by David Boyle
“Now I am serious, McClure. You need to stop already. You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Uh huh. And I’d believe you except you’re the guy who was looking for goodies to feed the nice dinosaurs.”
“They were only being—”
“Fuck with the ‘only’, okay? Tell you what. You forget it, and I’ll forget it. But I’m warning you. I am not going to let you pull that kind of stunt again. Got that?” Hayden remained silent. “Good. Then we have an understanding.”
Ron felt he might have gone some over the edge. But friendship had its limits, and like it or not, Hayden eventually had to get the point. They were dinosaurs, damn it. On top of which he and Hayden were in the same boat! Which meant that what happened to Hayden Prentler happened to him. And he was sure as hell not going to let anything, or anybody, put him in a grave before he was God damn good and ready.
Feel better?—Ron stared holes in his partner’s back, grinding his teeth and wondering if he’d done the right thing—Not really.
So where the hell were they?
When he bothered to look, Ron saw that they hadn’t gained an inch on Wheajo and Charlie, though the islands were looking bigger. They’d be out of the boat soon, and have camp set up. Have some chow. And by then maybe he could figure a way to smooth things over with Hayden.
“How about we pick up the pace?” he said, trying his best to sound upbeat. “Wheajo and Charlie are looking—”
“Sure thing, McClure. Anything you say.”
“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Ron said, minutes later, when he and Hayden cruised alongside. The islands were just ahead. Except for a splotch of sand at the point and a thin strip running all the way to the mainland, the main island, the center one, was nothing but trees.
“As have we all,” Wheajo replied, “considering how dense the vegetation is. Our task… how should I say…? may be more strenuous than I had imagined.”
“So we get a little sweaty.” Charlie shrugged. “We got axes. Heck, I’ll cut ‘em all down if that’s what it takes. The best part is… well, you tell ‘em, Wheajo, it’s you who’s gonna choose.”
“You are referring….”
“To the trees, Wheajo. The trees,” Charlie said, sounding flustered. “You know, like we were just talking about?”
“Of course.” Wheajo paused briefly, as if amused by his companion’s impatience, then turned to address the others. “The central landform contains trees that unquestionably are more substantial than on any of the outer islands. And while I cannot yet determine which, there appear to be many acceptable candidates. Once surveyed, I am confident that one or more will meet all the necessary criteria.”
Charlie was no wizard when it came to reading faces, yet even he could see that something was not right between Hayden and Ron. Not that he cared. Not now, not after what Wheajo had just said. “And you know what that means, don’t cha?” he said, a twitter in his voice. “Goin’ home is only a storm or two away! Slam, bam, thank you ma’am, and we’re outta here! I mean… can you fuckin’ believe it?”
Charlie’s excitement was infectious, and for Hayden a much-needed shot in the arm. “Stay calm. We’re not there yet. Not by a long shot.”
“I know, I know,” Charlie waffled, the canoe drumming with the tapping of his feet. “But can you…? I mean really? Here we are… and there’s Mark’s islands… and even Wheajo’s sayin’ he’s confident! Sweet Jesus, what more could we ask for?”
Staring along the island, Ron took that as a cue. “A better angle would be nice.”
“A better angle?” Wheajo asked.
“We’ve been talking the whole time like this thing is a for sure island. And don’t get me wrong, so have I.” Ron leaned out, straining, for all the good it would do. “Except that—and take a look if you don’t believe me—I can’t see an end to it. Our so called island might actually be a….” He snapped his fingers.
“Peninsula?” Wheajo offered.
“That’s it. A peninsula.”
For a moment all anyone could do was blink. If it wasn’t an island, then dinosaurs on the mainland could just….
“Okay, so let’s say it’s not,” Hayden said, breaking the silence. “It doesn’t change a thing. It can’t. We’re here and that’s that. We’ll just have to deal with it.”
