Escape From Dinosauria (Dinopocalypse Book 1)

PRAISE FOR VINCENZO BILOF

“Vincenzo Bilof's writing is like being beaten to death in an alley by Samuel Delaney and Chuck Palanhiuk with Robert Bloch occasionally coming over to kick you in the nuts. His darkly funny and extremely gruesome style makes him one of my favorite authors of the horror genre.”

—Albedo One

“The truth is that if you don’t read all of Bilof’s books you won’t really get to know the tortured, twisted soul that creates all of this most wonderfully deranged fiction. A true master of the written and printed word.”

—Zero Signal Magazine

“We already have Brautigan, Vonnegut, and Russ Meyer but who can claim to be Vincenzo Bilof?”

—The Novel Pursuit

PRAISE FOR MAX BOOTH III

“Max Booth III writes in a very bombastic and somewhat over-the-top style. Sort of like if
Masterpiece Theatre
was cast with pro wrestlers and performing play versions of Lansdal
e
novels. That kind of madness.”

—Shock Totem

“Max Booth III is what you would get if you mixed the DNA of Louis C.K and Richard Matheson in a diabolical attempt to play God.”

—Dead End Follies

“Max Booth III is a star on the rise!”

—Joe McKinney, Bram Stoker Award winning author of
Dead City

ESCAPE FROM DINOSAURIA

(Dinopocalypse Book I)

VINCENZO BILOF & MAX BOOTH III

ALSO BY VINCENZO BILOF

Japanese Werewolf Apocalypse

Nightmare of the Dead

Dark Rising

The Horror Show

Vincenzo Bilof Must Die

Visions of a Tremulous Man

Mother, I’m Not an Android (I Promise)

Confessions of the Impaler

Gravity Comics Massacre

Vampire Strippers from Saturn

The Profane
(forthcoming)

The Violators
(forthcoming)

The Zombie Ascension Series:

Necropolis Now

Queen of the Dead

Saint Pain

ALSO BY MAX BOOTH III

Toxicity

The Mind is a Razorblade

How to Successfully Kidnap Strangers

No Sleep ’Til Dying
(forthcoming)

Anthologies edited:

Zombie Jesus and Other True Stories

Zombies Need Love, Too

So it Goes: a Tribute to Kurt Vonnegut

Long Distance Drunks: a Tribute to Charles Bukowski

Truth or Dare?

Lost Signals

Vincenzo Bilof would like to dedicate

this work of letters to Michael Crichton and James Patterson

Max Booth III would like to dedicate

this to all the poor dino-mutants out there

“Maybe I can't do it all before my prime, before my body is done. But fuck it, maybe I can.”

—Ronda Rousey

THE BETRAYAL

He was the boss, and everyone knew it.

“Some people forget,” George Tanaka said, a twinge of unfamiliar sadness humming through his voice. He took another sip of Cristal and looked out his office’s massive picture window. While he gazed across the tropical jungle that had become the capital of his multi-billion dollar empire, he wondered when he had last felt regret. He was familiar with disappointment because he had high expectations, but sorrow was new and uncomfortable.

When the buzz sounded from the desk behind him, he wished it hadn’t. Wished the sound was only in his head, wished it wasn’t reality. Reality meant giving voice to a decision no right mind would ever wish to make. Being the boss meant there was nobody else above him to make all the hard decisions. The responsibility was his alone.

Speaking of buzz, that’s what he needed right now. He slammed the rest of the Cristal down his throat, poured himself another. Wash down the bitter taste with more bitter taste. Get his head feeling warm. Back in the good old days, in San Fran, he would do a couple lines of coke before he hustled stiff-necked idiots in board rooms.

Boss Tanaka turned from the large window and pressed the button on his bare Mahogany desk. He adjusted his suit and ran his fingers over his bald scalp—an old habit from when he used to have a lot of hair.

Time changes people. It changes their hearts.

Like his wife, Izanami. She wanted to turn their empire into a reality television show. Maybe include all the activists who constantly protested his operation. “We could feed them to our jungle beasts!” she’d once said, smiling and rubbing her hands together in a way that could only be described as ‘diabolical.’

But it wasn’t just his wife who betrayed him, and he couldn’t blame her, anyway. She was pretty damn hot, but there were plenty of younger girls, and newer girls—black girls, Cambodian girls, Cuban, Texan, Alaskan—he had tasted pussy all over the world, and none of it was Canadian. For some reason, that idea cheered him, put a smile on his face.

He needed to smile. Right now, more than ever.

Dmitri Kresevich, the big, burly Russian, stalked into the room. The man couldn’t conceal his pride; he knew this day meant a promotion for him. Boss Tanaka thought of him as nothing more than a common ruffian, but the former KGB operative had been efficient. Always efficient.

