by David Boyle
“God damn it….” Charlie ejected the spent cartridges, they, like the rest, rattling along the bilge as he reloaded yet again. A dinosaur with a shattered arm clawed up and over the bank. “Go messin’ with us huh? That’ll fuckin’ teach ya.” He flipped the cylinder closed, holstered the handgun, then took up his paddle and got moving. Hayden was in a panic, searching, the deadfall slipping ever closer.
“Not a great place to go fallin’ outta the boat, Wheajo….”
Hayden turned into the current, bits of flesh twirling in the bloodied water beneath the boat. Near shore a dinosaur was struggling to drag itself from the river. He snapped around when a fin broke the surface, the clock in his head ticking off the ever lengthening seconds when a dark mass swirled to the surface. He watched until he realized it had scales.
“That was one hell of an explosion, wasn’t it?”
Hayden glanced. “Get over here, Bull! Ron’s down!”
“Down?” Charlie upped his pace. “Down where?” The Tripper was drifting on the current. “You sayin’ he’s not in his boat?”
“Fuck no. He’s under here somewhere. Wheajo dove in to find him.”
“Shit! And here I’m thinkin’ he fell in!” Charlie yelped, his heart rate back to racing.
“They’ve been under a really long time.” Hayden’s face was ashen, his white-knuckled fists wrapped around his paddle when Charlie spotted a swirl.
“Prentler… over there!” Ron’s head slopped to the surface, then Wheajo, gasping for breath.
“Is he breathing?” Hayden shouted, stroking the Discovery around.
Ron was nearly twice his weight, and Wheajo was struggling simply to keep him on the surface. Wheajo wrestled Ron onto his side, then wrapped an arm and pulled. Water spurted from Ron’s mouth, and he coughed. The canoes converged, Hayden catching Ron’s arm the moment he was within reach. Wheajo clenched his chest again while Charlie drove the canoes toward the reedy flats.
“Breathe, McClure! Breathe…!” Charlie shouted, seeing first hand that people really did turn blue. Ron sputtered and coughed. “That’s it, man. Take it in.”
Hayden held firm as Ron coughed beside the boat in gut wrenching spasms. Freed of his burden, Wheajo grabbed Ron’s chin, staring as the human drew in a long wheezy breath. Ron was shifting from blue to marbled purple. His eyes fluttered open.
“W… well?” Ron sputtered. “Did… didja get ‘im?”
Wheajo nodded. “The creature is no more.”
The pallor was gone from Ron’s face, he and Wheajo back to breathing normally, Hayden standing ready as Charlie approached. “Any trouble catching it?”
“Gettin’ the damn thing stopped was a pain,” Charlie said, digging deep to make headway against the current, the mostly swamped Tripper in tow. “I was worried about it gettin’ caught in that strainer.” He angled the boat and flipped Hayden the painter. “Got it?”
“Yeah. Go ahead and untie her.”
“How’s McClure doin’?”
“I’m right here,” Ron croaked, weak and still a tad groggy. “And once the prick in my head quits with the pounding, I should be okay.”
Hayden lined the Tripper to shore.
“Hope you remembered your cleaning kit. Barrel was jammed in the Styrofoam in back. However far it got down the barrel, I wouldn’t go firin’ the thing until you run a rod through it.”
Ron shook his head, blinking, still trying to see straight. “It’s in there. By the tent maybe? Wherever the fuck, I’ll get to it eventually.”
Charlie drove his canoe into the reeds. “That blaster of yours is somethin’ else, Wheajo,” he said, stepping out. “You shoulda seen it, McClure. Water had to shoot like thirty feet outta the river! Blew that bastard… I mean like all to hell.”
“Unfortunately, the controls were encumbered and I was unable to reduce the power setting. Output was, shall I say, more than adequate.”
“No shit. If that thing had gotten any closer, you and me, we’d have been swimming too.”
Ron wobbled onto his feet. “I’m just glad you got him and not me.
“And as much as I’d like to rest, we’ve still got a ways to go.” Ron ruffled Wheajo’s uniquely alien hair as a father might his son. “Wheajo, what can I say? Thanks. Again I might add. That’s two I owe you.”
