Colony by Benjamin Cross (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

she repeated, completely ignoring him. “This injury was inflicted by an animal alright.” She looked up slowly, her face half in lime, half in shadow. “Only it wasn’t Troodon.”

Callum stared at her. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Ava replied. “For one thing the tooth marks left in the thigh don’t match.”

He examined the mummy’s legs. She was right. The edges of the flesh were stippled with slit-like gouges. Tooth marks. He wasn’t surprised that they were there, just that he’d missed them when he’d first examined the corpse. “I’ll be damned.”

“You didn’t notice them before?”

He shook his head.

Ava prodded at the frozen flesh, then said, “You got that fossil by any chance?”

Callum unzipped his jacket, reached into his inside pocket and withdrew the small, brown tooth. “I promised Jamie I wouldn’t let it out of my sight.”

Ava took the serrated triangle and held it against one of the marks in the thigh muscle.

The tooth was smaller. It was also clearly a different shape, thinner and more angular. She handed it back. “You’ve heard of the principal of bite radius identification?”

Callum shook his head.

“In cases of animal attack, you can typically work out the size of the animal’s jaw from its bite radius.”

“This is correct,” Darya said. “From the size of the jaw you can then work out the size of the animal itself.”

“Look.” Ava ran her finger across a number of consecutive tooth marks. “You can see an imprint of the arc of the upper jaw here.”

Callum looked to where she was pointing at the left-hand thigh. “But there are only four tooth marks,” he said, “and they hardly seem to arc at all.”

He watched as Ava ran a resolute finger across the marks. But she didn’t stop at the edge of the thigh as he’d expected. Instead she crossed over the gap between the two legs and continued along a further line of tooth marks spanning the right-hand thigh. They matched up, forming a much larger arc.

Callum swallowed hard. “I see.”

“Whatever made this mark had a large mouth,” Ava said, “much bigger than that of Troodon, ergo it was larger.”

“So what could it have been?” Callum asked.

In a moment of rare deference, Ava said nothing. She looked to Darya.

“These are not the tooth marks of polar bear,” Darya said, “and even if he is giant, the bite is still too large and there is no bigger land carnivore known in the Arctic today.” Resignation rang in her voice. “I do not recognise this bite. The only carnivore with bite radius this big would be marine, a large shark. Maybe even orca, killer whale.”

Through pursed lips, Ava said, “But we’re much too far inland.”

“We are now,” Callum said, “but sea levels change. Maybe the level was that much higher at the time.”

“Could be, though surely such a dramatic change in landform would take longer than a few millennia?”

“Typically, yes,” Callum replied. “Still, it’s a possibility. Personally, I wouldn’t rule anything out in this place.”

“No,” Darya said. “This you can rule out. Only the Greenland shark is living this far north. He is large, but he is not man-eater. Neither is orca, and these are not teeth marks of either. Also this bite is too clean.” She examined the bite marks once again, tripping the ends of her fingers across the rank of gouges. “It is mystery.”

There followed a brief silence as Ava’s gaze left the mummy and she swept a hand back through her matted brown hair. Her brow was furrowed, her expression troubled but sharp in the ghoulish light. “With respect, Doctor Lebedev,” she said at last, “we may not be able to name the exact species responsible, but this is no mystery.”

Both Callum and Darya looked to her to continue, but she kept quiet. It was typical academic self-indulgence. She was waiting for an invite.

“So?” Callum prompted.

Ava looked from him to Darya. “Isn’t it obvious? Even Troodon isn’t the apex predator here on Harmsworth.”

“Not the apex predator?” Callum repeated.

“There’s something else here,” she continued. “Something bigger. Something new.”

Callum’s gut clenched. “You mean something old, don’t you?”

Darya’s eyes met with his.

“Whatever it is,” Ava said, “we just haven’t seen it yet.”

5

Ava’s words echoed round the tunnel.

“You know, I’m really starting to hate this place,” Callum said. He was about to speak again when Lungkaju’s voice ricocheted towards them. “My friends, it has been long enough. We should be moving on now, please.”

“He is right,” Darya said. “This is what we agreed.” She called out to Lungkaju to let him know that they were heading back.

“I guess we should all be thankful of the distraction,” Ava said, setting off after her.

Callum snorted. “Amen to that.”

He took one last look at Ngana’bta. A strange feeling washed over him. For a moment, the question of what had killed the ancient warrior was forgotten. Instead it was the idea that he might never be rediscovered, that this might be the last time anybody looked upon his immaculately preserved features that sent the shiver down Callum’s spine. And he could hardly bear it. Why the hell hadn’t he emailed the photographs he’d taken to the department? If only he’d had a camera now, he could have preserved some kind of record. But he didn’t. If by some miracle he survived all this, there would be nothing to take with him but his memories and his word. “I guess some myths are meant to be just that,” he whispered. Then he turned to follow the fading corona of light down the tunnel.

But perhaps something more could be preserved. Before he could think better of it, he turned back and began carefully peeling the cord bearing the pendant from around the mummy’s neck. He placed it around his own and tucked it into his jacket. The teeth and intermittent silver spacers felt freezing against his chest, and the cord itself felt like a snare of ice. Reaching under the mummy’s parka, he then eased the sheathed flint blade from the belt and slipped it into his pocket.

“Doctor Ross,