by David Boyle
“Trust me,” Ron said. “Our friends get to moving, you’ll know.”
They wound through the forest, watching for movement. Birds flitted about the canopy, their every take-off and landing sending eye-catching cascades spilling through the leaves. The air was damp and musty, the mulch squishing underfoot as they marched single file through the dense vegetation.
Ron scanned for an opening in the oftentimes shoulder high sea of ferns and brush. “I thought you said there was a path, Bennett.”
“You guys keep putting words in my mouth. What I said was it’s thinner near the center.” The ring of the axe sounded along their back trail.
“Perhaps he was speaking figuratively.”
Ron held the bushes while the others squeezed through the gap. “Don’t make excuses for him, Wheajo.” It was times like these that the place definitely didn’t look like an island. “Where the hell’s the sun when you need it?”
“The river is that way,” Wheajo offered. “The trees are more thickly foliated where they receive more sunlight.”
Mark recognized landmarks. “Wheajo and I passed those deadfalls on our way back yesterday. We’re about half way, maybe a little less, to the end.” Which was far enough in Ron’s estimation.
“Then it’s time you guys started breaking your own trails. Hayden, find a route along the channel. Wheajo, you’re next. Tony, stay between Wheajo and me. Mark, you’re the monkey, you’ve got the deadfalls.
“We do this right, everybody should be able to see the guy to either side. Got it?” Heads nodded along the line. “Try to maintain an even pace, even if it’s slow. Just keep moving. Predators don’t walk at an even pace. They stop. They wait. And the guys ahead of us know that. And if they get to thinking we’re predators, they could panic.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Hayden asked.
“In this little piece of shit woods? Very.”
Sunburned or no, Tony was looking a little pale. “Is it okay to talk while we’re walking?”
“You bet it is,” Ron said with emphasis. “Once we get moving, there’s a good chance that the guy next to you won’t be able to see you well enough to know what you’re doing. Remember that. You spot something, make sure the folks on both sides of you hear about it.”
The rain whispered through the trees. The axe clanged in the distance. “Any last questions? Anything at all?”
“Ask now,” Mark said, feeling the tension mount, “‘cause real soon things are going to get crazy.”
“The recording.”
“That I’ll leave to you, Wheajo. What you got there is dynamite, so be careful how you use it.”
Hayden had one: “And if they come our way?”
Ron shrugged. “Can’t help you with that one. Do what you have to. Just don’t let them get past you.”
Tony swallowed. “You will shoot if you have to.”
“Emergencies only.” Ron nudged Mark toward the river, then looked to Hayden. “Get close enough to where you can see water.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Hayden patted Tony on the shoulder. “Hope you’re ready for this, cause it’s show time.”
They set off in opposite directions, stringing themselves in a line across the island. Ron held an arm up, waiting while Mark got in position. Tony stopped and adjusted his position with respect to Wheajo until they were about equally spaced. “Let me know when they’re ready, Tony.”
Tony waited for Hayden to get into position. Hayden raised his arm, then Wheajo, and finally Tony. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come, and he simply nodded to Ron.
Ron checked with Mark. “Okay everybody!” he said, and dropped his arm. “Move out!”
Between the trees and bushes and numerous deadfalls, finding a pace that everyone could follow took time. Shirts were stuck to their chests like a second skin, the drippy vegetation unloading its burden at the barest touch. Arms went up if a driver was forced out of position, then down again when the driver struggled free. Birds scattered, lizards shot out from under bushes. And in less than a hundred yards Tony shouted: “There’s one!”
Downbursts spilled from the trees as the duckbill bawled through the forest, its companion bursting from cover not thirty yards in front of Wheajo.
Tony stumbled back, gasping. “They’re enormous!”
Ron glimpsed patchy shapes moving through the trees. “Got ‘em, Bennett?”
“Not yet…” Frightened honks echoed about the forest as the dinosaur circled toward the bank, its belly swinging. “Hey, you with the face…!” Mark yelled, waving the rifle until the animal pulled up and turned. “Heads up, McClure!”