Wheajo considered the towering human. “Your gratitude is noted,” he said, as if filing the comment for future reference. “As is your assessment of our situation, for we must precede. You are well to travel?”
“Enough,” Ron said, rolling his eyes, blinking. “Though maybe we should buckle the canoes together for the next couple of miles. Give me a chance to get my head on straight and clean my rifle at the same time.”
“Believe only a part of that, Wheajo. McClure hasn’t had his head on straight since I met him.”
*****
“…the second one comes splashin’ toward the boat, all snarly like and starin’ me in the eyes. Me, I’m starin’ back, and I crank back the hammer… Bam! The fucker’s head explodes, and he starts floppin’ in the water…. And his buddy—like seein’ his friend’s head explode happens every day—just keeps on comin’. But I can’t see ‘im too good, you know? Cause I got this shit on my face? And I turn….”
Charlie was into his third go-round; Hayden and Ron nodding as if they were actually listening; Wheajo scanning the trees with the dawzon. The birds were everywhere now, and just minutes ago five big pterosaurs had sailed past. Even better, they finally had a lock on the gravel bar.
“Charlie, give it a rest, okay?” Hayden reached to undo the bungee cords. “You sure you’re alright?”
“Prentler, you ask me that again and I’m going to smack you with this paddle. I was okay half an hour ago, and I’m okay now. You got that?” Ron pushed away from the Discovery. “Wheajo, if I’m out of reach… and he asks me again… you smack him for me okay?”
“I will do as you ask,” Wheajo said, deadpan serious.
Charlie stood to get a better view. “So this is the place, huh?” Breaks in the trees revealed open woodland away from shore, though he could see no sign of a creek bed. “I thought it’d be bigger.”
“Well it’s not,” Ron said, wishing he had some aspirin. “Just keep your eyes peeled. I’ll go in; you cover me. Hayden, Wheajo, hang back while we check it out.”
They drifted with the current, paddling only to correct course, eyes focused, ears on alert. Wheajo adjusted the laser’s sight, and after scanning the forest motioned Ron ahead.
Ron slowed the Tripper, nudging it sideways, and stepped out before the hull made contact with the rocks. Canoe secure, he quick-stepped up the cobbles spilling from the bank and disappeared into the forest.
27
Ron and Charlie were back in a matter of minutes, Ron pronouncing the forest clear as they scrambled down the cobbles. “Now for the fun part.”
“For you maybe,” Hayden said, eyeing what he could of the hillside. “You with that rifle and us with the boats.”
“You’re doing it again, Prentler. I told you I was okay.” Ron laid the rifle in its case and set to unclipping the dry bags. “You need me to spell you, I can do that.” The gear they’d brought was soon piled atop the bank, prompting Charlie to ask which boat they’d be leaving. “I’m not sure what the flyers say, but I’ll lay you odds the Discovery is heavier than mine.”
“Especially with all the Styrofoam Bennett has in here.” Hayden glanced from boat to boat. “Once you get the antenna out, Charlie, how about you paddle over and tie up? I’ll come get you as soon as we get yours out of sight.”
Charlie and Wheajo were already loosening knots. “We’re not gonna need the spares, are we? I mean, why bother bringin’ extra paddles on a lake?”
Ron nodded when Hayden looked over. “I suppose. Just make sure they can’t go anywhere.”
Charlie gave the ropes to Wheajo, and after paddling the Discovery to the opposite bank, located roots within reach of the river an
d inaccessible from above. The forward painter went around the root and through the loop at the bow, then back again, Charlie then hoisting the Discovery partially clear of the river and tying off. The paddles were stowed and secured with bungee cords, the aft painter lastly used to similarly raise and secure the stern.
Hayden was there waiting by the time he finished. “Even if somebody decided to get nosey, I doubt they’ll be able to screw with it here.”
Charlie climbed aboard the Tripper. “Let’s hope not. Far as we are from the island, I can see why Mark freaked out when he saw my boat.”
Hayden pushed off and started paddling. “Yeah, had to be scary alright.”
