13-The Jungle Takes
It was the logical choice.
Ren and Adán were the field agents—the ones trained for this kind of
work. The others had specialties that kept them useful in their own ways, but this?
Tracking a missing teammate through a storm-ravaged jungle, with nothing but a
radio and their instincts to guide them? This was their job. Their
responsibility.
And yet, as they trudged deeper into the blackened wilderness,
fighting against the storm, Ren felt something cold settle in her gut.
Something she couldn’t shake.
The rain was relentless, hammering down in thick, blinding sheets.
Water pooled in every crevice of the uneven terrain, turning the jungle floor
into an unstable mess of mud and tangled roots. The weight of their gear pulled
at them, their boots sinking into the soft earth with each step. The ponchos
they wore were already drenched, clinging uncomfortably to their bodies,
offering no real protection from the elements.
Adán moved slightly ahead, his posture rigid, scanning their
surroundings with the sharp, calculated gaze of someone who had done this a
hundred times before. His fingers hovered near his weapon, his movements
precise but unhurried. Ren wasn’t sure if it was confidence or just his way of
masking unease, but either way, she appreciated the steadiness.
The radio at Adán’s vest crackled, cutting through the downpour.
Franz’s voice came through, slightly distorted by static.
“You’re there.”
Ren stopped walking.
The jungle stretched around them, dark and unmoving—an endless
tangle of wet leaves and skeletal branches. The air was thick, humid despite
the storm, carrying the scent of damp earth and rotting foliage.
She pressed the button on her own radio. “We don’t see him.”
Silence. Then, Franz’s voice again, more insistent. “That’s
impossible. He should be right in front of you.”
Adán turned to her, his expression unreadable, but she caught the
way his jaw tensed slightly.
They were supposed to see something.
Ren exhaled sharply, sweeping her eyes over the darkness. Her
fingers flexed around her rifle, her heartbeat pressing against her ribs.
And then—
A flicker of red.
Small. Distant. Almost imperceptible through the rain.
Ren narrowed her eyes. “¿Ves eso?”
Adán followed her gaze, eyes narrowing. The red glow pulsed weakly,
cutting through the darkness. A camera?
It was the tracker.
Her first thought was that it must’ve gotten stuck in the branches
somehow—maybe Tadeo had climbed up, and it had snagged on something.
But the longer she stared, the more she felt something was off.
The way it moved. Not like an object swaying freely in the
wind, but like—
Like it was attached to something.
She took a hesitant step forward, craning her neck to see better.
The light swung slightly.
Lightning exploded across the sky.
For a fraction of a second, the jungle was illuminated in stark,
cold white—
—and Ren’s stomach plummeted.
It wasn’t just the tracker.
It was Tadeo.
Or rather, what was left of him.
His torso hung from the canopy, unnaturally high up. His arms
dangled limply, his head slumped forward, his vest soaked a deep, visceral red.
But there was nothing below his ribs. The rest of him was gone.
Strings of viscera dangled from his open torso, swaying gently with
the motion of the storm.
Ren’s breath hitched.
Adán didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His entire body locked up, his
fingers twitching toward his weapon, but his eyes—his eyes were locked onto
something else.
Something behind Tadeo.
The lightning faded, plunging them back into suffocating blackness.
The afterimage burned behind Ren’s eyelids, but even blind, she felt
it.
Something was there.
Watching.
Adán’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Ren.”
Another flash of lightning.
And the jungle breathed.
Not the jungle.
Something inside it.
The shadows shifted, but not in the way wind moves branches. Not in
the way rain disturbs leaves.
The darkness moved, and for the first time, Ren realized that
Tadeo’s body wasn’t hanging from the tree.
It was being held.
The thing behind him was massive. A broad, muscular frame blending
seamlessly with the trees, its skin mottled and textured like bark. The outline
of something—something wrong—stood just behind the corpse,
holding it aloft with grotesque ease.
And then she saw them.
The horns.
Small, ridged, wrongly proportioned.
Adán exhaled slowly through his nose. “Ren.”
