by Will Hubbell
They spied a pale shape in the water and waded out to investigate. It was a small Hypsilophodontid. Its hide had been abraded, leaving only bloodless flesh. When they returned to the shore, Joe said, "Oh God, that was hor-rible. For a moment I thought..."
"Me too," said Rick, not wanting to hear the end of Joe's sentence.
"How far do you think we should search?"
"I haven't a clue," said Rick. "I've no experience in such matters. It's hard to tell how far we've gone."
"Hell," said Joe, "I've even lost track of the days, if you can call..."
"Shhhh!" said Rick urgently. "I hear something."
Joe listened. "I hear it, too. Just barely. Is it a bird?"
"I don't think so," said Rick. "It's too regular, and there's only one note."
"Three short... one long ... three short... one long ... three ... Con's signaling us!" cried Joe. "It's got be her!"
"CON!" yelled Rick at the top of his lungs.
He and Joe listened for a response, but the faint signal continued unchanged.
"Doesn't she hear us?" asked Rick. He shouted again and, this time, Joe joined in. They called Con's name until their throats were raw. Each time they paused, the distant tones showed no reaction.
"It's no use," said Joe. "The wind and the rain are muffling us. We've got to get closer."
"Yeah, but where's that?"
They both listened intently to the faint sound. It seemed to come from no place in particular and it was a while before they could even agree that it was originating downstream. Once they made that determination, they headed in that di-rection. They ran along the slippery, rain-drenched riverbank, pausing only to catch their breath, to listen for the signal and call out in hoarse voices. Each time, their cries had no ef-fect—the signal continued unaltered. They proceeded in this manner, with growing frustration, until a side stream barred their way.
The torrent of brown water was impossible to cross. "An-other goddamned detour!" said Joe in frustration.
They began moving upstream, looking for a place to ford. They were too tired to run anymore, but they scram-bled along the muddy slopes as fast as they could. As they went, the signal grew fainter and fainter. After a while, they could not hear it at all. The only sounds were rushing water and the steady fall of cold rain.
THE TYRANNOSAUR HIDE kept most of the rain off of Con, but it did not provide any warmth. Con drew her body into as compact a shape as possible and still blew upon her flute. Sitting tightly cross-legged, she hunched over and held her arms close to her chest. One hand grasped the hide around her while the other held the flute. The hide formed a crude hood, but rain still soaked into her hair. Con could not get warm. The longer she sat playing the flute, the colder she got. Her hands and feet became so frigid they hurt. She had to stop signaling for a period when she shivered so violently she could not make a note. After the shivering stopped, she felt exhausted. Every muscle was stiff, and her hands and feet were numb. Con found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on making the simple pattern of notes. Her mind clouded over, and lethargy set in. The-dark world became darker still, and she slumped over. The flute fell from her icy hand.
JOE AND RICK returned to the river as the light in the sky began to wane. The sound that had beckoned them was gone. Its absence pushed Rick to the verge of panic. That Con was alive at all was a miracle, but miracles have their limits. He knew that exposure to cold rain could quickly lead to hypothermia.
Joe sensed his agitation. "Maybe she has shelter and has gone in for the night."
"Are you willing to bet her life on that?" said Rick.
"No," replied Joe. "When it gets dark, we'll use the flashlights. Screw saving the batteries."
"Let's think about this," said Rick. "She's probably on this stretch of river, but where?"
"We hole up on high ground at night," said Joe. "I bet she does, too."
"I agree," said Rick. "Maybe she's found a cave, but the hilltops should be the first place we look." They headed for the first hill overlooking the river. When they climbed it, they found nothing. The light was dwindling rapidly, and they hurried to the next hill as fast as their exhausted bodies permitted. The reward was another desolate view. The next hill was but a distant black shape against a nearly black sky. They were about to descend when Joe spotted three nightstalkers feeding on the slopes below. He turned on the gun and said with-out enthusiasm, "Dinner."
Two of the nightstalkers quickly looked up as the gun cracked and the third nightstalker fell. After a brief pause, they resumed eating. "Uncaring bastards," said Joe. He marched down the hill to retrieve his kill. The nightstalkers were feeding on a Tyrannosaur's carcass, and the smell of their meal did not make Joe look forward to his. The two remaining animals stood their ground as Joe approached. Their yellow-brown eyes stared at him in an unnerving way. "Shoo," he said. They stayed put. "Not afraid of me? You should be." Joe adjusted the gun's power level and fired. The two carnivores exploded into a bloody mist, leaving only their lower legs to topple in the mud. Joe turned off the gun. It was a waste of power, but a satisfying one. He was bending over to pick up his and Rick's dinner when he spotted Con's shoe.
"Rick, come down here quick!"
By the time Rick arrived, Joe had his flashlight out and was peering into the remnants of Con's den. "She must have stayed here," he said. "See, here's her shoe."
"God, it stinks!" said Rick. "She stayed under this?"
"Looks like it. See where it's dug out? There's a drain-age trench in back." Disregarding the stench of the rotting Tyrannosaur, Rick leaned into the den and pulled out two bone frag-ments. "Look at these, Joe. They've been sawn."
