Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs

by Max McCoy

  "I'm sorry," Indy stammered. "I just noticed how good you smell."

  Joan appeared unfazed by this remark. "We all do after a bath."

  "No," Indy said. He glanced over and noticed how her bare feet dangled above the ground. "I mean, it's different."

  "Dr. Jones." Joan's lips were tight. "Are you looking at my legs?"

  "Sorry," he said. "They're nice legs."

  "You're just sorry you got caught," she teased. "Have you been in the desert so long that you've resorted to flirting with a nun? At least, I think I still am. I'm not sure. It's been increasingly easy to forget."

  "No kidding," he said.

  "What I mean is, there's nobody to care what you do out here. It's just the wind and the sky and the desert. Nobody's breathing down your neck trying to tell you how to live or how to get closer to God. Know what I mean?"

  "Look, I need to get some work done," Indy said. "I've got lots of things to do that I'd better get right on top of—"

  "It's the difference between religion and spirituality, I think," she said. "Religion is an institution. Its business is to perpetuate itself by telling people what to do. But spirituality is an individual's own personal relationship with the Almighty."

  "Do you want your clothes? I'll get your clothes for you if you want them," he offered.

  "I can get them," she said.

  Joan slid down from the bed of the truck, and as she did, the towel she was wearing gathered and rose above her knees. Indy glanced quickly away, and his head was still turned as she walked over and placed her arms around his neck.

  "You know what, Dr. Jones?" she whispered in his ear. "I don't think God wants me to be a nun anymore."

  Indy swallowed.

  "And you know what else?"

  "No," he said with a rasp. "What?"

  "I think I've succeeded in scaring the daylights out of you." She flicked his earlobe with her finger. "Shame on you for looking at me like I was the blue-plate special. And shame on me for enjoying it."

  A moment later Meryn bellowed the alarm.

  "Bandits!"

  The fast-moving Mongol ponies swept toward the well like the wind, and Indy barely had time to pull Joan down with him beneath the bed of the truck and draw his Webley before the bandits were upon them. The poor Buriat soldier that had been sent to track the expedition on horseback was the first to die, a lance driven through his neck.

  Meryn shot the lead bandit out of the saddle with his single-shot rifle, then lunged at the next while swinging the rifle like a club. The butt hit the bandit in the stomach, knocking him from his horse. When he hit the ground Meryn was on top of him with a curved knife, and he slit his throat in one motion.

  Then Meryn himself fell as a slug took him in the shoulder.

  "You stay here," Indy told Joan.

  Indy dashed from beneath the cover of the truck and into the thick of the battle. A bandit rode between him and Meryn and Indy gripped the horse's bit and twisted fiercely, causing the iron to gouge the soft palate of the horse's mouth. The animal fell over in a blur of teeth and flashing hooves, pinning its screaming rider beneath.

  Indy reached Meryn, grasped his jacket collar with one hand, and began to pull him toward the safety of the trucks while keeping up a regular barrage with the Webley. They had almost made it when a particularly ferocious-looking bandit on a prancing black pony cut them off.

  Indy pointed the Webley at the bandit's head and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell with an impotent click on a spent cartridge.

  "Time out?" Indy said hopefully.

  The bandit shouldered his musket and the muzzle hovered over Indy's chest. Then there was the thunderous report of a large-caliber rifle... and the bandit's blood rolled down onto the front of his shirt.

  On top of the bed of the truck, Granger worked the bolt on his 7.5mm rifle and a cartridge flew from the breech. Then, with workmanlike precision, he drove home a fresh round and took aim at another target.

  Indy pulled Meryn beneath the truck. Loki was there, with Joan, and he was growling.

  "How're we doing?" he shouted to Granger.

  "We're losing," Granger said between shots. "There must be thirty of them, and we're down to six. And they've made off with half of our camels."

  "Where's your gun, Sister?" Indy asked as he reloaded the Webley.

  "Up on the bed of the truck, with my clothes."

  Indy stood up, firing as he went, and snatched down the holstered gun.

