Cretaceous Sea

by Will Hubbell

  "We could soften the skin by chewing it," said Rick. "That's what Eskimos did."

  "Well, aren't you a font of wisdom," said Joe.

  "We could all help chew," said Con.

  "I don't trust you, Con," said Joe with a grin. "You might swallow." Rick plucked the nightstalker and stuffed its down into the pouch on his poncho before he finished butchering it. Once that task was done, they headed out to find a shelter. The dim light made it difficult to survey the countryside. Most of what they saw was silhouetted or wrapped in shadow. Nevertheless, they stayed close to the river. That was where carrion was found and, with it, their food— the nightstalkers that fed upon it. They followed the river for miles, and though they encountered a few corpses, they saw no scavengers. Then, after they turned a bend, Con said excitedly, "There's something wading in the river." She pointed to a small bipedal dinosaur struggling to reach the shore.

  "That's not a nightstalker," said Joe.

  "I'd say it's a hypsilophodontid," said Rick.

  "Good eating," said Joe, turning on his gun.

  "Wait till it gets to shore," said Rick. "We don't want to lose it to the river." Whether it was injured or suffering from the cold, the dinosaur moved sluggishly and unsteadily to the bank. When it reached shallow water, three nightstalkers sud-denly appeared. Whether they had been hiding by the bank or had crept up without anyone seeing them was impossible to tell. Although the carnivores were two feet shorter than the plant eater in the river and considerably lighter in build, they approached it boldly. Two circled around their prey to cut off its escape into deeper water, while the third barred its way to shore. The hypsilopho-dontid froze as the nightstalkers slowly advanced. Their attack was sudden and frantic. Using their enlarged toe claws, they slashed at their victim, which seemed inca-pable of defending itself. The wounds they inflicted ini-tially appeared minor, unlike the deep gashes of the Dromaeosauruses. Instead, the nightstalkers bloodied their prey in a rain of lesser blows until it was disem-boweled and collapsed into the water.

  Joe turned to Rick. "You said they ate only little things."

  "Obviously, I was wrong," Rick replied.

  Con said nothing, but she shook as she relived the memory of her last night under the Tyrannosaur. Joe methodically shot the three nightstalkers. "That's our food, you little bastards." Rick and Joe waded out into the river to butcher the hypsilophodontid while Con stood guard with the gun. Rick and Joe decided to cache most of the meat in the river by wedging it under stones. Finding enough stones took time, as did finding a suitable site for the cache.

  "I hope this is worth all the effort," said Rick.

  "I'm so sick of nightstalker," said Joe, "it'd be worth it if it took all day!" Con had borrowed Rick's knife to slice some leg mus-cle into strips while Joe and Rick piled the last rocks on the cache. "Come and get your hypsilo-whatever," she called. "It's rude to make a lady wait for lunch."

  "Start without us," Joe called back. "We're almost done." Then he said to Rick in a low voice, "I agreed on your crazy journey because of Con, but won't you recon-sider? I don't want her to suffer needlessly."

  "Joe, she's souped" Rick whispered back. "She's al-ready thinner. She looks like she hasn't eaten for a week."

  Joe glanced at Con and shook his head. "She does."

  "Joe, I'm not fooling myself. I know our chances aren't good, but I can't think of anything better."

  "I just want to take care of her. There are worse deaths than starving."

  "Dying without hope is one of them," replied Rick.

  Joe looked at Con sadly. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

  The subject of Rick and Joe's conversation was vora-ciously devouring her second strip of raw meat when they came to eat.

  "Better than nightstalker?" asked Joe.

  Con, her mouth full, nodded vigorously.

  After their meal, they headed out again. As they walked, Rick pondered the behavior of the nightstalkers. He did not think the attack in the river was characteristic. They didn't seem evolved to hunt large prey. Under nor-mal circumstances, I suspect they don't, he thought. They appear to be adapting their behavior to the new environ-ment. As a scientist, he found that hypothesis interesting, worthy of further study. As a guide, he found it disturb-ing. They would have to be more wary in the future. Several miles farther down the river, they spied a pale line in the hills close to the riverbank. As they ap-proached the hills, they could see that line was a stretch of low limestone cliffs. The cliffs were about a hundred yards from the swollen river, and they were cut by a se-ries of gullies and small canyons. A stream flowed from one of the latter, and they followed it into the cliff.

