Carnosaur

by Harry Adam Knight

Genres: Horror

Synopsis

Nothing much ever happens in the sleepy English town of Warchester. So when a farmer is found savagely killed in some sort of animal attack, it’s a big story for local reporter David Pascal. The rich and eccentric Sir Darren Penward tells the police an escaped Siberian tiger from his private zoo is to blame, but Pascal isn’t so sure. Especially when one witness describes something impossible: an enormous and deadly creature that has been extinct for sixty million years. What exactly is Penward hiding behind the walls of his massive estate? And can Pascal uncover the truth before Penward’s creatures escape to wreak murder and havoc on the unsuspecting populace?

First published in 1984, six years before Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park, which shares many of the same plot elements, Carnosaur has become a cult classic among fans of vintage horror, with copies long unobtainable except at exorbitant prices. This edition features a new introduction by Will Errickson.

 

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Release date: September 6, 2022

Publisher: Valancourt Books

Print pages: 251

Sample

1

‘Des, wake up!’

Des Cartwright tried to ignore his wife’s hand tugging on his shoulder. He wanted desperately to sink back down into his sleep. He’d been having a wonderful dream and being wrenched out of it was almost too much to bear. ‘Leave me alone,’ he growled, still half asleep.

‘Des!’ she cried again, shaking him harder. ‘The chickens! Something’s upsetting them!’

‘Something’s always upsetting them,’ he muttered. But he was fully awake now and the dream was fading from his mind like the tantalizing after-taste of some beautiful flavour. He couldn’t remember what the dream had been about but he felt a sharp sense of loss.

Feeling strangely sad he turned over on his back and listened. Julie was right. The chickens were in a hell of a state. What was scaring them, he wondered. A fox? Or one of the local dogs? But how could any animal have got in? He’d checked the fences only a couple of days ago.

He sighed, sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. The alarm clock said it was only 2.17 a.m. ‘Shit.’ He got up and put on his dressing-gown. Julie was sliding back under the covers, eyes screwed shut against the light. He felt a momentary wave of revulsion wash through him. Fat lazy cow, he said to himself as he looked at her and then immediately felt guilty. It wasn’t her fault she’d been sick the last couple of years and put on so much weight. I still love her, he told himself definitely, but he knew it wasn’t true. He hadn’t felt anything like love for her in years. Even before she got sick.

He tried to shut out these unwanted thoughts as he walked through to the kitchen. The chickens were continuing their frantic squawking. If anything they were making more noise than before. Then he heard a crash as a heavy object hit the floor in one of the sheds. A cage had been overturned. He stopped thinking of foxes. It had to be one of the local dogs. A big one. Or perhaps more than one.

He went to the cupboard by the back door and took out a 12 bore shotgun. He loaded it with cartridges kept in a kitchen drawer, then went outside. It was a warm August night and the air smelled of summer. It brought back memories of summer nights long ago as he walked across the yard towards the three large buildings that housed the chickens. Unexpectedly a fragment of the dream flashed through his mind. He had a mental image of a girl’s face. She seemed very familiar but he couldn’t remember who she was. Was she someone from his school days, he wondered. A girl he’d had a crush on? Or was she merely a figment of his imagination? The feeling of familiarity could be a trick of the mind. Dreams were funny things . . .

The noise was coming from the middle shed. He opened the door and went inside. The long, narrow building contained over a thousand birds and every one of them seemed to be squawking. Cartwright paused at the doorway and stared down the central aisle. The lights were on – as they always were – and he could see all the way to the end of the building, but there was no sign of any animal. Holding the shotgun ready he walked to the top of the next aisle. In the distance he could see that a whole section of cages had been knocked over. They had been ripped open and there were feathers all around. He began to walk towards the wreckage, curious to see what had caused all this damage. He didn’t feel afraid. He was confident that the shotgun was adequate protection against any dog, no matter how large. And by the look of the cages it was large. He tried to think of anyone nearby who owned a large Alsatian or Dobermann, but couldn’t.

Then he became aware of the smell. He stopped walking. Suddenly he was very frightened but he had no idea why. The smell was unlike anything he had ever experienced before but it produced an atavistic terror within him. He started to shake. He knew he had to get out of there . . .

He turned and began to walk quickly back up the aisle towards the doorway. The skin on his back tingled unpleasantly and he could feel his scrotum tightening but he fought the urge to break into a panic-stricken run. Keep calm, he told himself, once you get outside you’ll be safe . . .

It stepped out between a gap in the row of cages, blocking the aisle ahead of him.

Cartwright froze. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

It stood about six feet tall and was the colour of dried blood. Cartwright was absurdly reminded of some kind of giant plucked bird, like an ostrich, but this was definitely no ostrich. It had the head of a reptile. The partly open mouth revealed rows of curved, pointed teeth and the eyes that coolly regarded him from beneath two bony protective ridges were also reptilian. They were cunning eyes too, almost intelligent, and this scared Cartwright more than anything. Even more than its claws . . .

He’d noticed the claws right away. The claws on its forelimbs were bad enough. There were three on each ‘hand’ and they were huge but it was the claws on the creature’s feet that made it seem that the thing had been specifically designed by some sick mind: the middle toe on each three-toed foot pointed upwards to form a seven-inch long natural blade, like a scythe.

Man and creature stood about ten feet apart staring at each other. The man was aware of several things simultaneously: his pounding heart, the slippery feel of the shotgun within his sweaty hands, the curious, bellows-like motion of the creature’s chest as it breathed rapidly in and out, the fetid stink of its body, and above all the awful surety that he was going to die.

They stared at each other for a full thirty seconds, though it seemed much longer to Cartwright. Then the creature’s tail, which had been sweeping back and forth restlessly over the floor, suddenly stiffened and rose into the air behind it. This had the effect of pulling the upper body back until the creature was standing almost as straight as a man.

Even as part of Cartwright’s mind began to register this new development, the creature charged him. Emitting an ear-splitting screech it covered the ten feet with just two strides of its powerful hind legs. The claws on its forelegs grasped Cartwright by the shoulders and lifted him into the air. At the same time one of the hind feet rose up and slashed him down the length of his body. ...