One Dinosaur One Bullet

by Dane Hatchell

  “Modern birds have hollow bones,” Warren said.

  “Yes. Pterosaurs weren’t dinosaurs, but birds evolved from dinosaurs. The hollow bones of the different species is a prime example of convergent evolution.”

  Lowering the rifle, Hollis rested the stock on the ground and held the barrel with his right hand while he rotated his left shoulder to relieve stress. “Convergent evolution?”

  “Yes—” Dan started.

  Bo interpreted, “Means when unrelated creatures evolve similar body forms and adaptations.”

  Bringing his bottom lip toward his nose, Dan waited for the Pteranodon to flap out of sight before saying, “Time to see the valley.”

  Small shrubs lined the undefined path, along with bushes with paddle-like leaves, twining vines with broad leaves, and more of the cycads. The cycads’ large crowns of stiff evergreen leaves topped stout, woody trunks. One particular variety’s seed cone, which grew from the top of the trunk, looked like a giant, alien pine cone.

  To Dan, seeing the Earth in its primitive state was as exciting as hunting dinosaurs. He had taken the time to learn every plant in this area and the evolution of each. The landscape rarely held the interest of the hunters, though. The patrons had eyes for what they paid for—scaled and feathered dinosaur flesh, with sharp teeth and claws threatening to kill.

  “Is that a campsite up ahead?” Janice asked.

  “It is,” Dan said as three sleeping bags sprawled out between an irregular circle of trees came into view. Rocks arranged to contain remnants of charred wood, and an ax embedded in a stump centered the sleeping bags. “This is the equipment from the team who mapped out the hunt. The two boxes over by those trees have emergency supplies.”

  “Why didn’t they clean up their mess?” Hollis asked. “That’s irresponsible.”

  “The items were intentionally left. They are here in case there is an unanticipated problem encountered during the trip. Supplies would come in handy during the twenty-four-hour layover,” Dan said.

  “This timeline business is screwy,” Hollis said. “Seems that every time your group comes here on the same day at the same time, you would meet every other group that came here the same day and the same time.”

  “That’s the Universe keeping order again. The last group to arrive here, left yesterday in our timeline. We left twenty-four hours later but arrived the same time in the past as they did. Why aren’t they here? We don’t know. Leaving twenty-four hours later prevents us from meeting those who traveled the day before. It’s another one of those paradoxes. It prevents people like me from meeting myself, which would be disastrous, in my opinion.”

  “What happens if we fail to return at our designated time?” Whitney asked. “And I don’t mean if we are all dead.”

  “We’ll try again twenty-four hours later back at the time platform. We can’t attempt a return until then,” Dan said.

  “Has that ever happened?” Whitney asked.

  “No, not with a commercial safari. Some of the time lessons we learned during exploratory, we learned the hard way. The Universe is no respecter of persons. The lessons it teaches are sometimes cruel but necessary to maintain a grand design that it only knows,” Dan said. “Again, there is nothing to worry about as long as everyone follows the game-plan.”

  “A grand design that it only knows,” Whitney repeated. “I wonder what the Universe has in store for me?”

  “The valley’s over here,” Bo called out. He stood ten yards away with his back to the group.

  “Only good things, I’m sure,” Dan said. “Let’s go see the valley.”

  The group tromped through grasses and small bushes, maneuvering around trees until arriving at Bo’s side.

  Janice was the first to step next to Bo. The trees had given way to an open area the last ten feet of the walk. As solid ground ended, she looked down below and gasped.

  A few hundred feet drop led to an immense valley as far as the eye could see.

  The others gathered at the cliff’s edge and marveled.

  “Now would be a good time to get your binoculars,” Dan said.

  Hollis brought his rifle up and peered through the scope. After others had retrieved their binoculars from backpacks, he put the .50 caliber down and did likewise.

  The valley held a small lake where various creatures ventured to drink. Some gathered in groups while others roamed near trees, foraging for leaves. A few laid low, getting ready for the hunt. One sauropod had become prey to a pack of Velociraptors.