“I don’t see a problem,” Charlie said. “We ain’t gonna be livin’ here, and once we’re gone, who cares about critters?”
“Perhaps,” Wheajo said, reflecting on the implications. “We must of course confirm your suspicions. If true, I may be forced to modify my criteria.”
Ron nodded. “Figured you might.” If nothing else, Wheajo knew how to deal with facts. Then too, Hayden hadn’t flinched, or Charlie. Not even a whimper, which seemed a very good sign. “So, anyone got a preference to which side?”
“North side’s the one with the shade,” Charlie offered.
“I’m in,” Hayden said, paddle at the ready.
“Wheajo?”
“Proceed at your discretion.”
“Good. And so we’re all on the same page, this is strictly a recon. We watch, we listen. And whatever you need to do Wheajo, try to do it fast, at least until we find out what this is and if anybody lives here. We need eyes on everything, including the out islands. We’re looking for tracks… signs of trails. Hell, even shit alongshore.”
“How ‘bout campsites?”
“Yeah, them too. Preferably somewhere near Wheajo’s eventual selection.”
“A wise combination. Very efficient.”
Ron managed a grin. “Best use of limited resources, right?”
“Precisely.”
The islands were strung like beads along three roughly parallel lines. Formed when the lake level rose and inundated the valley, the islands were the exposed points of a gently undulating hill extending far to the east.
They paid scant attention to the first island, other than to take note of the birds. Brush infested and often more white than green, the first and by far smallest island was home to hundreds if not thousands of birds. Charlie said it better than anyone: he hoped they knew when to sleep.
Next in line was their destination. And up close, it really didn’t look like an island, more a piece of the mainland poking into the lake. There were bushes and vines, ferns and fern trees, and pines, evergreens, and broadleaf trees too. Dead trees and branches were everywhere: on the ground and over, entire hulks dangling from the branches of other trees. Seeing in for more than a few yards was almost impossible, even now, with the noonday sun for a backdrop.
“Still think it’ll be fun?”
The trees and whatever else covered every square foot of the place to the point of banishing any thoughts of a quick in and out. Just finding a spot large enough for a campsite was going to take—Hayden gazed into the trees—nothing short of a miracle.
“Point made, McClure. I take it all back.”
The out islands were an entirely different matter. The nearest was barely eighty yards long by thirty wide, and except for the beach, overgrown with a full complement of… well, stuff. And they were all like that, the two islands on this side and the two on the other. Pretty, and that was about all.
They paddled, they looked, and most everyone got depressed. Everyone except Wheajo, who was too busy to be bothered by the mundane business of finding a place to stay. Though the attached framework hindered efficient operation, the dawzon was yet able to provide Wheajo the measurements he needed of each and every tree that met his selection criteria. He spoke but rarely, and then only as needed to direct Charlie where next to position the boat.
Charlie had never given thought to being a cabbie—Hey Mac, know where I can get a little action?—yet here he was, shuttling an alien around! Kinda strange, actually. Then too, he’d long since resolved to do whatever was needed. And if you needed to keep your meter running, this wasn’t such a bad place. He looked into the trees. Not at all.
&nbs
p; Cruising alongside the forest was a lot like touring Lake Shore Drive, with skyscrapers on the one side and the lake on the other. Except here the buildings were alive. There were oaks old enough to date back to when the lake was just a pond, sycamore wannabes, evergreens, and a whole slew of others Charlie didn’t recognize. Slice ‘em and dice ‘em, plane the sides and edges, and they’d make for one heck of a nice pile of lumber. Cords on cords of the stuff. Houses and cabinets, tables, maybe even a boat or two. In Charlie’s eyes it wasn’t so much a forest as a Trees ‘R’ Us in the rough.
“What I’d give for a chainsaw,” he sighed.
“A chainsaw?” Wheajo inquired.
“Sorry, Wheajo, I was… uh….” What, daydreaming? That would never do. Charlie cleared his throat, quietly of course, and changed subject. “Where to next?”