The dinosaur crashed through the forest and lumbered past Ron, honking like a gigantic goose with arms. “Not this way! The other way…!” The dinosaurs squalled, branches and limbs snapping like fire crackers, and through it all, the tinny ring of a frying pan. “Keep it up, Delgado! You’re doing great!”
Tony wasn’t so sure. “Uh huh, but do they know that?”
“Just don’t let them get past us! Forward, always forward.”
The leader trotted toward Tony, who banged and shouted until it veered away, the animal’s panicky companion honking at its heels. “I did it! I did it!” he shouted. A roar bellowed to his left, so loud, powerful, and scary it sent Tony flinching into the bushes. The dinosaurs jerked around, shrieking, and pounded away. Tony blinked at Wheajo, a tiny smile creeping across the alien’s face when he realized the dinosaurs weren’t the only ones he’d frightened.
“Keep going, guys!” Ron shouted, waving everyone forward. “We got ‘em on the run now!”
The forest reverberated with the honks of dinosaurs, the splinter of shattering branches, and the awesome if pre-recorded intermittent roars of predators fighting. They pressed ahead, shouting, branches and twigs ripping at their clothes as they beat the bushes.
And now a new sound. Rapids hissing in the distance.
The dinosaurs heard them too, and veered away. “Mark… here they come!” Ron drew the magnum. “Bennett, what the hell are….”
Mark snapped a limb from a deadfall and rattled it across a maze of dead branches. The hadrosaurs came forward, heads low, snapping their flat bills. “Get back, dickhead! You heard me!” Mark sent the limb flying into the animal’s snout. The head went back, the eyes blinking.
Ron cranked the hammer back and pointed in their general direction. Pow! The dinosaurs shrieked, flailing their arms, then turned tail and ran. “Now you’re getting the idea.”
Mark was holding an ear. “I get the impression they don’t want anything to do with Pussy Cat.” The rain-swollen rapids were most definitely louder than yesterday.
“That’s their problem,” Ron said, angling to fill the gap and waving at Wheajo to swing the end of the line around. Ahead was the big gap in the trees. Another blast from the yaltok and the first of the hadrosaurs piled through the opening at the end of the island. The tail disappeared, and a few seconds later, the sound of splashing as the animal charged across the river.
“That’s one!” Tony shouted, pressing ahead as the second of the pair backed into the massive willows guarding the bank. Stubby paws raked at the tangle.
Ron could see she couldn’t get through. Not now, and not ever. The duckbill spun around, terrified, the big leathery tail shattering limbs to toothpicks. She dropped to all fours, the bill-like mouth snapping. “Hold up, guys!” he warned. “She needs room to get out.” Tony and Wheajo stopped where they were. As did the frightened hadrosaur, swinging her long neck, snapping. Backed against the trees, the dinosaur was clearly feeling cornered. Ron didn’t want to risk taking another shot, but did have a card to play. “Hit it, Wheajo! One more time.”
Wheajo keyed the yaltok, and roars once again bellowed through the forest.
The duckbill ripped at the trees, dirt and branches flying past her tail. “Keep an eye on her, McClure!” Mark started off, loping through the trees and making as much noise as possible t
o herd the animal toward the gap as the dinosaur ripped along the tangle, bawling, desperate to escape. A few steps and she spotted daylight, her body quivering with fright and exhaustion as she plodded free of the forest.
Hayden was sprinting. “Hurry up, guys. You don’t want to miss the best part!”
They converged on the boulders, one after another scrambling over the massive log jam at the head of the island.
Tony was last from the trees, the bay extending to his left and the river narrowing into the distance, its surface reflecting gray skies. A cool rain splattered his face, the dinosaur meanwhile wading belly deep above the rapids and honking while Ron and Hayden stood shouting their farewells.
Chef Delgado couldn’t stop shaking. “That was… that was awesome!”
*****
She stood crouched at the edge of the clearing, peering across the water trail, confused by the roars and the cries of fleeing prey. A round-head stumbled from the green and splashed bawling across the trail above the boiling rocks.