The light on Tadeo’s vest flickered one last time.
The figure shifted.
Jaws tightened.
Bone crunched.
The light went out.
—
It clicked into place in Adán’s head almost immediately.
Carnotaurus.
The power. The fence. They lost power. That was the only
explanation. The perimeter must have failed, and these things—these monsters—had
broken through. Team Two must have been caught off guard, slaughtered before
they even knew what was happening.
This one had likely split off from the others, dragging its kill
away to eat in peace.
Tadeo’s corpse dangled from the creature’s jaws, barely visible
through the sheets of rain.
Ren was frozen beside him, gun trembling in her grip.
Adán made the decision in a second.
“¡Corre!” he bellowed.
Ren fired.
The gunshot cracked like thunder, the muzzle flash lighting up the
rain in a split-second burst.
The Carnotaurus jerked. The bullet hit, striking somewhere
near its thick, muscled neck. It let out a deep, guttural snarl—not quite a
roar, but a sound of sheer irritation.
Then it whipped around.
Adán saw it happen as if in slow motion.
The Carnotaurus twisted its head toward Ren, its body moving with
it. The tail—the size of a battering ram, all muscle and bone—swung.
Adán barely had time to register it before the impact hit him full
force.
It felt like being blindsided by a truck.
The blow lifted him off his feet, slamming into his ribs with a
force that sent shockwaves of pain through his body. His breath was gone—ripped
from his lungs before he even hit the ground.
But he didn’t hit the ground. Not immediately.
The force sent him airborne, his body hurtling backward.
Then—
CRACK.
The world exploded into white-hot agony as his back slammed
into a tree. He didn’t even have time to cry out before his body crumpled,
collapsing onto the mud in a heap.
Then—
Nothing.
Ren barely had time to process what happened.
“Adán!”
He didn’t move.
She barely had time to reach for him before the Carnotaurus turned
its full attention on her.
Her feet moved before her brain could catch up.
She ran.
The jungle blurred past her, rain whipping against her face, the
wind howling in her ears. The mud tried to drag her down, suctioning around her
boots. The foliage slapped at her arms, branches clawing at her skin.
She could hear it behind her—footfalls that shook the
earth, deep, heaving breaths.
It was gaining.
Ren pushed harder, lungs burning, muscles screaming.
And then—
The footsteps stopped.
She didn’t stop running. She didn’t look back.
She didn’t care why it stopped—only that she was still alive,
that she had to keep going.
Her boots pounded against the wet ground, her heartbeat hammering in
her ears louder than the storm.
But Adán—
The thought hit her like a punch to the gut, but she didn’t let
herself dwell on it. Not now. Not while she was still running, still alive.
He wasn’t moving.
And she had left him behind.
Her grip on the radio was slick with rain as she lifted it with
trembling fingers.
“This is Ren,” she panted, forcing the words out. “Status update.”
Static. Then Franz’s voice, sharp and confused.
“What do you mean, ‘status update’? Where’s Adán? What’s going
on?”
Ren clenched her jaw so hard it hurt.
“Tadeo’s dead.”
A beat of silence.
Then Franz again: “What?”
Ren swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, barely keeping her
breath steady.
“And we have a problem.”
She kept running.
—
The building was deathly still when Ren burst in—gasping for breath,
soaked to the bone, and streaked with grime. Mud clung to her legs, her poncho
hung in tatters from one shoulder, and her left arm was bleeding where the
jungle had clawed at her during the sprint. Behind her, the rain hadn’t
stopped, but the storm’s fury had dulled to a steady roar. Inside, though, the
silence was stifling—thick and heavy, like the building itself was holding its
breath.
Sophia was at the desk, fingers hovering over a dusty keyboard, her
back straightening sharply at the sight of Ren. Franz stood beside her,
mid-sentence, whatever he’d been saying dying on his tongue. Helena, crouched
by one of the metal shelves, froze with a roll of gauze in hand, and Emma
looked up from a crate of supplies, blinking as Ren staggered inside.
All of them saw it—the raw panic in Ren’s eyes.
“He’s dead,” she said.
