Cretaceous Sea

by Will Hubbell

  "Rick, why don't you go out tomorrow?" said Joe. "You're the guide, I'm only an engineer. Maybe you'll have better luck."

  Rick agreed to Joe's suggestion and went hunting early the next day. New snow had fallen, and he was surprised to find his first evidence of nightstalkers right below the ledge. The tracks of three animals were plain in the snow. They were obviously fresh, for a light snow was still fall-ing. They probably smell our smoked meat, he surmised. Rick followed the trail for several miles without getting a glimpse of the animals that had made it.

  Rick abandoned his pursuit and headed for the river. The flood was over, and the river was returning to its original size. To reach it, Rick had to travel over the muddy ruin of the valley. It was not yet cold enough for the mud to freeze, and he sank up to his ankles in cold muck while walking to the shrunken river's bank. He was looking for carrion, nightstalker food. All that he found had been picked clean. The snow hid the tracks of the scavengers, but he assumed they were nightstalkers. Rick followed the river for miles, but the only living thing he saw was a single bird, pecking at some bones on a mud bar in the middle of the river. The desolate landscape looked caught in the midst of winter, not late spring. The brown water provided the only color; everything else was black, gray, or white. When the light began to wane, Rick headed back to-ward camp. He avoided the muddy floodplain, to make better time and investigate new territory. He was still over a mile from camp when he spied blood on the snow. He hurried to the site and found the remains of night-stalkers. It was impossible to tell how many, because they had been so thoroughly torn apart. Blood, feathers, and scattered bits of gnawed bone were all that was left. Tracks made it clear they had been slaughtered by their own kind. Rick knew that cannibalism among adult pred-ators was high-risk behavior, an indicator of desperate times. They're definitely running out of food, he thought. The memory of the tracks by the ledge became more om-inous.

  There was no sun to set, so only the darkening of an already dark sky marked the onset of night. Rick began to jog toward the canyon, knowing once night fell, it was impossible to see anything. He thought of the warm fire and of Con waiting for him. The little shelter, meager as it was, had acquired some of the feelings of home. He looked forward to returning to it.

  Con scampered down from the ledge as soon as Rick entered the canyon. Joe began to build up the fire. A brief look of disappointment came to her face when she saw he was empty-handed, but she quickly covered it up. "Joe and I spent the whole day getting wood," she said. "We can have a nice big fire tonight."

  Rick smiled and gave her a kiss. "That sounds won-derful."

  "Any luck?" called Joe.

  "Nope," said Rick.

  "So it's not just me," said Joe.

  "These are cagey animals," said Rick. "Did you see the tracks beneath the ledge?"

  "Yeah," said Joe. "I don't like it."

  "Neither do I," said Rick.

  "What can we do?" asked Con.

  "They adapt, we adapt," said Rick. "Joe, could you dig out the flashlights and see if they have any juice?" Joe disappeared into the sleeping area. Two pale beams shone briefly. "There's some life in them yet."

  "Good," said Rick. "Tonight we'll slay home and hunt."

  Rick warmed himself by the fire as he explained his plan. "Joe and I will stay up with the flashlights and the gun to wait for our visitors."

  "How's that going to work?" asked Joe. "They only come around when it's pitch-black."

  "We'll rig the pot like a bell and attach a piece of dried meat to it. If we hear the bell ring, we'll turn on the flashlight and zap whatever we see."

  Joe grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Sounds like fun!"

  Two sticks were crossed and lashed over the opening of the pot, and pebbles were tied to threads suspended from them. When the pot was moved, the pebbles clinked against its interior. They tied a piece of meat beneath the pot and hung it from a tree. Once the alarm was set up, Joe and Rick returned to the ledge to wait.

  Con found it was too cold to sleep alone, so all three of them stayed up and silently ensured no one dozed off. The night wore on without a sound, not even wind. Many hours passed before they heard a soft clinking sound. Three short rows of tiny colored lights glowed as Rick turned on the gun and placed his eye to the targeting scope. Joe switched on the flashlight and a nightstalker was caught in its pale beam. Rick pulled the targeting trigger, then the firing trigger, as the gun tracked the flee-ing animal. A single crack downed the beast.

