Footprints of Thunder

by James F. David

  When he peeked through the front door of the building he saw two soldiers walking up the street. They wore helmets but carried their guns casually, as if they felt safe from fire.

  When Luis stepped from the doorway and called to them, their guns pointed at him and he instinctively put his hands in the air. When the guardsmen demanded identification, Luis started a long explanation about being mugged and losing his wallet and pointed at his injured head to prove it. Though they listened skeptically, they only searched him for weapons and then escorted him down the street to a looted furniture store used as a holding area. He joined a room full of old men and women who were waiting for transportation.

  An hour later Luis was called to a desk and a woman soldier asked him a long list of questions and filled out two forms with the answers. Luis gave her Steve’s phone number and address, but she reminded him the phones were not working, then sent him back to sit with the old men and women.

  Luis sat against the wall with his head on his arms, finally dozing off. Someone shook him awake. It was the woman soldier. She was moving all the sleeping people out. He followed the crowd to find two canvas-covered army trucks and crawled in the back of one.

  Luis watched out the back of the truck as he left his neighborhood behind. Bodies lay here and there in the streets, some wearing the colors of the Zombies, then in the colors of the Diablos. Finally the truck left the bodies and the burned-out buildings behind.

  When the truck stopped, soldiers began helping the passengers out. Luis looked for a familiar face but found none, so he pushed through the crowd, trying to find a street sign to orient himself. He was nearly to the edge of the crowd when someone slammed into him from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist—his daughter Charlotte, hugging him.

  His other kids—the older ones—ran up behind. After he had hugged each one he looked up to see Melinda with tears in her eyes, and he opened his arms for her. They both cried.

  After a minute they separated and kissed and then looked into each other’s eyes. Melinda immediately noticed the blood in his hair.

  “Luis, you’re hurt—” she began.

  Luis shushed her with a finger to her lips, nodding to the kids. He didn’t want to scare them. Melinda, comprehending, quickly changed the subject.

  “We were so worried. Steve and I both tried to look for you, but we couldn’t get through. It’s almost like a war.”

  “It is a war. Where’s Cinda?”

  “With Steve and Tanya. She’s fine. What about Mrs. Weatherby?”

  Luis shook his head furtively, knowing Melinda and Charlotte would understand.

  “She’s with a friend now. A friend who’ll never leave her,” he explained. Later he’d report the details.

  Then Luis picked little Katrina up in his arms, and he and his family walked off into what was left of the city.

  57. Moonscape

  Major Cox called today with a most bizarre report. He claimed that the pond at his Sussex home had disappeared. I investigated, as was my duty, to find it indeed was gone, boat, dock, water, fish and all, leaving nothing but a muddy hole.

  —Constable Clarke, October 6, 1921

  Honolulu, Hawaii

  PostQuilt: Wednesday, 3:25 A.M. AHT

  The moon photos were spread all over Dr. Wang’s office, Carrollee and Emmett had divided them up for analysis. Few university classes were going on, and they might have recruited a couple of graduate students to help them. But they were scientists, and if there was a discovery to make here, Carrollee and Emmett wanted to be the first to make it.

  Each of them compared the new pictures with file photos taken long before the disaster. Each also used a schematic of the moon’s surface that pointed out features and labeled major craters. Every new photo was scanned quickly, first for obvious changes, and then painstakingly viewed through a magnifying glass, comparing it with those from the file.

  They flipped a coin to decide who got to examine the Sea of Tranquility. Emmett won, but Carrollee looked over his shoulder anyway, trying to spot something before he did. But they found nothing that varied from the plates they had pulled from the files. Frustrated, they divided up the rest of the lunar landing sites and examined each of those areas carefully. After that they began systematically searching the surface of the moon. Emmett sat up and stretched his arms high over his head. His photos were on Dr. Wang’s desk and he’d been bending over them most of the night, and his back ached.

  “My back is killing me,” he complained.

  “At least you got the desk,” Carrollee pointed out, rubbing her own back, and then her eyes.