“Forward until I direct otherwise.”
An invisible hand reached up and wiped Charlie’s brow. Wheajo either hadn’t noticed or he was a better liar than he let on. One of the better qualities in a good paddling partner. Charlie smiled. Wheajo really was catching on.
“Gettin’ choosy, are we?”
A pause. “I prefer the term selective.”
Charlie dipped his paddle, as always careful not to let it contact the gunnel. They hadn’t seen or heard any animals on the island, and Ron and Hayden had already passed this section. Then again, you could never be too careful.
Wheajo had the dawzon assembly in his lap. Farther on, the conical form of an evergreen jutted above the surrounding trees. “Stop there,” Wheajo said, at almost the same moment noticing Ron, who motioned them ahead, the question of why vanishing barely a minute later when sunlight engulfed the Tripper.
“How the…?” Charlie scanned the forest ahead, the foliage to starboard no more or less dense than before.
“There is but one possible answer,” Wheajo offered.
“Yeah, but….”
Ron and Hayden were waiting alongside a gap in the trees, both engrossed in checking out the cove.
“…over there,” Hayden was saying, “by those palms. And we can dock the canoes… hell, right here.”
“That I like,” Charlie said, blinking in the glare of full sunlight and watching as a wide sweep of distant hills swung into view. It was like a dinosaur had come by and taken a bite out of the island.
“An intriguing change in topography,” Wheajo said, studiously examining the dip that very nearly cut the big island in two. A stand of huge broadleaf trees walled off the eastern side of the cove; the opposite blending more gradually with the forest. Huge dragonflies flitted about the horsetails ringing the cove.
“Got an almost primeval look to it,” Ron said. “Secluded too.”
“The first part I’ll give you,” said Hayden. “The second I’m thinking is more about how we got here. Paddle over from the north or south, and the break in the forest would have been obvious right off the bat.”
“We will have time later to further explore the possibilities,” Wheajo interrupted. “For now, we must continue.”
They did have half an island to explore. If it was an island.
Ron and Hayden continued ahead, paddling and staring up at the trees, which if anything, seemed even bigger than before. The water between the islands was lighter than the deep emerald out in the lake, the color lighter still past the cove, and closing on the mainland was shifting quickly toward tan, the splashes of green ever more the indication of luxuriant growth on the bottom. Lighter and so very much shallower. Still deeper than a man was tall, but it wasn’t people they were concerned about.
“How much shallower is it going to get?” Hayden wondered aloud.
“Careful. That’s like asking ‘How much harder can it rain?’” And they both knew the answer to that one.
They paddled close enough to the last island that sometimes their paddles hit bottom, craning forward, watching for any sign of a curve. Birds flitted among the trees, chirping their stupid songs, on the island—damn, they were getting close—and on the mainland as well.
Paddles dipped in unison, whispering in and out of the water.
“I think we got something,” Hayden said, hoping on hope when he saw the shoreline curve. Then his shoulders sank. “Well, it’s an island. If you want to call it that.”
The curve continued, and it wasn’t long before they saw lake on the other side, and a long sunny stretch of beach, and trees.
“Great,” Ron drawled, guessing the separation at something like forty yards. And the water…. “Hell, even I can walk across this.” They waited for the other boat, the question now answered about whether dinosaurs could reach the island.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Charlie shouted, throwing caution to the wind.
“It’s an island alright,” Ron shouted back, thinking, What the hell?
“Whoo hoo!” came the reply. “Now we’re cookin’!”
*****
“Nobody said this would be easy.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, the sheer magnitude of their task looming skyward, “but I was thinkin’ big, not impossible. That thing’s gotta be… easy, ten feet in diameter. And look how thick those branches are.”
“Alright… so?”
