by David Boyle
“Only a little,” Tony said. “Kneel down so I can see what I’m doing. And get your hand out of the way.” He picked at the knotted patch of red, searching for signs of a scalp. “This is really tangled, Bull. How about maybe I give you a trim when I’m done?”
“You leave my hair alone. Just put that shit on—Ow! A little my ass!” Mike sprang from his bed, prancing like a cat, and hit the end of his leash. The dinosaur snarled, the little forelimbs clawing the air, frays showing along the chalk line.
“Stop fucking around and get done already.”
“I'm trying, Ron, believe me,” said Tony, dipping into the bottle with a glance at the none-too-pleased dinosaur.
Charlie reached out. “Calm down, shithead. Don’t go gettin’ so excited all the time.”
“That’s it. I’m done.”
Charlie stood, blond strands fluttering when he shook his head. “Sorry I went off on ya.”
“I’m just glad you had Mike tied up. He’s normally so laid back that I sometimes forget he’s here.”
Mike was straining at the leash, but no longer snarling. “Do get a little protective. Don’t cha, fella?” The feathered tail shimmied. “Come on with and we’ll make sure he knows you an’ me are buddies.”
“If you say so,” Tony said, and started across the clearing.
“You guys okay getting that shoulder blade out of the tree?”
“I don’t see as we’ll have a problem,” Charlie said. “Once we get Mike here settled down.”
“No hurry,” Ron said. “And you might see about finding something he can’t chew through. Another couple of tugs and he might have gotten loose.”
Charlie eased slowly to his knees and gave his pet a hug, a tongue licking the side of his face. “What a goo’ boy you are.” He nuzzled the dinosaur’s multi-colored neck, then motioned Tony closer and stroked his neck as well. “See…? We’re friends, too.” Mike stretched forward and sniffed Tony’s hand.
The dinosaur had gone from day to night with a few calming words. “You should have been a vet,” Tony said, both pleased and relieved by the animal’s sudden change in demeanor. “You do have a way with animals. Either that, or he’s got a really short memory.”
“He got a little over-excited is all,” Charlie said, undoing the loop from around Mike’s leg. “But we’re over that, aren’t we?” Mike stood wagging his tail. “Yeah, I thought so.” Charlie looked to the hanger tree, then the bony shoulder blade. “How much of that do you think you can get cured today?”
“Enough to get us through tomorrow,” Tony smiled, a hopeful twinkle in his eye. “Depends on whether the rain stops. Ron said he’d help, but we still need to build up the fire, then move the coals into the smoker. It’ll take some time, but we’ll get there.”
Mike bounded away, Charlie checking the chalk line for frays. “I’ll get to the fire once we get that thing down here. And don’t go sayin’ anything to McClure, but workin’ that wood is good exercise. I could feel it in my leg.”
“It’ll be our secret, Charlie.”
There were flowers blooming around the campsite. Mike zoomed past, nipping at a butterfly. “I get done, I think I’ll take Mike and do some exploring. Maybe check the beds Mark found.” His pet crashed into the ferns, the long neck up a second later, twisting like a periscope, then gone again.
“With all the meat we’re going to have laying around,” Tony said, “that’s probably not a bad idea.”
*****
The shoreline slipped past. Mark clicked the shutter, and quickly advanced the film. “You could slow down, you know.” The last turn was finally behind them, the gravel bar showing alongshore not all that far ahead.
“And you need to finish up with that. We’re almost there.”
The drizzle had ended, though the sky was still overcast, and having had to pass on the first three groups, Mark was keen on taking advantage. The dinosaurs were content to play peek-a-boo with the trees, some watching, some not. There were eight of them this time… or maybe twelve, the numbers kept changing, chestnut on top with a white over black stripe along their sides; light brown underneath; thin arms; and a beaky kind of snout. A gap opened in the trees. The shutter clicked. “Oh yeah, that’s a good one. Got two in profile, and two or three in the background.”
