Window In Time

by David Boyle

  “Almost got it,” said Ron, chips flying as he hacked away. The limb started to sag—“Watch your head, Bennett”—and two chops later crashed alongside the canoe, the backwash spraying them both. “Finally,” Ron grumbled, flexing his fingers. Mark shoved the log over to Charlie, then steered to the next deadfall while he and Hayden hauled the limb onto the bank. They squeezed under the last tree spanning the channel, then headed for the ragged end of a trunk jutting from the water, the gap between it and the bank no wider than the last. Ron reached for the hatchet. “Last one I hope.”

  “Hold up, McClure. Let me see what I can do.” Mark worked the stern around, maneuvering through the maze of sunken limbs, then nosed toward the gap. “Watch your eyeballs…” They pushed and shoved, the Tripper tipping slightly, weathered fractures scraping the hull as they rammed past the deadfall.

  “Guess it was wide enough,” said Ron, turning on his seat. “Be easier without all that crap in the way. Good eye, Bennett.” They swung behind the deadfall, ready to help and watching as the Discovery passed, Ron then following them out, certain now that the Grumman would have no trouble negotiating the gap.

  Mark stared anxiously ahead as the sky wedged a hole in the canopy, the end of the island and the thundering cascade beyond shooting daggers into his heart. “This is not right. You know that, don’t you? I should be going with.”

  “I’m sorry, Mark. But that’s how it goes sometimes.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Life’s a bitch and then you die. I know that. But….”

  “It’s your lake.”

  “Damn straight it is! It’s my lake and it’s me who should be going back.”

  “You will. Trust me. You will… only next time.” The rumble became a throbbing roar. “There’s a good spot,” Ron offered, pointing. Mark carved into the water, stroking hard and driving the canoe faster and faster until it hissed to a stop in the sand. Ron dropped his paddle and hopped out.

  Mark sat there, the paddle across the gunnels. “Next time….”

  “You getting out?”

  Mark jumped up and splashed ashore, Hayden and Wheajo easing around the last of the deadfall. “Here’s your fucking paddle,” he said, flinging the thing at Ron, who caught it more in self-defense.

  “Will you relax already?” This was a side Ron hadn’t seen before, his friend’s eyes filled with a combination anger and fear.

  “What if one of you gets hurt!? Fuck, or killed? Or me or Tony for that matter? And what if—”

  “I was afraid this would happen, and now that it has you need to listen! You have two choices, Bennett: You can stay here and worry every fucking minute of the day; or you can settle the hell down and get on with whatever needs doing. Either way, you’re staying. That’s just how it is!”

  Mark was in a dither. “I… I know that, Ron, only—”

  “Only what?” said Ron, trying hard to contain himself. “Damn it, Mark, this is not fucking like you!”

  “I can’t help it. Just the thought of you guys leaving….”

  “Yeah well, that’s the ‘life sucks’ part. And neither you or I can do a thing about it. Really, you need to snap out of whatever this is. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  Mark deflated like a balloon, all of them staring when Charlie grounded his canoe. “I’m sorry guys.”

  “Forget sorry. We know you’re concerned. Scared too. And you know what? So am I… Hayden, how about you?”

  “Fuck yes.”

  “Bull?”

  “About goin’? No more and no less than when we got here.”

  “You’re not alone, Bennett. And you can’t count Wheajo because fear isn’t in his vocabulary.”

  Mark stood sniffing. “How is it that I can feel better when you just reamed me a new asshole?”

  Ron thumped his shoulder. “Because this wasn’t like you. It wasn’t. Let stress get a toe in the door… hell anything goes after that.”

  Mark cracked a smile. “You ever think about taking up psychology?”

  “Not a chance,” Ron said, climbing aboard the Tripper. “You know I can’t stand being around crazies.”

  “Yeah well, maybe you should.” Mark extended his hand. “Thanks, and I mean that. And watch yourself. Try not to do anything dumb.”

  Ron took his hand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Mark sloshed over to Hayden. “Good luck. And try not to get too many scratches on my boat.”

  “Me? Never.”