Joe shook his head in amazement. "How the hell did she do that?"
"Beats me," said Rick. "I'd bet these have something to do with the sound we heard. Probably a bone whistle or something."
"She's one hell of a girl."
"But she abandoned her shelter," said Rick, the con-cern clear in his voice.
"It's easy to tell why."
"She may not have found another," said Rick. "We've got to find her tonight!" He took out his flashlight and began to scan the rain-washed slopes for footprints. He found numerous prints made by bare feet that seemed fresh, but they went in several different directions. He studied them carefully, knowing that his conclusions could be life-and-death ones. "She went down to the river, but she came back," he said, talking mostly to him-self. "She went to the hilltop several times, but there's one set of prints going around the hill. Let's follow those." Rick and Joe traced Con's journey around the hillside, but stopped when they encountered a set of prints leading down toward the next hill. They followed the trail until it disappeared halfway down the slope, washed away by runoff.
By the time they located where Con had scraped and washed the hide, it was absolutely black. The flashlights' beams were beginning to fail and Joe turned his off to save its battery. Rick's feeble yellow light illuminated the raindrops more brightly than the ground. "I don't see any trail!" Rick said in frustration.
"Then let's head for the high ground," Joe said.
They headed up the next hill, using the slope of the ground as much as the flashlight to guide them. When they reached its crest, Rick scanned about, "Nothing," he said, spitting out the word like a curse.
"Nothing but that rock."
Joe turned on his light. It was brighter than Rick's. "Since when does a rock have a foot?" CON WAS WANDERING in a cold, dark place when she heard the sound of waves washing upon a beach. Their sound was as regular as a heartbeat. She dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl toward the sound. The cold mud she was crawling through turned to warm sand. She looked around, and the darkness was gone. She could see snowcapped mountains towering over a bright green forest. Near the forest's edge was a wooden cabin, and Joe and Rick stepped out of it. Con waved to them, but she did not want to rise from the sand—it was too pleasantly warm to leave. Instead, she lay down and waited for them to
come to her. Instantly, Rick was lying beside her. He was crying and whispering at the same time. Over and over he repeated the same word.
Con opened her eyes, but there was nothing to see. The warm sand became skin pressed against her bare back, her bare legs, and her bare chest. Arms wrapped around her and legs pressed against hers. Fabric was piled over her. Her head rested on something soft, and a stubbly cheek touched hers. Someone was breathing in her ear and softly whispering her name.
"Rick? Joe?"
Con heard Rick's quiet voice next to her ear. "We're here. We found you."
"What. . . what are you doing?"
"Sharing body heat," he said. "You're suffering from hypothermia."
"I feel warmer now. I thought it was a dream."
"It's no dream, thank God," said Joe.
"So I'm not dead?"
"No ... no you're not," said Rick.
Rick's voice sounded far away. Con felt warm wetness on her cheeks. She wondered, Whose tears are those? She was too groggy to decide. The sound of waves re-turned, and soon they lulled her to sleep. 28
WHEN CON AWOKE IN THE MEAGER LIGHT OF DAY, SHE
was confused. She was wearing clothes, and they were dry. There were socks on her feet, a sweatshirt warmed her torso, and long pants covered her legs. She lay beneath blankets and was covered by a poncho. She could also feel someone nestled against her back. She looked at the arm around her waist.
"Rick?"
"Yes."
"I'm clothed. I thought I was ..."
"That was only to warm you up," said Rick quickly and awkwardly.
"Where did you get dry clothes? Where's Joe? How's the plane? Is there anything to eat?" Rick laughed. "You sure wake up fast!"
"Will you answer my questions!"
"All right. The clothes were dried the hard way—body heat under a poncho. Joe's out hunting. We've got some leftovers from last night."
"And the plane! Tell me about the plane!"
Rick hesitated before saying, "Gone without a trace."
The news hit Con like a blow. "Are you sure?"
"We're sure."
"Oh," said Con softly, and she began to cry.
Rick held her until she stifled her sobs. "When I was alone," said Con, "thinking about our cabin kept me going. I wanted to be there so much."
"Don't give up hope. We'll get through this yet."
"How?" asked Con. The doubt in her voice was plain.
"You want to eat something? We can discuss my plan when Joe returns." A hint of a smile crept onto her face. "You know me too well," she said. "Want to shut me up? Put food in my mouth."
"I wasn't trying to do that."
"Why not? It works."
Con turned to look at Rick's face in the dim light that filtered through the poncho. It was dirty, unshaven, and hag-gard, but his loving expression made it beautiful to her. She was reminded of the gaze he had on the beach, when he believed they were doomed. Although his look brought her joy, it also gave birth to a disturbing thought— Maybe he still thinks we're doomed.
