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destiny, never doubting that he would find a way, and that when he needed it, a solution would present itself. All he had to do was nudge it along and make sure he was ready to act when he saw it.
    Antarctica was the silver bullet, and what a bullet!
    He still couldn’t believe how perfect it all turned out. Flexing his right arm, he felt the flesh tighten, the muscle ripple. Felt the blood in his veins, cool and yet seething with energized power, and he shuddered. Giddy with the energy coursing through his body, he fit his right wrist into a device like a blood pressure cuff on his desk. Except this one punctured his skin in three places and took readings, feeding the results of his internal scan directly into the system.
    Three treatments was all it had taken. Treatments that he once thought could have gone either way and could have just as easily ended his dreams and taken his life, except for one little thing.
    Destiny.
    It wasn’t his fate to lose. It wasn’t even a risk.
    Nothing could stop him now, just as nothing and no one had come close in all these years of efforts. He had to laugh, thinking about the CIA, Interpol and many others who had been after him for decades. They had stepped up their search in recent years, and despite all their money, technology and legions of agents, spooks, and mercenaries, they hadn’t even gotten a whiff of his true location or goals.
    He cackled again, thinking about how he had always been six moves ahead of them, how he had eventually positioned himself to hide right under their noses. Only fitting that the hunters were about to become the hunted.
    His vision lovingly caressed the visuals on the monitors, lingering a few moments on each screen. He watched the internal views of the tanker ships, where three crylopholosaurs and a Z.rex slumbered amidst a floor seething with human zombies, like dragons atop their treasure hoard. Another screen revealed a pair of chained creatures, enormous wings folded tight to their sinewy bodies, snapping at each other with long pelican-like beaks between incensed red eyes. The next monitor presented a deck-top viewpoint of churning waves and an immense titanium chain over the side, dragging along a beast with a serrated sail that thrashed and surfaced and dipped and snapped at the chain with monstrous teeth.
    DeKirk savored each visual and felt his blood surge and his muscles harden, and more—he felt the hunger growing.
    His stomach rumbled and his insides clenched and his mouth filled with saliva. This was beyond hunger, he knew. A rabid, instinctual need to feed. However, as bad as it was, DeKirk had his technicians modify the prion’s molecular structure, tinkering here and there with its protein strands and inherent makeup, not unlike splicing genes. Once the feeding impulse had been isolated, it could be tempered. But first they had to attack and re-sequence the element that would destroy the host’s consciousness and personality.
    No point in becoming a god if you wouldn’t be left with enough sense to appreciate your new position.
    That part hadn’t been easy, but thanks to Xander Dyson’s initial research, DeKirk had been able to have his other brainiacs complete the task. At first he was worried about Dyson’s rambling about a failsafe, and that perhaps he had been shrewder than he gave the man credit for, that maybe he had managed to get word to someone outside the island. The paranoid little freak would definitely do something like that, but DeKirk felt he could rest easy. Three months and no word of it? He would have picked up something for sure in all this time, and besides, Dyson didn’t really have an abundance of free time last he saw the man. From the moment DeKirk had cut him off and left him to die, the biochemist would have been on the run on an island full of rampaging zombies and voracious dinosaurs.
    No, there was no doubt; his failsafe died with him—if he even had one in the first place and wasn’t