Window In Time

by David Boyle

  Ron grabbed his arm. “That’s far enough, Bennett.”

  Mark shook his head. “You say something?”

  “I know you get off on all this techno-babble, but take another stitch and you won’t have enough left for a knot.”

  Mark saw that the threads were pretty short. “Oh, right.”

  Eight sets of stitches ran almost the length of Charlie’s thigh. Hayden handed a clean rag to Ron, who waited for Mark to finish the knot, then dabbed away the blood. “Considering how that looked an hour ago,” Hayden said, “that’s a really good job.”

  “Indeed,” Wheajo said, readjusting the yaltok. “Your experience serves you well.”

  “Thanks,” Mark sighed, arching his back, twisting. “I’m just glad the ball’s finally in your court.” The logs piled in the campfire settled, sparks spiraling into the trees. Charlie groaned softly; Mike hissed at the end of his leash. “It’s okay,” Mark said, as if the animal actually understood. “A couple more minutes and we can set you lose.”

  Ron looked to Hayden. “I thought you told him.”

  “Me? I thought you did.”

  Mark frowned. “Told me what?” Ron and Hayden traded glances, each waiting for the other to speak.

  Wheajo broke the impasse. “The talon penetrated completely,” he said, sweeping Charlie’s thigh with the yaltok. “The exit wound must, of course, also be addressed.”

  Mark reached to the small of his back, twisting. “Deep as that looked, I should have known. How bad?”

  Ron switched rags with Hayden. “We weren’t exactly in a position to do a thorough examination,” he said, sopping blood from the tarp. “But I can’t see as it will be anything like this. We get him flipped over, trash the shirts… then we’ll all know.” Ron looked to the fire. “Tony?”

  “Yes?”

  “Get over here and make yourself useful. We’re going to need your help.”

  Charlie was coming around, his increasingly frequent moans only amplifying Mike’s simmering displeasure. Then too, the scent of blood was in the air, and the little dinosaur resented seeing his master mistreated. “What about him?” Hayden said with a nod to their feathery lookout. “He’s already agitated. And what’s coming is not going to be fun.”

  “Got a point there… Bennett?”

  “We’ll take care of him. Tony, help me shorten up numb nut’s leash here.”

  The turn went about as expected. With the bandages gone and no longer supporting the wound, and even working in concert, flipping Charlie was an agonizing ordeal. Charlie shrieked. The men shouted. Mike tugged at the rope, clawing and snarling as his master beat the ground with his fists. “It hurts…,” Charlie whimpered, grinding his head against the tarp.

  “I know,” Tony said, sympathetic tears streaming down his cheeks. “I know.” He watched as Wheajo ended his sweeps, only vaguely aware of Mike’s continuing snarls. “You’re stopping?”

  “For now,” the alien said.

  “But why?”

  “It’s… it’s okay,” Charlie said, the taut lines fading from his face. “Wheajo knows what… he’s doin’.” He twisted slightly at the latest hiss. “You too,” he said with a tight lipped grimace, wiggling his fingers. “Come on now. Settle down. Wheajo’s only tryin’ to help.” The tail lashing slowed, and at length the dinosaur’s agitation subsided as well. “Goo’ boy,” Charlie cooed, a raspy tongue licking his hand. “Yeah kiddo. I… I missed you too.”

  Tony stepped over and stroked his friend’s neck. “You’re going to be fine, Bull. You will. I promise.”

  “I… I sure hope so. It’s the gettin’ there… I ain’t crazy about.”

  Ron cast a leery eye in the dinosaur’s direction. “Okay Tony, out of the way. Hold that lantern for me. Time to see what we’ve got here.” The shirts, long since plastered to the back of Charlie’s leg, were literally drippy with blood. “Hang on, Bull, this might sting a little.”

  “Thanks for the—Ow! Ow!—warning.” Mike started yipping again. Charlie stuck out his hand, wincing. “Easy there… it’s okay.”

  Ron slopped the bloodied rags toward the canoe. “Sorry about that. Hayden, grab that cuff and peel it on back.”

  The trousers were a mess. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to cut it?”

