‘Well, I hope you’ve got the balance right,’ said Robyn. ‘He’s no pushover.’

  ‘I’m just glad he’s not fully grown,’ said Grant. He crossed to the forklift beside the door to the pens and studied the controls dubiously. ‘Haven’t tried one of these since Dane let me loose at the opening of his green foods warehouse store.’

  Robyn smiled wryly. ‘Well, it’s not a crate of chickpeas you’ll be moving today.’ She watched as, after some initial judders, Grant moved the forklift into position. Niko fired a dart into the woolly rhino’s neck, and Tanky’s eyes soon flickered shut. Then Grant slid the forklift’s extended steel prongs into grooves in the base of the cage. Once they’d locked into place, the delicate business of shifting a 400‑kilogram rhino began.

  Robyn only relaxed a little when the crate was down beside the holding pen and she’d fitted the harness over Tanky’s head and neck so he would be unable to open his powerful jaws. The animal barely stirred as Robyn helped Niko unbolt the cross‑iron strips, ready to lift up the side of the crate.

  ‘This is all so improvised,’ Niko said sadly. ‘If we can’t get him out of there and into a position where we can strap him down –’

  ‘Hey.’ Grant had returned the forklift to its parking spot on the far wall, and seemed to be looking at something. ‘This is weird,’ he called across. ‘A wire or something.’

  Robyn looked over. ‘On a day like today, you find a wire weird?’

  ‘I’ve only just seen it. A fine wire. Like fishing line, almost. Look, one end’s attached to the door.’ He stepped hurriedly away and lowered his voice. ‘When the door opened, the wire must have been pulled tight.’

  ‘Nothing happened, though,’ said Robyn, crossing to see.

  ‘Can we focus?’ Niko said, steel edging her tone as she loaded another dart into her tranq gun. Tanky was grunting and hissing, trying to roll back to his feet. ‘I’m standing by ready to put him out again, but he’s a predasaur. Chances are, he secretes more adrenaline to maintain aggression. That will affect the dose –’

  ‘Niko, this wire is new.’ Robyn looked over to her. ‘It must have been set up after we left.’

  ‘What, a booby trap, you mean?’ Niko frowned. ‘Well, like you said, nothing’s happened yet.’

  ‘It leads to something under that tarp.’ Grant advanced cautiously towards some boxes that were covered in a blue plastic sheet. ‘I hear a weird hissing – and what’s that other sound?’

  There was a staccato scraping noise, a rough, sharp chik‑chik. The weathered tarpaulin twitched.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Robyn’s voice died away to a choked gasp when an immense scorpion – glistening black and the size of a large dog – crept into view. Robyn thought she would be sick. She had always been scared of scorpions, but this thing . . . It seemed both ancient and alien, primordial fear made flesh.

  Its segmented body glistened like burnished armour. Robyn’s eyes flicked from its menacing claws to the venomous point of its tail. The scorpion paused and its stinger arched over to scrape against its own abdomen. Robyn shivered when she heard the chik‑chik again. Its crimson eyes, multifaceted and glistening, seemed to scan its surroundings.

  Then it ran at Robyn.

  With a shout, she turned and pelted away over the concrete, but the scorpion scuttled after her, its eight legs carrying it with horrible speed. Niko screamed. Robyn realised she was leading the monster straight towards her and changed course. Then she saw that Grant was chasing her too – no, he was chasing the scorpion. With a hoarse yell, he kicked it to one side. It flew through the air and landed against some crates, but quickly righted itself, its huge dark telson quivering, ready to hook itself through flesh.

  ‘It’s like they crossed an emperor scorpion with that sea scorpion thing back at the mine,’ Grant said.

  Then a second giant scorpion crawled out from under the tarp, its tail twitching as if scenting prey. Its limbs clattered on the concrete as it moved over to block the approach to the automatic door.

  ‘Is that deliberate?’ Grant asked. ‘Is it programmed?’

  ‘Maybe. Until its predator instincts take over,’ said Robyn.

  ‘Rob, Grant, I’ll distract this one,’ Niko said slowly, aiming the dart gun at the first scorpion. ‘Get to the lab and close the door. They won’t be able to get you . . .’ She tailed off and swore as a third identical monster scorpion scuttled out from the lab. Switching targets, she fired at the creature. The dart bounced harmlessly off its tough, chitinous skin.