No one spoke. The words didn’t land so much as detonate.
Franz was the first to react. He took a step forward, frowning. “What
are you talking about?”
Ren swallowed, arms shaking as she reached for the wall to steady
herself. “Tadeo,” she whispered, like saying the name might bring the
moment back into focus. “Or what’s left of him.”
“What happened?” Helena’s voice was soft, like she wasn’t
sure she wanted to know.
“It was a Carnotaurus,” Ren said. Her voice cracked—sharp,
ragged, edged with disbelief. “It camouflaged with the trees. We didn’t see it
until—until it already had him. The upper half. In its mouth.”
Emma’s hand flew to her mouth. Helena recoiled.
Ren’s eyes stayed locked on Franz. “Adán tried to draw it away.
Told me to run. I shot at it, but it didn’t matter. It hit him. I heard him hit
the ground. I heard the bone.”
For a long, terrible moment, no one breathed.
Sophia finally rose to her feet. “You didn’t see him—”
“No.” Ren’s voice was a knife. “I didn’t. I didn’t go back. I
ran. I had to.”
Emma turned away, her face hidden. Helena stood in stunned silence,
one hand pressed to her chest. Franz didn’t speak. Instead, he moved to the
computer, hands stiff as he reached for the mouse.
Ren’s voice was quieter now. “Check his tracker.”
Sophia slid back into the chair, her fingers trembling as she
brought up the tracking software. The screen blinked—dull green dots scattered
across a failing map.
“He’s still there,” she whispered. “Same coordinates. No
movement.”
Ren closed her eyes. It felt like another blow. That dot—flickering
faintly on the screen—meant one thing now. It meant stillness. Finality.
Helena stepped forward. “But maybe he’s unconscious. Maybe he’s
just—”
“We both know what a Carnotaurus can do,” Ren snapped, then
immediately softened. “I’m sorry. I just… we can’t pretend.”
“We have to assume he’s gone,” Franz said, his voice
uncharacteristically flat. “If we hold out for something else, we’ll die
too.”
Silence again. Even the rain outside seemed to hesitate.
Emma turned, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Are you
sure?”
“I’m sure.” Ren’s voice didn’t shake this time. Her arms wrapped
around herself, and her next breath came out as a shudder. “He saved me.
That thing would’ve killed us both if he hadn’t.”
Sophia stared at the monitor. “If the Carnotaurus is inside the
perimeter… it means the system’s failed. Entirely. No fencing, no containment.
Everything’s down.”
“This building’s off-grid,” Franz added. “That’s probably why
we’ve got any power left at all.”
Ren stepped forward, wet boots slapping the floor. “We can’t stay
here. It’s only a matter of time before it tracks me—or worse, something else
finds us.”
Franz opened his mouth to speak, but Sophia cut in, her voice urgent
now. “She’s right. This place isn’t secure. If the fences are down, we’re in
open territory.”
“How far is the command center?” Emma asked, stepping beside
Sophia.
Sophia tapped rapidly on the keyboard. “Twenty kilometers. Maybe
a little more, depending on the path.”
Helena shook her head. “That’s half a day’s hike in good
conditions.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Ren said. “We leave now, or we
die here.”
For a long beat, they all looked to Franz. The one who always had
something to say. He finally nodded. “Then we get moving.”
They packed fast, the silence of the room broken only by the shuffle
of boots and the scrape of gear. The grief lingered in every movement—unspoken
but loud.
Adán was gone.
They’d seen death before. Most of them. Accidents in the field.
Incidents during relocations. But this wasn’t an accident. This was a hunter. A
predator that was never supposed to be loose. A predator that took one of their
own.
Ren was the last to shoulder her pack. Her hands hovered over a
soaked bundle of cloth—Adán’s spare jacket, which she must have taken from the building’s
floor without realizing. She stuffed it into her bag.
No one asked her why.
Outside, the rain continued.
But something in the storm had shifted. As they opened the door and
stepped back into the wild, it wasn’t just water that drenched them—it was the
weight of what they’d left behind.