  “Charlie, good luck. You too, Wheajo. And see what you can do about keeping them healthy. I know they’re all butt ugly, but they’re the best friends I got, and I’m counting on you to get them back here in one piece.”

  “I will do my utmost.”

  Mark shoved the Discovery free of shore. “Thanks, Wheajo.” Ron pushed off and paddled into the current, Charlie right behind him.

  Hayden backwatered to let them pass, and with a sweep of his paddle got the canoe drifting. “See you in a few,” he said, at last driving toward the rock garden. “And don’t drink all the beer.”

  Mark watched them go, his heart in his throat. “They’ll be waiting.” The Tripper, the Grumman, and finally the Discovery splashed away through the rock garden, and with them his only hope of ever making it home alive.

  “God-speed my friends.”

  *****

  They were miles downriver and paddling at a leisurely pace, the scavengers all but forgotten. The temperature was on the upswing, the first stirrings of a breeze ruffling the water, shafts of sunlight now and then reaching the river. Based partially on Wheajo’s less than stellar handling of the rapid, Ron had turned the lead over to Charlie and taken the sweep position to keep an eye on the Discovery, Hayden and Wheajo now sandwiched safely in-between. Hoping to recoup at least some of the daylight they’d lost, Charlie had similarly offered to trade boats under the presumption that Wheajo would have an easier time paddling a canoe with a keel. Always the pragmatist, Wheajo had declined immediately, countering that the metal canoe was too noisy to paddle with the level of stealth required. So it was that Charles Van Dyke found himself leading the most important canoe trip of their lives.

  There were sections of shore that looked a lot like the Chattooga, the banks draped with trees and other crap. No truck tires or bottles, which was good. Or busted-up cars or refrigerators either. The line in the mud showed where the river had been, and more, how much it had fallen. He kept watch on the band of green above the banks, searching always for anything alive. There were dinosaurs in there, some damn near big as a house, yet here he was, out in front, muffled thumps floating across the water. He angled the boat, checking—the blood red canoes glowing in the sunshine; the Discovery hardly wagging at all. Hayden has to be happy about that—then slipped back around, neither nervous or afraid. Cautious more than anything. And who wouldn’t be?

  The river started around the latest bend, and he watched as the Tripper, then the Discovery, disappeared behind the shoreline. Alone, truly alone for the first time since they’d arrived, Charlie felt none of the stifling fear of those first moments and days, and instead an exhilaration like none other in his life.

  Not only did he have the lead, here, finally, he was also in control.

  “What’s up, Bull?” Hayden called over when he and Wheajo paddled within earshot. “We were expecting you to be way downriver by—”

  “Hold it down, will ya? Listen… we got company.” The big deadfall was a half mile ahead, vultures circling a little better than half that. They could hear the river hissing through the branches, and something else too….

  “Scavengers,” Wheajo said, staring.

  Charlie snagged the Tripper when Ron paddled alongside. “That’s gotta be where you shot the dinosaur.”

  “Yeah, that’s the place.” Ron reached and unzipped the rifle from its case, then jacked a round into the chamber. “Shows what being too focused can do. Fuck, how could we forget about him?” The river was a straight shot to the deadfall, with noth
ing whatever in the way of concealment.

  “And here I thought these guys would all be back at the island.” There was no telling how many there were. Or what kind for that matter. “There’s always tomorrow, you know.”

  Wheajo seemed ready to comment when Ron said, “We’ve been all through that, Prentler. Today or tomorrow won’t make any difference. We just need to be careful.”

  “How much farther to the stream?” Wheajo asked.

  “What do you think? Four… five miles?”

  Hayden’s eyes were on the forest. “At least that far, and maybe a little farther.”

  The sun was high and climbing. “Sufficient daylight remains that we can afford whatever caution is required. Remain still while the river carries us forward, and perhaps we can pass undetected.”

  Ron propped his rifle against the thwart. “We get to where we can see them, that’s probably our best bet. You’re loaded right?”

  “You bet,” said Charlie, patting his hip.

  Distinctly now, another round of snarls sizzled from the forest.

  “Charlie, you need to be careful not to shuffle your feet on that hull. Wheajo, make sure that paddle doesn’t touch the gunnel. Yours either, Prentler. We paddle until Charlie spots something, then rudder. Hug the reeds and maybe we can float past them like Wheajo said.”

