasn’t convinced it was a good idea. I struggled to peel my eyes away from the rows of jagged little fangs that awaited me if Pterry chose to bite. Moving up alongside his pointy head, I rubbed at the muscular neck. It was the same soothing touch I’d used on Lady, and he did seem to enjoy it. The rest of his flock dropped from their perches and waddled out of their cage.

“Do you have any food?” asked Cris, moving behind me just in case they were gearing up for an attack.

“Yeah, just don’t ask from what,” I replied, summoning a hunk of meat into my open palm.

Instead of lunging for it, Pterry opened his beak and allowed me to place it on the waiting teeth. He craned his neck and did the weird gagging throat swallow. The rest of the group lined up and opened their mouths eagerly like chicks in a nest.

“What do I do?”

Cris palm slapped her forehead. “Feed them, of course.”

“I’m not a mother Pteranodon for god’s sake!”

“Sure looks like it from where I’m hiding, mommy.”

“This is so bizarre,” I said, gingerly placing the meals into each bill.

“Whatever it is, it’s working,” said Cris. “Shall I try them now?”

My new flock were staring at us expectantly.

“I guess so,” I replied, preparing for the worst.