  "You had better start using it if you want to stay alive," he said as he tossed it at her. "If you hadn't noticed, things are serious."

  Joan pointed the revolver at the whirling blur of one of the bandits and fired, but nothing happened. Then she shot twice more, and the bandit went down.

  "Good," Indy said. "Keep it up."

  Suddenly the camp became quiet, but there was so much smoke that Indy could not tell what was happening. Granger jumped down from the bed of the truck and crouched next to Indy.

  "What do you make of it, Jones?"

  "I don't know," Indy said.

  "Perhaps they withdrew."

  "I don't think so." Indy shook his head. "They had us where they wanted us. Wait—do you hear that?"

  "My God," Granger breathed. "It's the baying of dogs."

  "They've brought the dog pack in to finish us off," Indy said. "Quick, we need to get into the cabs of the trucks. It sounds like there are a hundred of them, and we can't shoot them all."

  The bandits drove the dogs into camp and the animals surged around whatever was on the ground, including the fallen bandit comrades, and began to shred flesh from bone.

  Joan buried her face against Indy's shoulder.

  "I can't watch," she said.

  Then the dogs discovered the survivors beneath the bed of the truck. Loki vaulted into the pack, and a terrific fight ensued, while Indy and Granger emptied their weapons at the closest animals. Driven by the scent of blood, the dogs were briefly distracted as they fell upon their own wounded.

  "Keep shooting," he told Joan. "This is worse than serious."

  The dogs were coming from all sides now, snapping at hands and faces and tearing away bits of clothing. Indy and Granger placed Joan between them and continued to fight.

  One of the dogs sank his teeth into the heel of Meryn's boot and began to drag the unconscious man from beneath the truck. Granger shot the animal and hauled Meryn back, suffering a number of bites on his own hands and arms as he did so.

  "This is a helluva way to die," Granger remarked.

  The volley of a dozen rifles shook the camp, followed by a second and then a third volley. The dogs began to scatter, leaving many of the pack behind to die, and then the bandits retreated through the camp, pausing only to fire a shot now and then at whatever was advancing toward them.

  In a few moments the camp was still once again, although it now stank of nitrate and was littered with the bodies of men and dogs. Through the blanket of gun smoke that floated at shin level, Indy could see a pair of Mongol riding boots striding toward them.

  "The dogs have gone."

  Indy and Granger crawled out.

  The stranger was tall, elegantly robed, and carried an ornate matchlock rifle in the crook of his arm. On his belt was a knife whose silver handle was studded with gems. He held the reins of a magnificent white horse, an Arabian, and behind him loitered a dozen men like himself.

  "We are grateful," Granger said.

  "Don't be," the stranger said. "I am leaving you with your lives, but it looks as if Tzi's men have made a shambles of your caravan. It may have been more merciful to let you die quickly now rather than later, and much more slowly, in the desert."

  "Thanks for giving us the choice," Indy said.

  "I will require something in exchange for my services, since my men do not ride for free. A few camels, perhaps, ammunition. We could work something out if the woman is for sale."

  Indy looked down at Joan. She was propped up on her elbows b
eneath the truck, dressing Meryn's shoulder, and the towel threatened to fall away from her upper body. Suddenly aware of the eyes on her, Joan pulled the towel back up.

  "She's mine," Indy said quickly.

  "Too bad," the man said. "I have been eager to make the beast with two backs with a Western woman, but I have not yet found one that is willing. Why do you suppose that is? Here in Mongolia, women consider it an honor to share themselves with guests."

  "It is our custom," Indy said, "that we do not."

  "What a backward race you Americans are."

  "I say, are you chaps bandits as well?" Granger asked.

  "It is an ugly word," the Mongolian said. "We prefer corsairs, privateers, pirates, raiders, guerrillas, irregulars, mercenaries, or simply, patriots. We steal so that we can continue our fight against the Communists."

  "We have a little money we would gladly share with you." Granger held out a fistful of coins.