  Carrollee was on the floor on her hands and knees, wearing a white knit shirt with white Bermuda shorts. White would be fine on most people, but Carrollee was not most people. She’d added a shiny white belt, white socks, white shoes, white globular earrings the size of Ping-Pong balls, and a large white barrette. A white fanny pack had been deposited in a chair. In a blizzard she would be invisible, better camouflaged than Russian snow troops. Emmett regarded her briefly, rubbed his back again, and then leaned over the desk.

  He had gotten the focal point of his magnifying glass just right when he felt Carrollee behind him. Then she put her hands on his hips and pressed hers against his bottom. As soon as her hands touched him, his breathing stopped, and his heart started to pound. He felt her hands massaging his shoulders, but Emmett knew he would never relax with her body pushed up against him. Her hands worked their way down his spine, and he began to breathe again, not deeply, in relaxation, but in short ragged bursts. He remained bent over the desk, enjoying the sensations and changes taking place in his body. It’s only a friendly back rub, he told himself, over and over. This may not be the signal to cross the line from professional friends to something more personal.

  Emmett had nearly convinced himself it was an innocent gesture when Carrollee stopped her massage and folded herself over Emmett’s back, slipping her hands around his waist, and then sliding them up to rub his chest. Her breasts against his back and her hands on his chest told him her true intentions. Then she gave a ragged sigh, and put her head down on his back.

  “I want a back rub next,” she said, and then added, “or something to relax me. Too bad we didn’t find something in the obvious spots, like the Apollo sites. I thought you had a good idea there for a while.”

  The hands were still rubbing Emmett’s chest, sending warm rushes through his body, and he was afraid if he spoke she would stop.

  “You know, I just thought of something,” Carrollee said.

  Carrollee’s hands stopped moving and her head came up, although she remained folded over his back.

  “How did they map those landing sites? Weren’t there some missions before the Apollo landings? … I mean, unmanned missions?”

  With that Carrollee stood up, her mind and mood now clearly back on the problem at hand. Emmett wanted to shout at her not to think so much, but he answered her.

  “Sure, they had to pick a good landing site, so they crashed some unmanned photographic craft into the moon. Landed a couple too, I think.” Emmett stood up, shaking his head to disperse the fog of lust. “They had a terrible time with them— they were called Rangers. Yeah, now I remember. It took six or seven tries to get one out of Earth orbit, and then they missed the moon entirely. There were some other failures too.” Emmett searched while he talked, looking for the Space Almanac he used to locate the Apollo landing sites. When he found it he looked up Ranger. “Three Rangers crashed into the moon.”

  “Give me the sites.”

  “Ranger seven impacted in the Sea of Moons; Ranger eight in the Sea of Tranquility, and Ranger nine in the highlands near the Sea of Clouds.”

  “You take the Sea of Clouds and I’ll take the Sea of Moons.”

  Carrollee rushed back to her photos on the floor and shuffled through them, matching the photos to her Lunar Atlas. Emmett, suddenly feeling competitive, leafed hastily through his own photographs.
r />   Twenty minutes later they were still frustrated.

  “Carrollee, we’re expecting too much. This is only a theory. Even if it’s accurate it doesn’t mean there would be any evidence of it on the moon.”

  Carrollee listened, but her face showed she was unconvinced. She was in her research mode, a hunter after a prey. Without a kill, a discovery, she would be terribly frustrated.

  “You said they landed a couple of craft too? Rangers?”

  “No, they were called … Searcher … no, Surveyor.” Emmett turned to his Almanac again and found the surveyor project. He read through the section quickly. “Okay, we have landings in the Ocean of Storms … two there, Sea of Tranquility, Central Bay … there’s a crash site there too, and the highland region near Tycho Brahe. You start with the Ocean of Storms, and I’ll start with Central Bay. Whoever’s done first gets Tycho Brahe,” Emmett added to heat up the competition.