A dozen men followed Dmitri into the room and divided into two squads, one against each side of the wall. He approached the desk, walking across the sparkling-clean floor that mirrored the light from the picture window, casting the room in a bright glow and rendering every man into the likeness of a shadow.

There was someone walking behind Dmitri.

Boss Tanaka did not want to look at this man.

“Sir,” Dmitri said.

Boss Tanaka nodded, and the Russian stepped aside.

The sight before him was unreal. Boss Tanaka did not recognize the person standing before him, and he knew he was supposed to. This was a man who had meant everything to him. Always impeccably dressed and well-groomed, Boss Tanaka’s childhood friend and chief of security had transformed into a living, walking joke.

“Kenshin Goya.” Boss Tanaka pronounced his old friend’s full name for the first time in decades. Back in California, when they were growing up together, Kenshin had always been known as “Ken.”

But the man wearing a long white robe and sash, hair in a top-knot with most of his scalp shaved off perfectly, samurai sword in a scabbard at his waist, looked nothing like Kenshin. Boss Tanaka had no idea what any of these items were called, but he saw a sword, a robe, and a shitty haircut. He recognized the sword. He’d given it to Kenshin as a gift many years ago, had its steel tempered with new technology that prevented the weapon from bending and breaking. The weapon itself was nearly invincible, and its cutting power was unprecedented. Like almost everything in Tanaka’s life, it was an experiment, bought and paid for, but it was never meant to be used.

Kenshin bowed. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Boss Tanaka could not show his displeasure; he had to remain cool and collected. He could not appear to be weak or emotionally unstable in any way. Or drunk.

Slung over Kenshin’s shoulder was a bulging cloth sack that seemed to weigh heavily upon the slender man’s back.

“I have always made time for you, Kenny my boy.” Boss Tanaka had rehearsed the conversation in his head several times, but he hesitated now. Any control he had over the situation was fading quickly. He thought he knew what was in the sack, and if he was right, then Kenshin was a real fucking idiot.

Kenshin gracefully dropped the sack in front of him on the floor and knelt on both knees, back rigid, hands placed on his thighs.

“What is this?” Boss Tanaka asked. There was no point in playing games; best just to move forward and do what must be done. “You disappear on me for three weeks, then come out the jungle dressed in this…this ridiculous costume? You asked to see me, but you already knew that as soon as you showed up, we’d bring you in. What the hell happen to you? Don’t tell me you were smoking opium without me.”

“Revelation.”

“What?”

“Revelation. I have discovered something new about myself, and about the world.”

“You have gone completely insane!”

“You are my master, and I owe you an explanation. I owe you an explanation, just as I owe you my life.”

Boss Tanaka’s face grew redder by the second, and perspiration made his starched shirt collar uncomfortable and tight on his throat. “I’m not your master. Stop talking like that, and stand up. You’re acting foolish.”

“I know how this may seem to you. I understand why you brought so many of our men to this meeting. I have trained several of them myself, and they are worthy to defend you. But Dmitri Kresevich is not worthy.”

The big Russian didn’t seem to hear anything Kenshin said.

“Ah fuck, man, you’re
really
trying my patience,” Boss Tanaka said. “How long have we known each other? You’ve never pulled a stunt like this. Is it the project? We’ve talked about this before. You promised you would remain with me, work for me. I trusted you, gave you a job. You got handjobs too, and I got that shit on video to prove it!”

“I have always remained loyal, and I am loyal now. Which is why I have come to tell you that Dmitri Kresevich must die.”

Boss Tanaka shook his head. “No. No. No. Nobody is going to
die
. Come on now, Kenshin. Start from the beginning. Explain yourself. We’ve been brothers to each other, and I’ve treated you like a partner, even when you didn’t want in. I told you before that I didn’t want to force you into coming here and working for me. You’ve always worked hard for me. You could be on your own. Maybe that’s what you need.”

Kenshin remained poised, hands on his thighs, back perfectly straight, eyes focused on the sack on the floor. “I have learned about the conspiracy that will tear apart everything we have worked for. Our dream has been destroyed. The investors have decided that our goals are no longer integral to the project.”

“Our goals,” Tanaka said, tasting the words.

“Our dream.”

“I have not forgotten, Kenshin. You insult me by coming here, dressed like a…like a clown! You insult our past, and shame what we have accomplished.”

“I defend what we have accomplished. The investors have blinded you. It is not your fault, George.”

Boss Tanaka couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Kenshin was an honorable man, his actions dictated by reason and calculation. Somewhere along the way, Kenshin had lost control. This man was not the man he could have called brother.

“I know why our ancestors fought them,” Kenshin said.

