by David Boyle
“Yeah actually,” Hayden said above the roar. “What would you say to Prentlers?”
“Prentlers. You mean as in Prentler fruit?”
“Yeah, like that.”
“You want the truth, I’d say try again.”
Hayden stared at the fuzzy ball in his hand. “Okay then, how about brorange?”
“Brorange? What kind of name is that?”
“Just look at it. It’s brown and orange… but it’s not actually an orange, least not like the ones at home. It’s a brorange. What can I say?”
“Brorange.” Mark mouthed the word, tasting it, feeling it out. “You look at it that way, yeah, I guess that fits. What do you think, Wheajo?”
“My opinion is irrelevant. As discoverer, the choice is solely his to make.” The alien read the latest display, then purged the yaltok and repeated the test to confirm the results. “While the flesh is edible, the seed interior is most definitely not.” Mark came around. “The husk itself is harmless, but prolonged digestion could weaken or dissolve it and release the contents. The results would be most unpleasant.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Mark said, picking away at the seeds with his knife.
“We just have to be careful is all.” The sun slid behind one of the few remaining clouds. “Be interesting to know what time of year this is. You know, whether it’s spring or summer?”
“Hopefully we’re not going to be here long enough to find out,” Mark said, carving away. “As we speak there are dinosaurs living as far north and south of here as you can get. So it’s possible this could be midwinter.”
“Whatever… this sun feels pretty good.” Hayden caught a handful of river and splashed it across his beard. “Keeps up like this, today’s going to be a scorcher.”
“Don’t have to worry about freezing, that’s for sure.” Mark tossed what was left of the fruit. “You about ready to head back?”
“In a bit maybe,” Hayden said, draping himself across the boulder. “I got a little more to go on this side.” Even Wheajo seemed to be enjoying his time in the sun.
Mark shrugged. “I guess we’re not in any hurry.”
16
The pot was steaming; and staring into the forest, listening, waiting, and tapping his foot, so was Charlie. Vultures had flown by earlier, to the kill site most likely, their calls sounding like witches screeching above the rapids. Bone pickers is what they were. And unless they found a way out of this god-forsaken place, they could someday be picking his.
Charlie glanced at his watch. Forty minutes. So where are you guys? he thought, his foot tapping a little faster. He didn’t normally mind being alone in the woods, but this was different. A gust rustled the canopy. Something else too. He listened—Forget it, that’s just the rapids—and his foot started up again, tapping as if on its own. “Five more,” he said, swirling his cup. Five minutes and he’d look for himself.
He blew across the too-hot liquid, sipping, and, reaching to put the cup down, had it knocked from his hand.
A tubular shape hissed upright—“What the..?—the neck flared, its body stretched across the cuttings. He held his breath, daring not even to blink as the poufy-headed serpent twitched its head around, licking the air, and watched as it settled slowly to the ground. He tried twisting away, but his feet wouldn’t move. The thing slithered closer, icy beads forming along his forehead as he reached slowly for his bow.
He froze when the thing jerked upright, the hiss bursting as if steam from a pipe. The thing swayed, tongue flicking, the teeth shimmering with hints of liquid gold. He realized, too, that there were two scrawny legs dangling a foot below the head, and two more propping the thing upright. The jaws closed, the still extended tongue wagging as if it had eyes.
Charlie leaned when the snake-lizard settled, the tongue steering the thing toward his boot when something—Fuck, not another one—caught his attention. His eyes searched the clearing, the feeling soon a certainty that whatever it was, was behind him. Straining to see through the side of his head, he jerked back when a violet blur snatched the snake-thing from the ground. By color alone the dinosaur had to be Tony’s, the snake flapping at the sides of its face like a tapered chunk of braided rope. That was fast!
The dinosaur stilled, the claws of its beautifully plumed arms hooked into its prey, the head cocked as if feeling for a pulse. The jaws worked once, then twice, rows of teeth crunching through skin and ribs when a convulsion rippled the serpent’s body. The predator’s response was immediate, the would-be lizard thrashed repeatedly to the ground, its mangled body dangling lifeless when finally the dinosaur stopped.