  ‘Can we reach the quarantine bay?’ Robyn asked, pointing. Grant ran in that direction but again, one of the sinister creatures scuttled out to block his way.

  ‘They’re everywhere!’ Grant shouted. ‘We’re trapped.’

  The four monster scorpions slowly advanced. Robyn backed away until she came up against a rack of cleaning supplies.

  ‘Roland!’ Niko shouted helplessly.

  Robyn saw a bottle of peracetic acid. Diluted with water, it made an excellent veterinary disinfectant and sterilising agent. She’d heard her dad and Xai warn her a hundred times over the years that concentrated peracetic acid was highly corrosive to the skin, eyes and respiratory systems of humans and animals.

  She grabbed a bottle and twisted off the cap. As if sensing danger, the scorpions scurried forward, their stingers glistening in the electric light.

  With a yell, Robyn squeezed the bottle. The acidic liquid shot out, dousing the nearest creature. Immediately it arched its body, convulsing. Robyn splashed the second one and it retreated, clattering against Tanky’s cage. The woolly rhino stirred.

  Grant clutched his throat. ‘Rob, the fumes . . .’

  Niko was holding her sleeve to her mouth and nose, but her eyes were red and watering. ‘They’ll burn our lungs out. We need ventilation.’

  Robyn nodded, coughing and choking. Her throat felt raw and, from the searing pain in her hands, she knew the acid must have splashed on her skin. Grant was already staggering across to the door control; he slammed a palm against the button and the metal doors clanked slowly open.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ he shouted.

  But then a muffled roar sounded from the cage, followed by the dull thud of bone on metal. The scorpion’s stinger was inside the cage and Tanky was smashing his stump of a horn against it. The harness around his head protected him from the gripping claws, the scorpion’s telson turning to sticky black pulp under his attack. But in his panic, the enraged rhino had wedged his horn between the bars, and when he lifted his head, he was able to prise open the cage door.

  ‘He’s getting loose!’ Robyn yelled through choking sobs. She fell to her knees.

  A bristling black shape ran across the floor towards her, its red eyes like laser sights zeroing in on her own. A claw, hard as metal, scissored onto her hair. The scorpion yanked her head to the floor while its stinger weaved above her face like a black cobra ready to strike.

  17

  Robyn closed her eyes as the tail of the huge scorpion waved over her head. Then vibrations shook the floor, her hair was released, and she fell backwards.

  Tanky had staggered free of the crate, stamping on the scorpion as he did so. Unleashed, the woolly rhino now stood before Robyn, barely half a metre away, watching her through weeping scarlet eyes. The harness was stained dark with fluid from the crushed scorpion, and the end of the lead rope trailed on the wet floor. Tanky was groaning and rasping for breath.

  ‘You saved me,’ she said between coughs, holding up her hands in what she hoped was a calming gesture. ‘It’s OK. You’ll be OK.’

  The rhino just stared at her.

  She saw Grant spraying the other two scorpions with great gouts of what smelled like bleach. The creatures lay twitching on the floor, dying. Her nostrils and throat were burning, but still she tried to reach the juvenile rhino. ‘Don’t be scared, boy. They’re gone. You’re safe . . .’

  Niko had picked up the dart gun from the shelf and now fired a tranquiliser into the woolly rhino’s rump. Tanky turned sharply towards her, then swayed dangerously.

  ‘We’ve got to get him back in the crate,’ Robyn said, and coughed, a horrible hacking noise. ‘There’s acid everywhere. If he falls over in this, he’ll be in such pain.’

  ‘Just take it slowly,’ said Niko.

  Like there’s another way, thought Robyn. She got up, shivering, mindful of the toxic puddle spreading over the concrete. Carefully, she took hold of the rope, pulling Tanky away. She looked down at the mushed, twisted remains of the giant scorpions and felt sick. ‘Grant, what were those things?’

  ‘Difficult to love,’ Grant concluded. Still coughing, he helped Robyn steer Tanky back into the crate. ‘Gerhard or his people must have left them here when they were framing you guys.’