They’d hidden the Grumman in a nearby thicket, along with two dry bags. Wheajo was too short to help carry the canoes, and instead had assumed responsibility for the heavily loaded backpack.
“Except for that uniform,” Ron said, appraising the alien, “you look like a coolie in an old time western. They were little shits too, and always with these ginormous packs, the rail bosses beating up on the Chinamen whenever they got the chance.” Wheajo stared back. “Guess you had to be there to see it.”
“Indeed… Are you prepared to proceed?”
Hayden and Charlie were approaching shore. “You guys okay with the Tripper? We were going to take off and go find that trail.”
“Yeah, go ahead. Just don’t forget about us. We’re gonna need you somewhere along the way.”
Ron laid the rifle over his shoulder. “We’ll be watching,” he said, and started up the cobbles. “Holler if you need me.” He grabbed one of the dry bags on his way into the forest, his overburdened companion at his side. “It gets real from this point forward, Wheajo, so keep those eyes of yours peeled.”
The paddles were in, and after some finagling so was the antenna. “You sure you want to do this solo?” Hayden asked, checking the knots to ensure everything would stay put.
“It’s not that heavy. And if it gets too steep, I’ll let you know.”
“I’m not complaining, Bull. Just don’t expect me to carry it like that.” Hayden stepped around and took hold of the bow; Charlie the gunnels amidships. “On two. One, two…!” They lifted together and rolled the Tripper onto Charlie’s shoulders.
He shifted the carry yoke. “Yeah, ain’t too bad,” he said, feeling the balance. “Lead on, Mc Duff. And try to stay close enough to where I can see your feet.”
Axe in hand, Hayden started along the creek. “Will do. And be careful on these rocks.”
Hayden was out front and clearing the worst of the debris when Ron came hustling along the cobbles.
“Whatever Prentler’s paying you, I’ll double it.”
“Funny, McClure,” said Charlie, his voice echoing from under the canoe as he marched steadily along. “How much further?”
“A hundred yards maybe. And who knows after that?”
Charlie stopped, then eased the Tripper back onto its stern. “What I’m hearin’ is, not close.”
“To the lake you mean? Hell no.” Ron could see how much he was sweating. “I gather you’re ready for a break.”
“If you’re offerin’….”
Ron put down the rifle. “Hayden, you want front or back?”
“I don’t know. Which end is lighter?”
Ron took the bow, Hayden the stern, Charlie then hurrying off with the rifle in search of Wheajo. Mark’s path broke from the creek bed not far ahead, the climb thereafter almost directly uphill through the trees. Carrying without a yoke was murder on the arms, and both Ron and Hayden were looking to rid themselves of the Tripper long before they reached the dinosaur highway.
Wheajo was there, talking to the yaltok; Charlie marveling at the trampled thoroughfare. “Hurry up McClure! You’re not gonna believe this one.”
For Ron and Charlie the trail was a hands-on record of the numbers and types of dinosaurs who used it, possibly on a daily basis. For Wheajo it was but the latest physical manifestation of the communal interactions between megafauna and their impact on the local riverine environment. For Hayden the trail was nothing less than a high speed rapid transit system… with them at the hub.
“I hate being a party pooper, but lollygagging in the middle of a bull’s-eye doesn’t strike me as a good idea. How about we get moving?”
“Bull’s-eye?” Wheajo asked.
Heads were turning, Ron and Charlie staring along the trackway. “Is kinda like that, ain’t it?”
“No shit.” Ron reached for the backpack. “Wheajo, time to move,” he said, holding the thing while Wheajo got situated. “I don’t know how much easier it'd be, but if we can find a path wide enough, maybe you guys can drag that thing instead of having to carry it.” He slung the rifle, got the axe from Hayden…
“You guys do get carried away.”
…and, glancing uphill, hurried off, Wheajo following with the spears.
“Check it out,” Charlie said, catching glimpses when he tipped the canoe. “You can see the river from here.”
“Yeah great,” Hayden said, waving back when Ron motioned into the forest. “Whatever is so special about this turnoff, on our way back we should just keep going. I’ll take shorter as opposed to worrying about picking up that creek bed.”