And the realization that this was no longer an exercise.
This was survival.
And they were already one man down.
They moved out under a bruised sky. The storm had passed, yes—but it
had left a scar across the land. The air was humid and heavy, every breath like
inhaling warm water. Leaves slapped their faces as they pushed through the
thick, glistening jungle, boots sinking into mud that refused to let go. The
light was strange too—diffused through storm clouds, tinted gray-green, casting
everything in a sickly hue that made it hard to judge distance or depth. Time
stretched strangely out here, blurred by exhaustion, tension, and the
unfamiliar terrain.
They were quieter now. No one spoke unless they had to. Ren led the
group, eyes sharp, teeth clenched. Franz followed closely, muttering to himself
occasionally, eyes flicking to the trees. Emma moved cautiously, one hand
hovering near her sidearm. Helena brought up the rear, often glancing back, her
nerves fraying. And Sophia, walking beside Franz, kept her thoughts to
herself—processing, storing, calculating. Her silence was different. Focused.
They knew the map. They were supposed to cross a small river—no more
than a narrow vein of water on satellite imagery. But when they reached it, it
wasn’t a river anymore.
It was a torrent.
The bank was half-eaten by the surge, swollen beyond anything they
could’ve expected. The water churned violently, a roiling, foaming mass that
screamed its own warning. It dragged fallen branches and debris downstream like
twigs, slamming them against rocks with bone-breaking force. Crossing here
would mean certain death.
Ren stared at it for a long time, then shook her head. “No chance.”
“According to the map,” Franz said, flipping open his soaked
tablet, “there’s a service bridge two kilometers west.”
Ren gave him a look. “A bridge that may or may not be intact.”
“Do you have a better idea?” he snapped.
She didn’t. So they turned west.
The detour dragged on. The jungle grew denser, the undergrowth
thicker and less forgiving. Their pace slowed to a crawl. Branches clawed at
them. Roots grabbed their boots. Mosquitoes swarmed in clouds, biting exposed
skin with mindless fury. The ground was uneven, littered with fallen trees, and
every shadow seemed to shift just a little too much.
By the time they reached what was supposed to be the bridge,
dusk was beginning to bleed through the canopy, casting long fingers of dark
across their path.
The bridge, predictably, was gone.
It hadn’t just been damaged. It had been ripped away—likely
by the same surge that had transformed the river. Only a few frayed support
cables remained, like snapped tendons, dangling over the edge of the ravine.
The far side was out of reach, taunting them.
Silence settled over the group. Franz ran a hand through his damp
hair, muttering a curse under his breath.
Sophia knelt by the edge, her brows furrowed. “We could build
something. A rope system. If we had more gear.”
“We don’t,” Ren said. Her tone was flat but not cruel. Just tired.
“We keep going,” Emma said after a moment. “South. Stick
close to the river, find a narrower crossing. There has to be one.”
“There has to be,” Helena echoed quietly.
They turned again. South now. Another detour. Every step took them
deeper into uncertainty.
Above them, hidden in the thick canopy, the birds had gone quiet.
The rifle felt heavier than it should have.
Helena's hands, wrapped tightly around the grip and forend, trembled
just enough to make the weapon seem more cumbersome than comforting. She wasn’t
used to this. The weight of it, the implications. She’d fired at targets
before, sure—back in training, a few times under supervision—but never like
this. Never soaked to the bone in the middle of a Costa Rican jungle with
something monstrous loose beyond the trees. Never with the face of someone she
cared about potentially lying lifeless behind her.
Her boots sucked into the mud with every step, the saturated earth
clinging like tar. The downpour hadn't let up, and the river they were supposed
to cross was now an angry, frothing current of brown water, churning with
debris and branches. The bridge marked on the map had been swept away—just
gone, its metal frame twisted and buried downstream. The team had huddled under
a half-collapsed tarp for shelter long enough to realize they’d have to find a
new way across.
Ren hadn’t hesitated. She’d pointed upstream and started moving,
machete in hand, slicing vines and branches like they were the problem. Her
focus was laser-sharp. Purposeful. And yet Helena could see it in her posture,
in the tight line of her jaw—the storm hadn’t erased the fear. It just buried
it deep.
