Window In Time

by David Boyle

  He clicked the hammer back. Took a deep breath. “Your move, bitch.”

  *****

  Ron had spent the morning eddy hopping, and was making use of whatever slower water he could find alongshore when he heard what sounded vaguely like a gunshot. He nosed toward shore, listening carefully while giving his arms a break. The birds were chirping. A predator snarled in the distance. And he came to realize he’d heard nothing more threatening than the snap of a tree.

  He twisted and stretched, moving in ways as far removed from paddling as he could think of. After maybe three hours sleep, he’d taken to relying on force of habit to keep the boat moving. Which was fine, of course, except for the fact that it overtaxed a limited set of muscles. If the current had been stronger, even slightly, he’d long since have given in to the idea of paddling the boat backward for a while.

  His arms appreciated the break, but get too relaxed and the chances were excellent he’d end up miles downriver and have to paddle them all over again. He nosed the canoe out, and started paddling. He’d managed to retrieve not only his paddle, but also one that either Mark or Wheajo had been carrying. He switched his for the other. A different grip couldn’t hurt. Change the pressure points and maybe the blood flow to his hands would—

  Pow!

  There it was again, only far more distinct. “No way that’s a tree.”

  Another shot, and he held up stroking, and in short order heard four more, each shot spaced an almost equal amount with the others. His day bag was open, and he reached in and grabbed one of the remaining pieces of jerky. Ron curled his nose when he sniffed it, and took a bite anyway.

  It seemed reasonable that Mark was doing the shooting. The first was outside the box, or maybe a demonstration, the rest following in a manner that suggested concentration as opposed to panic, which for Mark was easy enough to do.

  Ron chewed the too old and far too smoky bit of jerky. “What the hell are you doing, Bennett?”

  Since finding the paddle, Ron had come to a better understanding of what Mark and Wheajo saw when the dinosaur had attacked. He’d stayed too long under the boat, and they in turn had given him up for dead. He could almost see the cross poked in the ground next to Tony’s, a premature gesture he was looking forward to rectifying.

  The shots were unusual, the middle three especially in how measured they were. Practice maybe? Mark showing Prentler? Or Wheajo? “But if I’m dead, why would you waste the ammunition?”

  Ron picked up his pace. “You guys drive me crazy.”

  *****

  Hayden tensed at the movement, snarls lashing the forest when he spotted Mark. “He made it, Bull! And no escort either!” Mark came dodging through the ferns, a tiger striped tornado at work in the distance.

  In the channel below and struggling to control a singularly unhappy dinosaur, Charlie sighed. “Thank God.”

  “Had my doubts for a minute there,” said Hayden, smiling broadly as Mark came rushing toward the bank. “And what was the shooting about? I don’t remember you mentioning that part.”

  “Forget that! Just get moving!” Mark ran over, barely slowing before he skidded down the bank. “Talk about pissed! I mean, damn… that’s one very unhappy dinosaur. She is fuming!”

  Hayden splashed past the raft and took hold of the Discovery. “Keep her centered, Charlie,” he said, pushing the canoe along the channel while Mark guided the raft around the roots. “It was good we thought of this, Mark. Even down here, this was way close enough for my money.”

  The sky was expanding where the channel met the bay, the mud banks slipping past when Mark noticed the sock over Mike’s head. “Sure hope that was a clean one, Bull. Help calm him down any?”

  “I think so,” Charlie said, more poling than stroking. “Still wasn’t happy when she came bustin’ on through, so I’m thinkin’ I woulda had a harder time without.” The Discovery slipped from the shadows and into the bay. Hayden climbed into the stern; Mark onto the raft; Charlie working to power the roped-together craft into the sunshine.

  They powered away, Charlie and Hayden stroking for all they were worth, Mark trying simply not to get jolted off the raft. The bay was calm, and the tied-together craft moved with relative ease, a situation that changed dramatically the moment they turned west beneath the last of the willows strung along the western rim of the bay. The onrushing current started the Discovery turning, Charlie stroking frantically to correct course.