  ‘Evidence that kills,’ said Robyn with a shudder. ‘A trap for us? Or for anyone who came looking? More “proof” that we’re the evil genius bad guys.’

  ‘Either way, bad for Ballantynes,’ Grant agreed, helping Robyn close the crate again. ‘What made you think of using the acid?’

  ‘Desperation,’ Robyn admitted, coughing again. ‘Scorpions have four sets of lungs – they take in air through tiny openings in their bodies.’

  ‘And acid and bleach with it. Unlucky, scorps.’ Grant winced and cleared his throat. ‘Unlucky us, too. I’m telling you, that wire must have tripped something when we opened the door.’ He advanced slowly on the tarp, gripped one edge and swept it away in one swift movement, like a magician pulling a tablecloth from under some crockery.

  Underneath were two gas cylinders.

  ‘Now we know what happened to your pure oxygen!’ Grant said, crouching to inspect the cylinders. Both were taped to the floor. ‘They’ve been opened.’

  ‘Close the valves, then,’ said Robyn.

  ‘If there’s any oxygen left, we can use it to deliver the sevoflurane,’ said Niko. ‘Hopefully it’ll keep Tanky under while I operate.’

  Robyn nodded, and she and Niko went to join Grant beside the canisters.

  ‘Careful,’ he said as they approached. He had pulled one of the canisters free and was studying it closely. ‘Plenty left. It can’t have been open long.’

  Robyn checked the gauge on the canister, then looked around furtively. ‘Someone else must be here.’

  ‘Then why rig the wire like that?’ said Grant. ‘Look, there’s the remains of a tiny glass vial in the tape here. The wire tightened around the glass as the door pulled it taut, and the vial broke open.’

  ‘Wonder what was inside?’ said Robyn. ‘Still, it can’t explain how the canister opened itself.’

  ‘Perhaps it can,’ Niko said thoughtfully. ‘What if the vial held a chemical trigger? A pheromone, or some scent the scorpion’s programmed to respond to – designed to wake it up and do whatever Gerhard’s chip tells it to?’

  ‘Snakes, birds, now arachnids?’ Robyn shivered. ‘It’s horrible. All this can’t be just to make a nastier video game. What is Gerhard really up to?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Niko inspected the canister. ‘But thank heavens there’s some oxygen left. I’ll get the tubing and mouthpiece – young Tanky can breathe this until the fumes clear.’

  Suddenly Robyn heard running footsteps. She tensed. But it was only Luke.

  ‘Hey!’ she said, mustering a weary smile. ‘Glad you could drop in.’

  Luke recoiled, covering his nose and mouth. ‘Ugh! What the hell happened here?’

  ‘Project Scorpio,’ said Grant, crossing to shake the boy’s hand. ‘Good to see you.’

  But Luke was holding himself very still, looking down at the ground. ‘Yeah, yeah . . . you too, bruh. But I need you guys to come with me. Cos . . .’

  ‘What?’ Robyn felt her stomach lurch. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Ralph said he wants to tell you himself –’

  ‘I said, what happened?’ she shouted.

  Luke turned and loped away. With an anxious glance at Grant and Niko, Robyn hurried after him.

  Over the past few weeks, Grant had spent plenty of time picturing how it would be to visit Robyn at her house. Had imagined them sharing a quiet, normal evening. Now, as he sat in the Ballantynes’ living room and looked at her, Robyn seemed a million miles away. Her eyes were glassy and wet as she perched on the couch, staring into space.

  Having lost his own mentor to Gerhard and Mbato, Grant felt he understood something of what she was going through. He hadn’t known Xai for long, but he’d both liked and respected the stocky ex‑soldier. He wanted to talk fondly to Robyn of Xai’s dry humour and firm moral compass, or even try to comfort her, hold her hand. Instead, he found he didn’t dare say anything, or even sit beside her – just as he would never approach a wild animal he’d found. Grant knew about Robyn’s affinity for animals, the kinship with them she felt, and there was something of the aloofness of a big cat in the way she held herself now, silent and still, sufficient to herself.

