by David Boyle
They talked during breakfast and discussed their options, all the while serenaded by the ubiquitous birds. Hayden wanted to know what kind of snake had legs, an inquiry that prompted Mark into a lengthy explanation about evolution and how snakes were, or would be, descendants of a lizard-like animal. “The next time you’re at the zoo, have one of the keepers show you a boa. Look close and you’ll see vestiges of legs.”
“How enlightening,” Tony said, tapping a cigarette from the pack. “Except that ‘close’ and ‘snakes’ are mutually exclusive in my book. So I’ll take your word for it, thank you very much.”
Calls sounded faintly in the distance, the forest not yet fully awake and dripping like so many leaky gutters. They toyed with sending an expedition downstream, but with the river at flood stage shelved the idea until it returned to less turbulent levels. Hayden’s suggestion of exploring the hillside to the west met similarly deaf ears. Effectively imprisoned in a gilded cage, they agreed to civilize the campsite, fire up the smoker, and possibly retrieve whatever broranges they could from across the river.
“Take a look, Bull,” Ron said, pointing with his fork. “Your buddy’s back.”
The head was up and searching, then dropped back down again, the tops of fronds twitching in a nonexistent breeze. Charlie got to his feet and grabbed what was left of his pancake.
Stalking was an art form he’d never quite mastered, yet here he was, again, this time trying to creep across a field so soggy that his every step sounded like a squeaky toy. The twigs and cuttings weren’t helping either, anything able just waiting to make some stupid kind of noise. Nothing loud really, it was too wet for that, but like whispers in a theater, enough to maybe spook the thing. How good can dinosaurs hear anyway?
Charlie held up a few yards into the woods, searching the droopy ferns and scattered bushes. Long seconds ticked away, and still nothing. Just like last time, he thought, remembering the eight-pointer that had somehow given him the slip a dozen or so miles west of Rockford. He pressed ahead, and a few steps later was sweeping aside a frond when he caught sight of the dinosaur, staring back.
He stepped clear to let the dinosaur better see him, then held a hand up. “How about…?” The dinosaur flinched at the sound of his voice. “It’s okay… I won’t hurt cha.” He watched the dinosaur as he very deliberately tore the flapjack in half. “Food,” he said quietly, dangling the piece, the dinosaur’s gaze wavering only momentarily when his offering landed on a leaf.
Charlie moved to get a better angle and tried again. The dinosaur cocked its head, the eyes shifting, and nosed to the ground.
“He take it?” Mark asked, his partner wincing when Charlie shook his head. “That’ll be five, my friend. Like I said, a strict carnivore.”
“You’d think by now I’d know better.” Hayden dug into his pocket. “I’ll have to owe you until we get home. I left my wallet in the truck.”
Wheajo held up a thoroughly desiccated piece of meat. “Would this serve better as an inducement?”
“Gotta be better than pancakes.” Mark cupped his hands. “Charlie, want to try some jerky?” An arm went up. “I think that’s a yes.”
“Jerky?” Wheajo asked, gathering a handful of pieces.
“Is kind of a weird name,” Hayden said. “But that’s what it’s called.”
Charlie was working on coaxing the dinosaur into showing itself when the animal hissed and darted into the ferns. He looked to the clearing—“Hold up there, Wheajo!”—then hurried off to meet him.
“Here I’m wonderin’ what I did, and it’s you he doesn’t like.”
Wheajo handed over the blackened strips. “Apparently,” the alien said, glancing at the wooded slash before moving off.
“Don’t take it personal,” Charlie said, apologizing for the dinosaur’s none-too-subtle slight. “And thanks for walkin’ these over.”
Charlie moved quietly into the shadows, the river glistening beyond the trees when he spotted the dinosaur strutting nervously through a glade of ferns. “Easy there… I’m not gonna hurt cha.” He dangled a smoke-blackened piece of meat . “Different, ain’t it? And it tastes different too.” He tried ripping, but the meat was too tough, then got his knife, and with the dinosaur craning, cut the strip roughly in half. “That’s right, keep watchin’,” he said, and gave it a toss. The dinosaur stepped forward, bobbing its head, staring, then nosed to the ground.
