by Homer Hickam
“I’ll take my chances. I don’t like that cave.”
I looked at Jeanette and she rolled her eyes. “All right,” I said. “Just don’t cause any trouble.”
“No, no. Of course not.”
Pick was a bit too agreeable to suit me but I had other things on my mind. The mobsters plus Cade were probably trying to figure out how to get at us. Two of them were wounded, one of the Russians in his arm, Cade in his leg, but no big thing to determined men. Most likely, anyway, they’d send the still healthy Russians to flush us out, then pick us off. But how? When I stopped to think about it, Pick was right. The best approach to the cave was over the mother T and her nest and I didn’t want that beautiful site destroyed, either.
Darkness started to settle in on us while the big storm edged ever closer. We could see flashes of lightning within its core and occasionally a flickering blue-white streak between the clouds and the ground. Thunder rumbled menacingly. If I’d been in my trailer, I might have decided it would be a good night to spend in the barn. It took me back to the night before Pick arrived. Beneath that storm, we had brought new life into the world. On this night, there was no chance of that. We were all potential killers.
Then we saw headlights from a vehicle coming across the Square C. It was a sport utility vehicle and out of it came four more men dressed similarly to the Russians. What was with the Hawaiian shirts? Blackie Butte wasn’t exactly the beach of Waikiki. Anyway, there they were, four more Wolves to come and get us. Where they’d come from, I didn’t know. Maybe an auxiliary group within a day’s drive or maybe they had been coming all along. Maybe they got lost. It wouldn’t be the first time city boys got lost in the vast state of Montana and Fillmore County. It didn’t matter. They were here and we were in even more trouble.
“We don’t have a chance, do we?” Jeanette said, more as a statement than a question.
“Well, to paraphrase Wellington after the Battle of Waterloo, it’s going to be a close-run thing.”
“I want to at least get Ray and Amelia out,” she said. “You and I need to create some sort of distraction.”
There was only one distraction I could think of. Jeanette and I could charge the camp, pistols blazing. Maybe then the others could get away. There was more than one problem with that, of course, but a major one was that the cave was on the southeast side of the hill and Ray, Amelia, and everybody else needed to go north. They’d either have to detour by going around the hill or climb up and over. Both routes would expose them to the gunmen. But it was at least a chance. I told Jeanette what I was thinking.
“We’ll go when you say,” she said.
“When you go, I’ll head down to the mother T,” Pick said.
“I still don’t see what good that would do,” Jeanette replied. “What are you going to do when they come? Yell at them?”
Pick rolled over on his back and looked up at the sky. “I don’t know. I just know that I’ve got to stop them somehow.”
I was keeping my eye on the Wolves. Two of the four new ones, AK’s on their shoulders, disappeared as they walked toward the butte, then reappeared, dragging the bodies of Tanya and Edith behind them. They pulled them inside the cook tent, left the bodies there, then came outside. I was surprised when one of them fell down. The other one looked at him, then another Russian walked over. It was hot, even with the approaching storm stirring up a breeze, and I suspected heat prostration. But then the others turned and looked north, then retreated into the camp.
What had that been all about? The downed Wolf just laid there, not moving. It would have been a good time to have binoculars. Another Wolf walked to the supply tent. He inspected his buddy on the ground and then he also fell down and didn’t move. Jeanette had been watching, too. “What’s happening?” she asked.
“Beats me,” I said and it did.
We saw no more movement in the camp for the next hour or two. The storm came upon us at dusk. It started with a brisk wind, then all hell broke loose. Darkness fell across us and the rain came in a deluge. Lightning cracked and thunder shook the ground.
“We should go now,” Jeanette said.
I thought she was right but we’d forgotten something. It was nearly impossible to walk on the wet gumbo, much less run on it to get to the camp. This was demonstrated by Pick standing up and his feet flying out from under him. Covered with mud, he crawled to the lip of the hill and said, “I’m going down to the dig. I can slide there on my belly.”
I said, “All right, Pick. But I still don’t know what you’re going to do.”
“I want to be with her. I can’t explain it.”