  Con screamed as a pair of large yellow-brown eyes rose and peered over the ledge. Sharp claws grasped the stone just inches from where she sat. Joe swung the flash-light at the feathered head, striking its toothy snout. The light went out. Rick fired blindly into the darkness while Con groped for the second flashlight. When she turned it on, its beam revealed a single nightstalker lying dead in the snow and two sets of tracks heading from the canyon into the night.

  THE NIGHTSTALKER RAN with her child from the place of strange smells. She ran with surety, for her eyes could distinguish the black trees from the slightly less black ground. She saw the dawn behind the clouds and used it to her advantage. It was easier to hunt when the prey was blind. As she ran, she did not grieve for the child left behind. Grief was something she could not understand. Pain, she understood—hunger, too. Hunger governed her life and directed her thoughts. When the pain left, she would re-member the place of strange smells. One of those smells was food. Maybe more than one.

  30

  NO ONE CONSIDERED SLEEPING, DESPITE HAVING BEEN UP

  all night. Rick lit a fire on the ledge so they could have warmth and light as they waited for the sky to brighten. While Joe stood guard with the gun, Rick climbed down to retrieve the pot and to pluck and butcher the nightstalker. By the time that task was done, light had returned to the sky. Joe took some pieces of the nightstalker and dropped them into the pot in which water boiled. "It's only proper to serve our visitor," he said cheerfully.

  "That raid was a sign we need to head out," said Rick.

  Joe's cheerfulness left him. "I wish we got all those sneak-ing bastards," he said. "I don't fancy camping out with them. Maybe they were after us last night."

  "They were after our store of meat, not us," said Rick.

  "Besides, predators are territorial. We'll leave them behind when we go. The nightstalkers we encounter on our journey will be naive about guns and humans."

  "That's good to hear," said Joe, not sounding convinced.

  "Are we leaving today?" asked Con.

  "There are still some last-minute preparations to make," said Rick. "We'll go when we're ready. We're not being chased out."

  "No," said Con in a distant voice, remembering the yellow-brown eyes. "Of course, we aren't."

  "Joe," said Rick, "do you know what a travois is?"

  "Isn't that what the Indians used to drag their stuff?"

  "Yeah, two long, trailing poles with a platform in between. Do you think you could make some for us?"

  "Sounds easy enough."

  "Great," said Rick. "Con, could you turn the two ponchos into a tent?"

  "I'd have to cut them up," she said. "Won't we need them later?"

  "We'll need a tent more in the snow," said Rick. "It won't rain again until it gets warm. By then, we'll be gone."

  "I'll start unraveling some thread," she said.

  "Good," said Rick. "I'm going to smoke what's left of the nights talker." Despite their exhaustion, they worked most of the day pre-paring for the journey to the sea, napping only briefly. As darkness came upon them, it was clear they were spending their last night on the ledge. They made the evening fire extravagantly warm, for they intended to burn all the wood they couldn't take with them on the travoises. The comfort and festiveness of the blaze made the prospect of leaving the ledge even more melancholy. As crude as it was, it had be-come home. The fact that it no longer felt safe did not di-minish their sense of loss. At times, Rick thought Con was on the verge
of crying, and she clung to him after dinner, almost like a child seeking reassurance. He was aware that he could not fathom the nightmare she had endured alone in the cold, dark world. Yet tomorrow, he would lead her back into it. There was enough wood to have a small blaze throughout the night. They had agreed to keep guard during the dark hours, in case the nightstalkers returned. Rick theorized that the nightstalkers' sensitive eyes could see in the early night and early morning, when humans were still blind. Those were the most dangerous times, and he volunteered for those watches.

  RICK STARED AT the semicircle of snowy ground that was dimly illuminated by the fire. The only movement was the lightly falling snow. Occasionally, he heard Con moan in the throes of a nightmare. Otherwise, it was si-lent. He imagined their upcoming journey and pondered their chances of being rescued. They seemed very small. Joe doesn't believe there are any, he thought. Yet, what other choices are there? Rick could think of none. He had an additional worry. It was in the form of a nagging question. Is Joe hiding something? Does he know more about the island than he's letting on? He had come to trust Joe, and it bothered him that he would even have such questions. Nevertheless, they would not go away.

  Although Rick had assured Joe and Con that the night-stalkers had only been after the meat supply, they worried him also. He knew mammals were their natural prey. We're safe because there were no mammals like humans in the Cretaceous, he told himself. They won't think of us as prey. Yet, as a scientist, he knew such reasoning was unsound. How can I know what those animals think? It was a question, like so many others, for which he had no answer.