The dinosaur came up gulping, Charlie barely able to contain himself when he dangled the other half. “Better than it looks, ain’t it?” He flipped the piece short, and the dinosaur stepped forward to take his bribe. “Not so scary as I was a second ago, huh?” he said, careful to keep his voice low. “Look here… See? I got lots more.”
The dinosaur snatched the next offering and popped up looking for more.
Charlie seeded his way through the underbrush, the dinosaur following, a giddy grin on his face when the animal finally pranced clear of the thicket.
“Ain’t he beautiful?”
Tony was enjoying more than his morning coffee and cigarette, delighting in the effects the dinosaur was having on his friend. This was the person he’d known since high school. Kind and considerate, if a bit ragged around the edges, Charlie Van Dyke was the big guy with the even bigger heart. Especially after yesterday, it was nice to see that the goofball willing to watch cartoons with his kids was very much alive and kicking.
Their feathered visitor was both beautiful and disarming, their problems for now seeming small and distant. Charlie tossed another morsel, the long-tailed charmer darting after it.
“Try one high and see if he can catch it,” Mark said, not nearly as upbeat as Tony.
The next piece went sailing, the morsel snatched effortlessly from the air. “Good boy!” Charlie cooed, beaming. “Guess that answers that question!”
Mark folded his arms. “Yeah, it sure does.”
On the surface a simple task, catching a target in mid air required a brain fast and sophisticated enough to calculate its trajectory and coordinate the body’s musculature to intercept it. Could be he was reaching, but it seemed unlikely that such a capability would evolve in an animal destined to react solely on instinct. Mother Nature seldom, if ever, worked that way. Capabilities typically suited purpose.
So yesterday wasn’t a fluke after all.
Dinosaur metabolism had been the topic of discussion since the days of their discovery. First proposed in the late 19th century, and later denounced, the notion of endothermic dinosaurs had gradually reentered the realm of acceptable scientific inquiry, most recently with paleontologists Adrian Desmond and Robert Bakker having independently made excellent cases for hot bloodedness based on the fossil evidence. As with any major endeavor, their analyses were viewed with skepticism, and in the mainstream scientific community, their theory was less than universally accepted.
Mark had been uncommitted. Until now.
There were few reptiles capable of the level of activity being demonstrated, and fewer still that came anywhere near the dinosaur’s mass. With their externally-enabled metabolism, cold blooded animals simply could not sustain high energy activities. And supposedly, dinosaurs couldn’t either. This one, like grizzlies that climbed trees, apparently hadn’t read the books and seemed perfectly content to break all the rules.
Pretty as it was, Mark watched the dinosaur with the gloomy realization that Bakker was right.
The dinosaur seemed not to notice that the pieces were getting smaller, though clearly there were limits.
“That’s the way. Come on….”
The dinosaur nosed his latest offer, but steadfastly refused to get any closer. Charlie went slowly to his knees. “You’re not scared of me, are you? Come on, you can get that,” he said soothingly, coaxing the dinosaur closer. A tentative step, the dinosaur stretched forward, sniffing, then snapped up the meat and scampered back. “Atta boy… See there? That didn’t hurt, did it?” Placed scarcely more than an arm’s length away, the nex
t two pieces were taken by a less reluctant, though still wary dinosaur. Pleased with his progress, Charlie held the next piece out in his hand.
Tony tossed his cigarette. “Charlie…?”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Charlie wasn’t listening. “Come on. Don’t be afraid….” The dinosaur cocked its head, the arms flaring as it strutted nervously a yard beyond his outstretched hand. “That’s right. Take your time. Nobody’s makin’ you hurry.” Left, then right, then back again, the dinosaur stopped finally and bobbed its head, and stretching its neck to the fullest snatched the meat from his palm. “Good boy…! See? I knew you could do it.”
A collective sigh spilled from around the Tripper, his friends breathing again. “Still got all your fingers?” Ron asked, wiping a hand on his pants.
