by David Boyle
Charlie had to chuckle. “That’s because he’s the only guy here smaller than you!” The campsite erupted in laughter.
“I prefer to put my head to better use than ramming quarterbacks,” Mark retorted. “And just because I never played football doesn’t—”
“Yeah, gotta be tough bein’ the ball,” Charlie snickered. Another round of guffaws.
“Now you’re getting personal,” Mark said, feigning anger. “What is this? Roast Bennett night?”
Tony smiled at the fire, its flickering glow warm and inviting. “You have to admit, it is nice to be able to laugh again.”
Smiling faces nodded around the campfire as rumbles droned faintly in the distance. “Ten miles, ya think?”
“Ten… twenty,” Ron shrugged. “Far enough that we’ll be finished before it gets here. And if this is anything like the last one, it’ll be long gone by morning.”
Hayden cocked an ear. “Personally, I hope we get hammered.”
“You got that straight,” Charlie said.
Tony quickly, “Here, here.”
Mark noticed Ron shaking his head. “You got a problem with this?”
“It’s not a problem.”
“But?”
“We had a good day, thanks to you guys. A great day, all things considered. We’re in a good mood, and, trust me, I’d like to see it stay that way. But this stuff coming… this storm, is most likely going to be a dud. Just, you know, try to tone your enthusiasm down a bit. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You need an attitude adjustment, McClure.”
Ron stared Mark in the eye. “There’s nothing wrong with my fucking attitude.”
“That’s the spirit,” Hayden said.
Mark draped an arm over his shoulder. “How about this, McClure? We’re back in the future… I mean way back,” he said, sweeping his free hand. “And you’re in this fancy honky-tonk—I’m thinking Hooters myself—and the music’s blasting. People everywhere… singing, dancing. Beautiful women all around, you know… trying to rub elbows—”
“Elbows, hell.”
“My story, remember…? And they’re rubbing their whatevers with us world famous adventurers… and as far as you can see… tables loaded with pitcher after pitcher of ice cold beer.”
“Peanut shells on the floor…,” Hayden said.
“Yeah, up to your ankles. So deep you have to wade through them.”
“And popcorn?”
“Mountains, Bull… big fucking bowls. Kernels like hand grenades, spilling out all over the table. That sweet smell of melted butter tickling your nose.”
Charlie sighed.
“I hope it comes true. All of it,” Ron said cautiously. “But we’re going to need more than positive attitudes if we’re ever going to get out of here.”
“True enough,” Mark said, the rumble of distant drums sounding in the distance. “But it can’t hurt.”
“Think they’ll have salsa?”
Tony smiled. “Buckets, Charlie… and all for you.”
41
Hayden was still shaking the cobwebs loose when he stumbled past the fire and under the tarp. Changing shifts wasn’t anything new, though after a measly two or three hours, whatever it was in the sack, he was glad not to be driving.
Tony stifled a yawn. “You awake yet?”
“I’ll get there eventually.” Hayden blinked at the fire. “Okay, time to get some sleep, Tony. I can handle it from here.”
Tony didn’t need any prodding. “G’night, fellas,” he mumbled, and started across the clearing. “And Wheajo. Watch he doesn’t fall in the fire. Our Mr. Prentler has been known to nod off on occasion.”
“I will monitor his condition.” The world was blackness beyond the glow of the fire, a stiff breeze rattling the trees. “While your efforts are appreciated, your presence is not required. I am fully capable of—”
“I’m sure you are. But you’ve had the watch long enough, and it’s time we started pulling our weight.”
“Your friend said much the same.”
“He did? Good for him.” The coffee pot was steaming on a rock beside the fire. “That just water? Or did he happen to add some flavor?” The cups from the cookbox were out: one used, one not.
“I believe he mentioned ‘instant’?”
Hayden eyed the anemic stream pouring from the spout. “Leave it to Mr. Conservative.” He took a sip. “Least it’s hot.” A light rain was falling, the flickers to the north ample warning that harder stuff was on the way. “Our new neighbors been behaving themselves?”