Jeanette put her hand on his shoulder. “Pick…”
“I know,” he said. What he knew, I didn’t have a clue, but I guessed it had something to do with their roll in the hay. Pardon me if I don’t put a romantic spin on their moment.
“Stop at the cave and tell them to sit tight,” I told him.
Pick nodded, then slid over the lip and down the hill. He made it to the cave, stopped there, then wallowed on to the nest, which had turned into a gumbo hole. Pick huddled there, waiting. They would kill him when they found him, of course, but there was nothing I could do about that.
Mainly, I was trying to figure out what to do. Even if the storm was short-lived, the gumbo was going to be too slick to walk on until the sun came out to dry it. We could crawl but that was about it. Of course, that meant the Wolves weren’t going to be able to climb up to get us, either. We were in a stalemate.
“Mike, I don’t understand what happened to those two who fell down by the supply tent,” Jeanette said. “They’ve still not moved.”
“There’s probably a lot of fat in their diet. Maybe they had heart attacks.”
“Mike.”
“I don’t know, Jeanette.”
We hunkered down. And then, when the thunderous displays of lightning paused, I heard that strange mechanical sound again. What the hell was that?
It got darker and the rain began to diminish. I guess the helicopter had been waiting for a break in the weather as I heard the whopping of its blades toward the east. That was when the Wolves attacked. They had been sneaking around to the south and assaulted the hill, guns and AKs blazing. Of course, as soon as they started up, they slipped and fell down. They started up again, only to meet the same fate. I guess they don’t have gumbo in Russia. Jeanette and I squeezed off a couple of rounds, missing our targets in the low light. I didn’t detect any shooting from the cave, probably because they were pinned down by all the fire coming their way.
Then the helicopter roared overhead. It was in one big hurry, rolling over in a tight turn and settling in on the camp. It didn’t land but hovered above the jacketed bones. I guess somebody on the ground attached the net because when the chopper rose, the net was dangling beneath it. It made a circle toward the east, then began to gain altitude. That was when a bright light stabbed out of the darkness from near the hills toward the lake and lit up the helicopter. The chopper turned away but the spot of the light stayed with it. Then a red streak leapt from the source of the light, tore through the rain, and plowed into the UH-1. It jerked at the impact, then rolled over on its side and went down with a massive fireball rising from its twisted remains. The light switched off and everything was quiet but the thunder and the grumble of a burning helicopter. All I can say is I was more than a bit confused over what had happened to the chopper, but grateful.
Below, the Wolves were coming at us again, just raising hell with their automatic weapons. I doubted that they knew their helicopter had been blasted out of the sky since all the action had occurred on the other side of our hill.
Standing before the bas relief of the mama T, Pick was screaming at the Russians to stop. It was none other than Cade Morgan who managed to scramble up to the dig. He proceeded to point a pistol at Pick, then stopped to look with awe at the great headless beast squatting there.
“Yes,” Pick said, “it is another T. rex. A mother
T and she is on her nest, protecting it. It is the wonder of wonders. Nothing in paleontology has ever been seen like it before.”
The rain was picking up again, heavy drops striking the dig. To Pick’s horrified eyes, the leg bones of the T began to come apart, sliding into the muck. “Help me, Cade,” Pick said. “We need to lay a tarp over it.”
Cade was over his initial shock. “I’ve got two sets of bones. I don’t need another. No, I guess I need to kill you.”
Pick backed up against the side of the hill. The mud was flowing around him in a small river, coating his head, his shoulders, and his back. It was as if he was melting into the wall of mud. Above him, something was forming out of the mud. Cade saw it and laughed. Pick looked up and saw the muzzle of the mama T coming out of the mud. “Damn,” Cade said, “that’s an ugly thing.”
Then there was a roar behind Cade and he turned to see what had made it. Pick took the opportunity to reach up, grasp a foot-long steak knife of a tooth, and pull it free before launching himself to plunge the tooth into Cade’s back. Cade screamed and threw his head back as a huge light switched on, flooding the entire side of the hill with a blue-white fluorescence.