  Within the narrow canyon, they found both trees and shelter. The small trees formed a tangled grove of coni-fers and small hardwoods that crowded the stream and extended to the canyon walls. They all appeared dead, but they were unburnt. Rick discovered shelter farther into the canyon. It consisted of a five-foot ledge. It was halfway up the cliff wall and protected by an overhang. With some difficulty, Rick was able to scale the twelve-foot wall leading to it. Standing on the ledge, Rick sur-veyed his surroundings. Before the impact, he would have considered the canyon a dismal place. Its walls screened out much of the feeble light from the dark sky. The dank vegetation that choked its floor was as brown and lifeless as the trees. Yet compared with the burnt and barren valley, the canyon was a place of bounty. The stream that flowed through it ran clear, and there was ample wood. He called down to the others watching be-low. "This is perfect! It's dry and protected enough for a fire."

  "A fire?" said Joe. "How will you manage that?"

  "Your guide has a trick up his sleeve."

  "The real trick," said Joe, "will be climbing up to that ledge in the dark."

  "We'll enlarge the holds," said Rick. "The limestone's pretty soft."

  "Before you do that," said Joe, "let's go back for that meat."

  "Yeah," said Con. "We'll feast tonight in our new home." For the first time since they had abandoned the plane, they did not have to carry all their possessions. These were tossed up to Rick, who stowed them safe and dry on the ledge. Taking only the gun, they made a quick journey to the meat cache. Although they were burdened with as much meat as they could carry, they hurried back quickly. All were eager to return and set up camp.

  The first order of business was to store the meat out of the reach of nightstalkers. They considered hanging it from a tree, but ended up sinking it in a deep pool in the stream and covering it with rocks. That would serve until they could construct a more convenient cache. Rick found a pointed rock and began enlarging the handholds and footholds leading to the ledge. As Rick worked at his task, Joe and Con gathered firewood. By the time it grew dark, Joe and Con were able to climb to the ledge easily. They deposited a pile of wood there and also a layer of conifer boughs to serve as bedding. A few feet from the bedding and close to the back wall of the ledge, they had placed a semicircle of stones to serve as a fire-place. The woodpile lay close by. On either side of the fireplace, piles of stones held two forked branches up-right. These were to support the cooking spit.

  Joe and Con watched with expectant excitement as Rick knelt before the fireplace. He pulled out his knife, then unsnapped a pouch on its sheath. From it he re-moved a light gray, rectangular stone. "It's an Arkansas stone," he explained, "for whetting the blade. But there's something else you can do with it." Rick struck the stone sharply with the back of the blade and a spark flew. Then, he bent over the fireplace, stone and knife in hand. A small mound of nightstalker down rested against a pile of dry shavings from a tree limb. Above those were twigs, then branches. Rick repeatedly struck the stone with his knife blade until a spark flew into the down. He blew gently. The down smoked and glowed red; then, a tiny yellow flame appeared. The flame spread to the shav-ings and, from there, to the twigs and branches.

  Con felt a primal joy at the sight of the flames. They seemed to promise everything good—warmth, light, safety, and food. S
he hugged Joe, then grabbed Rick and kissed him.

  Joe grinned. "You sure have a way with the ladies, Rick."

  Con held on to Rick's arm. "He does. Of course, the true way to a girl's heart is through her stomach." Joe laughed. "Better feed her, Rick." He handed Rick the meat spit to position over the fire. As dinner cooked, the warmth and light of the fire re-flected off the light-colored walls of the ledge and made it bright and cozy. The meat roasted slowly. Its aroma filled the air, and Con's mouth watered in anticipation. The stream water in the bottles was crystal clear. Some boiled in a pot to make meat broth. Joe leaned against the wall and gazed into the fire with a contented look. Everything about the evening filled Con with a sense of well-being. Cuddling up to Rick with a happy sigh, Con forgot the dark and wet world just a few feet away.

