Window In Time

by David Boyle

  The tigress splashed deeper where the bank rose to meet the forest, the water ever more insistent. She paused to stare at the swirling confusion that tugged ever more forcefully at her legs.

  A white flicker… then another of green. Prey moving swiftly, fleeing.

  She charged past the accumulated driftwood, her instincts spurred, muck boiling along the surface as the water deepened. The slick footing and quickening current slowed her advance, and she stopped altogether when the water caught her tail and started dragging her sideways. The current tugged at her belly. She stepped back, snarling, and across the river noticed paired bits of color moving through the trees. Escaping….

  She charged into the river, her gaze locked on the uprights.

  *****

  Ron blasted free of the cover bordering the clearing, rifle across his chest. “Van Dyke! Delgado! You have to get out of here!” He needed to pick a direction, a mishmash of frightened voices sounding from Charlie’s tent while he tried to decide. “Whatever you’re doing, leave it!” he shouted, and took off running. “Just find somewhere to hide!”

  A quick zip and Charlie stumbled from the tent, Ron all but invisible by the time Tony followed him out.

  “Hide? Bu… bu… but where?”

  “We’ll worry about that later….” A rustle got Charlie’s head turning, droopy fronds shimmying in a line as the disturbance drew closer. “Mark, is that you?”

  Blooms of tall ferns jiggled, the dingy brown of Mark’s cowboy hat soon bobbing underneath. They waited while Mark came barreling from the forest, on his face an expression that had but one explanation.

  The color drained from Charlie’s face. “Which one? First or second?”

  “What are you talking about?” Tony asked, more confused than ever.

  “If you mean the orange one, then second.” Mark glanced up river, panting. “You can follow me… or we can split up.” They could hear the sound of splashes upstream. “Either way, we got to get moving.” And with that, Mark too sprinted into the forest.

  “I can’t go out there dressed like this.” More splashes, closer this time, the sounds mixed with a horridly vicious snarl. Tony’s eyes went wide.

  Charlie snagged his friend’s collar. “This way…!”

  Hayden dashed from tent to tent, finally resting his hands on his knees, hot, sweaty, and relieved to find camp already empty. Blood was welling along the scratches on his arms, his neck too if the stings were any indication, and if he was alive in the next hour, he might even pay them some attention.

  A splash sounded.

  He straightened, searching the river, and took off in a panic when he caught a glimpse of orange. The bitch was coming, and with nothing to stop her, the where no longer mattered. They'd stopped cutting along a maddeningly thick bramble, and Hayden was hoping that maybe, just maybe the stuff was tangled enough to save his life. He ripped at the vines, clawing ever deeper. There… a gap! He struggled forward… then turned—a splash sounded when something hard smacked the water—and a few feet further on discovered that his ‘gap’ was in fact the blackened shell of a rotted deadfall.

  A snarl, closer still.

  He crawled inside the dank clamminess, frantic, trapped, and out of time. Thirty days. We didn’t make it past three. A splash sounded upstream, and he turned with a fitful stare. I love you, Anna Mae. You too, my precious little ballerina…. His heart was pounding, but not so loud that he couldn’t hear the thrashing beyond the tents.

  Seconds passed, and again the thrashing….

  Hayden cringed, his breath shooting out in little gasps while a part of his brain told him something was different. He held his breath… The snarls were there, only rounded somehow. Stranger still was their constant shift in direction.

  He rose slowly, listening to the river. The splashes were softer… then softer still….

  Is that even possible?

  Quickly free of the tangle, Hayden listened as he trotted cautiously to the landing. There was a throb to the hiss, the sounds of the rapid unfettered by the intervening forest. He searched the river, and an icy chill took hold when he saw nothing but debris. Had he made a mistake? He grabbed the bark of the tree adjacent the landing and leaned out. A log rolled in the current, the bulge beside it taking on the shape of a snout! Then a string of shark’s fins and an arm slapping the surface.

  Pulsating froth stretched across the river downstream, spray bursting from beyond the drop, the chill he’d felt but a minute before now elation. “Yeah, you’re fucked now.”