  The snarls were getting sharper by the minute. “We sure we want to do this?”

  “Just paddle, Prentler.” Everyone was focused on the snarls. “Bull, get moving. And no talking. You guys need to say something, use your fucking hands.”

  The sun was suddenly very hot. “And what if they spot us? What then, McClure?”

  Ron dropped to his knees. “What do you think? We paddle our asses off.”

  Hayden nudged the Discovery forward. “I think we’re all nuts.”

  Thighs locked, rifle ready, Ron eased the Tripper silently into the Discovery’s wake.

  Charlie scanned the trees, snarls peppering the air as he cruised beside the reeds Mark had talked about. A group of saplings shuddered on the opposite bank, the greenery seemingly alive, the bushes, ferns, and small trees thrashing wildly amid the frenzy. A long-tailed body humped above the foliage, the area around what had to be the kill site swarming with scavengers.

  From upstream the cover topping the bank had been nearly impossible to see through. But that was when viewed at an angle. Now gaps were showing, the screen fast thinning with his changing perspective. And all at once he realized that whatever cover had lined the bank earlier had since been trampled flat!

  A window on the forest opened; and the dinosaurs swung into view….

  *****

  The carcass was more bone than meat, and they were squabbling over the scraps. Grimy heads darted in, snarling, snatching what bits of flesh remained, snapping too at the faces and arms of rival pack members who dared to cross established hierarchies.

  As was normal, the pack leaders lay panting in the shade, their bellies distended, each having had her fill. The respite would be short, however, and soon they would have to hunt again, for there were many mouths to feed. Predators all, they were not averse to taking advantage of serendipitous opportunities, as now.

  The alpha female watched with growing disinterest as the males and juveniles had their turn on the kill. Her eyes drooped in the sleepy warmth bleeding through the trees, and her head slowly nodded to the ground.

  Nearby, her mate hissed and rose suddenly to his feet.

  *****

  We might actually pull this off, Charlie thought, adding a half twist to the end of his stroke, ruddering, letting the canoe coast. The sun glinted off the water, yet he could see the dinosaurs plainly enough, tails flagging as they nipped at the bones. They weren’t very big, nine feet maybe. Brown stripes over a tan neck attached to a dark gray body. There were two littler ones that weren’t so crudded over, with spots or splotches on their sides, brown or black maybe.

  There was something else too. The trees maybe?

  He studied the maze of shifting vegetation, unsure about what had caught his attention. There were stumps here and there. Logs and dead branches. Curves near the carcass drew his attention. They looked almost like… like necks.

  Are those eyes…?

  It was all well and good to be cautious, but like everything else even caution could be overdone, and now Hayden and Wheajo were falling behind.

  The Marines had a term for situations like this, Time On Station, which in civilianese translated to ‘Go slow, do a good job—and be subject to enemy fire—or go fast, possibly miss your target, and live to try again later.’ If Ron had a rock, he’d have used it to get Hayden’s attention. TOS could be stretched only so far. A couple yards more and he’d give them a nudge.

  Ron took a stroke, and was reaching to take the next when he noticed that the squabbling had stopped. A knot tightened in his stomach. Something was suddenly very wrong.

  Trees swished in the forest as if in the grip of a whirlwind; Charlie shouted: “They’re coming!”

  Ron caught a glimpse of a head, then hauled back on his paddle, the noise be damned, leaves crunching under the wave of running feet as snarls rose in a chorus of many voices. “Hit it, Prentler! Go, go!”

  Four dinosaurs raced into view, each far larger than any they’d seen on the carcass. One charged straight away, leaping from the bank, its companions weaving through cover and trotting ahead. Talons spread, arms extended, the first of the pack splashed down and started for the Discovery. Hayden dug in, yelling at Wheajo as long-tailed bombs hit the water.

  Dinosaurs trotted along the bank, individuals watching, snarling, others joining the fray until the river was alive with half-feathered dinosaurs. The Ruger boomed, bloodied water bursting in a column. Dinosaurs speared from the trees ahead, crashing down. Three reports sounded, one after another.