  29

  CON AWOKE SANDWICHED BETWEEN JOE AND RICK. AL-

  though two blankets and a poncho covered them, a damp draft told her that it had grown colder. The blankets were thin ones, made for mild spring nights, and it was the two men who kept her warm. She doubted either Rick or Joe was as comfortable as she, despite the fact Joe had dubbed her "Miss Central Heat." There was some truth in the nickname, for when she was well fed, she found it easy to stay warm. Staying well fed was quite another matter. Hunger had be-come her constant companion. In the stillness broken only by the quiet sounds of rain and Rick and Joe's breathing, Con felt at peace. The terrible night in the river and the almost unbearable loneliness that fol-lowed it were behind her. She might be dirty, ragged, and homeless in a ruined world, yet, for the moment, she was content. She was alive and warm, and soon she would eat. Best of all, enveloped by Rick and Joe, she felt safe. Con did not reflect on how little it took to make her happy. In-stead, she was thankful for receiving so much. Con's thoughts turned to the leftover meat, and she began to stroke Rick's face to wake him. He made a pleasant, sleepy sound in his throat. Con's touch became more tender as she explored the contours of his face with her fingers. Rick placed his hand gently on the back of hers, then turned his head to lightly kiss her inner wrist. Con forgot her hunger as a yearning of a different sort took hold. Rick turned, and their faces were but inches apart. His fingers mirrored hers as they softly brushed her cheeks ... her lips ... her throat. Con moved closer so their lips lightly touched. There was an exquisite delicacy in the way their mouths met in a subtle caress. Then, in a rush of passion, they pressed their lips together and kissed. Con moved so Rick could embrace her more completely.

  "Anybody hungry?" asked Joe loudly. Without waiting for an answer, he said, "I know you are, Con. Rick, I bet you're peckish, too. Long day ahead of us, a very long day." Rick sat up so abruptly that he pulled the poncho off them. Joe acted as if nothing had happened at all. He sat up and calmly put on the hide parka. "I'm going to gather some more wood. Rick, could you work your trick with the fire? Con, some hot broth would be nice."

  As soon as Joe left, Con giggled at Rick's discomforted look. She quickly kissed him, and said, "I see we have a chaperon."

  "He said he was going to be your papa," said Rick. "Now I know what he meant."

  "Joe's sweet," said Con, "but Daddy never cared what I did." Rick soon had the fire going. Con cut up the scraps from last night's dinner, which were as cold as if they had been refrigerated, and put them in the pot to boil. Joe returned with an armload of wood. "Rick," he said, "could you give me a hand? I've got more piled up in the grove."

  "Sure."

  Once they were away from the ledge, Joe turned to Rick. "I know you love Con, just don't love her to death."

  "What?"

  "Don't do anything that will compromise her health.

  Sometimes, when things look bleak, men and women behave recklessly. For her sake, promise me you won't. Do you know what I mean, or do I have to spell it out?"

  Rick blushed. "I get it."

  Joe looked at him with sympathy and understanding. "If you truly love her, you'll wait."

  "I'll wait."

  LIFE IN THE canyon quickly fell into a routine of prepar-ing for the trip to the sea. Joe, with his antipathy for nightstalkers, spent most of each day hunting them, while Rick and Con dedicated their time to preserving his catches. The damp air made smoking the meat the only means to accomplish that. They cut all the meat they didn't need for their immediate use into thin strips and hung them from a rack above a fire. Keeping the fire going proved to be the most time-consuming task for Rick and Con. Once all the fallen wood was gathered, branches had to be broken or hacked from the trees. It was grueling work in the frigid rain. The gun would have made the work easy, but they dared not use it. Its solar recharger was ineffective in the dim light, and the gun's depleting charge was too vital to be wasted on jobs that could be accomplished by brute force.

  Besides these daily chores, each took on other tasks. Con scraped the Tyrannosaur skin and stretched it out near the fire to dry. Afterward, she and Rick chewed the stiff hide until it was soft and flexible; then Con tailored it using sinew and a bone awl. Rick cut down three stout hardwood saplings and fashioned them into spears, hard-ening their whittled points in the fire. He constructed a sturdy stone meat cache on the back of the ledge for their growing store of dried meat. Joe built a low stone wall around the sleeping area to serve as a windbreak.