  “Dig, Charlie, bury that blade!” Hayden shouted, stretched out over the side and fighting to sweep the stern around. “There’s a raft back here, remember?”

  “I’m tryin, man. I’m tryin’!”

  The raft was wobblier than Mark had hoped. “Yeah, well try harder cause we left the damn cross ties too long and I can’t take a decent stroke!” Then too, the cuttings fore and aft of the oarlocks were murder on the knees. Mark looked back, stroking. “Got one thing going for us.”

  “What’s that?” Hayden said, pumping.

  “She keeps bitching like that, we shouldn’t have any company.” Mark switched sides. “Least for the next mile or so.” The snarls faded as they struggled upriver, the raft burping against the current with every tug of the canoe. They steered for the curve, stroking feverishly, and there made a dash across the river, heads turned as the island slipped slowly behind the bank.

  A hundred yards past the curve and they could barely hear the snarls. Then another hundred….

  “Ease off for a second,” Hayden said, powering down. “Listen.”

  Honks sounded up the valley. Birds chirped from pockets of trees. Charlie twisted on his seat, straining. “I don’t hear a fuckin’ thing.”

  Hayden smiled. “Yeah, isn’t that great?”

  “Uh huh, great,” Mark said from behind. “Just keep moving. With how open it’s about to get, I’m not gonna feel comfortable until we’ve got a good couple of miles between her and us.” He sucked in a breath, and let it out slowly. “Glad that’s over. Prentler, I’ll have my hat back now. And the water if you would.”

  Hayden twisted around. “Don’t miss.”

  “Just not in the river.” Mark caught his hat, and the canteen after.

  “Had us going there for a while,” Hayden said, helping Charlie slip the Discovery closer to shore. “Those shots directed at her, or what?”

  Mark gulped for long seconds, then wiped his face. “The first one was. The other ones I used to get her—”

  “Hit her good I hope,” Charlie blurted, stroking.

  “I said it before, Bull. I could have put every round I got into her and all I would have accomplished is to get her on the island sooner than I wanted. Felt good, I’ll admit. But you need something a lot more serious than a handgun to do real damage to an animal like her.”

  “Maybe so,” said Hayden. “But if I’d had the chance, I’d have kept shooting.”

  “With how she fucked me over? You an’ me both.”

  The raft jiggled right, Mark corrected. “You know the point near the middle of the island?” Hayden nodded. “That’s where I was. And when I hit her, she damn near came across right there. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, but the cover isn’t the kind that makes for a quick getaway.”

  Mike was squirming again, Charlie’s feathered companion not at all pleased with being trussed up like a turkey. “I’ll let you lose, okay? I just need a couple minutes more.”

  “So you got her pissed,” said Hayden over his shoulder. “Then what…?”

  *****

  The Tripper was the next thing to empty, and with the river down nearly half a foot from yesterday, hauling the thing up the rock garden had been less of a pain than he’d expected. Ron was near the top, catching his breath and drinking in the view of the always impressive falls. The chutes near mid-river looked like fun. Next time down, maybe they could take one of the more exciting routes.

  Next time? Shit, why bother?

  That’s all it was, most likely. The river going down. Tha
t, and Sabrefang getting used to the rapids. Put even a dumbass like her in the water often enough and eventually she’d figure out how to get to the island without getting beat to shit on the rocks. Ron tugged the Tripper higher, the water rushing past his knees. The river dropping. Yeah, that had to be it.

  He listened again to the gunshots. First one, and later the series. What could you possibly have been doing, Bennett? She’d gotten on the island, Mark had spotted her, taken a shot, then made it to one of the cúpaqs and banged away when she got there.

  Maybe, except for the part where the shots were so evenly spaced. That just wasn’t how it happened with live targets. No, the ones he’d heard were closer to shooting at the range. Take aim, squeeze…. Then check the hit and do it all over again, slow and easy like. “And she’d never have stood still for that.” Ron pinned the Tripper on a rock, the boat wobbling in the current while he worked the kinks from his fingers.

  First the thing at the lake. Now her. Nothing was adding up.