Thunder boomed from the dry, and she drew back, snarling. Then the strangely familiar battle cries. The anguished squalling. The barked cackling of pack hunters yet hidden on the dry. Limbs shattered, and a round-head followed its departed companion across the growling, the pack scurrying from the green and across the hard place, hopping and cackling until the round-head reached shore. The creatures milled about—scrawny, upright, each without a tail—and retreated into the forest.
Visions returned of the creature that had taken refuge on the boiling rock. Blood oozed from the wound in her shoulder, a growl rumbling in her throat as she turned and padded quietly away to rest. Her belly was full, and she felt no need to feed, for this light time, or the next.
Yet a new hunger was churning.
Uprights without tails.
She slipped through the still damp vegetation, the wetness unnoticed as it trickled down her flanks. Long simmering, her now rekindled hatred for the uprights burned as if fire, and not an ocean on earth could quench it. She would hunt again, and soon, though not for sustenance.
Make flee or kill, she would have her revenge.
42
Charlie had his foot propped on a log by the fire when Mike pranced from the forest. Happy to be off the leash, the dinosaur didn’t quite know what to make of all the laughter. “Come here, goofy.” The dinosaur trotted and nuzzled his hand, then stared back into the woods. “Are kinda noisy, aren’t they?” Mike twisted around, blinking. “Stay by me while they settle down.”
Hayden stepped clear of the bushes and brushed away a leaf clinging to his beard. “Island’s ours again,” he said, the others following.
“Glad to hear it,” Charlie said, stroking the dinosaur’s neck. “Any trouble with the direction thing?”
“Once or twice,” Ron admitted. “Nothing a little persuasion couldn’t fix.”
“You should have seen them, Bull!” Tony said, sounding out of breath. “They were… I mean, really big. And close too! One ran in front of me… zoom! Couldn’t have been much farther away than, well… from where I’m standing to the woodpile. And goofy Mark here.” He turned. “What were you thinking?”
“The idea was not to let them get by us.”
“So,” Charlie said, waiting.
“Wasn’t that big a deal. Ron and Tony can fill in the details after we leave. We’ve got a jump on the morning, and I don’t want to waste it.” Mark looked to Hayden. “How soon before you’re ready?”
“All I need is to top off the canteen and grab my cut-offs.”
“Good idea. Fill one for us while you’re at it. I’ll get the ropes. Bull, where’s your backpack?”
“Try under the tarp by the raft. Throw bag should be back there too.”
Snarls sounded across the river. Scavengers on yesterday’s kill.
“I was wondering how long that was going to take.” Mark noticed Wheajo staring, presumably at the trees. “Problem?”
“My concern is with the level of activity we can expect. The creatures at the lake clearly demonstrated a preference for weather such as this.”
“You go or you don’t, but you can’t let the weather dictate,” Ron said. “With the temperature like it is, this drippy shit could end right now and it wouldn’t make any difference in their movements.” He glanced at the sky. “Could get lucky, I guess. Sun comes out, maybe they’ll bed down.”
“It’s up to you,” Mark said. “But if we’re going, we need to get on the river soon or we’ll be lucky to make it back before dark.”
“We will proceed. However, if we encounter an unacceptable level of activity—”
“We’ll turn around. Got it. So long as we’ve got options I’m happy. I’ve already done the up close and personal thing today.”
“You and your options,” Hayden said, heading to the tent, a bed of ferns spread across the entrance. “Nice touch with the mats, Bull. Good idea.”
“Better than trackin’ shit into the tents.”
Hayden crawled in and grubbed for his cut-offs. “Tony, you still have film in your camera?”
“Actually, it’s a new roll.” Tony looked to Wheajo. “It doesn’t weigh much, and the way everyone talks about the lake, I’d really like some pictures. And maybe some along the river?”
Wheajo had a rare alien smile. “We will make the necessary accommodations.”
Tony gave him a hug—“Thanks, Wheajo”—then hurried off to the tent. “And I promise I’ll credit you with the shots when we get home.”