Charlie held a hand up, fingers wiggling. “All five.” Down to his last, he slipped the knife back in its sheath, the dinosaur watching intently when again he extended his hand. “Come on now. You know how this goes.” The dinosaur paced in a half circle, bobbing its head, its gaze darting from the meat to Charlie’s eyes. “Nope. No more tossin’. You want this… you gotta come get it.” The dinosaur stretched forward, sniffing, Charlie trying hard not to smile when he caught the yellow eyes staring. “Come on now. I’m not gonna hold this forever you know.” The dinosaur strutted forward, the head bobbing ever closer before it settled and nosed the tips of his fingers, licking, and plucked the meat from his hand. The dinosaur tossed its head back, then looked again at the still extended hand.
“Sorry kid, but I’m fresh out.” His voice soothing, his outstretched hand empty save its offer of friendship, Charlie watched with a tear in his eye as the dinosaur began licking his palm, sniffing.
He reached deliberately with his opposite hand and lightly brushed its back. The dinosaur turned—“Easy”—but didn’t pull away, the touch at once carrying a million sensations. He marveled in the texture of the feathers, the colors, the smells, and most of all the feel of muscles slowly beginning to relax. A once in a lifetime experience, Charlie was certain his feelings were mutual when he saw the eyelids begin to droop.
“You’re a real beauty, ya know that?” he said, fighting the urge to give the animal a hug. “I bet you’re one in a million. More even. Maybe a zillion….”
Hayden couldn’t quite get over what he was seeing. “A minute ago, I thought he was crazy. But now...? Whatever it is, he's got a way with animals.”
Wheajo turned at the sound of buzzards squabbling upriver.
“Maybe so,” Mark said. “But he’s taking a hell of a chance. You get a look at those teeth?”
With his long hair and camouflage, Charlie resembled a 60s-era hippie dad grooming his psychedelic progeny when the dinosaur nipped at his shirt. “No!” he scolded, and tapped the animal’s snout. “I know what it smells like”-he ruffled his sleeve-“but this is me, silly.” The dinosaur nosed the splotches, Charlie glancing with a timid smile when laughter erupted along their makeshift table. Chuckling, shaking their heads, everyone was taken with the goings-on in the clearing. Everyone except Wheajo, still focused on the forest and as seemingly disinterested as ever.
Mark was trying hard not to fall off his seat. “You’re lucky we don’t have a tape recorder.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Charlie, gently stroking the dinosaur neck when it jerked around. A hiss grew in the animal’s throat. The laughter stuttered to a halt.
Ron snatched the rifle from beside the canoe. “Get the hell away from him, Bull!”
Charlie scuttled across the stubble, a hiss rippling the dinosaur’s lips as it stared intently upriver. “It’s not me he’s hissin’ at,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “It’s somethin’ out there.” The dinosaur bolted, Hayden flinching one way and Tony the other when it vaulted the canoe.
Ferns stilled in the dinosaur’s wake. “What the hell’s that all about?” The birds had stopped their incessant chatter, the rapid’s distant rumble filling every nook and cranny of the unnervingly still air.
“Ready your weapons,” Wheajo said with quiet urgency.
They searched the forest, listening, waiting. Something was out there.
A minute passed. And still, no one moved.
Trees thrashed in the distance. Vultures started screeching. And a second later a roar the likes of which had never been heard by human ears swept the forest like a shockwave.
“God in heaven!” Tony gasped, raindrops splattering to the ground. “What on earth is that!?”
17
They stood quivering at the incomprehensible notion that something alive could make such a noise, eyes and ears scanning to determine the thing’s location. “Whatever that is, I'll lay you odds it's on our kill,” Ron said finally, both shaken and relieved. Another roar spirited along the river, the vocalization somehow different, or possibly less intense.
Mark was shaking with a combination fear and excitement. “What do you think?” he asked, first of Ron, then Hayden. “We are going to take a look, right?”
“Hell yeah, we’re taking a look.” Ron checked his pockets for ammo. “You coming?” Prentler blinked when the roar sounded again, then swallowed and nodded ‘yes’.
Mark swiped at the bumps on his arms and, looking at Tony, knew he wasn’t going anywhere either. “Where do you keep your camera?”
Ron knocked the cigarette from his fingers. “Snap out of it, Tony! You wanted into National Geographic, didn't you? Well, here’s your chance.” Tony flinched when the roar sounded again. “Your camera?”