  LIGHT RETURNED AS Rick finished the last watch. The light snow that had fallen throughout the night continued to fall. The loaded travoises below the ledge were cov-ered with an inch of flakes. Rick built up the fire and placed a pot of water upon it. When it boiled, he threw in the last of the fresh meat. It was frozen and took a while to cook. When breakfast was ready, he woke Con and Joe. They ate silently until Joe spoke. "Con," he said, "I've been watching you. You're not eating enough."

  "I'm not hungry," said Con.

  "Don't give me that," retorted Joe. "I know you better than that. Rick, talk some sense to this girl."

  "You won't be helping us by not eating," said Rick. "We all need to be at our peak for this journey."

  "I'm eating," replied Con. "I eat as much you and Joe combined."

  "And you're losing weight," said Rick. "I can see it in your face. No short rations on this trip. Promise me. You'll need food to keep warm."

  "I promise," said Con.

  "Good," said Joe. He went to the bag of smoked meat and pulled out two pieces. "I'll believe you when you eat these."

  Con nibbled at the meat at first, but soon she aban-doned the pretense that she wasn't hungry and wolfed the rest down.

  When Con finished eating, she, Joe, and Rick made their last-minute preparations for the journey. Con slipped on a sock she had made from a scrap of poncho over the socks on her sandaled foot. They placed their extra clothing in a single duffel bag. The load was small because they were wearing most of their clothes already. They packed the meat spit and its holder along with the pot. Rick secured the meat supply to a travois, then cov-ered it with conifer bough bedding. The rest of the sup-plies had been previously loaded. They wrapped rag scarves around their heads, and Con handed out mittens she had made from socks stuffed with feathers. Joe slung the gun over his back. Everyone grabbed a spear. It was time to leave. As they left the canyon, each made their good-bye in their own way. Con made hers with quiet tears.

  The dim light and the falling snow made it hard to see very far, not that there was much to look at. The fire and the flood that followed it had scoured the land of all but a few blackened stumps. Even those were disappearing beneath snow. The view had the bleak sterility of the arctic. The brown river marking the way to the sea was the most prominent landmark in this austere, trackless country. Following it was not difficult. The snow was not yet deep, and it aided them in dragging the travoises over the hardening ground.

  They walked for several hours before stopping to eat and rest. Afterward, they continued their journey. They left the valley behind them as they crossed an open plain. There, fire had also cleared the land. The few trees they encountered had been reduced to blackened trunks, stand-ing like lonely monoliths in an abandoned graveyard. Several hours passed before they saw another brown line in the distance to their left.

  "Damn," said Rick, "a tributary! We're trapped in the fork."

  "Looks like a detour," said Joe.

  "Maybe not," said Rick. "Let's take a look."

  Within fifteen minutes, they were standing by the other river. It was only sixty feet across and flowed sluggishly. Rick paced along its bank, studying the river carefully. "It doesn't look too deep," he said finally.

  "It looks deep enough," replied Joe.

  "Only one way to find out," said Rick. "Con, could you look the other way?" He removed his shoes and placed them on a travois.

  "Why? What are you doing?" asked Con.

  "I'm going to find out if the river's fordable, and I can't risk getting my clothes wet."

  "Con," said Joe, "don't look at this crazy man. Rick, have you gone nuts?"

  "It might take us two days to get back to this spot if we make a detour," said Rick. "I'd rather walk twenty yards through the water."

  Rick grabbed a spear and waded into the water naked. When he was midstream, the water reached halfway up his chest. It got shallower as he approached the far bank. When it was clear that there were no deep sections near the bank, he turned around and headed toward Con and Joe. Rick was shivering violently by the time he reached the shore. He quickly dried himself with a shirt he had set aside for the purpose then, just as quickly, dressed.

  "We can do this," Rick said.

  "Do what?" said Joe. "Get buck-ass and wade in the river? I don't think so."

  "Listen to my plan first," said Rick. "We can rig two travoises like a stretcher so you and I can carry every-thing high and dry in one load. We'll build a fire on the far shore before Con crosses."

  "She's supposed to cross naked, too?" said Joe. "No way!"