  “This is my favorite part of the trip,” Dan said. “The dinosaurs in the herd on the right are from a genus named Dryosaurus. They’re ornithopods and are bipedal grazers.” He glanced down at his watch.

  “You can see a few Triceratops straight ahead, and that’s Ankylosaurus on the left. The Ankylosaurus have tough skin-armor on their backs and a mace-like weapon at the end of their tails. They are difficult for other dinosaurs to take down.” Dan looked at his watch again. “Okay, folks. Bring your binoculars to the other side of the lake where that large ornithopod with the elaborate cranial crest is about to take a drink. That’s a Parasaurolophus.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Warren said and chuckled. He looked over at Whitney, who lowered her binoculars and turned her gaze to his and smiled.

  Dan gave them a few seconds and then said, “There’re tall grasses in front, blocking its view from what’s coming from the middle of the lake. Watch…”

  A crocodile-like head appeared right on cue, followed by a sailfin jutting from the water like an Atlantic sailfish.

  The Parasaurolophus quenched its thirst but realized too late the imminent danger.

  The Spinosaurus bounded out of the water as fast as a striking cobra. Its jaws clamped tightly around the Parasaurolophus’ neck. The herbivore opened mouth in a silent cry of surprise. An instant later, it was in the water and dragged out to the middle of the lake; where the Spinosaurus didn’t have to share its prey with land scavengers.

  “Brutal,” Whitney said.

  “Eh, it’s like business. You’ve got to eat the other guy before he eats you,” Hollis said.

  “That was nothing like business,” Whitney said. “That was nature in action. The creatures react on instinct. Business is where you act from a place of knowledge, using an accumulation of data by which you can base your actions to achieve the desired results.”

  “And over-analyzing a decision can put you behind. If you’re not first, you’re last,” Hollis said. “I’ve been in the business longer than you. I’ll trust my gut over your data nine times out of ten.”

  Warren must have read the surprise on Dan’s face as the two vice presidents volleyed back and forth, and said, “Don’t worry about those two. There’s some healthy competition going on between them. You see, Janice and I will retire next year. We have no children, and we have agreed for either Whitney or Hollis to become president of W&W.”

  “Yes, well, that’s none of my business,” Dan said. “One last thing before we leave. The pack of Velociraptors dining on the Brachiosaurus is about to get a visitor.”

  Trees near the flesh feast shook, and even though the group was hundreds of feet away, a terrifying warning reached their ears.

  “Folks, meet Tyrannosaurus rex,” Dan said. “Its name means tyrant lizard.”

  The beast stepped from the cover of trees and stopped in front of the sauropod.

  Velociraptors continued to shred meat with their foot claws and gorge hungry mouths with bloody chunks.

  The T. rex waved its short arms above its chest and roared again. It brought its open mouth down toward the hindquarter of the sauropod, giving no care to the three Velociraptors there.

  The dinosaurs, who reminded Dan of large buzzards, scattered in time to avoid the death-chomp.

  The smaller creatures did not attempt to challenge the interloper. In this world, it was common to eat and run before becoming part of the menu.

  “T. rex are more than capable of
killing their prey. In fact, younger ones will hunt in packs. We’ve learned, though, they’re quite content to scavenge,” Dan said.

  After a few minutes, Dan checked his watch and said, “Okay, folks. Show’s over for now. We have about a fifteen-minute hike to the hunting site. Pack away your binoculars, and please follow Bo.”

  *

  The group trodded past trees and foliage until arriving near the edge of a tree line. One large tree, nearly four foot in diameter, laid on the ground, beginning to rot. The area beyond opened to more small shrubs and grasses, with patches of trees growing here and there.

  Bo led them to the fallen tree, removed his backpack, and propped his rifle on one of the few remaining branches. He rummaged in a backpack pocket and pulled out a bag of jerky.

  “We’ll be setting up here?” Janice asked.

  “Yes. The tree is our hunting blind to provide cover from the dinosaurs,” Dan said.