  “Easier hell,” Charlie snapped. “I can handle it. Cut ‘em and what’m I supposed to wear? Cammo’s a little hard to… come by, ya know?”

  “Just a suggestion,” Hayden said. “Better hurry up, Bennett. Guy’s getting feisty.”

  “And hungry… and thirsty.”

  Mark settled alongside, “I got the idea.” The wound oozed evilly in the glow of the lantern. But his hands were steady this time. As was Charlie once Wheajo finished his sweep. “Guess I’m sold, Wheajo. Looks like that du-hicky of yours really does work.”

  “Doo-hicky?”

  The back-side wound was closed in reasonably short order, the leg bandaged, and Charlie temporarily situated on the smaller of the tarps. Ron was concerned about all the blood, and after piling both the mattress and tarp in the Tripper, insisted that everyone strip off whatever bloody clothes they had on, including Charlie.

  “I can do this myself,” he grumbled.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Tony said. “We all got naked when we went swimming in that river last year.”

  “Sure… but the undressin’ part we did alone.”

  “And you’ve never helped anyone off with their wetsuit?”

  “That’s different,” Charlie said, struggling to unbutton his shirt. With his arm bandaged, Charlie was pretty much useless.

  “Just bop him one,” Hayden said, adding a log to the fire. “It’s times like this you know how he got the name ‘Bull’.”

  “Shut up… Prentler. This is….”

  “Embarrassing?” Tony said, welcoming his friend’s frustration. “Charlie, nobody cares about seeing you naked. We just want you to get better. And the longer you fight me, the longer it’ll be before you eat.”

  That got Charlie’s attention.

  “Alright,” he nodded, though still reluctant, “you can help. But don’t any of you go tellin’ anybody about this. Ya hear me? We get back, you don’t say nothin’ to nobody.”

  “We make it back,” Ron said, “you’re not going to care. Just hurry it up, okay? You’re not the only one who’s hungry.”

  Mark snipped the last thread. “How’s that feel?”

  “It hurts, Bennett. Whatdya think?” Charlie flexed his fingers. “I still don’t know—Ow!—why you had to fuck with my arm. Cuts weren’t so bad.”

  Tony held out the spoon. “You’re talking when you’re supposed to be eating.” Charlie clamped down and swallowed.

  “Think I’m lyin’? Well, I’m not. It does hurt.”

  “I thought you said it tingled?” Tony said, dipping into the can.

  “Okay, that too,” Charlie grumped. “It’s hard to explain. Ask Prentler. He knows what I’m talkin’ about.” Hayden nodded, feeding his face by the fire. “And enough of this babying shit. Gimme that… I can feed myself.”

  “But you’re—”

  Charlie reached over, wincing, and grabbed the spoon. “I said I can do this, and I can.” But the spoon slipped from his fingers. “Who needs it?” he said, upending the can, gulping, then wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “What is this stuff anyway?”

  “Fish chowder,” Tony said. “It’s been simmering for hours, so if it doesn’t taste—”

  “Got any more?” he said, extending the can.

  Tony blinked. “Only a little.”

  “Then maybe you oughta make more.” Charlie’s face dissolved in a grimace as he tucked his arm to his chest. He glanced into the forest. “Where the hell are they?” he moaned, rocking back and forth. “What’s takin’ ‘em so long?”

  “They’ve got lots of clothes to rinse,” Mark said. “The canoe, the tarp. Wheajo’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.”

  Charlie bit down, a crease forming acr
oss his stubbled jaw. “Don’t worry, he says.” He drew in a breath, then let it bleed through his teeth as he again started rocking. “Prentler, you know… how to work that thing right?”

  Hayden looked up from the fire. “That thing…? Oh, you mean the analyzer.”

  “What the fuck else would I be talkin’ about?” Mike rose snarling to his feet, Tony turning hopefully to Hayden.

  “Sorry. I never paid that much attention.”

  Charlie whimpered pitifully. “Then get ‘im,” he pleaded, a quiver in his voice. “Please. It hurts… and the tingles are almost gone.”

  Mark hurried into the forest, past the deep woods clearing and along the line of scuffed leaf litter toward the channel. “Wheajo?” he yelled when finally he saw the light.

