Cretaceous Sea

by Will Hubbell

  "It won't always be like this. We're just starting. Even-tually, we'll staff up. You'll be a proper guide by then."

  "I hope so."

  "First lesson—a proper guide protects his clients from themselves. Find that young lady and make sure she's safe."

  Rick gave one longing look at the steaming coffee, then wordlessly walked toward the guest quarters. CON STOOD ATOP the low cliff above the beach, watch-ing the rising sun paint the sea with opalescent fire. Com-ing from an era where the rising oceans were barricaded behind massive seawalls, it was Con's first experience of a seashore's elemental pleasures. Everything was imbued with the thrill of discovery. Con closed her eyes and felt the sun's warmth on her face. She breathed deeply, rel-ishing the scents of the seashore. The air was full and rich, moist with salt spray and laden with the essence of countless living things. Her eyes still closed, Con HS7

  tened. The ever-present din of civilization was gone, leaving pure, unpolluted sound. She concentrated on the gentle rhythm of the waves until she imagined she could make out the sound of each drop, of each pebble and shell as it was rolled about. Con opened her eyes again and climbed down to the dancing water. As she walked across the cool, soft sand, the sea seemed to rush up to greet her. This world was so completely different from her gray, artificial home that she could not contain her astonish-ment and joy. She trembled before its awe-inspiring beauty. How long has it been since anyone experienced this? she wondered. Centuries? She gazed at this newly found world, trying to absorb every detail. "I claim all this!" she called out. "I claim it for Con Greighton." She smiled at her conceit. / can't claim this world. It's claimed me.

  RICK WENT TO Con's quarters to make sure she hadn't returned. They appeared empty. "Miss Greighton?" he called out softly. "Constance?" No answer.

  Rick scanned the area with eyes sharpened by years of hunting fossils. One set of footprints diverged from the rest. Rick walked over to examine them more closely. He felt certain they were the girl's. She was barefoot and walked where the ground was soft, making a clear trail. It led toward the shore, but away from the protected beach.

  THE MOSASAUR ROSE slowly to the surface of the sea. The thirty-foot-long reptile resembled a massive eel with a huge, pointed head. Breaking surface, it gulped air, then angled its exposed back to catch the first rays of the sun. It held its four flippers motionless and swam by sculling its powerful tail. The mosasaur's blood warmed and, as the night's sluggishness fell away, its hunger returned. The creature knew through age-old instinct that the sea turtles were returning to the island to lay their eggs. Each morning, female turtles could be found near the shore. Exhausted from their nocturnal labors, they were easy prey. The mosasaur's massive jaws and three-inch teeth could easily crush a turtle's shell, exposing the soft meat inside. Egg season was a time of plenty. With a deft movement of its flippers, the mosasaur changed direction and headed for the island to feed.

  FROM THE CLIFF, the beach had appeared to be littered with cobblestones, but when Con had reached the sand she discovered the "stones" were actually shells. They were like none she had ever seen. Many were large—the sizes of apples and grapefruit, and some were bigger than dinner plates. There were neat symmetrical coils and wildly twisted tubes. Some were smooth, while others were ruffled like petticoats. Con vaguely remembered a name from her biology book. Ammo-something. She re-called they were somewhat like squids. The fossilized shells pictured in the text were dull gray, but these were vividly colored and patterned.

  Con gathered up shells as she walked until there were too many to carry. She deposited her collection on the sand and went off to get more. There was such an abun-dance of choices, it was difficult to make selections. Within a short time, she had gathered a sizable pile of shells. She sat down to examine them. The sand about her was marked by the tracks of sea turtles, but, intent on her treasures, she didn't notice them.

  The shells' hues ranged from warm earth tones to stark white and black to iridescent shades of pink and blue. Many of the shells were banded with elaborate, contrast-ing designs. Even worn and broken ones were beautiful, revealing an intricate pattern of inner partitions. Con had decided that the three-inch pink shells were her favorites when she spotted the same shade in the middle of a small wave. She rose for a closer look and saw a small flotilla of pink shells suspended in the clear water. They moved together in a coordinated manner, like a school of fish.