Jeanette and I slid down the hill, reaching the cave. “We’re OK,” Ray said and I kept going to the lip of the dig. Pick was standing there over Cade who wasn’t moving, mainly because there was a big brown tooth in his back. Then I noticed the snout, the teeth, and the bony brows of a giant skull protruding from the muck. “Hello, Mama,” I said. “You took care of your child, didn’t you?” She didn’t reply but I thought she looked happy for a sixty-five-million-year-old Tyrannosaurus rex.
I shaded my eyes from the glaring light, which suddenly switched off. I turned away, trying to get my night vision back, and then I heard the shriek of metal on metal and a thumping noise. It sounded like a steel hatch being thrown open. A huge reddish-purple dot was hanging in my eyes but as it faded, I slipped and slid my way around the dig and down the hill. On the way, I fell across a body. By its Hawaiian shirt, I saw it was one of the Russians lying on his back. There was an additional color to his shirt, a florid, bloody spot at the chest where there was also a big hole. Whatever kind of bullet had struck him was armor piercing.
I heard a voice I recognized but did not belong to the scene. “Mike, you OK?”
A big hand reached down and grasped mine and drew me up. It was Sam Haxby. I looked past him to what I now recognized was an armored car. Its engine noise was very familiar. I had been hearing it at night for weeks. The face painted on its front had reptilian eyes and a great, grinning mouth of teeth. Then I noticed Sam was carrying a huge rifle with what looked like a night scope and a big silencer on its barrel. He kicked the dead Wolf. “I think this is the last of them. Sorry it took so long for us to plug ’em. We wanted to make sure of our shots.”
“Sam,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
He looked at me as if I was daft. “Why, on regular patrol, Mike. Since them Green Monkey Wrench ecoterrorists hit us, we’ve been keeping an eye on our ranch and the BLM, don’t you know? We’ve been watching your tent city for more than a while. You looked like you weren’t doing nothing but digging in the dirt so we left you alone. But then Cade Morgan and these fellows arrived and we couldn’t figure it out. Heard your radio calls, too, but we thought we’d just sit tight to see what was what. But when that damn black helicopter arrived, we knew it was time to stand up to these bastards. What are they, FBI, CIA, or some government agency we don’t know about?”
“Russian mob,” I said. “And I think the helicopter was navy blue, not black.”
Sam took this disappointing news gracefully. “Well, I suppose that’s almost as good.”
I was still in a mild state of shock. “You…you shot down the helicopter?”
“Naw. Jack did. Got her good, didn’t he? Tell you what. Them old Soviet shoulder-mounted SA-14’s work pretty good.”
“What else you got in those bunkers, Sam? Nuclear weapons?” He laughed. “They’re too much trouble. Did you know a nuke degrades in ten years?”
I honestly didn’t know that and said so while Sam kept laughing.
Jeanette slid down beside me and I helped her to her feet. She said, “Thank you, Sam. You saved us.”
Sam took off his hat as Carl and Jack climbed out of the armored car. They took off their hats, too. “Happy to help a neighbor, Jeanette,” Sam said.
Ray, Amelia, Laura, Brian, and Philip slid down the muddy slope, too. Amelia got up and hugged Sam and his boys. Hell, I felt like hugging those survivalist bastards, too.
Jeanette put her hand on my shoulder and leaned against me. “Thanks, cowboy,” she said. “What do we do now?”
I was reminded of something old Bill Coulter used to say. When you get to where you’re going, it’s probably time to stop.
“Let’s go home,” I said, and after Ray and I gently wrapped Tanya in a sleeping bag and placed her in our truck, that’s what we did.
One Year Later…
I am writing on my patio beneath the awning attached to my trailer. Beside me on a small round table is a g&t. Before me is the land of the Square C and above me is the big sky of Montana. In short, I am in a perfect spot. Right where I want to be. It is time to be thankful and a time to move past mourning to what lies ahead. It is also a time to recall what happened after the events on Blackie Butte.
I am still cowboying and Jeanette is still my boss. Work never ends on the Square C and, after a few days of dealing with the authorities after the events out there on the Hell Creek Formation, Jeanette, Ray, and I had to bring in our wheat and hay. This we did and continued the life of the rancher through the seasons, the same things every year, only with different problems.