Hayden allowed himself a lingering look before the trees cut off his view. “Love the colors,” he said, ruddering. “They remind me a little of an ostrich, if you ignore the tail. Any thoughts about what they are?”
Mark snapped on the lens cap. “It’s a guess,” he said, and slipped the camera into the backpack. “Struthiomimus maybe? Something like that.” He pulled out Charlie’s loner T-shirts and the binoculars. “I know you’re all gung ho about paddling Wheajo, but you might consider letting us just drift on past so we can get a decent look at the woods.”
“And possibly take more pictures?”
Mark peeled off his shirt. “To check if there’s any more dinosaurs actually. And for your information, I already put the camera away.” He set aside his hat and pulled the camouflage over his head. “I’m saving the rest for the lake and Charlie’s canoe.”
Hayden swung the Tripper 180 degrees as they drifted past the creekbed. “And if you’re up for a climb after the paddle across the lake, you can get some spectacular shots from the top of that evergreen.”
Wheajo twisted around. “I pray our efforts meet your expectations. However, I must caution—”
“Stop right there,” Hayden said, stroking to cancel their drift. “We’ve had a perfect day so far, and I don’t want you ruining it now. So if you want to be useful, just spin yourself around and head for the eddy.”
Mark tucked the too large T-shirt around his waist. “He’s really set on going home.”
Wheajo headed for shore. “Indeed.”
Mark trotted down the cobbles, the rifle in his fist.
“So, what’s the story?”
“Looks like they’ve bedded down,” he said, and wiped his forehead. “Either that, or they’re tucked in and browsing alongshore. We take off, you might want to drift for a bit and keep an eye on them. They give you any trouble, get the hell away from here.”
“Uh huh. And what about you guys?”
“We will make the necessary adjustments.”
“Yeah, well… I’d feel better if you took this, this cannon along. Really, I don’t know how to shoot the thing anyway. And I can get away. You can’t.”
“Perhaps. Yet I believe it would be unwise to leave you defenseless.” Wheajo looked to Mark, who was in total agreement.
“Think of it this way, Prentler: You’re not just here to babysit the boat. You’re our insurance policy that it doesn’t end up like Charlie’s.”
Hayden paused. “If you put it that way….”
“Good deal with the camo,” Mark said, sizing up Wheajo. “Over the pack instead of under. Way less baggy that way.”
“And definitely better than that uniform.” The temperature was on the rise, and even the birds had quieted down. Hayden was nervous just the same.
“Knife, rifle, spear, canteen, ropes in the backpack. I think we’re set.” Mark started off, Hayden following them up the creekbed. Glimmers of sunlight slanted through holes in the canopy, the forest spreading wide within a dozen or so yards from shore.
“Is pretty in here,” Hayden said, gazing about the hillside with its speckling of new and colorful blossoms. “Has that just-washed smell to it. Nice temperature too.”
“Maybe we should have left you by the boat.”
Hayden saw the looks. “Don’t worry, I won’t stay long.” He extended a hand to Wheajo. “Positive thoughts...”
“I will remember,” the alien said solemnly.
…and to Mark. “Keep an eye open for the bad guys.”
Mark shook his hand. “Actually, I was thinking about using them both. And try not to get impatient. If we’re lucky, we’ll be back in three or four hours.”
H
ayden knew the flip side. “I’ll be listening.”
“Okay Wheajo, time to boogie. You remember the way?”
“Every tree,” he said, and started off.
Mark pointed at the river. “Back to the boat, my friend.”
“Just get out of here,” Hayden said, forcing a smile. “I’ll head down in a minute. Be careful and don’t get lost on the lake. And watch each other’s backs.” A last nod, Mark turned and hurried away. Up close the camouflage didn’t seem to matter, but as the two hurried away and up the old creekbed, Hayden found it increasingly difficult to separate his companions from the variegated background.
And before long, Mark and Wheajo simply vanished into the hillside.
*****
Tony squinted up at the ceiling. There were bright slashes across the top of the tent. It had to be near noon. He rolled on his side. “You sleeping?” he said to the wall.