“It’s an oak, McClure, far as I can tell. You know, the hard stuff? Great for cookin’ an’ all… but you ever try cuttin’ that shit with an axe? And I’m talkin’ across the grain, like we’d be doin’ here. Or I should say, up there. And if that ain’t enough, think about tryin’ to whack your way through with the hatchet.” Charlie sighed, furrowing his brow. “I… I guess it’s doable. But we’re talkin’ days here guys, and maybe weeks to cut a slot through all those branches.”
Hayden swallowed, then looked to the other boat. “Wheajo, you uh… took all this into account, right?”
Any hesitation on Wheajo’s behalf was telling, and it came as no surprise when he finally answered, “I did not.”
“Wood’s wood, is that it?” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “That’s just wonderf—”
“Like how tough they are is so obvious.” Hayden didn’t like what he was hearing either, but…. “What kind of trees didn’t matter to you or me, or even Mr. Carpenter here five minutes ago.” Charlie winced. “Sorry, Bull… don’t take that the wrong way. But if we didn’t make the connection”—Hayden threw up his hands—“how could Wheajo?”
“Your sentiments are appreciated. But it was my responsibility to gather whatever relevant information was required. And in this I failed. Indeed, I had not adequately considered the difficulties imposed by the tools we possess.”
“You’re breaking my heart here, Wheajo.”
“McClure.”
“Don’t give me that, Prentler. And I’m not blaming Wheajo for the trees being oaks. Hell, nobody could know that. But this is not a trivial oversight. And yeah, maybe we….” Ron noticed Charlie, who, like some school kid, was holding up his hand. “What is it, Bull?”
“They’re really not you know. All oaks I mean.”
The boat wobbled when Wheajo slipped around on his seat. “You are familiar with the various species?”
“Not exactly. Least ways nothin’ scientific like. But I’ve spent enough time in the woods cuttin’ timber to know one from another. Like these three right here, they’re oaks. And there’s… let’s see, three, four… well, yeah, lots of the big ones down toward the mainland are oaks too. But these guys are maples. And… well, you can’t see ‘em from here, but I remember one or two on the other side that looked like ash. And there we’re talkin’ the really hard stuff.”
“Isn’t that what they make baseball bats out of?”
“The same…. Think about trying to cut that with an axe.”
“No thanks.”
“And these two… here and here… I’m guessing are beech. Oh, and the ones with that funky bark? those are sycamores. Dynamite in the Fall when the leaves are… changin’….” He trailed off when he realized everyone was staring. “Did I say
something wrong?”
“Not at all. Your familiarity is most impressive. Have you also knowledge of their hardness?”
Charlie swallowed like a school kid on hearing the teacher announce a pop quiz. “Uh… uh yeah, I guess so. But that’s for the ones I recognize. There’s trees here I never saw before.”
“We will make the necessary accommodations,” Wheajo said, reaching into his conformal pouch and withdrawing the yaltok.
He set to work updating his algorithm, symbols scrolling across the computer’s display while he entered a new series of commands. The list of previously identified candidates was retrieved as well, and with Charlie’s help he added an upper and lower limit for hardness of each type. One last entry re-sorted the information.
“Well?” Charlie asked.
Wheajo verified that the outputs correlated properly with the trees on this side of the island. “Our destination is there,” he said, directing them toward the break in the forest.
Ron squinted, an arm raised to fend off the glare. “You’re talking about the one on the far side of the cove? That big evergreen?”
“Is there a problem?”
“No… hell no,” Ron said. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking tall so much that I never gave that one any thought. I mean seeing as these things are taller.”
“True, height is important,” Wheajo conceded. “A feature that constitutes but one of the several pertinent to our task. None of which can correctly be considered in isolation. Of the trees examined, the evergreen comes closest to meeting all the necessary criteria.”
“Really Wheajo, I wasn’t trying to be difficult,” Ron said. “You’re the judge when it comes to that stuff. And I have to admit, it looks like something even I can climb. From that standpoint, it’s damn near perfect. How about it, Bull?”