A quick glance to his bow, he watched as the feathered kaleidoscope pinned the snake with a foot, then nipped along the serpent’s body before ripping its head off. The dinosaur snapped twice to align it, then tossed its head back and swallowed, the snake-lizard’s headless body twisting underfoot.
The dinosaur was as beautiful as its cousin had been ugly: deep purple on top, pale yellow on its chest and belly, its sides flanked with a mix of maroon and amber. The front of its neck was swathed in blue iridescence, the coloration continuing back and along its body in a band that separated the darker, coarser plumage on top from the finer plumage below. Standing at most two and a half feet at the shoulders, it was also much smaller, its darkly plumed tail accounting for better than half the animal’s seven-foot length. The fingers had a curious way of blending into the feathers, but like its fiendish relative, there did seem to be four of them.
The dinosaur swallowed, the jaws working when it looked at him with its piercing yellow eyes.
To be stared at by a deer was one thing; and by a predator, quite another. Small maybe, this close he was certain he wouldn’t have time to react if the dinosaur decided it didn’t like what it was seeing. There was nothing about it to suggest such an attack, still, he wasn’t about to take chances. However the dinosaur saw him, Charlie was very glad to be wearing camouflage.
The animal turned away—Dodged one there, dumbshit—and he watched with unfettered relief as the dinosaur ripped the snake to pieces and ate it.
The feathers ruffled along the length of its body, the dinosaur then working its jaws this way and that, a pinkish tongue lastly licking the sides of it face. It extended an arm, sniffing the banded feathers, the jaws parting ever so slightly as the dinosaur began preening.
Ron thumbed the safety off. The shot was a no-brainer, though with Charlie so near his line of fire, he had to be careful. “Don’t move, Bull, and I’ll drop him where he stands.”
Searching the instant he heard Ron's voice, Charlie jumped when he spotted the rifle. “No, don’t!” he yelled, waving. The dinosaur bolted six feet into the air and hit the ground running. “Don’t shoot, McClure! Hold your fire!”
Ron tracked the animal across the clearing—his trigger finger screaming to contract; Charlie screaming not to—the dinosaur vanishing in seconds into the foliage behind the tents. He jerked the rifle up. “Damn, I hate when that happens!”
“Relax, McClure, or you’ll pop a blood vessel. I’m sure he’s got a good explanation.” Tony started forward, weaving through the entangled bushes. “Funny, huh? I had no idea dinosaurs could jump that high.”
“Yeah, well… Would have been even higher if I’d put a bullet in him.”
Tony elbowed his way toward the clearing. “You’re such a humanitarian.”
They were gathered, as usual, around the fire, and Ron was not convinced. “I don’t like it,” he said, catching glimpses of purple as the dinosaur strutted about the ferns. “And yeah, it’s little, but trust me… having a dinosaur roaming the fucking island is not a good idea.”
Charlie clipped the arrow into the fingers of his bow-mounted quiver. “He ain’t hurtin’ anything, so you leave him alone. You’da seen how big that snake was, you’d know what I’m talkin’ about.” Charlie walked to their utility rack and hooked his bow on a whittled stub. “He’ll be our lookout.”
“Uh huh
,” Ron said, spooning instant into a cup. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
“So long as there’s someone here with a weapon,” Tony said, “I’m okay with that. You have to admit, he’s easier to see than a snake would be in this.” Hayden strolled from the woods at the far end of the clearing, a weighted down T-shirt dangling from his fist. “I told you they weren’t lost.”
“Yeah, well… took ‘im long enough.”
Hayden went straight to the Tripper. “Turns out the rain last night wasn’t a bad thing.” He untied the knot in his shirt and spilled the contents into the cookbox.
“Okay… So what are they?”
“I’ll tell ya what they look like. Road apples that’ve been in the sun too frickin’ long.” Charlie got a hold of one. “These for eatin’, or playin’ catch?”
“I’ll let you figure that out after you taste one.” Hayden looked to Tony. “They’re a kind of fruit, best we can tell. I call them broranges.”