  He looked to the forest, then took off running. It wasn’t exactly a straight shot through the forest—Slow down, bitch!—but he had to try.

  Hayden and Wheajo were sitting by the fire, Hayden nursing a beer with an empty at his feet when the others came slinking into camp, mud-smeared and grimy nearly half an hour later, Charlie with fronds poking from various button holes in his camouflage. “Welcome home,” Hayden said, saluting their return with a mostly empty can of Boulder Beer. “I was beginning to think you guys might spend the night out there.”

  “That thought had occurred to us,” Ron acknowledged, glancing left and right as Mark trailed him into the clearing. “I gather you two have been here awhile. Mind filling us in on what happened?”

  “Turns out she could swim about as good as I do, and in this current I’d be lucky to make it halfway across. Which is about as far as she got, come to think.”

  “You sayin’ that thing went through the rapids?”

  Hayden took a sip, nodding. “That she did. And best I could tell, somewhere close to the middle.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Prentler. You either saw her or you didn’t,” Ron said. “Which the fuck is it?”

  “I said I saw her, and I did. I was trying to find a hole back here somewhere when I realized she wasn’t stopping, and by the time I got to the landing she was gone. I made a wrong turn getting there, or maybe not… Anyway, she was long gone by the time I got to the rapids.” He frowned. “Pisses me off, now that I think about it.”

  “You’re positive she went over and not around.”

  “If you mean got to shore ‘around’, then yeah, I’m positive. If you mean closer to shore, I suppose that’s possible. And the way the rapids are, the closer you get, the meaner they are.” Hayden could see he hadn’t won anyone totally over. “Believe me guys, she couldn’t have made it. With the river up like it is, the rocks busted her up and she drowned. I’d bet my life on it.”

  Tony looked to Wheajo. “You see anything?”

  “I was not in a position to do so. I will say that based on your friend’s description of events, the animal’s probability of survival would appear small.”

  Wheajo’s affirmation was good enough for Tony. “How about it? Time to celebrate?”

  Charlie’s response wasn’t immediate, the question apparently delayed in transit. “I guess.”

  “You guess?” Mark snorted. “We just missed having our asses handed to us and you’re not sure whether you want to celebrate? I know I do. Anybody else? And forget it, Prentler, you’ve already had yours.”

  Hands went up, all except Wheajo’s, who likely figured he didn’t count. Mark got some beers, and they hugged and danced and tramped a muddy circle into the soil the celebrate the predator’s deservedly untimely death. Tony brought out the brandy, and everyone had a shot of that, too.

  “Come on, Wheajo,” Tony said when he noticed the alien moping near the tents. “You’re part of this now.” He extended the bottle. “Like Mark said, it’s celebration time.”

  “It’s okay, Wegee,” Ron said lightheartedly. “Actually, it’s a must. If you’re going to be part of this bunch you need to learn to let your hair down a little.”

  Befuddled by the remark, Wheajo nevertheless took the bottle. “A celebratory requirement?”

  “Absolutely,” Mark said. “Call it a tradition.”

  Wheajo took a casual swallow, the near cat-like eyes registering surpris
e if not pleasure. He considered the bottle, then handed it back. “Qite invigorating.”

  Tony smiled. “I knew you’d like it.”

  “We probably shouldn’t, and forget the lush,” Mark said, hiking a thumb at Hayden, “but anyone else need a refill?” A dumb question, though Tony preferred sticking to his brandy. “How about you, Wheajo? I guess we can spare a can.”

  With how much the humans relished the commodity at issue, Wheajo considered the offer a high compliment. “Yes,” the alien nodded. “I would much appreciate having one.”

  *****

  The tigress grounded on a submerged sandbar, battered, bruised, and miles from the boulder strewn drop. She limped to shore and slumped panting in the shallows. The sun was high, the breathless air hot and muggy, and soon she would be in need of shelter. An ambush hunter now long spent, she needed to catch her breath as well. Something nipped the abrasion on her side. She snarled around snapping, then reached with a paw and tore away the thing’s tail, the creature still writhing when she swallowed.