“You still thinkin’ about National Geographic?”
“You bet I am.”
“And while you’re in there dreamin’,” Charlie said, “grab a coupla my T-shirts.” He looked at Wheajo. “And one of your belts.”
“What do you need a belt for?” Tony asked.
“It ain’t me who needs it.”
Mark got the life vests from under the Discovery, then hustled along the trail and under the barricades to the far side of the island. For how warm it was, the rain actually felt good.
“Well?” Charlie asked.
“Right where you said, shoved up under the bow.” Mark stopped at the bank and flipped the vests into the Tripper. “That spear tight enough?”
Hayden thunked the bungee cord. “Yeah, she’s not going anywhere. And what’s with the knife?”
“I’m thinking we’ll cut trail markers on our way up. Take our time. Find the easiest route. We get Bull’s boat, we won’t have to screw around searching for a way down. And if not today, they’ll be there for next time.”
“Forget next time,” Hayden said. “This is it guys. I can feel it.”
Mark held the bow while Wheajo got settled. “Lots of room this time. And once we’re past the rapids,” he said, stepping in, “I’ll even let you paddle.”
“Watch him Wheajo,” Ron said, “or you’ll find yourself paddling there and back.”
“Hey, I can’t even remember the last time I was in the middle. Be nice to lay back and watch the world go by for a change.”
“You fellas just… just be careful,” Tony said. “Don’t take any chances. I mean it. Wheajo, I’m counting on you.”
“We will observe due caution, I can assure you.”
They started along the channel, Mark and Hayden forced almost immediately into maneuvering the Tripper around the deadfalls. “Be back before you know it,” Hayden called over his shoulder.
“Watch for critters. And don’t go droppin’ my boat, cause it’s a long friggen way down from the top.” The boaters laughed. “Whatdya think, McClure? The Rockfinder make it to the Smithsonian?”
“You too?” It was fun to think about. “Maybe, if anyone believes us. All beat to shit, teeth marks in the hull. Hell yeah, it’d fit right in on the ground floor of Explorer’s Hall.”
Tony watched the Tripper get slowly swallowed up by the trees. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he said, a quiver in his voice. “It was bad before. But this ti
me feels worse.”
“They’ll be fine, Tony.”
“Yeah, Wheajo doesn’t have McClure to put up with.”
Ron heeled around. “You mean like that stunt you and Prentler pulled….” Charlie was shaking his head, and pointed to Tony, his friend so pale he looked ready to pass out. “Okay, well, I guess we’re done here then. How’s about we head back? Give us a chance to put some of this wood to use. And we can put smart ass here to work while you and me make like a butcher shop.”
If Tony was listening, he didn’t show it.
“And after that, we can maybe roast Mike at the stake.”
Tony sighed, staring along the now deserted channel. “Sure, we can do that.”
They were nearing camp, not long after, dragging the latest log past the others. “Tony, let go of your end,” Ron said, shaking sweat from his eye. He gave a yank. “Now yours, Bull, or you’ll catch the end on—”
“I’m watchin’, okay?” Charlie grumbled, wrenching the thing sideways, a slew of stubby branches carving furrows in the mud. “I’m tellin’ ya right now, this is the last one.”
“Hey, don’t go yapping at me. I told you to duck.” Ron swung the log over—“That’s good”—and they let the thing drop. They’d never camped in one place for so long, and finding firewood now meant scrounging ever farther afield. The trail to the safe trees made the drag some easier, though hauling anything under the barricades was a pain. At that they now had two decent-sized hardwood limbs and an equal number of weathered trees that hadn’t managed to reach adulthood. “Not a bad haul for an hour’s work.”
Charlie reached to the back of his head. “I told you we should have put the fuckin’ barricades higher.” His hand came away red.
“And if you would have listened.”
“I thought I was past the fucker.”
Ron saw the blood trickling down the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, you weren’t.”
Tony hustled back from the tent. “Let me have a look.”
Charlie caught a glimpse of the little orange bottle. “That sting?”