  Con waded out for a closer look. The first thing she noticed was the animals' large eyes, which resembled those of cats. In front of the eyes was a mass of short tentacles. Occasionally, a pair of longer tentacles would flash out from this mass to seize some swimming prey. Just as quickly, the long tentacles would contract back to the shorter ones, which would writhe briefly as the animal fed. The ammonites did not scatter at Con's approach, but maintained their distance. Con waded deeper until a wave splashed her shorts and shirt. She looked at her dripping clothes—another civilized convention, like per-fumed soap-—then at the empty beach. "This is ridicu-lous," she said out loud, returning to shore. Impulsively, she shed her wet clothes, then reentered the water.

  Con had never been skinny-dipping, and, as she waded toward the shellfish, she felt daring and free. The wind and water caressed her bare body. It was a mildly erotic sensation, yet one that seemed completely appropriate. The last barrier between her and nature was gone. The ammonites retreated toward deeper water in pace with her advance. When the water reached her breasts, Con gently pushed off the sandy bottom and drifted. She floated where the waves pushed her, lifting her head only to gulp air. She watched the ammonites, blurred by her under-water vision into pink planets. They seemed to accept her and swam closer.

  I'm being reborn, thought Con. Botticelli's painting, The Birth of Venus, came to mind. Con pictured herself rising, newly made, from the ocean—nude and borne upon a seashell. It was an absurd but compelling idea. Con surrendered to its imagery and let the current carry her farther from shore. RICK TRIED TO stifle his irritation as he rehearsed in his mind what he would say to Greighton's daughter when he found her. "Excuse me, miss, but I was concerned for your safety." Too stuffy. "Hey, Constance, what's up?" Too lame. "Mr. Neville ordered me to check on you." Too blunt, but true. This job was not turning out as he had envisioned. Rick saw a guide as part explorer and part teacher. He wished to share his interest in the Cretaceous, more as an enthu-siast than as an authority. Apparently, Green and James conceived of his position far differently. Green had touted him as an expert. It was a claim that Rick would never have made. As a scientist, he was aware of how little he, or anyone, really knew about this period. At least, James recognized that Rick would have to learn on the job. Yet James, as well as Green, seemed to expect him to be a nursemaid, entertainer, and servant to the guests. Rick felt uncomfortable and ill suited for such a role. He had little idea how to fill it. The path grew stonier, and the footprints became hard-er to spot. Rick thought less about his job and more on tracking the girl. Surely, she's safe somewhere, watching the sunrise, he thought. The sooner I find her, the sooner I'll get my coffee.

  Despite his immediate task, Rick had to resist being distracted by his surroundings. After all, this was the Cre-taceous. Everything, from the smallest insects and plants, constituted a new discovery. Objectively, he recognized that he came from a time where human development, in-troduced species, and global warming had impoverished the biosphere. The landscapes Rick was familiar with were depleted and weedy. In comparison, even this tiny island seemed overflowing with abundance. He wondered if a twentieth-century visitor, someone from a world that still contained wild tigers and rain forests, would find this island equally astonishing.

  The tracks approached a low cliff overlooking the sea, then ended. Rick walked to the edge and looked down on the beach for signs of the girl. About thirty yards to his left, he spotted her footprints in the sand. They disap-peared at the edge of the surf, then reappeared sporadi-cally farther down the beach. They led to a pile of s
hells and a wad of clothing before vanishing into the sea. Rick's speculations about biology were instantly for-gotten. He wildly scrambled down the cliff. As soon as he reached the beach, he began to run.

  CON DRIFTED, ALMOST in a trance. The sea rocked her and washed her thoughts clean. Last night was forgotten. Daddy and Sara were forgotten. Only calm remained. Then, as she raised her head to breathe, a jarring sound shattered her tranquillity.

  "Constance!"

  Con turned and saw the guide running down the beach. Embarrassment surged through her. Does he know I'm naked? A worse thought came. He's been watching me! She was about to flee to deeper water when she heard him shout again.

  "Get out of the water!"

  There was something in his tone that stopped her cold—a note of fear, even panic. She saw that he was not looking at her, but farther out to sea.