  He listened to the snarls cutting through the hiss of the rapids. The channel was there, beckoning, but with Sabrefang on the loose he’d take his chances being spotted over a shorter paddle to camp. He checked the route to the top of the rock garden, then continued up. If he was dead, they’d be making decisions based on the assumption that they were now alone. And if not, there seemed the possibility that the gunshots were Mark’s attempt to signal him.

  Whatever the story, he’d have his answers soon.

  Ron crept up the bank, minutes later, searching. And sure enough, there was another cross next to Tony’s. He slipped back down, more confused than ever. The shots weren’t signals. “So what the hell were you shooting at?”

  He dragged the boat past the point, hopped in, and headed for the landing. The shots kept ringing in his head, each with the maddening pause in between. Why would Mark do that? “Hell, why would anyone do that?”

  The Tripper kissed the shoreline, and Ron quickly dragged it onto the mud. He took up the rifle and checked that a round was chambered. A vision came of Mark and Wheajo hurrying through the forest, and Mark blurting: ‘The dawzon exploded!’ Wheajo shouting… then the dinosaur. And popping out from under the canoe, wondering then and knowing now that everyone thought he was dead.

  He draped the sling over his shoulder, a snarling Sabrefang busy rearranging the forest as he crept toward the landing. He’d know right off if Charlie had made it to the cúpaqs. And the rest of them for that matter. However the bitch had gotten on the island, Ron was determined to make this latest invasion her last.

  A single set of footprints showed below the landing, somebody getting water most likely. But nothing with three toes, which meant she’d come the long way. He eased up the steps hammered into the bank, snarls punctuating the sound of thrashing foliage. A blood-stained T-shirt had been hung on a tree. A step higher, and he spotted another by the smoker. And two more farther down. Clumps of what looked like burnt fronds surrounded the fire pit, with smoke still drizzling into the trees.

  Ron came to realize that the shirts were on sticks, and to his left he saw that the tarp had been folded back, a patch of bare ground showing where the plants had been smothered. So what was there to cause that? The dry bags with their wet suits? The other tarp? The raft…?

  He stared for a second. The raft?

  And all at once the pieces started falling into place. Mark, Charlie, Hayden… they weren’t in the cúpaqs. And the missing Discovery wasn’t on the far side of the island. Ron hurried back to the Tripper, the implications of the events he’d seen and heard earlier sinking in. He pushed off and started paddling, the events of the last 24 hours swirling in his head, knowing too that living to see tomorrow depended on his getting past Pussy Cat without being spotted.

  “Holy shit! You sons-of-bitches are on your way home!”

  50

  Mark came up with a start. “What’s…? What was that?”

  Hayden twisted around. “Nothing to worry about. Just Charlie giving away our DNA samples.”

  “He’s a growing boy,” Charlie retorted, offering Mike a bit of jerky. “And what, you’d rather have him nibbling your knees?”

  “No, but he can catch stuff when we get back, which is more than I can say for us. If the Blazer’s gone, we can be looking at one heck of a long hike back to civilization.” Hayden thought for a second. “Has a nice ring, doesn’t it? Civilization.”

  Mark pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. “How long was I out?”

  “Half an hour maybe,” Charlie said, tapping Mike on the snout. “You’ve had enough. And yeah, I know you’re still hungry. But we gotta save some or Prentler’s gonna be pissed at us.”

  Hayden took a stroke, chuckling. “You feeling caught up yet?”

  “I guess,” Mark said, twisting. “Ow… ow…! Though if you spot anything soft along the way, I wouldn’t mind if you stopped. This platform sucks to lay on.”

  “Next place we pass selling mattresses, I’ll buy you one.” Hayden was in long distance mode, his paddle hitting the water near regularly enough to set a watch by. “And while I’m thinking about it, you remember what the take-out looks like?”

  “You’re asking me?” Mark worked to get his shoulder back in joint. “You were the one who got chased out of the reeds.”

  “Not that take-out. The real one. The one on the Powderhorn. You know, where you left the Blazer?” The recent flood had the reeds leaning again, not everywhere and not completely, but enough to provide a considerably better view of their surroundings than when they’d arrived.