EVER SINCE CON had been found, Rick had turned his thoughts to their dire situation. Until her rescue, his plans for the future had not extended beyond putting her to rest. If that sad duty was not to be merely postponed, he knew he must come up with a strategy for survival. He had spent much of the night weighing unpromising alterna-tives, before choosing one he had previously rejected. It was a desperate plan, if it could be called a plan at all. It was more of a gamble, and a long shot at that. I'm truly the guide now, Rick thought. Joe and Con will expect me to show the way. He realized that, despite their precarious circumstances, he must exude confi-dence. That knowledge burdened him, for as a scientist he dealt in probabilities, not certainties. The course he would propose was a calculated risk at best. Yet, as the guide, he would have to keep his doubts to himself. He was aware that a positive attitude enhanced the chances for survival. In facing the times ahead, a sense of hope would be crucial. Rick resolved to instill one in Con and Joe as he struggled to foster one in himself. As Con ate "leftover nightstalker, Rick mentally re-hearsed what he would say. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps from outside the poncho, fol-lowed by a thud. A cheerful voice called out. "Joe's Bed and Breakfast. I hope my guests are decent." Con threw off the poncho. "Joe!" she said joyfully.
Joe was standing, wrapped in the Tyrannosaur hide, with a dead nightstalker at his feet. "You get under that poncho, young lady. You weren't easy to warm up."
Con complied, and Joe crawled beneath the poncho to join her and Rick. She immediately threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "You're all damp!" she said.
"That dinosaur skin is a better fashion statement than it is a raincoat," said Joe with a grin. He looked at the bone Con had been gnawing. "You're not going to spoil your breakfast, are you? I've prepared something spe-cial."
"What?"
"Nightstalker a la Joe. It's served very rare."
"You shouldn't."
"I know," said Joe, "but since the bastard ate you out of house and home, it seemed only fitting." Con laughed, and her laughter brought happiness to Joe's face. "Rick's going to tell me all about your plans," she said.
"Plans?" said Joe, giving Rick a puzzled look. "Plans are good. Let's hear them, Rick."
"First, we need to set up a temporary camp. Someplace out of the rain."
"That sound's fine," said Joe. "But why temporary?"
"I see it as a base to hunt and build up our food sup-plies and our strength. As long as there's carrion, there'll be nightstalkers for food."
"Oh goody," said Joe.
"Don't complain," said Con. "You should try what I had."
"I've seen that carcass," said Joe. "I can't believe you ate that thing."
"Remember, I was sleeping under it," replied Con. "I got used to the smell."
"We could do a lot worse "than eat nightstalker," said Rick.
"You still haven't answered my question," said Joe. "Why a temporary camp?"
"Soon as the weather clears, we'll head out," said Rick.
"To where?" asked Con.
"We'll follow the river to the sea," said Rick. "To the sea and back to Montana Isle."
"You call that a plan?" said Joe. "What's the point of going there?"
"I think there's a chance people will return to the ob-servatory now that the impact's over."
"You're kidding yourself," said Joe. "No one's coming back there."
"You don't know that for sure," retorted Rick. "This time-altering thing is only a theory. It's just as likely they vacated the observatory for safety reasons."
"You agreed it was pointless to return," said Joe.
"That was when we still had the plane."
"So now, when we have to slog through cold rain, it's suddenly a good idea?"
"With the dust layer blocking the sun," said Rick, "the water cycle will shut down. Things will dry up and stay dry until sunlight returns."
"I'm for staying here," said Joe. "We can settle down and a make a place for ourselves."
"Look, Joe," said Rick, "let's not argue about this in front of Con."
"Don't go off," said Con. "I'm part of this, too. You can't decide without me."
"She's right," said Joe. "It's her life you're risking, too."
"Okay," said Rick with a sigh. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this." He sighed again. "We have to go because the ecosystem has collapsed. We're subsisting on scavengers that are living off carrion. It's an inadequate diet to begin with, especially in cold weather. It'll be snowing next and..."
"Snowing?" said Con.
"Yeah," said Rick. "And soon, even the nightstalkers will run out. If it were just you and me, Joe, I wouldn't care. But Con, I can't... I can't watch you starve. If we stay here ..." Rick stopped speaking, unable to utter the words that weighed so heavily on his mind. So much for exuding confidence, he thought.
Rick, Joe, and Con were but inches apart beneath the poncho. Con pee
red into Joe's dark eyes, saw his hesi-tation and sadness, and realized that the decision was hers alone. She was quiet for a while before she spoke. "I want to try to go to back to the island."
"All right," said Joe. "We'll spend this 'summer' by the shore." His lips formed a smile, but the sadness never left his eyes.
JOE, RICK, AND Con breakfasted on raw nightstalker. When she wasn't chewing the tough meat, Con recounted her adventures while Rick and Joe listened in amazement. Rick was relieved that the talk centered on Con and that he was not pressed for the particulars of his plan. For the moment, it was enough that it had been accepted. There would be plenty of time for details later. After breakfast, Rick and Joe went through their duffel bags to provide Con a wardrobe. Rick was closer to Con's size, but Joe insisted in contributing equally. The result was ill fitting and almost comical, but warm. Re-placing Con's missing shoe was the biggest problem. The best they could do was one of Rick's sandals, worn with three pairs of socks. Joe made Con take his poncho. "I'll use the hide, it's bound to soften up in time."