  Initially, Con felt almost like a newlywed setting up house. That romantic notion quickly passed, worn down by the grind of survival under hard conditions. At night, there was no privacy at all. The daytime, when she and Rick were alone together, was filled with toil in harsh weather. Fatigue, hunger, and cold marked her days. She was often irritable and withdrawn. While Rick remained affectionate, Con questioned her desirability. Bathing was a frigid ordeal she avoided. She was dirty and smelled of wood smoke and clothes that were never changed. She had sores and rashes. Her hands were raw and calloused. All the twenty-first-century ideals of beauty and hygiene—white teeth, smooth legs, clear skin, glossy hair—were unattainable. Feeling worn and un-lovely quenched her ardor. Romance became a distant dream, like a full belly and warm feet.

  Con's domestic feelings found other outlets. In antic-ipation of their journey, she began to fashion jackets by stuffing a layer of nightstalker down between two shirts and sewing them together. She obtained thread by pains-takingly unraveling a scrap of cloth. She carved an eye-less needle from bone and patiently pushed the thread through the cloth for each stitch. The resulting garments were warm, but greasy feeling, and the shafts of the feathers made them prickly. Nevertheless, they quickly became indispensable clothing as the weather changed.

  It was changing for the worse. The rain diminished and became a frigid drizzle. It's dank chill penetrated their clothes. Only fire kept it at bay, yet wood was too diffi-cult to cut to maintain more than a meager blaze. Con rationed the wood and built a decent fire only when Joe returned, chilled and wet, from the day's hunt. It was the one time of the day when she was truly warm. The cold made Con reflect that her life had become even harder than her legendary ancestor's. At least she had her log cabin, she thought. The food situation changed also. Every day, Joe would go out to hunt for nightstalkers. At first, he would return after only a few hours with two or sometimes three. Then, it began to take him longer and longer to make a single kill.

  "I had to walk miles downriver for this one," he said to Rick after a daylong hunt.

  "Just as I feared," said Rick. "Game's getting scarce."

  "It's more than that," said Joe. "They're still around.

  Sometimes I even see them, but I can't get within range of the targeting scope. I don't get it—I used to walk right up to them."

  "These animals seem capable of adapting their behav-ior."

  "I thought dinosaurs were stupid," said Joe.

  "They're as smart as birds," said Rick, "and some birds are pretty smart. Crows understand about guns."

  "So I'm walking farther and farther to plug the igno-rant ones who haven't figured it out."

  "That sounds lik
e the case."

  "Well that's great!" said Joe. "Those sneaky bastards are still around, and we can't even eat them."

  "Did someone say 'eat'?" asked Con, as she brought some wood up to the ledge. Joe smiled. "I was saying the nightstalkers are getting scarce."

  "Scarce?" said Con incredulously. "I had to scare off three from the canyon this morning."

  "What!" said Rick.

  "Yeah, right after Joe left," said Con. "I was cutting firewood, and they walked right in, bold as anything. Threw rocks at them, and they ran off. Hit one."

  "I don't like the sound of that," said Rick. "Not at all." THE NEXT DAY, sleet fell. The three of them hunkered on the ledge, leaving it only to get wood for the fire. Joe did not hunt, and they dipped into the store of smoked meat for the first time. The fire was a meager one, and they retreated to the sleeping area while it was still light. There, they huddled together for warmth and tried to sleep and forget the cold.

  They awoke to find snow on the ground. There was only an inch, but they knew it would not melt. The pall of ash over the sky stopped the sun's warmth. Every snowfall would remain to form an ever-deepening blan-ket.

  "Now that it's stopped raining," said Rick, "we should think about heading to the island."

  "Yeah," said Joe without enthusiasm. "I'd feel better if we had more rations to take with us."

  "So would I," said Rick. "We can put off leaving a day or two." As soon as he finished eating, Joe left to hunt. He did not return until it was almost pitch-black. He was empty-handed and discouraged. Con built up the fire while Rick got some dried meat to make broth.

  "I found tracks," said Joe after he warmed up a bit, "but I didn't see a damned one."

  "Couldn't you follow their trail?" asked Con.

  "I tried that without luck. They avoid me now." Joe shook his head. "I never thought I'd want to see a night-stalker."

  "They seem to be particularly adaptable animals," said Rick. "I can't think of a paleontologist that would have predicted it."