  She crawled slowly up the bank and collapsed in the coolness of the forest, her chest heaving a she regained her senses. Rage simmered in the primitive depths of her mind. Many years had it been since the grays had routed her from her chosen domain. Never since. Nor ever again. On the dry were creatures not seen before. She would not soon forget the uprights without tails, for now they were the intruders. Intruders on her domain. The tyrant had trespassed, and had paid the price for its insolence.

  Soon, very soon, the uprights without tails also would pay.

  *****

  They’d freshened the fire, sunny or not, the smoke and flames a familiar focal point around which anyone who chose to could relax and unwind. Whether seen or heard, the dinosaurs and their stunning confrontation were the subject of endless speculation. Which was stronger was undeniable, the question at the moment centering on how and why the tyrannosaur lost.

  “I don’t care how quick she was. She got lucky is all.”

  “You’re saying that last rush was luck?”

  Ron snapped a twig and tossed the pieces on the fire. “He had his head down, remember?”

  “Because she planned it that way,” Mark argued. “Or didn’t you see that?”

  “Gimme a break. Planned it? Come on….”

  Hayden was shaking his head. “I don’t know, McClure. Early on… then again later? Looked to me like she snookered him with a pretty classy con.”

  Ron threw his hands up. “You guys are reading way too much into that… that one-time skirmish.” He looked to Wheajo. “You saw the whole thing, or most of it. You see anything more than just a fight?”

  “You are correct insofar as we witnessed a one-time event. However, whether the actions were typical and the ‘planning’ at issue was indeed effectuated can be assessed only through additional observations.”

  Ron stared with a blank look at the fire.

  “I think that was a ‘maybe’,” said Mark, poking the coals with a stick.

  Charlie jerked himself onto his feet. “You guys hafta keep goin’ on about this shit? If the bastard that started all this got hurt like you said, he ain’t comin’ back. And if like Prentler said the other one drowned, she ain’t comin’ back either. So why don’t you all just fuckin’ drop it already!?”

  They sat around the fire glancing at one another as Charlie stormed toward his tent.

  “You do tend to get a little too involved,” Tony said.

  Hayden glanced at Ron. “We’re done aren’t we?”

  “We didn’t say anything wrong, Prentler. I mean shit, all we’re doing is talking.” Ron stuck a hand out to Mark. “And yeah, we can be done. Just don’t expect me to tiptoe around worrying about opening my mouth at the wrong time.”

  Mark passed him the bota. “Personally, I’m glad we were there to see it,” he said with a conspiratorial smile. “Bitch was definitely something else.”

  Mark was examining the axe when Charlie stepped to the hanger tree and peeled the arm guard from around the limb of his bow. “Whatever you shoot, make sure it’s not big. We already have more than we can handle.”

  Charlie slapped the guard to his forearm and was halfway through fastening the straps when he caught Mark staring. “Were you talkin’ to me?”

  “He was actually,” Ron said, glancing uneasily at Mark. “You are going hunting, right?”

  Charlie slipped on his shooting glove, “Hunting?” then unhooked the compound and drew the string back, eyeing the cable clearance to his sleeve. “If somethin’ pops up,” he said, and let down, “I might take a shot. But mostly I’m just hopin’ to find Mike.” He checked his pockets and, apparently satisfied, started off.

  Mark stared past the fire, frowning. “What’s he talking about? Mike who?”

  “You really do suck at names,” Ron said softly. “Mike… Michael? His oldest son, remember? Little guy about so tall… should be like seven….”

  “Right, the one Charlie was talking about bringing next time we did the Kish.”

  Ron nodded, staring at Charlie’s back. “Funny’s the wrong word, but him wanting to look for ‘Mike’ doesn’t strike me as a good thing. Hope I’m wrong, but my gut says he’s close to flipping out.”

  “He’ll be okay so long as we don’t have another day like this one.

  “And I was going to work on sharpening the axe. Unless you’ve got something else to do, how about you tag along? You can get a better feel for the woods, and while you’re at it keep him company so he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

  Ron rolled his eyes… his hand up a second later. “Okay, I got it. I’ll play babysitter if you think it’ll help.” He stood and grabbed his rifle.