  “You worry me sometimes. Didn’t you mark it on the map?”

  “Yeah, and which I remembered to bring. But you said you used a different one. And that one isn’t on the map. So what I’d like are some particulars. Like landmarks, for starters.”

  Mark frowned, thinking back. “From what the guy at the gas station said, it has to be like a mile or so farther down. We had a decent look at the river driving in, but who knows how it looks the other way around? Is way closer to the river than where we put in.”

  “Will we be able to see the car from the river?”

  “Yeah, through the trees. The forest service guys probably use it to turn their trucks around. We keep watch, it shouldn’t be too hard to spot.

  “And now that we’re talking, I do remember seeing three big pines sticking out on river right. Get to them, and we’ve gone too far.”

  “Three pine trees along a river runnin’ through a pine forest? Gimme a break, Bennett, there’s gotta be more than that.”

  “It’s just rocks, Charlie, just like at the put-in. No rapids upstream, so that could be something to watch for. Tony worked a log loose that was hung up on the rocks. Nothing like it along that stretch, so if it hasn’t rained too hard while we’ve been gone….” Clots of something fuzzy were tumbling along the bottom, bits of the stuff curling just below the surface. Hayden noticed them too. “Wonder what that’s about.”

  “A stream maybe?” Hayden shrugged. “Okay, so we shouldn’t miss the take-out if we keep our eyes open. Key on the bumper?”

  “Yep. Just like always. If the thing’s still there.”

  “That would definitely suck,” Hayden said, craning to peer over the bank. “Make it all the way to the take-out, and then have to walk to town.” He took a stroke—“Keep her steady, Bull”—and stood up. “Whoa…! Now that’s a lot of animals.”

  The frame was probably strong enough, but standing in a raft seemed not the thing to do. “What kind?” Mark asked.

  “The ones with the three horns.”

  “Trics?” Mark clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the paddle. “I had my way, I’d kill every damn one of them. How many?”

  “They’re wrapped around this whole section like two and three deep. Has to be hundreds at least.”

  “You’re kiddin’. Hundreds?” Charlie said, stroking evenly in the current. “This I gotta see.”

  Hayden dropped to h
is seat. “Just watch you don’t fall,” he said, bracing while Charlie hunched himself up onto his crutch.

  “Mother of God! No shit, hundreds.” Charlie peered off. “Babies too, only lots more of ‘em than back at the lake.” He slipped back onto his seat. “Place’s got all kinds of parades.” Mike was staring, his pet already comfortable being in the canoe. “You like it out here, don’t cha?” he said, scratching the dinosaur’s head. “Whatdya think, Bennett? They migratin’?”

  Hayden cocked an ear, waiting.

  “Way back when, I read a couple of articles that suggested duckbills migrated. Don’t remember any that talked about ceratopsians, but if the vegetation changes over the year, I guess it’s possible.” Mark’s stomach churned at the thought that the herd could contain members from the group that had killed Wheajo. “Damn them," he scowled. Mike poked his head over the side, sniffing, then lapped at the increasingly muddied water.

  “Oh yeah, those I remember,” Hayden said. “These palms coming up? They’re the same as the ones we saw when the mist faded.” He stretched, looking west. “Those hills, too.”

  Charlie reached back and stroked his pet’s neck. “You’re gonna be famous, ya know that?” The dinosaur wagged its long feathered tail. “He is bigger, isn’t he?”

  Hayden was taking in his surroundings. “Fatter, that’s for sure.” A snarl sounded in the distance. “Mike seem bigger to you?”

  Mark twisted back around. “You say something?”

  “Mike look bigger than when we found him?”

  “Maybe a little.” Mark frowned when the snarl sounded again. “That sound like Sabrefang to you?”

  “Sabrefang?” Hayden shifted on his seat, stroking. “More like going home jitters. You know what I’m talking about, right Charlie?”

  “Fuck yeah. Them I’ve been livin’ with since the storm.”

  “We’re easily five miles from the island. Besides, you heard her. She was clueless when we left.”