  Ron and Wheajo had the Tripper turned on its side, the lantern propped on the bank. “What now?” Ron said, standing knee-deep in the channel.

  “It’s Charlie,” said Mark, trotting into the light. “That last treatment he got is wearing off, and he’s going downhill. And fast.”

  The news was not unexpected. “We can take it from here, Wheajo. Go on back and see what you can do for him.”

  Wheajo handed Mark the rag, and without comment headed into the forest.

  “Don’t you want my… flashlight?” Mark asked, watching as the alien vanished into the blackness. “Can he even see in there?”

  “Probably better than you or I in daylight,” Ron said, tipping the canoe, lifting, then quickly flopping it on its belly. “Shine that light in here. Should be only a few spots left.”

  The trees crowding the channel stood like gnarly ghosts, the water gurgling softly around the woody fingers poking about the surface. Mark centered the canoe in the beam. “You don’t sound too worried about Charlie.”

  “I’m tired, Bennett. It’s been a long day. Besides, what’s the point?” Ron said, slopping the inner hull. “We did what we could. You more than the rest of us, sewing him up and all. And the guy’s going to be hurting. No surprise there. Wheajo will do his thing, then Tony. And after that, it’ll be up to Charlie. He’s just going to have to tough it out.”

  Ron’s attitude struck Mark as cold. “You’ve been hanging around Wheajo too long.”

  “Spare me the sympathetic bullshit. We all knew the score. Hell, it’s a miracle none of us ended up dead over the last couple of days.” Ron checked the inside of the boat, grumbled ‘Good enough,’ and shoved it ashore. “Guess maybe I should have waited,” he said, staring down at his pants.

  “To change your clothes? Yeah…. Then again, you’re not too bright.”

  Ron shrugged. “Clothes are on the tarp,” he said, nodding toward the trees. “You take them. I’ll take the dump bag.

  “And Bennett? Strap on that gun belt. Van Dyke’s hunting days are over.”

  Between Wheajo’s application of the yaltok and Tony’s acetaminophen-spiked brandy, Charlie was resting by the time Ron and Mark returned. Knowing the ill effects of excessive use of the yaltok, Wheajo was reserving his instruction on its use to Tony and Hayden.

  And with the lean-to up and Charlie finally situated, Ron, Mark, and Hayden turned their attention to setting up Ron’s tent. A brief yet psychologically significant event, having the tent once again in its rightful place signaled both the end to Phase One of their imprisonment, and the beginning of another. The three tents together meant home. And while Charlie had a long and difficult road ahead, his recovery seemed assured.

  Mike still hissed whenever Charlie groaned, yet was gradually accepting that his master’s companions were not inflicting harm. His expanding truce did not however extend to Wheajo, the lunging snarls sufficient to convince even Charlie that, for the time being, his ever watchful pet remain tethered.

  Hayden walked from the woodpile and dropped and armload onto the fire.

  “Go easy with that,” Mark said. “Don’t know if you noticed, but we’re running low.”

  “I did notice.” Hayden settled beside the fire and rested his head on a log. The sky had cleared, stars by the millions twinkling through the overhead leaves. “Trees. Now that’s different.”

  “I gather that means you stayed on the beach,” Mark said. “Find a nice campsite?”

  “Two actually.”

  “Two? What… the rain wash you out?”

  “More like a herd of overly curious neighbors,” Ron said with a yawn. “You had to be there.” Flames licked at the recently added logs.

  “I know I’m exhausted. And you have to be too. But one or the other of you is going to stay awake long enough to fill me in on what the hell happened over the last few days. Like all the shooting after you left. You guys are barely out the door, and here we are, listening to gunfire…. Damn near scared me and Tony to death.”

  “You weren’t alone,” Ron said, swiping his hand across the table. “Nice job, Bennett. I was hoping this skin wouldn’t go to waste.”

  “Quit stalling. So what happened? From the beginning.”

  Hayden slid back against the log. “You remember that big deadfall in the river.”

  “Where Sabrefang wanted me for lunch? Fuck yeah, I remember. The other one too,” he said to Ron. “The one you killed.”

