by David Boyle
The reeds had gotten thicker and more numerous from when they’d first appeared. The river had slowed markedly once he’d carried past the curve below Boulder Rapid, and maybe that’s what they needed. He studied the reeds more carefully, and in places couldn’t see the bank.
Couldn’t see….
He rapped the gunnel, then scooched up an inch.
The banks plunged straight into the water, the lack of any easing an indication that the river had likely risen more here than by the island. There were precious few indicators, but something over two feet seemed reasonable.
Deep enough? he mused, twirling a strand of his beard.
He’d know for sure once he got closer, but even from a distance the leaves on the deadfall looked no more or less limp than those on the trees nearby. Had it broken? Possibly. But more likely the tree had been uprooted by a storm, either the one last night, or another very recently. The reeds wouldn’t offer total concealment. But they were his best chance yet.
And maybe his last.
He’d never run the numbers, but a flooded 15-foot canoe had to weigh at least a ton, and to turn the thing with any rapidity meant sitting up at the very least. And once he showed himself, his shadow was going to be very unhappy, and if the deadfall didn’t extend far enough into the forest, that unhappiness could ruin an already disastrous day. He’d often thought how laughable it was that the good guy was always ready to spit in the eye of his adversary. And here he was, about to do the same stupid thing. You must be out of your mind.
The currents weren’t all that swirly, and the canoe would likely clear the big tree’s outer branches even if he did nothing. The bank stretched away, rooted and muddy, the patchy reed bed extending into the distance; the dinosaur, as always, patrolling the forest; the deadfall coming fast.
If you’re gonna do this, do it. And do it now…!
Mark babied the canoe around, and once he had it pointed in the right direction dragged himself out from under the thwart, a snarl blaring from the forest when he sat up and powered forward. The canoe wobbled with every stroke of his paddle, Mark switching sides and fighting to stay balanced while at the same time struggling to accelerate a ton of aluminum and water, his heart thumping in his chest while the snarls and crashing grew ever louder.
Piss her off, check.
Mark was fast closing on the deadfall, his boost in speed adding to that of the current. And just as importantly, so was she. Good girl! Just stay on track, okay…?
Whether she stopped or kept coming was a matter of focus. Either way, Mark was committed.
Twenty yards and closing, he picked his point of entry and hauled back on his paddle. Bubbles swirled around the shaft, and the canoe started turning… the water inside surging along the gunnel. “Shit!” He reached forward, timber across the river snapping loud as gunshots as he worked frantically to maintain his balance, leaves that had recently brushed the sky bubbling in the current a few short yards ahead.
Another snarl sounded, long and drawn out, and Mark shifted onto his knees as the predator stormed the deadfall, the whole of the toppled giant rustling as she snapped and clawed at the springy limbs. “Gotcha!” he crowed, carving figure eights in the water while guiding the bow past the big tree’s outer branches.
The thrashing stopped, the snarls that had pummeled his back replaced by the crash of footfalls moving away. There weren’t any numbers on the clock in his head, but he knew he had to be settled before the second hand clicked to zero.
The Rockfinder burrowed into the reeds, an incessant screech building as tens, then hundreds of fingers scratched along the hull. The canoe carried forward, its momentum fast bleeding away as it barged through the reed bed, Mark’s efforts to paddle the thing forward soon more a hindrance than help. Splashes roiled the water as the canoe screeched to a stop, the softly pulsating gurgle nearby mingling with the crunch of distant footfalls.
If only that would last….
Mark ditched his paddle, and, careful not to upset the boat, slipped his legs overboard and followed them out. He grabbed hold and high-stepped his flooded barge ever deeper into the reeds. A muted rustle ticked seconds off the clock. Two quick steps and a tug to get the canoe pointed right, and Mark sent his only means of transportation screeching softly away to an uncertain future.
A hump appeared on the surface as something streaked away from the already slowing boat, Mark staring wide-eyed when a loud snap across the river ended his momentary fixation.