“To this point. If the animals are active, they are restricting their movements to the far end of the island.”
“Guess that’s something to be thankful for.” Hayden blew into his cup. “I really haven’t slept since we got here, and I’ve been rolling around for the last hour wondering how we’re going to get them off the island.”
“I too have considered the problem, and believe I have a solution.”
“Alright, I’m listening.” Hayden sipped what amounted to coffee-flavored water while Wheajo presented his idea. “I like it,” he said, remembering the panicked honks. “Play on their fears. Yeah, that should work.” He hunched toward the fire when a gust swirled through camp. “They keep their distance, who knows? Maybe I will get some sleep later.”
Thunder boomed in the distance. “Sounds encouraging.” Hayden was fishing, but wasn’t getting any bites. He was hopeful about the storm, like everybody, and held off asking the questions that neither Wheajo nor anyone else could answer. Come morning, they’d know a lot more about the storm.
The rain started in earnest. Hayden buttoned his rain jacket. “How about you get some shut-eye? This storm kicks up like I’m hoping, some of us could end up having a very long day.” He could see the hesitation, Wheajo as always reluctant to leave his post. A flash splintered the sky, the thunderclap booming short seconds later. Hayden flicked his eyes skyward. Thank you, Lord.
“Perhaps a not inappropriate suggestion,” Wheajo admitted. “You will of course—”
“I hear any crunching, I’ll give you a holler.” Hayden flipped up the collar on his rain jacket. Wheajo hurried off to Mark’s tent. Sleep well my friend.
The rain slanted down, drumming the leaves. Sparks flew as big drops exploded in the fire. Hayden snatched a breath, summoning his courage—Now for the wet part—and made a dash for the woodpile.
*****
The clouds were flying past, a gray mist curling off the hilltop immediately to the west. The temperature was down, and for only the second time since their arrival, everyone was in long sleeves.
Tony latched the cookbox. “Serves you right for falling asleep.”
Ron had himself twisted like a pretzel. “Wasn’t like I did it on purpose,” he groaned, working out the kinks. “The rain picked up just about the time I was going to head in, and instead of getting drenched right before I hit the sack, I decided to sit tight for a little longer.” He straightened. “And the next thing I know, Bennett is bitching about the fire.”
Tony wiped the leaves from the table. “Actually, he was upset that the dinosaurs could have gotten into camp.”
Ron noticed that he’d avoided making eye contact. “I take it he wasn’t alone.”
“To be honest, no. And I know that to you they’re only duckbills, but if they’re as big—”
“It’s a big island, Tony, and there’s no way they were coming this far.”
Tony snapped the towel, “Of course not,” and draped it over the cookbox. A tree swayed in the forest, drops showering down. Tony took a hesitant step back. “About them not coming this way….”
Ron stretched and peered at the forest, first spotting the movement, then the distinctive brim of a hat. “Ease off already. Have a smoke or something.”
Mark and Wheajo came tramping from the forest, moments later, drippy wet and carrying a log.
“Any sign of our friends?” Ron asked.
“Gl
impses is all. Did find a couple of beds.” They stopped beside the woodpile, and a quick shove later and the log thumped to the ground. “Would have liked to have seen one of them before they got up. Beds were lots smaller than I expected, so they have to sleep scrunched up somehow.” Mark rolled his shoulder. “Next time not so big, Wheajo.”
“The choice was yours, not mine.”
“Okay, then remind me.
“The one was relatively dry. Hard to be certain, but I’d say our friends haven’t been moving around much. Scared as they were, I’m thinking they weren’t interested in exploring.”
“They are herd animals,” said Ron. “Could be this is their first time away from mama.”
Tony got up and headed for the smoker. “There’s coffee if anybody’s interested.”
Mike came prancing from the landing, looking back to be sure his master was following. “I’m comin’,” Charlie smiled, limping into camp.