  Con was gripped by Rick's fear and began to swim as fast as she could toward the shore. When she reached the shallows, she rose to her feet and began to run. The water slowed her movements like in a nightmare where every-thing is slow motion. Rick dashed into the waves, ex-tending an arm. Where the water was as high as Con's knees, they met. Rick grabbed Con's arm and wrenched her toward him. She almost fell. As she staggered to re-gain her balance, something caught the corner of her eye—a huge dark shape moving in the water.

  The mosasaur snapped its jaws on the empty water where, just an instant before, Con's legs had been. The momentum of its final burst of speed carried it toward the beach. Its underside scraped against sand and, as the wave receded, the reptile was momentarily exposed. It peered around in confusion and saw its prey standing out of reach on the shore, staring back.

  Con gazed in horror at the cold green eye that watched her. There was no question that she was staring at death itself. Beneath the eye was over two feet of triangular teeth. The reptile was an ambush hunter that expended its energy in a single savage burst. Foiled, it displayed no more emotion than a sprung trap. A wave washed over the three-foot head. The water churned as the creature bent like a serpent and twisted back into deeper water. A final thrust of the mosasaur''s powerful tail splashed both Con and Rick as it disappeared.

  Con swung around and glared wildly at Rick. Terror, shock, and embarrassment transformed into hysterical rage.

  "Don't look at me!" she screamed.

  Rick stood transfixed, his expression unreadable.

  Con struck him, scraping his face with her nails. "Go away!" she cried, as she hit him again. "Leave me alone!"

  Rick passively submitted to her blows. Frozen by awk-ward confusion, he had no idea how to react. As suddenly as it arose, Con's anger dissolved. She ran sobbing to her wet, sandy clothes and quickly dressed.

  When she dared to look at Rick, he stood a short way down the beach, touching a cut on his face.

  "Just go," yelled Con. "I'll be all right."

  Rick seemed struggling to say something, but remained speechless.

  "Go!" screamed Con.

  Hesitantly, Rick turned and walked away.

  8

  CON SAT ON THE BEACH AND WEPT. CONTRADICTORY

  emotions swept through her, waves of an inner storm that batted her one way, then another. She trembled as she imag-ined those cruel teeth tearing her apart, staining the water red as she dissolved into nothingness. There was no emotion in the nightmare eye that burned in her memory. It said, "You are merely food. Your existence, your pain mean nothing beside my hunger." Yet the eye was gone... foiled. She had survived unscathed. Relief swept over her and grew into giddy jubilation. She was so happy, if she could only stop crying, she'd shout. Shout to the world how good it was to be alive. Beautiful. The world was beautiful. As lovely as a tapestry. Yet, the tapestry hid monsters. Now she could smell their breath—the stench of death. The lovely vision that had enthralled her that morning was shattered. A feeling of pro-found loss overwhelmed her. Con, racked by sobs, mourned her innocent paradise. The bliss of floating with the ammo-nites had been defiled. She had not risen from the sea like Venus, she had been chased naked to... the guide! What must he think? Humiliation gripped her. So stupid! I've done everything wrong. How can I ever face him?

  Con replayed everything over and over until she was emo-tionally drained. Nothing was resolved. Then she recalled stories of her namesake, the pioneer woman. That Constance faced worse than this, she thought. It was small comfort. She was made of sterner stuff. Still, thoughts of her ancestor's trials—tales of panning gold while nine months pregnant— made Con cease crying. She peered about and saw she was alone. The sun had risen higher in the sky and had lost its rosy color. Its hot light revealed a different landscape, harder and stripped of fancy. With one last convulsive sigh, Con rose. With wariness and with trepidation, she walked to the water and attempted to wash the redness from her eyes. She doubted she had succeeded. Then she walked back to camp.

  JOE LOOKED AT Rick's battered face with wry amuse-ment as they walked to the aircraft. "You sure have a way with the ladies. Most guys would get smothered with kisses when they saved a girl's life, but not you."

  Rick remained silent.

  "So what happened?" asked Joe. "You say something wrong?"

  "I didn't say anything," replied Rick.

  "Nothing?"

  "Not a word."

  "You're kidding!"