He charged away, the canoe now a liability, muck splashing his chest as he struggled against the current, his attention split between the way forward and the opposite bank. He clawed at the reeds, stumbling. A few yards more… that’s all he needed.
A distant bit of vegetation shimmied, the footfalls signaling that the last grains in his clock were falling.
Mark hurried to the meanest patch of reeds within reach and slumped chin-deep into the water, the shafts nipping at his hands and arms as he gathered what bundles he could reach around him. He was picking at the strands and jiggling them into more natural looking positions when crunches across the river caught his attention. The river gurgled through the deadfall, a fast moving band of trees approaching when a nearby patch of reeds started rattling.
A swirl broke the surface five short yards to his right. Then another behind him…. Shit, they’re everywhere!
Saplings slammed to the ground. The last grain drained from his clock.
His work was finished, his journey yet far from complete, the fears he’d so long suppressed verging on panic with the blood-curdling realization that a dinosaur had control of his destiny. Move, damn it! Stay where you are and you’re a dead man! But the beast from hell was almost upon him, and the time for second guessing had passed.
The predator crashed from the trees, eyes blazing, clumps shotgunning the water as the huntress charged full speed off the bank. She splashed down, all talons and teeth, two fish arcing away as the river exploded around her, the head fast around, snapping.
She lunged forward and slashed at a swirl, the eyes shifting quickly to the reeds.
A leg probed forward, feeling the bottom, Mark’s last hope for salvation disintegrating when he saw that the river wasn’t deep enough to stop her. The head shifted, searching. Another step, more confident this time, the steely gaze sweeping the reeds when a splash sounded downriver. She turned staring, the body tilting slowly past horizontal, arms tucked, tail wagging as she picked apart the reeds.
You should never have stopped. Never. However many miles you’d have had….
Another splash, this one only yards to his right, the long tail shearing across the water when she snarled around and charged, gray water bursting in pulses from her chest and arms. The river rose to mid-thigh, then gradually higher until it sloshed across her back… but only for a moment. The dinosaur lurched forward, a growl gurgling in her throat as she lumbered in a rage toward shore. Long strides carried her swiftly through the shallows, the dinosaur exploding a moment later onto the reedy flats.
Mark held his breath, muck splattering as she charged past him to the very spot where the fish had surfaced; streaks racing across the surface when she snapped. The head came up, the jaws working, blood and muck spilling through her teeth when she tossed her head back and swallowed. She glared at the water, flicking her tail, then continued her march across the shallows, claws slashing, jaws snapping at the slightest of movements.
Cowering in the reeds while the last seconds of his life ticked away, Mark watched with terror-filled eyes as she filled his entire world—the narrow head, the fangs… the bloodied claws and hugely powerful legs… her overwhelming enormity—and his stomach twisted into a knot, a sticky fire rising in his throat when he caught the stench wafting across the water.
A lunging step forward and she snapped again, sniffing. She clawed the water and snorted upright, her tail lashing the reeds above his head, the air stilling when finally she started away. His stomach tightened,
and this time he couldn’t stop, vomit spurting between his fingers while the predator stormed across the once idyllic flats.
Shapes whispered overhead, the pterosaurs’ passage made nearly inaudible by the splashing fury of the dinosaur’s rampage.
Bong…!
The predator whirled around, staring. The sound was only half metallic, the hammer likely the head of one of the scores of fish scurrying about the reeds. Mark splashed his beard, rinsing. She hadn’t stopped, thank God. But then, why would she? Even turtle shells weren’t as hard as metal.
The bitch was down again, veils of shredded vegetation flying, the tail flagging as she railed to drag whatever had so focused her power and frustration. She jerked back, snarling. Another tug and she slumped onto her heels, the long putrefying remains of a huge leg dangling from her jaws.
The snout dropped, and the bony limb splattered down.
She stared downriver, Mark slouching once again when she came around and glared about the tattered reed bed, her chest heaving like a bellows.
A minute passed. Two….