  "Bah!" the man said, and struck the coins to the ground. "What do we care for money out here on the desert! Where would we spend it, what would it bring us? Give us food, water, grain for our ponies, women for our pleasure, and guns and ammunition so that we may slay our enemies. These are the things that make up the life of a man. Do not insult us with the bits of trash you grovel after in the cities."

  "Who are you?" Granger asked.

  "I am Tzen Khan, a descendant of the great Genghis Khan, and this is my band. We live free or die. We do not ordinarily come to the aid of foreign caravans, but I admire courage above all things. You fought well and sent many of the human dogs to the netherworld where they belong."

  Khan stepped forward and peered intently at Indy's face.

  "I like you," he said. "I do not know why, but I like you. We have met before, I'm sure, in some other lifetime long ago. I can tell by the fire behind your eyes that you have always been an adventurer, an interloper in strange lands. Who knows? Among the thousand names we have worn, perhaps you were Marco Polo and I, Kubla Khan!"

  "Perhaps," Indy said.

  "Come to my yurt and we will discuss the battle in detail. My camp is just over those dunes, not more than half a kilometer. It will be cold tonight, and your injured friend should be protected from the elements. And do not fear because I have plenty of goat!"

  "Indy," Joan said. "What do we do about the dead?"

  "We follow the Mongol custom," he said, "and let the desert take care of them."

  Indy spent twenty minutes, however, searching for Loki among the dead. The injured dogs he encountered he shot; not for vengeance, but for mercy.

  With the exception of Meryn, all of the camel drivers were dead. So were a score of fallen bandits that were scattered about camp; Khan's men had made sure of that, and had used their knives in order to conserve ammunition.

  Indy found no sign, however, of Loki.

  Khan's yurt was an eighteen-foot conical tent of layered felt that stretched over a lattice frame of willow branches, which, despite its solid appearance, could be erected or taken down in less than half an hour. Joan was amazed when she parted the felt door to see that inside, the yurt was as well-appointed as any Western living room.

  There were bright rugs and lavishly carved furniture, including an imposing red lacquer chest that had a picture of the Buddha on it. The walls were hung with quilts. The rope bed doubled as a sofa, and in one corner there was an iron stove with a stack that led up through the roof of the tent. On top of the stove was a large iron pot of slowly cooking onions and goat.

  "Why don't we travel with these?" Joan asked.

  "Because we're stupid Westerners," Indy replied as he and Granger helped Meryn inside. "We sleep in those freezing, thin-walled tents that just about any stiff breeze can knock down, then we congratulate ourselves on being civilized."

  They placed Meryn on the rope bed. Indy opened the medical kit, and as he proceeded to change the dressing and sprinkle sulfa powder on the wound, a woman and a young girl dished out plentiful helpings of the goat stew. The girl was about seventeen, with luxurious black hair, and neither of them spoke while they worked.

  "Is it serious?" Joan asked.

  "No," Indy said. "The bullet passed through. He will heal, in time, as long as we can keep it clean."

  When Khan's daughter placed a wooden bowl of stew beside him, Indy noticed that her face was scarred, as if from a terrible case of acne, only worse.

  "What is wrong with your daughter?" Joan asked.

  "She is not my daughter," Khan said. "I rescued her and the woman from one of General Tzi's bands. They both would have been sold into slavery if I had not found them. They stay here now of their own will, and they are free to go if they wish."

  "Tell us about this Tzi," Granger said. "Those were his troops that attacked us, were they not?"

  "Of course," Khan concurred. "No one but Tzi uses wild dogs. His citadel is not far from here, perhaps three or four days. I will visit him someday, when the power of the False Lama is broken, and I will rub him out."

  "Getting rid of the competition?" Granger asked. "I mean, he is a rival of yours."

  "More than that." Khan's eyes filled with hatred as he spoke. "Tzi murdered my family. My wife, my three beautiful children. Princesses all. He was jealous of their affection for me, so he ate their hearts."

  "Literally, he ate their hearts?" Granger asked.

  "I understand that he cooked them first."

  "How horrible," Joan said.