  “Everyone, remember the most important rule I taught you: Never miss your target,” Bo said and shoved a piece of jerky in his mouth. “One dinosaur,” he chewed twice, “one bullet. That’s the real golden rule.” He then opened the large flap on his backpack and removed equipment.

  “How soon before the Troodon arrives?” Janice asked.

  “Twenty minutes,” Dan said.

  “Oh, good,” Janice said. “Gives me time to relax. We’ve been on such a hurried pace, everything we’ve seen so far is like a blur in my mind.”

  “The schedule is tight to minimize our exposure to danger. We are in one of the most savage times in Earth’s history,” Dan said. “I know we’ve been here less than an hour, but I would encourage you to reapply your insect repellent.”

  “I bet your excitement meter is pegged to one hundred,” Hollis said to Warren, who propped his rifle against the tree.

  “Quite so,” Warren said. He put both hands on the small of his back and leaned in a stretch. “Makes me wonder what it would be like for a man to survive out here alone. I think about all the books I read as a kid of cavemen and dinosaurs. Such rubbish. I dread the thought of facing the wiles of a pack of Velociraptors. Eventually, one’s ammunition would run out. What then? Fight them with sticks and stones?”

  “Ah, I haven’t spent much time thinking about roughing it in the wild,” Hollis said. “Sometimes, I think you’d be happier if you had been born in the jungle and raised by apes, like Tarzan. Me, I’m happy to be lord of the financial jungle. Where I’m king of beasts.”

  “You’re at least king of hot air,” Whitney said as she rubbed insect repellent on the back of her neck.

  “And you’re too passive and could learn a thing or two by emulating my tactics,” Hollis said. “Better to be an alpha than a beta.”

  Janice walked over, drinking from her canteen, and said, “A younger male always usurps the older male lion who is king of his pride. The young will alter the future. The older must learn how to adapt to the changes or die.”

  Closing his eyes, and spreading his hands before him, Hollis said, “Janice, you know me, and that there are sound foundational principals that never change. I’m the best investor you have—”

  “No, not the last two quarters,” Janice interrupted. “Whitney and her team have shown better results.”

  “Flavor-of-the-day strategies won’t last forever,” Hollis said. “I’ve had other quarters where others outperformed me. Look at the whole record, though. Those times were anomalies. You’ll see, Janice. Warren knows how to pick a winner.”

  “I do at that,” Warren said. “Not taking anything away from Whitney, mind you.” He turned his head toward her and nodded. “Hollis would make an excellent president.”

  “So would Whitney,” Janice said. “She has the face to reinvent the image of W&W. As president, she could attract the new generation of investors we need to remain a dominant financial institution.”

  “So old white guys are a bad image and need to be put out to pasture,” Hollis said and huffed.

  “Don’t make this a race issue, Hollis. Race, or gender, has nothing to do with it,” Janice said. “It’s a business issue. Her face, and her performance, are just what W&W needs.”

  “Folks, this a first for me,” Dan said while shaking his head. “One hundred million years in the past and you four are discussing work.”

  The group returned blank stares, internalizing what Dan had said, and apparently realizing how silly they had been acting.

  “Yes, well, the gentleman has a bit of a point,” Warren said.

  Hollis mumbled, “I’ve got to pee. I’ll pick a tree over there.” He turned and slung a pointed finger to the north and stomped off.

  Whitney and Warren locked gazes for several moments; as if telepathically exchanging secrets.

  Janice eyed the two, took another sip from her canteen, and then turned and walked over to Bo. “Are the cameras set up?”

  “Yeah, they’re ready to go,” Bo said. He held the open bag of jerky her way, and said, “Want some?”

  “I’m not beyond eating dehydrated meat, but at the moment, it’s not something I’m in the mood for. Thank you, though,” Janice said.

  “Suit yourself.” Bo gazed down into her eyes, shoved another piece of dried meat in his mouth, and stared like she was something better to eat than jerky. A wicked grin widened across his lips.

  Janice’s brows raised toward her hairline. She quickly turned away and walked back to Warren’s side.