*****
The water trail gurgled through the deadfall; sky flyers soared on distant wings.
The long greens shimmied at the edge of the trail, red pooling in the water beside the finned one splashing nearby. Little remained of the greens, or of the finned ones present earlier. They were gone, as was the upright without a tail. She knew not how, but the changeling had escaped.
Infinitely patient, the tigress knew better than to pursue a lost cause. She blew a gruff snort, then turned and slogged across the river, pausing near shore for a lingering look at the shattered greens before scrambling up the bank, clumps of dirt and embedded pebbles tumbling into the river.
She paused atop the bank, glanced back, then padded along the deadfall toward the trail. A branch scraped the wound on her thigh, and she twisted around, snapping….
Visions appeared of the long growling, and of uprights without tails in the forest.
A gurgle rumbled in her throat.
Slowly at first, then faster, she strode through the forest toward the trail. Her elusive prey had shown itself by the long growling. She knew not how many, yet remembered well there were more.
20
Most every deer hunter he’d ever met lived by the adage that you needed to wait at least an hour before starting on the trail of a wounded animal. Which made sense for animals that likely weren’t going to die right away, and not so much for the ones that went down in the first minute. How any of that worked in reverse he wasn’t sure, but now that his heart rate was back to normal, Mark was ready to get the hell out of Dodge no matter how much time had elapsed.
Head-to-toe filthy, Mark got to his knees and carefully scrutinized every inch of his surroundings. There was a big chunk of forest that he couldn’t see on account of the deadfall, though what he could looked quiet enough. The dinosaur had done a serious number on the reed bed, but already he could see splashes on the surface, the escapees gradually returning. However unlikely it was that the dinosaur would settle along the river, she’d displayed enough cunning that he wouldn’t put it past her. The idea of spending the night downstream was a scary proposition, yet when balanced against the prospect of encountering his toothy shadow, making the decision was easy.
A good many hours of daylight remained, enough, he hoped, to find a place for the night. He sloshed across the tattered reed bed, stumbling once and feeling his way thereafter to avoid the craters, and dragged the canoe into the open where he could unload it. The branch went one way and the broranges another, then Charlie’s compound and arrows, all of which were sorely in need of cleaning. He tipped the canoe on its side, let it drain, then lifted the Rockfinder clear of the water and emptied it completely.
Life vest, check; fanny pack: check. Paddles: check. Damn, both of them. Now that’s amazing.
Canoe loaded, paddle in hand, Mark gazed with no small amount of trepidation downstream. “So, is your bad day finally over?” Mark corralled two of the broranges, then climbed aboard and started paddling. The boat’s response was amazing, if not unexpected, the unburdened canoe hissing lightly across the reeds. He cleared the flats—“Good riddance, bitch”—and stroking to catch the fastest current, headed south.
*****
“See anything?” Tony shouted above the roar, flicking away the last cigarette in his pack.
They’d tried almost everything, and unless they found a way to get Charlie moving on his own, they’d be forced to try manhandling him into the canoe. A risky proposition considering the guy’s potentially explosive state of mind, Hayden had climbed to the top of the bank with hopes that an elevated perspective would trigger an idea.
“Nothing that’ll help.” There were scuffs in the soil above where Tony was standing, and more leading back across the meadow to the forest. Hayden had never tracked an animal in his life, and the fact that even he could make out footprints was a clear indication of how big the predator was. And while the tracks were impressive, Hayden found it impossible not to be caught up in the grandeur of the rapids, the river shimmering in the sunshine before thundering over the rocks, the air throbbing to the beat of the rapids, mist billowing below the drop while a sea of white rushed swirling away. Tony was there too, waiting impatiently and not at all interested in admiring the scenery.
Hayden went to a knee, the soil at the lip crumbling when he touched it. “See this break?” he said, tracing the impression with his fingers. “It’s from her middle toe. Who knows what would have happened, but a half step further and she’d have gone down on her face.”