  Instead, he’d made mugs of hot, sweet tea that no one was drinking. He sat alone, on a kitchen chair. Perhaps he should be helping the van Roks; they were down the corridor in Roland’s office, trying to hack the security cameras in Gerhard’s reserve for the precious proof they needed. Luke’s dad had already managed to open the Kelenken Scorpio folder, but it had contained no damning evidence, only details of the experiments and procedures that had been performed to create the terror birds and scorpions. If anyone found it in their hands right now, Grant knew they would seem guiltier than ever.

  He couldn’t think of much he could do to help the van Roks, but he could always lend Niko a hand in the animal centre, hosing bleach and acid from the concrete and checking through the remains of the giant scorpions: if they had data chips inside those armoured exoskeletons, then perhaps they wouldn’t need Tanky – which would save a lot of effort trying to move him around.

  And Grant couldn’t imagine they had long before Captain Zuma came calling.

  Ralph sat at the other end of the couch, turned away from Robyn. It was as if Xai’s death had driven a wedge between them. Perhaps Ralph felt that Robyn blamed him in some way for the death of their old friend and mentor, or perhaps he knew her well enough not to talk to her right now. Either way, Ralph’s features were twisted in a hurt he couldn’t seem to comprehend; as if the scale of it left him lost. Grant imagined that Ralph was feeling not only his own pain, but his sister’s too.

  And his dad’s.

  Roland Ballantyne was a veteran of the Recces: a man used to blood, death and sacrifice. He’d lost people close to him, of course – his wife, Robyn and Ralph’s mother, included. And to look at him now, you’d think he was simply pensive: weighing up options, calculating plans. But Grant had spent weeks on the road with this man in the tightest of situations. Always he had seen the spark of action and energy in the man’s eyes, whether captive or bloodied or sleep‑deprived.

  But that spark had gone today. Now there was only a blunted calm in Roland Ballantyne; he seemed not so much a man as a holding pattern.

  When Ralph had told them the news, Niko had broken down in sobs and tried to hold Roland. But he’d shrugged her off, told her that they could not waste time in grief or self‑pity; they had to use the chance Xai had bought them to keep searching for proof of Gerhard’s involvement, and for any incriminating audio of him with the president that Luke and his dad could scrape from the CCTV footage.

  They were fine words, of course. They might even have been inspiring if said with kindness or passion. But to Grant, the words sounded cold and flat. He wondered how Roland felt now: a man of action, unable to act. Unable even to mourn. A soldier left dependent on technology, never more aware of his mortality.

  And Grant had the uneasy feeling that Ralph and Robyn had seen the same change in Roland, and that they were grieving not just for their friend, but for the passing of the invulnerable, indomitable father they had known all their lives.

  Trying to distract himself from the oppressive silence, Grant found a tablet charging in the kitchen and used it to see what the news was saying about himself and the Ballantynes. There was nothing good, but nothing new either – no warnings that these dangerous fugitives were on their way back to civilisation.

  Feeling sick at the way his name had been trashed online, he left the news sites. Armed with some of the facts pulled from the Scorpio folder, Grant decided to look online for more on the creatures that had attacked them in the animal centre.

  ‘Pulmonoscorpius,’ he announced, looking up from the screen. ‘A type of oversized scorpion that lived in the early Carboniferous period, around three hundred and thirty million years ago. That’s what we blitzed back there – or Gerhard’s predasaur tribute act to the original, at least.’

  Robyn gave a distant nod. Ralph and Roland didn’t respond.

  ‘The atmosphere was different when those things lived,’ he went on. ‘Richer in oxygen. That must be why they needed the canisters to enrich the air, to make the critters more at home. Get the best from them, you know?’

  Ralph glanced over at him. ‘That’s Xai’s tablet,’ he said.

  ‘Put it down, Grant,’ Roland said calmly.

  Grant did so at once, the polite instruction more biting than an angry shout.

  ‘Call your father,’ Roland went on, and tossed him the jeep’s emergency phone. ‘I need to know where his safe house is. This place won’t remain any kind of refuge for much longer.’

  ‘Sure,’ Grant said nervously, wondering if his dad was still all right. A morbid image of Max Khumalo lying dead on the floor, surrounded by scorpions, filled his head. Quickly, he walked from the room into the cooler hall outside and dialled his dad’s number.

  It had barely rung before Max Khumalo answered. ‘Grant! You’re OK?’