  What was that? Dan wondered. Was Bo giving sweet-eyes to Mrs. Wellington? The woman had taken care of herself over the years, but she was old enough to be Bo’s mother. Not good. Not good at all. The last thing Prehistoric Safari, Inc. needed, was negative press from such influential people as the Wellingtons.

  Was it time for Dan to lay the cards on the table? If the boy insisted on pushing insubordination to the limit, maybe Bo would be better off leaving the company and finding employment elsewhere.

  Returning from relieving himself, Hollis joined the group with his gaze glued to the ground until he reached his rifle. Warren had his head tilted toward the sky. Janice examined her fingernails. Whitney had her rifle in her hands; her elbow propped on the fallen tree as she peered through the scope.

  The tension among the group felt strong enough to stop a charging Triceratops dead in its tracks. Another first: Dan couldn’t wait for this hunt to be over.

  “Just a few more minutes,” Bo said as he placed the bag of jerky in his backpack. He then plucked out a round can of Skoal from his front pocket and removed the top. “Say, do you know why the dinosaur couldn’t have children?” He stuffed his front lip with a large pinch of fine cut tobacco.

  Annoyed gazes slowly turned Bo’s way.

  “He had e-reptile dysfunction.” Bo smiled and put the top back on the Skoal. Black tobacco caked between his bottom teeth.

  “Hilarious,” Hollis said dryly.

  “Bo, no more jokes. Get Whitney ready for her shoot,” Dan said. “Everyone put in your ear protection.”

  “I was trying to put some fun back into this funeral,” Bo said. “Sheesh!” He then stepped behind Whitney. “Okay, so your scope is set for sixty yards. When you see the Troodon, you’ll have time to make fine adjustments. The dinosaur is smaller than a man, and it’ll be eating when you shoot. I know I don’t need to tell you about controlling your breathing and squeezing the trigger.”

  “No, you don’t,” Whitney said. “We’ve practiced this enough. I won’t have any problems.”

  “That’s what most say,” Bo said. “Turns out not to be true more often than you think. Shooting cardboard is nothing like shooting a living, breathing animal. There’s a primordial instinct buried in your brain that’s stirred right before a kill. Your heart will beat faster, and you’ll want to breathe faster, too. You’ll get an itchy finger. If you’re not careful, you’ll miss. The Troodon will bolt if you do. It’s doubtful you’d get off a second shot. The dinosaur is quick, and you haven’t trained to shoot a mov
ing target.”

  Earthy scents carried in the gentle breeze. A pterosaur, with its reptilian squawk, called unseen from a nearby tree. Another in the distance answered. Time ticked by, and finally, the Troodon came into view.

  The theropod stepped cautiously into the open. Its reptilian-looking head swiveled about with its nose tasting the air. Olive-green skin shimmered in the sunlight. Long, slender legs carried raised sickle-shaped claws on the inside of its feet.

  Everyone held still as they went unnoticed.

  Whitney disabled the rifle’s safety.

  Dan and Bo watched with weapons at the ready; more out of habit than necessity. If Whitney missed, they knew the Troodon would flee in the other direction.

  An omnivore, the five-foot-tall beast lowered its head and fed from a bush. Its head pulled back with a lap of green foliage hanging from the side of its mouth. Half chewing, the Troodon leaned its head backward and swallowed twice.

  BAM!

  The crack of Whitney’s rifle violated the natural order of the primitive land. Though death came early and often, the creatures of this savage time killed for survival. With man as the ultimate interloper, bringing firepower capable of defeating plate armor, death had now become a sport.

  Dan didn’t want to admit it, but it bothered him increasingly more each time a hunter made a kill. The animal’s death had become a cruel cosmic joke—like a demented god playing a game where an innocent creature had become a martyr forced to die again and again.

  The Troodon, though, had two possible futures. Sometimes the hunter missed, and the Troodon lived. Once again, an observer would determine the ultimate fate of the dinosaur. The last person who would ever visit this point in the timeline would determine if the Troodon lived or died.