“How’s the river doing?” Ron asked, the leaky overcast nearly skimming the trees.
“Up some,” Charlie said. “Ain’t finished yet, but I’m thinkin’ it won’t go up more than a foot.” He settled in one of the chairs, and felt it give. “You need to work on these bindings, Bennett.”
“I need to work on them?” Mark said from his tent. “What, your arms broken? You think you can tighten it up, be my guest.”
“You don’t mind me messin’ with it, you know… I might actually do that. And what’s this I hear about you makin’ a recording?”
“I did indeed,” Wheajo said, filling a cup from the jug.
“First things first,” Ron said, poking the coals with a stick. “What’s the plan, Wheajo? You decided one way or the other?”
“I have. We will make the journey.”
Tony latched the smoker. “You are?” he remarked, a hopeful lilt in his voice.
Ron swiped at the smoke. “A waste of time as far as I can see.”
“The chances may not be particularly favorable, though I remind you we had earlier discussed the possibility of making multiple excursions. This may be but the first.”
“A storm blows through like the one on the lake, and I’m in. But after stuff like last night? Hell, why bother? I know we’ve all got our fingers crossed, but are you guys really willing to run your ass downriver essentially every time it rains?”
“I am,” Charlie said. “And yeah, I can’t do the hike. But the paddling I can, and if it takes goin’ there every other frickin’ day, I say we do it.”
Hayden reached for the coffee. “You don’t agree.”
“I think we should be more selective is all. And the paddling is only a part. A small part when you compare it to how dangerous the hike is. Seems like a hell of a chance to take, like Charlie says, ‘every other frickin day’.”
Mark swirled his cup. “Except for the river, I’d agree with you. Say for shits and grins Wheajo’s time shifter is charged. And instead of going down to check, we sit and wait for that bigger, better storm, and the river keeps dropping, and somebody across the river gets a wild hair up its ass and decides to investigate the pretty lights at night?” Ron took a measured sip of coffee. “I understand where you’re coming from, but with all that’s at stake, I think you’re being over cautious.”
They thought for a moment, each with their own take on the situation and weighing the choices that needed to be made, few of which were clear, and all of which bore risks.
“I keep coming back to the idea that it is charged,” Tony said. “I think we’d all agree that a bigger storm would have been preferable. And maybe you all have thought about this, but the weather at the lake—which I’ve heard is anywhere from seven to ten miles away—doesn’t necessarily have to be the same as we get here. Isn’t it possible that the storm could have been stronger there?”
“Or weaker,” Ron interjected.
“Yes, or weaker. It’s the difference I’m talking about. Don’t you see, Ron? When storms come through, we really do need to check.”
“I’m not arguing guys. I’m just trying to lower the thermostat a little. You guys want to take a run to the lake? Okay, fine. Just don’t ask me to join you. A storm with teeth comes along, count me in. Otherwise, I’m staying home and relaxing.”
“I’m impressed. We actually agreed on something without shouting about it.”
“Is neat to think about,” Charlie said. “By this time tomorrow, we could be home!”
“As was stated previously, the probabilities do not weigh heavily in our favor.”
Tony had the inklings of a permanent smile. “So it’s not a sure thing. And I promise I’ll work on curing the meat while you’re gone. But can you imagine?” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Bringing home a bundle or two of dinosaur meat?”
“You’re a romantic, Delgado, you know that?” Ron twisted his shoulders. “You guys go paddle in the rain if you want. Me, I’m going to get horizontal right after we boot these idiots off the island.
“Which brings us back to that recording.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “What’s the deal with that anyway?”
“If you would retrieve the yaltok, I will demonstrate.”
Charlie snorted. “I shoulda known.”
Wheajo explained that he had recorded the fight between Sabrefang and the tyrannosaur with the intent of using it to construct an acoustic representation of the predator’s vocal structures. With the yaltok in hand, and the necessary subroutines activated, Wheajo ran the playback at its lowest volume. He studied the frequency display and applied a series of filtering algorithms to remove the wind, the sound of the rapid, then the bits and pieces of awed conversation.