  They both examined their photos, trying to match them as quickly as possible. The early competitive rush, however, soon faded as the monotony of correlating details returned. Emmett began blanking out and found he had to review sections. Convinced he had covered all of Central Bay, he searched Tycho Brahe, mildly happy that he had beaten Carrollee.

  Taking a break, he decided to stretch, and needle her a little, but when he looked at her the back rub feelings came back. She was bent over on the floor, her bottom up and head down, staring through the magnifying glass. Suppressing an urge to fold himself over her, as she had him, he stared for a full minute, savoring her body and his feeling. Then he realized she hadn’t moved her magnifying glass in all that time.

  “You’ve found something?”

  “I don’t knew. This is peculiar though. It might just be a shadow.”

  Emmett grabbed his magnifying glass and got down next to Carrollee.

  “Right here,” she said, pointing. “Right there in that crater. I think it’s called Flamsteed Crater.”

  Since there wasn’t room for both of their heads, Carrollee leaned back so Emmett could get a good look. He looked first at the Lunar Atlas and then at Bridgette’s photo. This was no shadow, and what he saw hit him like a slap in the face.

  “This is it. This is what Dr. Paulson is looking for. We’ve got to get this to him, but how? We need a high-definition fax machine.”

  “My brother Richard’s in the military, remember.”

  ‘“Great! This could be important—What am I saying? This is incredible. I’ll type a message while you call him.”

  When everything was arranged they turned to leave and Carrollee rubbed Emmett’s back with her hand. Emmett warmed at her touch and slipped his arm around Carrollee’s shoulders, pulling her close and crossing the border from friendly to personal.

  “When we get back,” he suggested, “maybe I can give you a back rub.”

  Carrollee smiled and then said, “Tres bien.”

  58. The Guys

  I will hand you over to brutal men, men skilled in destruction.

  —Ezekiel 21:31

  Forest, former site of Portland, Oregon

  PostQuilt: Wednesday, 6:44 A.M. PST

  Ripman did come back in the morning, but with a take-it-or-leave-it offer.

  “I’ll take you to the edge of dinosaur country, then you’re on your own.”

  “What about John and Cubby? They’re your friends, Ripman, your good friends,” Ellen said.

  “Friends will get you killed in here. Hey, I hope they make it, but it’s not my problem. You want me to get you out of here or not?”

  Ellen had no choice. There was little chance she could find John on her own. With Carl and the guys on the loose and dinosaurs to worry about, she needed help. Besides, Angie deserved to get out of this alive. They had known each other for only a few days, yet they were friends for life.

  Ripman agreed to get them out on the Carlton side and led off through the trees. His pace was brisk, and keeping up was difficult but manageable. A fall chill greeted them when they climbed out from beneath the roots of the fallen giant. It had been snug in the hole, but goose bumps brought Ellen thoughts of her coat left behind in the clearing. Still, Carl and the guys could have it, she told herself, but they were never going to have her.

  Ripman kept up the fast pace of the previous day, and Ellen’s chill quickly turned into a light sweat. The trail he blazed led them up and down hills, which he never tried to go around. Fortunately, the dense canopy of the giant trees prevented significant underbrush and walking was relatively easy. The occasional fallen trees were problematic, since they seemed to explode into new growth, but the detours were few, Ellen was disoriented, but it appeared that their path was the closest thing to a straight line. Tired, she began watching her feet, letting herself be absorbed by the right-left rhythm, which replaced her thoughts,and her fears for herself and for her son. Suddenly she ran into Ripman, knocking him into a stumble.

  “Listen.”

  Ellen and Angie looked at each other and shook their heads. Ripman turned his head toward the southern sky. Ellen and Angie followed his gaze. A few seconds later they heard a distant roar, the sound of a jet. It grew louder, and they looked through the towering canopy to glimpse the plane, but it was futile. The sound reached a peak and then faded.

  “This is just too weird, Ellen.”

  “What is, Angie?”