“Place make you nervous?”
“We’ve been lucky, Bull, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
They stopped at the scuff marks, a line of broken branches leading uphill. The back end of the Tripper thunked down. “I think I’m done carrying by my lonesome.”
Hayden sighed. “So which end do you want?”
“I’ll take front. I don’t trust you can see so good with your feet.”
Charlie and Hayden were taking a breather not all that many minutes later, Hayden nursing a welt on his arm beside the Tripper when Ron and Wheajo trotted downhill. “Tell me there’s really a lake at the top of this hill.”
“You’d never know by looking,” Ron said, scanning the forest. “But yeah, it’s up there.”
“I can carry whatever items you wish to untie,” Wheajo said, burdened now with but the hatchet and a spear.
“Thanks, but they don’t amount to nothin’. Least ways not enough to waste time takin’ ‘em outta the boat. Prentler, get out of the way so we can get moving.”
“I suppose that means you want me to take over.”
“Ain’t gonna be too heavy for ya is it, McClure?”
Ron passed Hayden the rifle. “And this button? That’s the safety.”
“Got it.”
“Make sure you do. All this brushy crap…? You’d be surprised how often it can get shifted to ‘fire’. So keep your eye on it, not your finger.”
Hayden helped them up with the Tripper. “We’re good here, Wheajo. And Prentler, remember to watch behind as well as forward.”
Wheajo hacked at the cover he and Ron had missed earlier while they pressed through the increasingly gnarly underbrush. The minutes blended one into the next, the yards stretching into what felt like miles. Pines, cycads, and saguaro-like tree ferns became more commonplace, the men too near exhaustion to appreciate the change in vegetation.
Hayden followed Wheajo over a log, and ahead spied patches of blue sky through the trees. “Watch your step guys… And in case you’re interested, I can see daylight at the top of the rise.”
“Finally,” Charlie sighed, marching in lock step with Ron, ferns and trees slipping past the hull. “How much farther?”
“Oh… not far.”
Thirty yards more and Ron called for a breather, the canoe almost slipping from his grip when he and Charlie dumped it into the bushes, the two groaning in unison when they saw how far it was to the summit. “If Bennett were here I’d plant one in his ass,” Charlie grumbled, staring at the maze of deadfalls and brush that lay ahead. “This is way farther than he said it was.”
Ron sat panting on the bow of the Tripper, the pieces of sky showing along the ridge dishearteningly distant. “Remember the portage for
the take out on Section II of the Chattooga?” he said, sweat trickling down the sides of his face. “We’re not even done yet and I hate this one even more.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but it’d be a lot worse if we had company.” Hayden looked to Wheajo. “Any thoughts about how to get around doing this more than once?”
Even Wheajo was stymied. “Not at present.” The climb was a far more strenuous activity than anticipated, and while they appeared to be in no immediate danger, to repeat the portage, perhaps often, was clearly to invite disaster. “I shall endeavor to postulate an alternative,” he added after a moment’s consideration.
Hayden took a swig from the bota, then tossed it to Ron. “I know you’ll think of something.”
With their goal in sight and no animals in the near vicinity, Hayden gave the rifle to Wheajo and joined Ron and Charlie on the boat, the three carrying the Tripper like a casket for the push to the top. Muted honks sounded from afar, the calls growing clearer and more distinct with every passing yard. They were awed by the grove of mammoth trees populating the ridge, and as was Mark's experience, were reinvigorated by the cool, lake-scented air.
They slid the Tripper beside an old deadfall and piled in what gear they’d been carrying, each in turn then trotting through the cycads, heads swiveling in wonder. “Okay guys, this is far enough,” Ron said, stopping beneath the nearest of the Kings. It was hard to know which way to look.
“Wow…!” Charlie cooed.
The lake glistened like an emerald, clouds and distant hills shimmering on the surface. Confined for days to the island, and for brief spans the river, they found the uninterrupted expanse nothing short of breathtaking. Dinosaurs browsed in wondrous profusion along the shores; birds and pointy-winged pterosaurs plied the skies.