  "It was an awkward moment. She was ..." Rick hesi-tated.

  "She was what?" queried Joe.

  "She was unclothed."

  "So? You must have seen a woman naked before." Joe looked at Rick and read his expression. "No!

  Don't tell me ... you've gone through college with your nose in a book."

  "More like a rock."

  "No girls at all?"

  "I'm not gay, if that's what you're asking."

  "Just shy," said Joe.

  "I've had girlfriends. But they were friends. Friends and colleagues." Joe snorted. "That Greighton girl's sure no 'colleague.' Not likely she'll be your friend, either. So what'd you do, just walk away?"

  "She told me to."

  "Oh man, that's ignorant! She was probably hysteri-cal," said Joe. "She needed comfort. Someone to talk to, no matter what she said."

  "What makes you an expert?" countered Rick.

  "I'm no expert, but I know a thing or two. You have to listen with more than your ears. Women don't always say what they mean."

  Rick sighed. "I feel like a dope."

  "Good. . . then our little chat taught you something." Joe looked at Rick's downcast face. "Don't worry," he said more gently, "it's curable."

  AS CON APPROACHED the compound, she smelled the aroma of cooking bacon. It was a comforting smell, and it made her aware of how hungry she was. She went straight to the dining pavilion and found her father seated with Sara and James. There was a silver coffeepot on the table along with platters of omelets, muffins, bacon, and a large bowl of fruit. Sara was taking grapes from the bowl and feeding them to John, one at a time. Engrossed in one another, they didn't notice Con until she reached the table.

  "What have you been doing?" Sara asked, staring at Con's disheveled hair and damp, sandy clothes.

  "You're a mess."

  John Greighton glanced at his daughter. "Go change before you eat."

  "Daddy, something happened. I..."

  "Tell me when you're properly dressed."

  "But. .."

  "Now!" he commanded.

  Con tried to remain composed, but felt sobs welling up inside her. She quickly turned and retreated toward her quarters before she burst into tears.

  "Well, she has an attitude," said Sara. "You've spoiled her, John."

  "My ex did that," he replied. He leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head "Now why don't you spoil me? I'd like some of those strawberries."

  Sara smiled and, placing a berry between her teeth, leaned over, and fed it to John. James sat and silently sipped his coffee, his face as bland as the brew in his cup. He was playing "the host," genial a
nd discreet. He understood that to people like John and Sara he was only "the help," a species of human wallpaper. The family drama had unfolded before him without his comment. He knew none was expected or desired.

  WHEN CON RETURNED, rinsed off and in fresh clothes, she found James seated alone at the pavilion. "Your fa-ther and Miss Boyton have finished breakfast and left for the beach. The protected one," he said pointedly. "If you've forgotten where it is . . ."

  "I remember," said Con in a small voice.

  "Good. Would you care to eat something, Miss Greigh-ton? I fear the omelets and bacon are cold. I can have Pandit make some fresh."

  "You needn't bother, this is fine. I'm famished."

  "Nothing like a little adventure to whet the appetite," said James. He watched Con flush red.

  "He told you?" said Con, with a flash of anger.

  "I had some questions when I saw his face," replied James evenly. "I'd like to hear your version. I need to know if he acted properly."

  "What did he tell you?"

  "Only that you had a near miss with some sea creature, and you might be upset. Is there more I should know?"

  Con blushed under James's intense gaze. "No," she muttered.

  "I'm relieved to hear that," said James.

  "Does . . . Does my father know?"

  "I thought you might want to tell him yourself."

  "Why bother?" said Con bitterly. "He has other things on his mind."

  "Indeed," said James dryly.

  "The guide ... uh ... Rick ... where's he?"

  "I sent him with Joe on a reconnaissance. I think they just left. I don't expect him back until this afternoon. His face should look better by then."

  "Would you ... Would you thank him for me? I... uh .. . forgot."

  "Certainly." James rose. "If you don't mind, I have to go over today's menu with Pandit. If you want anything, just ring this bell." James placed a small silver bell in front of Con and departed. She finished breakfast alone. Afterward, she returned to her quarters, pulled the cur-tains and flopped down on her bed.