  “Standing here in this … this impossible forest, with dinosaurs running around, following some teenage Jungle Jim, and having jets fly overhead.”

  Ellen was going to respond but then noticed Ripman’s head was still cocked. She listened too and picked up a low rumble, a sound that was not the jet. He motioned them to stand still and be quiet and then padded softly up the hill. As he approached the crest he slowed, bending into a crawl. He lay still for a minute and then signaled Angie and Ellen forward. They mimicked his movements, crawling the last few feet to his side, hearing a crunching and thumping as they approached the crest. Ellen peered fearfully through the ferns at the crest and over the top but saw only trees. She was about to ask Ripman what he was looking at when Angie’s finger shot out, pointing to movement in the distance- The trees were dense, but here and there through the gaps they could see dinosaurs. As she watched, she realized there were more than just a few. There was a herd.

  These dinosaurs were not like the trophy Carl and the guys had killed. These were bigger, and deep green. They were angling up the side of the hill but away from them. Ellen could see the animals were traveling on all fours, measuring ten to fifteen feet at the shoulders. Three horns protruded from each forehead and an armored collar was around each neck. Their long tails were tipped with three spikes. Ellen leaned into Rip-man and whispered in his ear.

  “Shouldn’t we-get out of here?”

  “Relax, they’re just big cows. They don’t eat people. Probably never seen a person before. There’s a meadow over that way. That’s where they used to be. For some reason they seem to be on the move. Let ‘em pass.”

  They lay in the grass as the dinosaurs came closer, their noise now a cacophony. Despite Ripman’s reassurance Ellen’s apprehension remained until the last one disappeared into the trees. Ellen started to rise, but Ripman held her arm pulling her back down.

  “We’ve got a problem. If we move straight ahead we cut across the path of those dinosaurs.”

  Ellen and Angie looked at each other, neither seeing the problem.

  “Those dinosaurs are on the move for some reason. They were happily stuffing themselves with grass and ferns yesterday.”

  “You know what they say about greener pastures,” Angie offered.

  “Maybe. Maybe they’re moving because they don’t want to be somebody’s lunch.”

  Ellen blanched at the thought of whatever might eat one of those dinosaurs for lunch.

  “Well then, let’s head back the other way and find another way around.” Angie looked to Ellen for support.

  “If we go that way we head back toward Carl and the
guys,” Ellen reasoned. “If we go in the direction the dinosaurs came from we could be heading right toward whatever was hunting them. But if we cut across …”

  “I see,” Angie said, her mind weighing the risks. “If we cut across we better move fast, since we don’t know if something is following the herd, and how far back it might be.”

  Ripman seemed impressed and sat quietly, letting them analyze the options. Angie decided first.

  “I’d rather be eaten by a dinosaur than raped by a bunch of assholes. I say our best bet is to cut straight across as fast as we can and get the hell out of this place. Remember Coop!” Angie, spoke the name sadly. Ellen realized Angie was depressed over more than a senseless death. She had cared for Coop. Seeing how Angie used her sexuality to manipulate men, it had never occurred to Ellen that Angie might have feelings for those men. Because Ellen had loved only one man, she assumed Angie was the same.

  “Let’s go for it,” Ellen said to Ripman.

  Ripman was nodding his head in appreciation for their clear thinking. “El-ah-mental,” he cheered.

  He led off through the trees at his usual pace, but this time with occasional pauses to listen. Ellen and Angie listened too, but depended more on their eyesight. The trees were far enough apart to see quite a distance. But Ripman was right, you’d hear a dinosaur before you’d see one in this forest.

  They were nearly across the track of the herd when Ripman slowed to a walk, then stopped, dropping to his knees, his eyes riveted on the ground. Ellen and Angie approached slowly, still watching for dinosaurs. Even before they reached him they could see a large pool of blood. Ellen immediately thought of John, but realized it was too much blood for him. It formed part of a trail that angled off through the trees, one corresponding to the dinosaurs’ path. Suddenly Ripman’s head snapped up and his face went pale.