  "I was driven mad with despair and wandered the desert for days until my best friend found me and brought me home to my yurt. Later, when Tzi discovered that I held another living thing dear to me, he kidnapped my best friend. He tortured him to death, then sent me his ear as a reminder."

  Joan shuddered. "How horrible."

  "Quite," Granger said, rubbing the stub of his own mauled ear.

  "That is why I am no longer close to anyone," Khan went on. "That is why the woman and the child do not speak to me. Even though they sleep here in my yurt, I live alone."

  "Khan," Indy said. "If you have vowed not to make friends with anyone for fear of endangering their life, then why did you tell me you liked me?"

  Khan's answer was nonchalant. "Oh, I did not think you would survive long anyway."

  "Terrific," Indy said.

  "Khan," Joan asked, "what's wrong with the girl's face?"

  "Smallpox," Indy answered. "She was lucky to have survived."

  "He is right," Khan said. "Many of my band have suffered with this disease. Those it does not kill, it marks, like her. Once you have it, though, it never comes back."

  "We have medicine for that," Indy said. "Vaccines. Shots. It would spare those of your people who have not had the disease from getting it. We all have had it, so we do not fear catching the disease. But we could share the smallpox vaccination with you, and show you how to use it, and give you other medicines that will fight infection. Many of your people will live who otherwise would have died."

  "This is good," Khan said. "I have known of such remedies for some time, but never dreamed they would be brought to the very door of my yurt. This would make us stronger, in order to fight the Communists. And to kill Tzi, when he is no longer protected by evil."

  Khan slapped Indy on the back.

  "This is what I will do. In exchange for the medicine, I will reprovision your caravan and provide an escort to the edge of my territory, which is three days' ride from here. But beyond that I can do nothing, because the land is under the control of Tzi and the False Lama. If the spell were broken, I could do more, but I dare not. Bullets are no match for black magic, and I must bide my time until I can avenge the deaths of my wife, my daughters, and my best friend."

  "I wish you the best of luck," Indy said.

  "And I, you!" Khan smiled. "It has been pleasant to have a friend again, if only for a little while. I hope that we meet in your next life as well, but perhaps it would be more interesting to be enemies, no? If only I had an enemy I could admire, then
I could die a happy man."

  "Stick around," Granger said. "The Communists may prove to be more than a match."

  One week and a dozen minor adventures after leaving the protection of Khan's band of brigands, the caravan—with the two automobiles and ten camels driven by Meryn—reached the base of the Flaming Cliffs. An imposing and gigantic structure of red sandstone, the cliffs rose from the desert plateau like a page from a child's storybook—brilliantly hued, and resembling nothing so much as impossibly gigantic fortresses, cathedrals, and spires.

  Within two minutes of bringing the trucks to a stop, Granger had uncovered the first broken shells of dinosaur egg and showed them to Indy.

  "This place is lousy with them," Granger said. "You can't walk a hundred feet in any direction without stumbling over them. When we first found them, we thought they were birds' eggs—imagine, just ten years ago, we didn't even know how dinosaurs reproduced."

  Indy took the bit of shell and rubbed his thumb across the porous surface. It felt just like a chicken's egg, only larger.

  "Maybe dinosaurs were just a type of big bird," he suggested.

  "You need to work on your humor, Jones," Granger observed. "It's getting a little stale."

  "Sorry," Indy said.

  "Why are there so many fossils here?" Joan asked. "I mean, they have found fossils elsewhere in the world—Montana, for example, and even Kansas—but nothing to compare with what has been found around these red sandstone cliffs."

  "Nobody knows for sure," Granger explained, "although much of it may have to do with the unchanging nature of this particular corner of the world. It apparently looks just as it did sixty to eighty million years ago, during the late Cretaceous, the last hurrah of the dinosaurs."

  "I feel like I've stepped back in time," Joan said.

  "Imagine what wonders some of those cliffs must contain," Granger said. "There are hundreds of square miles to explore here, and we have barely scratched the surface in the handful of expeditions that have come here during the last ten years."

  "Has anyone actually climbed up into those cliffs?"

  "Not far," Granger said. "They are too rugged."