“That’s pretty classy,” Ron said. “Almost like peeling layers off an onion.”
“Which do you believe would be most effective?” Wheajo asked. “Combined voices, or separate?”
“I’d say separate,” Ron said. Mark and Hayden wanted to hear both.
Even knowing the yaltok’s established capabilities, the men were astounded by the realism of the recording, the sounds of the dinosaurs fighting raising goose flesh on more than a few arms. Even Mike had a say, hissing from between the tents as roars filled the campsite.
Mark was duly impressed. “Got one hell of a piece of equipment there, Wheajo.”
“Considering their prior agitation, I suspect our visitors will respond in an appropriate manner.”
“You’ll get a response alright,” Ron said. “The question is direction.”
Mark snapped his fingers. “That’s got a nice ring to it, McClure. ‘The question is direction.’“
Tony picked up on the beat: “And if they do come back, we’ll give ‘em some flak.”
“Right on, Mr. D!” Mark stuck out his arm.
Tony stepped forward, “Mr. B.” And they locked elbows and started skipping in a circle. “Sure as shootin’ we’ll get a response…,” Mark warbled; “The question is direction…,” Tony chorused in.
Charlie’s pet dinosaur slinked beside his master, who was stamping a foot in the mud, clapping. “Git down, motherfuckers! Eee ha!”
Ron leaned to Wheajo when he noticed the alien’s expression. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t even bother asking.”
The clouds were thinning, bright patches beginning to show to the point where there seemed a better than even chance that the rain would quit for good within the next couple of hours. Which suited Tony just fine. They still had the shoulder blade to process, and with the dent they’d made in the woodpile, Tony was certain they’d burn a sizable portion of what was left. “Bull, would you mind cutting some of these while we’re gone?”
“Great… I get to play Paul Bunyan while you guys have all the fun.”
“Please?”
“Yeah, I’ll get ‘em.” Charlie hated warming the bench. “You sure I can’t lend a hand? I can beat the bushes too, ya know.”
“With how thick it gets back there?” Mark said, snapping the rifle to his shoulder. “I d
on’t think so. Way too many deadfalls and shit.” He sighted on a knot hole back in the woods. “Last I saw, the axe was by the smoker.”
Ron was buckling on the holster. “Stop with the look already. You’ll be doing the groundwork. The sound of you hacking should carry all the way to the end of the island, and hopefully they won’t head back this way.”
Charlie patted his thigh. “Come on, buddy. Sounds like we’re gonna have camp to ourselves for a while.”
Hayden was armed with an aluminum paddle. Tony with a frying pan and a ladle. “Should get their attention, don’t you think?”
Mark looked, “That’ll work,” then checked with Ron and Wheajo. “What about him?” he said, pointing to Mike. “Things are going to get dicey once the honking starts.”
“Perhaps it would be best if the animal was restrained.”
Ron agreed. “Hey, Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“Got your leash handy?”
Mike was prancing circles around his master, excited about all the activity and unsure who to follow. A hunt was about to start, and Charlie could see that his brilliantly feathered companion wanted to be part of it. “Sorry fella, but you’re stuck with me today.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a length of doubled chalk line. “Give me a minute and I’ll make sure Mike can’t get in your way.”
*****
Ron took the lead. “We’ll spread out once we get close,” he said, pressing through the vegetation. “And remember, we’re not trying to scare the hell out of them. Wheajo’s got that part covered. Our job is to get them herded to the end of the island where they can leave on their own.”
“Bang the drum slowly,” Tony said. “Got it.”
Ron looked over. “You ever been on a drive before?”
“That what this is called?”
Ron rolled his eyes. “You need to get out more.”
Mark was following Wheajo. “It’s okay, Tony. There’s a first time for everything. Just hold off on the banging until the time comes.”
Tony swiped at the drippy foliage. “You’ll let me know when, right?”