  “Another thing.”

  “Now what?”

  “Watch for anything you wouldn’t mind seeing on your plate. Tony and Wheajo have a list going where they’re taking inventory of plants we can eat.

  “And don’t forget the roots. They can be edible too.”

  Mark was about to head out himself when he noticed Wheajo in his tent, hunched over the yaltok. “Wheajo?” He waited, then called him again.

  “Yes?” The alien didn’t look up.

  “What do you know about lightning?”

  “Lightning is an electrical phenomenon common to planetary bodies with a minimum atmospheric index of 0.143 talcons; Stage I and Ia contact binaries; and various Stage III molecular nebula. Discharge initiation occurs when the dipolar potential exceeds the electrical potential of the lowest energy component…”

  Mark let him go on. And on. How do I turn you off already? You could have just said ‘I know a lot’, and left it at that. For Mark it was like listening to a recording. Scary even. He didn’t know what kind of ‘school’ Wheajo had gone to—he imagined wires and a weird kind of gadget screwed to his head—but was sure he didn’t want to attend.

  Hoping to finish by dinner, Mark took a chance. “Wheajo?”

  The alien stopped his discourse in mid-sentence. “Yes?”

  He’s not just on auto! “That’s really nice—that stuff about how it’s generated and all that—but that’s not what I was after.” Mark cringed at the way the alien’s eyelids went limp. A human would probably have been pissed about having given an entire course on lightning to an imbecile, but Wheajo was… well, he was just Wheajo. “Where I was driving was whether there’s a way to maybe use it to recharge your time transporter thing.”

  “It’s designation is brizva.”

  “Brizva… transporter… whatever you call it!” Semantics! I didn’t realize you knew my wife! “Can it be done, or can’t it?”

  Wheajo turned to his computer. “I will consider the problem.”

  Mark ran his thumb along the edge of the axe. It wasn’t too sharp either. He glanced at the sky and exhaled in frustration. “We’d have been in serious trouble today if the river had been a few feet lower. I mean really, Wheajo, this is important. I wouldn’t say this to the other guys, but
I’m not all that certain we can afford to wait for your ship.”

  “As I said, I will consider the problem.”

  Irritation? Mark had the distinct impression of a switch being turned to OFF. He’d made his case. He just hoped it didn’t have the same outcome as his last time in court.

  That done, Mark hiked the axe over his shoulder and started into the woods.

  Hayden and Tony had thrown everything they could think of at the river, but the fish weren’t biting. Hayden reeled the lure to the rod tip—You actually expected to catch something at flood stage?—and along the far shore noticed the three palms. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and reseated his cap.

  “What would you say to calling it quits and seeing if we can get some more broranges?”

  Tony wasn’t thrilled about the current, but agreed to try once Hayden pointed out exactly where they’d be headed. “Looks like work paddling over,” he said, reeling in. “But they’ve got to taste better than stick-fish.”

  Hayden dropped his jaw. “Duh… You really think so?”

  Tony smiled and shooed him up the incline. “Just grab a boat. Or wait, if Charlie doesn’t mind, send his down. His is the lightest.”

  They were away and paddling not many minutes later, the Rockfinder’s normally irritating keel showing real benefit for a change by helping them ferry across the current. Vultures circled in the distance, crows dive bombed the kill site, and brightly colored birds chirped and flitted on their daily commutes across the rain-swollen river.

  “Never paddled through an aviary before,” Tony said, bracing as they swung the canoe into the current a few yards shy of the bank.

  “Reminds me of the campground near Alley Springs. Only these guys are prettier.”

  The river was already down a few inches, the bank choked with whatever the roots and overhangs had lassoed from the river. Lengths of sunken trees poked from the water, their woody fingers vibrating in the current, a goodly number trailing long strands of shredded vegetation. Thick forest rose above the bank, vines curling among the roots below like gnarly spaghetti. Most every tree at the edge leaned at some angle or another, the hangers-on the ones they most needed to watch, their crowns seining the water for anything or anyone that happened by.