Ron glanced at the Tripper just long enough for a look-see. “You find those in the woods?”
“I wish. They’re from somewhere upstream. The branch these were on got caught in an eddy.” Hayden slipped his shirt on over his head. “There’s a couple more branches across the way, and after we eat I’m thinking we should paddle over and grab however many we can.”
“It’s way heavier, but it feels a little like a Nerf ball.” Tony squeezed, then gave the brorange a sniff. “How do you open it? You peel it or what?”
“Depends on how many thumbs you got,” Hayden said with a chuckle, tossing one to Ron. “And stay clear of the seeds. I’m not sure if he’s exaggerating, but according to Wheajo there’s a chance they can kill you.”
Charlie snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”
“If you can manage watermelon,” said Tony, “I’m sure you can manage these. Is good to know there are things here we can eat that don’t need killing.” Ron finished cleaning his knife. “Okay if I borrow that when you’re done?”
“This? Sure thing.”
Tony glanced at the forest. “So, Mr. Prentler, you noticed anything out of the ordinary?”
Hayden looked about the campsite, Mark and Wheajo at last exiting the forest. “No, should I?”
Rifle at his side, Ron was busy carving away. “So,” said Tony. “What’s the verdict?”
“The seeds take some getting used to, but it is pretty darn tasty.” Mark and Wheajo had reached the point where he didn’t need to yell. “A couple more minutes and we’d have been sending out a search party.”
“For how much of a pain it is getting there, the end of the island is one of those places where you don’t mind spending some time. Especially when the rapids are up.” Mark stopped abruptly, studying the ground, he and Wheajo going to a knee. Red specks were on the leaves; a series of smears nearby. Wheajo worked one of the larger drops between his fingers. “Yep, that’s blood alright.” Mark noticed a fleshy bit of tissue, and reaching found that it held a tiny limb. Whether an arm or leg, the miniscule digits all had claws. Mark and Wheajo rose almost simultaneously to their feet.
“Okay… anybody want to tell us what happened?”
“I ain’t shittin’ ya, Bennett… that sneaky bastard got this close. Didn’t see any fangs showin’, but somethin’ about the fucker’s head told me I was in trouble if I got bit, so I was glad as hell when the dinosaur showed up and shredded the fucker. Ripped his sorry ass, I mean all to hell.”
“You’re saying the dinosaur was here? Where we’re standing?”
“Maybe not right there,” Tony said. “More near where you found the leg.”
“Wait a minute. You saw him too?” Mark blinked when Tony nodded, then knocked his hat back and rubbed his forehead. “Now I’m really confused. Didn’t hear any shots, so here I’m figuring neither of you guys saw it.”
“Oh, we saw him alright. Even managed to get a bead on him. Fact is, I came this frickin close to blowing the little bastard away.”
“But Charlie stopped you.” Ron nodded. “Great. So we’re back to where we started.”
“Not exactly,” said Tony, reentering the discourse.
Wheajo tapped Mark on the shoulder—“What?”—then directed his gaze to a patch of forest between the tents and the river. Sunlight streaming through the trees overlaid the ferns with a crazy quilt pattern of light and dark, and Mark was still searching when a sinuous shape turned in his direction….
“Holy…! Are those eyes?”
They were like a gang of reporters, hounding the dinosaur from along the clearing until the animal scampered away. It was nice to think snakes had become an endangered species, and nicer still to know that the dinosaur was finally back in the woods where it belonged. “Anybody ready for breakfast? The brorange was delicious and all, but I’m starving.”
Charlie was headed back, still glancing over his shoulder. “Is that supposed to be news?”
“Maybe not,” Tony said. “But I would like to get started. And I’d appreciate if you fellas would do something about those seats. Even them up some, maybe soften the ends. And if you can figure a way to make them higher, that would help too.”
“Yeah, I caught my ankle earlier, so I know about the roundin’ off part.” Charlie got an okay from Mark. “We’ll see what we can do.”