  "If the nightstalkers are tracking us, the river will stop them," said Rick.

  "Seems like your theories on nightstalkers are very flexible," said Joe. "Yesterday, you said we were leaving them behind."

  "I'll cross," said Con. "If you promise not to look."

  "Con ..." said Joe.

  "Rick's right. We'll save a lot of time, and I'll feel safer on the other side."

  "You're not going to do this," said Joe firmly.

  "You're not my father," replied Con.

  "Not that you listened to him, either," said Joe. "Okay, I know when I'm beat. Let's get this over with. Only this time, Con, no peeking at Rick." He laughed at Rick's reaction. Joe and Rick unloaded two of the travoises and com-bined them to make a litter. Then they piled all the sup-plies upon the litter to form a single load. It was heavy, but manageable. They undressed, placed their clothes on the litter, and made a hurried crossing. Joe swore the entire time until the fire was lit. When the fire was blaz-ing, Rick called out, "Con, we're ready for you to come over."

  "Then turn around," she called back. "I'll yell if I need help." When Rick and Joe's backs were turned, Con quickly undressed and stuffed her clothes into a duffel bag. She was already cold when she entered the water, holding the bag over her head and dragging the empty remaining tra-vois. The freezing river felt like knives. When it reached her breasts, Con thought that she would be paralyzed by the cold, but terror forced her stiffening legs to keep moving. By the time she reached the shore, she was shiv-ering so violently she had difficulty drying herself and dressing. Without the fire, she was sure she would not have been able to dress unassisted. It was more than mod-esty that prevented her from asking for help. Con did not want Rick or Joe to see how prominent her ribs had be-come.

  AS THE PAIN in the nightstalker's snout
faded, the de-mands of hunger grew stronger. Still, she waited until darkness to visit the canyon and the place of strange smells. Even before she reached the ledge, she sensed a change. The big things with the terrible black stick were gone. She could neither hear them nor see them, and their strange scent was old. Drawn by the odor of food, she approached the ledge while her offspring prowled the snowy grove behind her.

  There was the aroma of blood on the ground. It did not make any difference to her that it was her child's blood. The important thing, the only thing that mattered, was there were no scraps left to eat. She tested the air and detected another scent of food. It was the same smell as the meat left after the brightness and hotness had passed. She had grown familiar with that scent. The black flesh was good to eat, although it tasted strange. Everything was strange now. Things looked different, smelled dif-ferent, the very air was different. Despite that, she had always been able to sate her hunger . . . until now. Food had grown scarce, then disappeared altogether. If she did not find some soon, she would be driven to eat her re-maining child. That would be her last resort, for the child aided in hunts and would fight if attacked. The black flesh smell came from the ledge. The night-stalker climbed up to investigate. The smell was strong, but it was also old—one lightness old. She leapt off the ledge. Her child hissed when she landed and prepared to defend itself, but its mother did not attack. Instead, she sniffed the cold whiteness. The black flesh smell was there too, mingled with the odor of the big things. The cold whiteness made the scents faint, but not too faint for her to follow. They led out of the canyon and guided nightstalkers in the dark. When the scent led beyond the nightstalkers' territory, they did not halt. The world was different. Only the strongest of the old instincts still gov-erned—the need to eat.

  31

  CON, JOE, AND RICK HUDDLED CLOSE TO THE DYING FIRE

  on the riverbank, trying to extract the last of its warmth. They rose from the muddy circle of melted snow only when the fire's final embers died out. "We can probably make a few more miles before it gets dark," said Rick. Without discus-sion, Joe and Con loaded up their travoises and headed out. As they marched, Rick tried to determine if crossing the river had been a wise choice. He was beginning to see their situation in terms of the harsh arithmetic of biology and physics. As mammals, they had to maintain a body core tem-perature of 98.6°F. A six-degree drop in that temperature meant death. As it got colder, more energy was required to maintain body heat. Ultimately, everything boiled down to a matter of calories, calories from fuel and calories from food. Fire warmed them externally and food warmed them inter-nally. When the wood ran out, only food would warm them. If the food ran out, their bodies would consume themselves in an effort to stay warm. The insulating fat would go first, worsening the problem of keeping warm and hastening the decline toward death. Every decision Rick made was a cal-culation based on that knowledge. The river crossing had cost them energy he hoped to recoup by shortening their journey.