This caught Tanaka completely by surprise. “Huh?”

“The dragons. The dragons our ancestors killed. That is what we have returned to this world. They are everything that is wrong and evil in man, and we have brought them back. We have lost our way.”

“Wait. Just hold on one minute.”

“I know it is hard to understand. I know it is hard to believe. But it is true. And your wife, Izanami—”

“That’s enough!” Boss Tanaka slammed his fist onto the table. “Dragons. Goddamn dragons. Like with big whiskers and shit. Big ass snakes. All that Japanese mythology garbage. You a monk now? You Shinto? No? Ah, Kenny, ah, Kenny…” Tanaka paced in front of his desk.

Kenshin’s eyes remained lowered.

“Look at me, dammit!”

Kenshin obeyed.

“You’ve gone nuts! You’re not a…you’re not a samurai! You’re playing some dirty goddamn joke, and I don’t appreciate it. I know Izanami sleeps around. What does any of this have to do with Kresevich? And you really need to take that stupid outfit off. You’re going to take a long vacation. You need a break. Read some Bushido books and drink warm
sake
. Spend money at a casino. More handjobs from barely-eighteen Vietnamese girls.”

Kenshin bowed his head deeply, nearly touching the ground with his forehead. “Please. Forgive me.”

“What’s in the bag?”

Kenshin rose, his back rigid once again.

“Ken, what’s in the bag? It better be a brick of something good. I’m not in the mood for bad news. Not in the
mood
at all, Kenny.”

Dmitri Kresevich stepped forward, his old-world Russian accent prominent in his speech, his tongue flickering for a moment along the edges of the bright white beard around his lips. More than one man called Dmitri “Santa Claus” behind his back, because they would never say it in his presence. He was a jovial man, but he had a reputation for cruelty that followed him wherever he went, even though nobody could claim to have seen him do anything horrible.

“Sir, allow me to assist.”

“There is no need,” Kenshin said. “I came here to deliver this sign of my loyalty. It is mine to share.”

Boss Tanaka held his breath. He did not want to see what Kenshin had in the bag. He desperately wished Doctor Israel could engineer a device allowing him to travel back in time and stop Kenshin from his mad path he was travelling down now. He wanted—and needed—his friend.

But there were billions of dollars on the line, and his life’s work.

Kenshin carefully removed a large, fleshy object from the sack. The sack was wet, and dark stains discolored the fabric’s original color. An awful smell that reminded Boss Tanaka of vomit in a sauna swept into his nose, and though he already knew—deep down, he knew, and he feared—the reality was far worse.

The severed head of a
Velociraptor
now lay upon the bag.

That head was worth several million dollars. The head of a dead dinosaur. A dinosaur spawned from years of genetic research. A dinosaur made possible by Ken and George’s hard work. A dinosaur that attracted thousands of people to their island resort. A dinosaur that represented the future of genetic research and military weaponry.

And don’t forget Kim Kardashian clones. Or at least, the ability to pump enough hormones into a woman to enhance her bust and ass to make her look just
that
perfect. Kim K. had refused to talk to him on two occasions when he tried to meet her. His reputation has preceded him.

No way he could completely take his mind off what he was looking at now.

“This,” Boss Tanaka barely said. His face was flushed with the shame that he had trusted his friend for far too long and had ignored the signs. Like a man who pretended his spouse wasn’t always coming home late or spending far too much time texting. Like a father too ignorant to recognize track marks on his son’s arms. He had ignored Kenshin’s descent into madness. He had allowed friendship to get in the way of the future.

“I know you are displeased,” Kenshin said, still bowing his head. “I wish for an opportunity to explain. I wish for an opportunity to expose the traitors among us.”

“I’m looking at one!” Tanaka shouted. Spittle flew from his lips.

The security men moved for their guns. They were quick, efficient men. They were some of the finest mercenaries money could buy.

And they weren’t quick enough.

Boss Tanaka didn’t realize Kenshin had drawn the katana until it was far late to react.

It was a white robe that flipped through the air toward one of the walls, but it wasn’t just a white robe. It looked like a frail thing as it flew through the air, but it was filled with a graceful man. A man who landed on his bare feet. A dark spray of blood exploded like a depressurized fire hydrant as the katana sliced into the middle of the man’s skull. Ken twisted his wrists and moved the sword through the side of the man’s face, and flipped into the air again—a red robe this time.

A robe red with blood.

Later, George would think about how quiet it was. Nobody had a chance to shout, or scream.

In a blur of motion, the robe landed behind another man, and sunlight that poured through the large window caught the edge of the katana as it flashed through a man’s neck, the head toppling backward over the body as it took a moment to realize it was dead.

Nobody could see Ken.

Boss Tanaka couldn’t see him, either.