Jeanette is as unchanging as the land. She is still the most competent and courageous woman I’ve ever known. Yes, I still love her. She knows that, of course. She also knows that Tanya will forever have a place in my heart. Whether she cares about that, or whether she ever intends to express any feelings for me, I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. For some reason, I feel content with that.
Ray and Amelia are now preparing to go off to college. Both chose Montana State University in Bozeman. Ray will major in ag business and Amelia in paleontology. They are going to do well. Whether they will end up together, I can’t say. They’re eager to start their studies and they seem very happy together. I guess, with teenagers, that’s the best anyone can ask. Jeanette is going to really miss Ray and so am I. We had a family, whether we knew it or not. I guess we still do only we’re getting to be an empty nest, not counting the cows, of course.
Speaking of family, Superdog survived. Cade Morgan winged him in the hip but, though he bled a great deal, he hung onto life until we returned. We opened up the surgery immediately and Jeanette removed the bullet. Ray and I assisted. Soupy is fine now, though I think his hip hurts when there’s bad weather on the way. I love that dog. Lucky for old Delbert, he was out on the Mulhaden pasture when Cade and the Russians swept through on the way to Blackie Butte. When Cade said he’d shot Soupy, I didn’t think to ask whether he’d also shot Delbert. I guess my excuse is I was a little distracted at the time.
As might be imagined, there was a lot to explain concerning all that happened on Blackie Butte. The Haxbys suggested that we bury all the bodies and bulldoze the helicopter into a coulee, then go about our business. Tempting as that prospect was, Jeanette decided to call in the authorities. This did not prove all that easy. She phoned the state police in Billings and they took it as a crank call. We finally had to get Frank Torgerson to call, explaining that his mortuary had a number of corpses he didn’t know what to do with.
The state sent Trooper Philpot, the same youngster who had come up to investigate Toby’s murder. He stopped in at the mortuary where Frank showed him the bodies and went over the various wounds. Trooper Philpot instantly decided all this might be above his pay grade, turned around and drove back to Billings and co
nvinced his superiors that the FBI should be called.
The Feds were unimpressed by the call from the Montana State Police but finally deigned to send an agent from Salt Lake City to check all this nonsense out. His name was Agent Tim Conway who reminded me a bit of the comedian of the same name. I met ol’ Tim at the mortuary, then drove him out to Blackie Butte. Laura and Pick were still there, guarding the bones of the mama T and patching up the jacketed bones that were damaged in the helicopter crash. Of course, Pick wanted to remove all the dino bones at the first opportunity, but Jeanette insisted that they remain where they were until we got everything settled. I went out and helped Pick and Laura construct a cover for the mama T, which we otherwise left as we found it. Even the skull protruding from the mud was left until it could be carefully moved and jacketed.
With the slow-motion act of the state and the feds, the bones carried away by the helicopter on the first pass had disappeared. We presumed they were put on a truck, which headed for Mexico and crossed the border. Pick says they are almost assuredly lost forever, disappeared into the black market for dinosaur bones or into a private collection.
Agent Conway was impressed by the evidence littering the Blackie Butte site. There were lots of bullet casings, bullet holes, bloody rags, a tent full of various pistols and automatic weapons, and one rather bent UH-1 helicopter. Agent Conway was so impressed he started yelling at everybody and telling us we were all going to prison for a long time if not forever. We stood there and took it for a while, then Jeanette told him to get serious and bring in somebody who knew what they were doing. When Agent Conway continued to yell, she told me to shoot him because the feds had sent us a turkey. I didn’t shoot the agent, but I did convince him to shut up and call for reinforcements.
Agent Conway called and a platoon of federal agents from the FBI, ATF, and other acronyms related to the Department of Homeland Security arrived. They marveled over the dead Russian mobsters, and then declared everything was a secret and that no one, and they meant NO ONE, was to find out about this by which they meant the press. We managed that quite well because we didn’t want to get in the newspapers or on television and lived in a county where no one wanted it, either. Oh, a few things got out, mainly that Jericho needed a new mayor because the other one had died due to mysterious circumstances. No national news organization picked it up. They don’t care, you see, and that’s fine with us.