“My God, is that what that is? Part of a footprint?” Tony was way beyond having second thoughts about standing at ground zero, and seeing where the bomb had gone off wasn’t helping. “Charlie, please. We have to get out of here.” His knuckles weren’t quite the white they’d been earlier, and his breathing had slowed, Charlie still with his body pressed firmly against the bank. There were dark areas where water had splashed the bank, and holes where rocks had apparently been jarred loose. “Can you imagine?” Tony said, gazing along the path the dinosaur had to have taken after leaping from the bank.
The rapids were too loud for Hayden to have noticed even if he’d been listening, and after stepping off the distance between footprints, he was pondering how to translate seven and a half paces into feet when the details captured in the closer imprint caught his attention. There were ridges in the still damp soil that could only be joints. And there… tiny patterns imaging the bottom of the animal’s foot in 3-D. The fidelity was amazing, the puncture marks made by the talons showing a few inches past the end of each toe, the three separate and distinct, two smooth and the third ragged on one edge, as if it was split.
Hayden chanced a look across the river, Ron at once waving his rifle; the “Hurry the hell up!” coming across loud and clear. He waved back to let him know he got the message. There were dark clouds on the horizon. Rain possibly, and if so, Hayden hoped it would hold off.
Ron was pacing again, and something….
Hayden looked to the landing. “Heck yeah. That should work.”
Tony followed him alongshore to the break, his fingers crossed when Hayden skidded down the bank. “Tell me you’ve got something,” he pleaded.
“That dinosaur from this morning?”
Tony frowned. “What about him?”
Hayden filled him in on their way back to Charlie, Tony fast warming to the idea and wondering how to start when a growl upriver scrambled his concentration. They stopped beside him, Tony waiting a moment before faking a stare at the island. “Look, Hayden! There’s that little dinosaur!” his stilted cadence carrying the impact of a line from Dick and Jane. Not that Charlie noticed.
Hayden rolled his eyes. “You’re right,” he sighed, sidling close and patting Charlie’s shoulder. “You must have made quite an impression, Charlie. You remember, right? That pretty dinosaur from this morning?” The eyes flickered. “How about
you come back with us so you can feed him?”
The lights were coming on, the tension in Charlie’s body visibly easing.
“Good idea,” Tony said, forcibly trying to sound upbeat. “Mike has to be hungry by now. I know I am.”
“Mike’s back?” Fingers loosened their grip, painfully sore eyes peering at the island. “Are you sure?”
“We know what Mike looks like,” Hayden offered lightly. “Let’s you and me and Tony get in the canoe so you can go look for him.”
Charlie stiffened at the word ‘canoe’, but Tony was ready. “We’ll even let you be the passenger. That way you can concentrate on looking for Mike on the way back.” Cajoled by constant chatter and Hayden’s encouraging arm, Charlie stumbled alongshore until he noticed the Discovery.
“Check it out…!” Hayden said, extending an arm. “There he is again!”
Charlie squinted off. “I don’t see ‘im.”
“That’s too bad,” Tony said with a very sad face. “Be a shame if Mike left before we got back. You know how hungry he can get.” Charlie nodded. “But if you’re not there to feed him…”
“He could get lost again, huh?” Now it was Tony nodding. “You’re right. We gotta hurry!”
Hayden soon had the Discovery floating, and only seconds after Charlie and Tony climbed in shoved it into the current and hopped in. “Hit it, Tony. Go!” he shouted, digging to get the canoe moving.
Paddles stroked the blood red 17 foot canoe across the river, neither driver caring a whit that every inch of the way home was against the current.
Charlie stretched up. “I still don’t see him.”
“He’s there,” Hayden said, pumping. “You just need to keep looking is all.”
Ron was there waiting, his stroll through the woods having done nothing to improve his mood. “What the hell took you so long?”
Tony slumped across his paddle, relieved and mentally exhausted; Charlie up and out the moment they grounded. The canoe jerked nearly onto its side, Hayden quick with a brace to cushion the recoil. “The fuck…!”