  “That’s the spot,” Ron said. “That’s where we had that first encounter.”

  “Let me guess. Scavengers?”

  “Yeah. Lots of them.” Ron leaned back, thinking. “We got any beers left?”

  Mark raised a suspicious eyebrow. “I told you we weren’t going to drink any. Should be like half a case left.”

  “That’s good, cause I just realized how thirsty I am.”

  “This is extortion.”

  Ron poked the fire with a stick. “You’re point?” Hayden was holding back a laugh.

  Mark got up from his dinosaur skin covered table. “You guys should be in the Mafia,” he said, marching off toward their stash. Ron reached over, and Hayden slapped his hand.

  “And Bennett?”

  “Now what?”

  “Chilled would be nice….”

  38

  The river was down another four inches, the gauge Mark had fashioned showing a total drop of a little over a foot in just the last three days, a level possibly lower than it was when they’d arrived. For safety’s sake Hayden hoped it would reach its steady state level soon, supposing the river even had one, the water level edging dangerously close to where Sabrefang might no longer be kept at bay. High water and lousy swimming abilities had taught her respect for the river. Hopefully she wasn’t bright enough to figure out that the situation had most definitely changed.

  Hayden buffed the binoculars’ lenses with his sleeve. And still is, he reminded himself, frowning uneasily at the widening mud strip of their now abandoned landing.

  He slid his glasses up onto his forehead, then dialed on the trees across the river. He could get one eye seeing clearly, but not both, a situation he’d gotten used to after having been bitched at for messing with the eye pieces. The forest was an indecipherable maze in any case, and so confusing that being able to find anything resembling an animal was next to impossible. There were two groups of vultures circling well inland, and earlier he’d seen a flight of anvil-headed pteranodons winging south on their daily forays. And not long after, a half dozen dinosaurs at the tree line opposite the rapid. Mark had mentioned before he left that he’d caught a glimpse of Sabrefang, but that was hours ago, when it was cooler. The dinosaurs living around the lake weren’t keen about the heat, and now that he thought about it, maybe Sabrefang wasn’t either.

  A last check on the forest and Hayden headed to the tents.

  Mark and Wheajo were off exploring; Ron busy practicing with the spear thrower. Tony and Charlie, and his pet of course, were down by the rapid, as Charlie had said, ‘Gettin’ some rays’.

  The last three days had been perfect, with reasonable temperatures and wonderfully sunny skies, custom-tailored weather they’d used to widened the trail to Boulder rapid. And ye
sterday Tony had succeeded in getting Charlie to join them there—the walk there and back good for his leg; the rapid, the mist, and sunny skies even better for his spirits. With driftwood for backrests and a good view of the rapid, most everyone was getting in the habit of spending an hour or two lounging in the sunshine and listening to the rapid, and when Charlie was there, watching Mike hunt the shallows.

  That Charlie could walk such a distance so soon after the attack, even with his crutch, Hayden still found utterly amazing. His smile faded when a fish broke the surface and he noticed again how far the river had dropped, which even Tony had commented on.

  With all the time he’d spent being miserable in the rain, Hayden hadn’t thought it possible to be praying for gray skies. Yesterday had started on a promising note, thundering before dawn and drizzling through the morning, but had turned sunny again before noon. Sunset had been unusually brilliant, as had the evening before, the sky streaked red and purple before being swallowed by darkness. And unless it got cloudy, tonight would likely be the same.

  Hayden recalled the old adage—Red sky at morning, sailor take warning; Red sky at night, sailor’s delight—and wondered if it held true on land.

  A scuffling sounded in the trees.

  Mike pranced from the forest, stopped and twisted back, staring, then hurried into camp as Charlie hobbled into view.

  “Back so soon? And here I was almost on my way to join you.” Hayden could see right off Charlie wasn’t happy.

  “Mother said I had enough sun.”

  Tony inched his way through the trees, struggling with a log. “If you’re not doing anything, I could sure use some help.”

  Hayden got to his feet. “Be glad he’s looking out for you,” he said as he hurried past Charlie. “White legs and stitches don’t go too good with this sun.”