“It’s… it’s in my bag.”
The alien was adjusting the yaltok when Mark raced from one tent and Ron another, Hayden waiting at the edge of the clearing when they charged past him and into the forest. Data recorded, Wheajo slipped the yaltok into its conformal pouch. “You may accompany me if you wish.”
Charlie didn’t respond immediately, his expression verging on surprise when he heard himself say: “Yeah sure. Lead on.”
He would have been happy staying put in camp, but with Ron and the others so all fired gung ho about eyeballing the thing, he felt he didn’t have much of a choice. There was something about the alien that gave him the willies, but seeing as the weapon he carried made Ron’s look like nothin’, staying close to the fucker meant he likely wouldn't get eaten.
They trotted through the forest at a circumspect pace, the roars becoming less snarly as the bastard settled down. A log or a branch splintered across the river. “And if I had any sense, I’d be going the other way too.” Another crunch, very faint, and Charlie apparently missed it.
“A reasonable deduction,” Wheajo said, stopping a few steps ahead. “Yet the creature is not moving away.” They abandoned the trail of flattened fronds and skulked toward the river with more than simple curiosity. A slot opened in the trees, sparkles glimmering across a fast moving expanse of brown water. Green showed above the bank, leaves mostly, with trunks and branches and a splash of color here and there for accent.
Wheajo reached and squeezed Charlie’s arm. “Remain still.”
It was standing in the forest, his deer hunter’s eyes yet unable to see the thing until it started moving, the dinosaur seeming to materialize from the sunlight and shadows. It moved with the ease of an enormous cat, the dappled background winking along what had to be the animal’s back. A growl sounded upriver, and Charlie could feel his gut churn at how frighteningly easy the animal blended with the forest when it stopped. “God help us…!”
Charlie ripped free of the alien’s grasp. “I told, ya didn’t I? I told you we were fucked…,” he squealed, stumbling back through the bushes. “We’re all gonna die here!”
Ron hurried along yesterday’s path, the sodden mulch squishing underfoot as they pressed through the drippy vegetation, now and again catching glimpses of the river. They snapped branches from a tree that had fallen across the trail overnight, the three drenched to the skin when finally they turned into the trees where R
on had shot and killed the corythosaur. The roaring had ended, and Ron was focused on the slimy sounding crunches when Hayden nearly ran him over.
“Sorry… I didn’t notice you standing there.”
Ron looked past him to Mark—“Watch him would you?”—then picked his way quietly across the bed of twigs and branches to the edge of the bank. He pressed aside a stringy curtain, blinking, and dropped to his knees. “Holy crap…!”
The dinosaur towered over the carcass like a square-headed mountain, a massive foot pinning the corythosaur as it twisted its head and ripped a ragged sliver from the bones. The head tipped back, Hayden and Mark settling in as a bulge swelled along the folds of the monster’s throat. Again the jaws clamped the carcass, but seconds passing before another gristly chunk was headed down the dinosaur’s gullet.
Riveted on watching the animal feed, they turned in unison when a snarl sounded downstream.
“Damn, there’s two of ‘em!” Ron worked the bolt, and a cartridge went spinning. Cursing, he scraped through the leaves, found the round, then fumbled it away again when the thing across the river bellowed, the roar this close verging on painful.
Mark brushed an opening in the twigs. “That sounded like a challenge.” He pulled the binoculars from inside his shirt and scanned the far tree line.
“Does make you wonder,” Hayden said with a swallow, the two-fingered giant repeating its warning as the line of rustling treetops drifted closer.
“Jesus H. Christ!” said Ron, clamping a hand to an ear.
The dinosaur with the outlandishly large head had teeth the size of railroad spikes. Sheathed in a gray hide the texture of asphalt, the predator dwarfed the remains of the hadrosaur. It reached with a muscular, if extremely short arm, the claws scratching at a tattered sliver dangling from its jaw. A snarl sounded from the forest. The predator leaned forward, muscles rippling as it directed a fierce gaze in the direction of its soon-to-be-sorry opponent. A massive tail swayed confidently.