And from the next tent over, Ron mumbled, “Trying to.”
Tony sat up and stretched, happy to see the puddles were gone. Smoke drizzled from the fire pit; the campsite dappled in sunshine and shadows. “Want to give me a hand with the next batch? I think the last one’s been in long enough.”
“If you want to know the truth… no. But I’ve just been laying here sweating, so what the hell? Sure.”
The trees lining the river swayed in the freshening breeze, a few welcome breaths even managing to make it through to the campsite. “They’re going to have a fun time coming back,” Ron snickered, once outside.
“Don’t be mean,” Tony chided, staring on tip toes about the forest. “Charlie say anything about when he’d be back?”
“Not a word. Did say he was going to see what the rapid looked like, down by the point. But that was an hour ago, and he could be anywhere by now.”
“Is good to see him up and around without his crutch,” Tony said. “I just hope he paces himself and doesn’t try to keep up with Mike.”
“What a shithead.”
“Who are you talking about? Bull or Mike?”
Ron smiled. “Now that you mention, both.” He scratched the stubble on his cheek, eyeing the meat piled on the table, then the fire. “Guess I should throw on some wood before transferring the coals.”
“Either way is fine,” Tony said. “It’ll be a good hour before we have to charge the smoker again, and by then anything you add now will have burned down.”
“Maybe. But the wood we brought back isn’t exactly dry, and with how warm it’s getting, we shouldn’t take any chances.”
“Go ahead and throw some on then,” Tony said, turning away. “I’ll check on the smoker. And you might give some thought to shaving. Pretty soon you’re going to look like Mark and Hayden.”
Ron rubbed his chin. “Is feeling a little itchy. Yeah, maybe I will. And grab me a beer while you’re at it.”
Tony chuckled. “You wish.”
*****
As promised, Mark and Wheajo were taking their time, chipping blazes in the sides of trees coming and going where the trail was reasonably obvious, and spending time scouting the forest before marking the route where it wasn’t, the markers spaced depending on the trees and how dense the vegetation. They’d already passed three groups of dinosaurs, and to the south was another. Mark was certain the increase in activity was weather-related, though neither he nor Wheajo could put a finger on what it was about the conditions that had so dramatically turned the animals on. That activity, and the near certainty there were animals present that they weren’t seeing, forced them to adopt a system whereby one of them monitored the forest whenever the other was moving.
The watch-while-working pattern evolved quickly into a modified stalk. One kept watch while the other scouted ahead, and after verifying that the forest was clear, motioned the former lookout into the lead. By switching rolls as they leapfrogged up the hillside, they were able to locate and mark a relatively unobstructed path while avoiding entanglements with the locals. The melodious calls of duckbills were soon drifting through the forest. Then splashes of daylight along the rise, the big trees cresting the ridge, the cycads, and finally the lake.
Mark checked, and after getting a lock on the most recent blaze marking the trail, hacked a hole in the bark of a tree at the edge of the forest. A herd of duckbills was resting comfortably alongshore to the south. “The tree with the loop in that lower limb? That’s the one I stayed in.”
The cycads crowning the ridge made seeing the islands impossible. “We must ensure that the blaze is high and large enough to be visible from the lake.”
Mark peeked around the tree. “Because of this stuff. Yeah, the one facing the lake definitely needs to be bigger.” He finished with the forest-side blaze while Wheajo scrounged a limb from the bushes, the upper portion of which was propped against the trunk. The half-rotted limb was an ungainly platform, and it took Mark a solid ten minutes to hack an opening down to sapwood that was large enough to be seen from out on the lake.
He hopped down and slipped the scuba knife into the sheath on his calf. “Okay, so which way to the raft?”
“The raft is of secondary importance. We must first determine if the brizva has been struck.”
They traipsed through the cycads and past the grove of Kings to a spot on the ridge offering an unobstructed view of the islands. The clouds were almost gone, the lake carrying a hazy reflection of the hills to the east.