  Incredibly fast swimmers, three of the long necked predators closed on the Discovery. Twin paddles slashed at the water, two animals veering to intercept the oncoming Tripper. Ron drove forward, thumps banging along the hull when he ran the thing over, two additional twelve-footers hitting the water.

  Downstream, Charlie swung his canoe around, his arm out a second later. Pow! Pow…!

  Snarls and shrieks filled the air as a fifteen-footer trotted along a deadfall and leaped into the river, Hayden and Wheajo slashing at heads. “McClure! Do something…! Shoot for God’s sakes! Shoot!”

  Ron threw down his paddle… the rifle up a second later—Kablam!—brains and an eye splattering Hayden’s shirt, the cartridge barely in the water when the rifle barked again. Blood trailed from a hole in the thing’s back. Hayden and Wheajo jabbed at the water… Kablam!

  The Tripper thumped. Claws snagged the gunnel, Ron going quickly to his knees when the canoe started wobbling. He jerked back, jaws snapping mere inches from his chest, water pouring in, “You son-of-a-bitch!” and butted the face with the rifle. Teeth went flying, but the predator wasn’t stopping, the dinosaur struggling to get at him when he got the rifle flipped around. The rifle steadied… Kablam! Bloody bits sprayed across the water, the dinosaur’s release, along with the kickback, rolling the canoe, a wide-eyed Ron sent flailing into the river.

  Hayden flinched at the shot, the water soon matching the color of the canoe as a near-headless dinosaur flopped beside the boat. Pack members snarled alongshore, popping their jaws; another made a run at Charlie’s boat. Pow!

  “Watch them Wheajo!” Hayden shouted, stroking to stop the Discovery’s drift. Ron popped to the surface, coughing, slapping the water, the rifle clenched in his fist. The big one was coming, its head above the water, closing. “Forget the rifle! Get over here!”

  Ron kept kicking, struggling toward the Tripper. He caught the gunnel and dropped the rifle in, water pouring along the gunnel when he applied his weight.

  “It’s too late for that McClure! Swim this way! Hurry!”

  More shrieks downriver. Pow!

  Ron pushed off and started
swimming.

  “Hurry Ron!” Hayden turned when he felt the boat shaking. “What are you doing?!”

  “Turn the vessel,” the alien said calmly, working to untie some ropes.

  “But we have to—”

  “Do as I say!”

  The lizard-head popped to the surface, the abandoned Tripper drifting behind it. Marbled eyes glinted in the sunlight. Pupils refocused. Powerful legs drove the dinosaur humping toward its prey.

  “Faster McClure!” Hayden shouted, thrusting. “Swim faster! And don’t look back.” Arms wheeling, Ron thrashed ahead. Behind him and gaining, the snake-head lunged. Jaws snapped just feet from his heels.

  Hayden gasped when he saw Wheajo swing the dual-shafted assembly. The dinosaur cut a V across the water. “Get out of the way, McClure! Dive!”

  Wheajo leveled the dawzon assembly. “Do so now!”

  Ron snatched a breath and vanished in a flurry of bubbles.

  The scavenger lashed its tail and followed….

  His last shot had blown the thing’s face away, the dinosaur quivering beside the boat when a flash engulfed the Discovery; Charlie able to glimpse the river shooting skyward an instant before the blast knocked him back on his seat. The column rose and collapsed, the Tripper hammering down like a tomahawk, it and the Discovery wobbling in the backwash of the explosion as water and fleshy bits rained down. Then big floppy chunks—a scaly leg, an arm, pieces of a shattered rib cage… part of a tail—each smacking as if onto a butcher’s block, every gruesome hunk splashing in its own crater of blood.

  Waves spread from the explosion in expanding rings….

  Charlie reached with his paddle as the first wave lifted his canoe, adjusting pitch as wave after wave jostled his boat. Got that one, eh, Wheajo…?

  The sound of the explosion reverberated along the river while dinosaurs clawed their way up the banks. From forty yards away Charlie could see Hayden doubled over and holding his ears, the big Discovery yet gyrating in the unsettled water when Wheajo got to his feet and tumbled overboard.