The log seats were dismantled while the World’s Greatest Chef gathered the items listed on the menu from under the tarps, breakfast for Day 4 consisting of two containers of pancake mix, a can of bacon, syrup, and Squeeze Parkay.
“Do you require assistance?” Wheajo asked on his return, the clack of the axe and hatchet again ringing about the clearing.
Tony unloaded beside the stove. “I wouldn’t go so far as ‘require’, but I wouldn’t mind the company. How about I start you off easy? You can be mixer. The pancakes we use are the just-add-water kind, but you have to be careful not to overdo it. Too much will ruin the batter, and we don’t have any to waste.” The simple act of saying it aloud was enough to get the wheels turning.
“Perhaps a single container would be sufficient.”
Tony was eyeing the bacon. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. And holding off on this too,” he added, a suggestion Wheajo thought appropriate once Tony clarified the can’s contents. “The trip menu has been in the works since before I started going, but with no way to replace anything—the sugar, the granola, the candy bars… even the little packets of creamer—I’m realizing we need to make some serious modifications.”
“A wise decision,” Wheajo said, seeming both pleased and impressed.
“I hope you understand that I’m still trying to get my brain wrapped around everything that’s happened recently… including you.”
“I qite understand, as I too am learning.”
Tony nodded. “Sounds obvious, but I have to keep reminding myself. We’re all learning, aren’t we?” Clearly, the changes they needed to make extended well beyond the menu. “Okay, so we start now. We use only one of these, make the individual pancakes smaller, and save the bacon for another time. And we can water down the syrup a little to make it go further too. Only don’t say anything, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”
“You would deceive your companions?” Wheajo asked, astonished.
“As long as I can get away with it.” Tony looked to the smoker. “I was hoping to have the day off,” he said with a heavy sigh. “But that’s our job, isn’t it? Curing what’s left of the meat.”
“If we are to maximize its usefulness, then yes.”
Mark came lugging the water jug. “Aren’t you ready yet? I thought you were starving.”
“I am. I also realized we need to adjust the menu.”
“Okay,” Mark said uncertainly. “What kind of adjustments you talking about?”
“Like learning to love dinosaur for a start.”
“No problem there. The steaks yesterday were pretty good. And what the heck? They were just starters. You want I should get the fire started?�
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Tony smiled. “Funny you should ask.”
They got down the drip bag while Mark started on the fire. Tony instructed Wheajo on how best to slice the corythosaur to where the meat would be the least chewy, flames beginning to take hold by the time Wheajo stacked the last of six monstrous steaks beside the cookbox. They resealed the garbage bag and, after soaking the shirt holding it, began hoisting their cache back into the tree by the landing, Tony on impulse grabbing a fistful of jerky to have available for snacks.
“You do have to consider that’s the first stuff off the line.” Tony waited, seconds passing before he realized he hadn’t actually asked a question. “I’m looking for a little feedback here, Wheajo. What do you think?”
“The curing technique used was, shall I say, unorthodox. And while texture has been degraded, the result is not at all unpleasant.” Wheajo took his seat beside the others around the canoe. “Considering our present limitations, I find it qite acceptable.”
Charlie settled on his seat beside the fire. “It’s somethin’ to eat is about as far as I’d go. We do some scoutin’ around and find us some hickory or we’ll be feedin’ this stuff to the fish.”
Marked laid a log across the fire. “You really think different wood would make that much of a difference?” The vultures were gathering, Ron and Hayden drawn by Chef Delgado’s breakfast preparations.
“Hell yeah. You’d be surprised. Alder’s good. Maple. Pretty much any oak, so long as you don’t mind endin’ up with stuff like this. Fruit trees too. Like what those whatchamacallits came from.”
“You mean the broranges?” Hayden clenched his jaw. “If I’d known that earlier I wouldn’t have gotten rid of the branch. We paddle over later, I’ll remember to hang onto them.”
The steaks hit the grill soon after Mark had the fire going, Tony at length doling out the batter so the steaks and one-per-customer pancakes finished cooking at the same time. Lots had been drawn to eliminate the whining, some recipients near drooling by the time their portion of the corythosaur was done.