Franz trudged along, muttering about elevation and terrain as if
facts could dry their clothes or calm their nerves. Sophia and Emma moved in a
quiet tandem, eyes scanning, mouths set. Everyone was different now. More
focused. More aware.
Helena stayed near the middle of the group, her rifle raised just
enough to be ready. Her fingers were white-knuckled on the grip, her thumb
brushing occasionally against the safety. She hadn’t flicked it off. Not yet.
Not until she had to.
The jungle was louder than ever. Water dripped and ran from the
canopy like veins of sound. The wind had quieted some, but it made the leaves
whisper—just enough to set her teeth on edge. Every crack of a branch, every
strange call of a bird or shuffle in the underbrush made her heartbeat spike.
She gritted her teeth and adjusted her grip on the rifle again.
Focus, she told herself. You can’t
afford not to.
They climbed over roots slick with moss, ducked under low-hanging
branches, and moved along the river’s edge, searching for anything—a fallen
log, a narrowing, maybe stones to leap across.
She could hear the current now. Roaring. Closer. Violent.
Helena’s boots slipped once, her body jolting forward, rifle
swinging instinctively. Emma grabbed her arm, steadying her. No words were
exchanged, just a glance—brief, tense, and understanding.
They had a long way to go. And something was out there.
As the sky deepened into an oppressive shade of charcoal, the jungle
seemed to swallow what little light remained. The storm had passed, but the
trees still wept with the memory of it—raindrops dripping from every leaf, the
ground soaked and sludgy, the air thick with humidity. The distant rumble of
the swollen river had become a constant background growl. And the silence
between its pulses? It was the kind that pressed against your chest, thick and
expectant.
Ren was the first to say what the others were already thinking.
“We camp here,” she said, voice low and firm as she turned to
face the rest of them. Her soaked poncho clung to her arms like a second skin.
“In the trees. We’ll use the paracord.”
Franz frowned immediately, exhausted, eyes red-rimmed from strain. “Sleep
in the trees?”
Ren didn’t dignify that with an answer. She was already unpacking
the bundle of bright orange cord from her gear, hands moving with practiced
ease. “The ground’s too open. Too loud,” she added. “Anything comes
near us down here, we won’t have time to react.”
No one argued after that.
With the last fingers of twilight vanishing behind the canopy, they
worked quickly. The trees around them were thick and tall—branches sturdy
enough to support weight if they kept their movement minimal. Ren, with her
lean build and climbing experience, went up first, looping and tying the
paracord around one wide trunk and creating anchor points for the others. She
made sure each knot was tight, tested it twice, then motioned to Helena to
follow.
Helena’s muscles screamed with each motion—fatigue from the long
march settling into her limbs—but she climbed. With the rifle slung across her
back and mud crusted over her knees, she pulled herself into the tree with
quiet effort. When she was finally seated on a thick branch, she wrapped the
paracord around her torso, securing it across her chest. It felt makeshift and
fragile, but better than nothing.
Franz came up clumsily, grumbling under his breath, while Emma and
Sophia ascended with quiet determination. They were high enough to be off the
ground, but not so high that a fall would be fatal—probably. Each of them
secured themselves in place with short lengths of cord, wrapping it around the
trunk and anchoring it to their packs or limbs. No one would roll off
accidentally. At least, that was the hope.
Once everyone was tethered and seated, a low, tense quiet settled
over them.
“We’ll do shifts,” Ren said. “Two hours each. I’ll take
first.”
“I’ll go after,” Sophia offered. Her voice was dry but
steady.
No fire. No lights. Just the dense curtain of night, pierced
occasionally by the sound of dripping water or distant, unplaceable rustles.
Helena adjusted the cord at her chest, leaning her head against the
rough bark behind her. Her fingers never left the rifle. Her legs were sore.
Her thoughts circled endlessly, always coming back to Adán.
Above, the sky rumbled softly again, the storm threatening a second
act.