Mark bunched up the camouflage. “Of all the places we’ve been,” he said, fishing the straps through the buckles, “this is definitely the prettiest.” He handed the binoculars to Wheajo and got the camera. “I’d check myself, but I’m not sure I’d know what to look for.”
Wheajo glassed the island, Mark focusing for long seconds before clicking the shutter. “Maybe it’s the distances here, but the magnification on this thing sucks.” Wheajo moved off through the cycads, searching for a better angle, and tried again. Mark stopped beside him. “Even for you, that’s not the look I expected.”
“The strike we had hoped for did not occur.” Mark reached out, and Wheajo handed him the binoculars. “Look carefully at the apex of the canoe. There you will see a flag.”
Mark pushed his glasses onto his forehead, then pinned his shoulder against the tree. “Okay… yeah, there’s the boat.” Seconds passed. “I don’t know, Wheajo, I’m maxed out and I still can’t see anything. You sure we don’t need to get closer?”
A hazy patch on the water was moving toward the island. “Continue your examination.”
Trees twitched in the foreground, then near the evergreen, a fleck of white fluttering briefly above the canoe. “Son-of-a-bitch. Yeah, I got it now.” Mark let down. “Nuts….”
“There will be other storms.”
“Yeah, that part is a given. It’s the when I’m worried about.”
“Come, we must leave.”
“After we check the raft,” Mark said, glassing the near shoreline. “I guessing that’s it. Come on, Wheajo. Be a heck of a thing to find out later that somebody’s been nibbling whatever you used to tie it together with.”
“A cursory examination.”
“That’s all I’m asking for.”
A ploy surely, Wheajo surveyed the ridge and the shorelines. “I am sure your Mr. Delgado would appreciate a picture.” Mark was nodding. “Very well. Proceed.”
Mark started away. “Oh, and Wheajo?”
“You have yet another request?”
“Nope,” Mark said, slinking through the cycads. “Just wondering how you’d feel about yellow-head for dinner.”
*****
The rain had ended hours ago, and Ron was enjoying the lingering coolness before it got sticky again.
“Three more should do it,” Tony said, reaching.
Ron handed him a fistful of strips, leaning to avoid the smoke. “How are the coals doing?”
Tony took a peek. “Should be good for this set,” he said, draping the strips across the rods inside the smoker. “We can check in a
n hour, but I think we’ll be okay.” He closed the door and latched it. “You try any yet?”
“They’re not bad.”
“Just not bad?”
“It’s not fried chicken, Tony. And it is getting old about now. Is less salty… which is good.”
“Would be nice to have something other than salt to cook with. I suppose even lobster would get boring after a while.” Tony grabbed the water jug and walked to the ferns. Ron stuck out his hands, and Tony started pouring. “If we’re not out of here tomorrow, I’ll get Wheajo to take me around the island and see if we can find something with a bite.”
Ron finished rinsing, then traded places with Tony. “I hear the hillside has plants that don’t grow on the island,” he said, pouring.
“And if whoever told you that remembers to bring some down here, I might even try using them.”
Ron drained the jug, capped it, and grabbed the other one. “You think much about what’s happening at home?”
“I’ve been trying not to,” Tony said, scrubbing bits of meat from under his fingernails. “It’s always there though, just under the surface.” He checked his hands. “That’s good, Ron, thanks.
“Little League starts in a week or so, so I know Wesley will be driving Cristina up a wall. Mr. Dropheimer had them out the week before we left. He’s the soccer coach, and the girls just love him. And with the seasons so close, Wes and Christy have started arguing about which is better, baseball or soccer. Their mom does better with the back and forth than I do. I do try though.
“You know how it is with kids.”
“Sort of, I guess. I know how it was with my brother.”
“I’m sorry, Ron. Here I am, running off at the mouth.”
Ron stopped by the table. “Don’t worry about it. I get messed up when it comes to kids, too.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met your brother. Older or younger?”
“Older. And no, you’ve never met him. Last time he was in was like seven… eight years ago?”