And below them, in the shadows between the trees, something moved.
—
The damp air of the jungle clung to every surface like a second
skin. Night had fallen completely, and though their makeshift camp was quiet,
the forest around them breathed with life. Ren's shift had ended without
incident, save for the occasional rustle or call from creatures hidden in the
underbrush. She stepped carefully along the thick branch she’d been stationed
on, moving with balance and care, and handed off the watch duties to Sophia
with a quiet nod.
Sophia adjusted the strap of her rifle as she clipped her harness
securely to the paracord rope that looped around the thick limbs of the
towering ceiba tree. Their entire team was suspended above the jungle floor,
nestled into the canopy—just high enough to be out of reach of most terrestrial
predators, or so the instructors had claimed. Makeshift hammocks and gear hung
in clusters, swaying gently in the night breeze, secured with redundant knots
and silent prayers.
It was her first night shift in the trees since the start of the
excursion, and though she had trained for situations like this, something about
the stillness here made her stomach tighten. The others were vague shapes in
their hammocks behind her, motionless and cocooned in the leaves. A small light
near the base of the main line had long since been dimmed to avoid attracting
attention—dinosaur or otherwise. They didn’t use flashlights; any beam could be
a beacon for eyes that shouldn’t be watching.
She exhaled, slow and controlled, and tilted her head back. Through
gaps in the canopy, stars twinkled like distant campfires in a sky swept clean.
The sight grounded her, even if just for a moment. There was beauty in the
silence—until it broke.
At first, she thought it might've been the wind. A faint rustling,
nothing more than a whisper. But it continued, rhythmic and growing more
distinct. Leaves brushing against something large. Something purposeful.
Sophia steadied herself against the trunk, shifting only slightly
within her harness. Her hand hovered near the flare clipped to her belt—just in
case—but she didn’t draw it. Instead, she crouched on the branch, one hand on
the paracord, and listened.
The sound grew closer.
It wasn’t crashing through the jungle like some bulky hadrosaur. No,
this thing was practiced, a ghost moving with intent. Sophia narrowed her eyes,
peering through the dark. Then, she saw it.
A silhouette larger than any raptor she had ever seen. Eight meters
long, maybe more. It glided between the trees with fluidity, shoulders low,
tail rigid for balance. The creature’s outline flickered in and out of view,
obscured by undergrowth and shadow. It wasn’t until it stepped into a shaft of
moonlight that Sophia saw it more clearly—long arms with wicked claws, feathers
like ragged banners along its arms and tail. Its head was narrow, eyes scanning
the dark, nostrils flaring.
Megaraptorid.
Sophia had studied them during her obligatory DPW coursework, where
silhouettes and key features were drilled into recruits. But this one... she
couldn’t quite place it. Too big to be a Australovenator, the arms
longer than a Megaraptor's typical reconstruction. Maybe a variant,
something undocumented—or worse, something experimental.
The animal sniffed the air.
Sophia stopped breathing.
The megaraptorid took a step forward, then another, jaws parting
slightly as it sampled the air. Its eyes passed over the trees, over the
hammocks, over her—
Then stopped.
The jungle froze. Sophia’s muscles locked, heart climbing into her
throat. It was looking directly at her. She didn’t move, didn’t blink. A single
shift, a single breath too loud, and it would be on her. She had no time to
warn the others. Even if she could scream, she didn’t dare.
Then, without warning, the megaraptorid jerked its head to the side.
Its body followed. A rustle, a flick of its tail—and it vanished into the trees
like it had never been there.
Gone.
The jungle swallowed it whole.
Sophia remained frozen for a long time, too scared to trust her
limbs. Her vision swam slightly, lungs finally dragging in a breath she hadn’t
realized she’d been denying herself. Her hands trembled as she gripped the
paracord. Still no movement from the hammocks. The others had slept through it.
She didn’t dare look away from the darkness the creature had vanished into. Not for a while. When she finally did, her gaze went back to the stars overhead. They hadn’t changed. Steady. Unfeeling. Watching.
Sophia felt truly, utterly alone.
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