“Greater love has no one than this…” My father waits for me to finish.
“To lay down one’s life for one’s friends,” I say.
“Or his family,” Owen says, looking down at me from his mount. “That last bit isn’t in the Good Book, but there’s no one as flesh ’n blood as you and me. Cept for all the other folks with doubles in town, I s’pose. But they’re not here. So fu—”
“Don’t push it, Owen,” my father grumbles.
“Point is,” Owen says. “Get over it. We’re here.”
“We’re all here,” Cassie says. “For better or worse.”
That’s she’s co-opted traditional marriage vows into her contribution doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone except for her.
“What?” she asks.
“As much as this moment is tugging at my heartstrings,” Levi says, “I reckon we should make like the Hebrews in Egypt and get the fuck out.” He turns to my father. “Sorry.” Then he points into the distance. “Because, you know, him.”
The moment Levi points, my stomach sours. His finger extends in the direction from which Cassie and I have just fled. My father and I mount our horses and turn them around. Standing in a line, we gaze out over the golden field cast in the dull light of a sun below the horizon.
Just outside the distant forest, Tsul’Kalu runs toward us at a confident pace. Everything about him says, I’m going to catch you, kill you, skin you, and wear you. Worse, his body appears to have healed. His insides have been stuffed back in place, and aside from the dark purple stains on the skins he’s already wearing, there is no evidence that he was injured.
Part of me says to retreat to the tunnel’s safety. That would protect us from the hunter, but do nothing to help us with our larger problems. And fighting Tsul’Kalu isn’t an option. Our best bet is to outrun him, beat him to Synergy, and make him Langdon’s problem—something the old man has been trying to avoid since the beast showed up.
“Sooo,” Levi says. “What’s the plan?”
I turn to face Adel, her tall peak still bathed in the orange glow of day. “We chase the light.” With a solid kick, my horse breaks toward the mountain, and the others follow close behind. It’s going to be a hard run over steep terrain overrun with animals from the future to the Cretaceous. I have no illusions about it being safe, or easy, but I seriously doubt that there is anything ahead of us that’s worse than what’s behind.
47
“Are those rabbits?” Cassie shouts over the stomping of hooves and huffing of hard-working horses.
I see the small animals a moment later, sprinting straight toward us before breaking in either direction. A small birdlike predator breaks from behind a tree, pursuing the fleet-footed hares. It’s unprepared for the charging horses, and manages only a shrill cry before being trampled underfoot.
Overhead, a massive flock of modern birds bursts into the dulling sky. There’s a variety of species in the mix, somehow sensing that their best chance at survival in this new world is to stick together.
Evolution will be forever changed in this iteration of Earth, there’s no doubt about that. While some of the creatures transported through time will become easy prey, or lack the numbers to successfully procreate, others like the rabbits…will survive and possibly thrive. They’re well known for adapting to a variety of conditions, eating just about anything, and well, mating ‘like bunnies.’ Who knows, maybe this world’s advanced species a hundred million years from now will be the descendants of rabbits, rather than apes? They’ve got a head start.
My horse has been well trained. It barrels through the woods, avoiding trees and obstacles without any prodding from me, staying on course for Adel. The others are keeping up, following my lead.
We can do this, I think, and then I smell blood.
It’s carried on the breeze, from in front of us. The strength of it says there’s a lot of blood, which is bad, but there’s also something unfamiliar and non-human about it, which is good. The horse whinnies at the scent, but it only takes a nudge to keep it on course.
Inola prods her horse up beside mine. “You smell it?”
“We can’t avoid it,” I tell her.
She nods. “You know what it is?”
At first, I think she’s asking a general question, like what’s that smell? But then I realize she’s asking if I can identify what kind of creature the blood is from. “It’s not human. Do you know what it is?”
As the forest thins ahead, a trumpeting call tears through the air. It’s joined by others and a series of angry snorts.
I’ve seen enough National Geographic specials to identify a pissed off elephant, or in this case, a mammoth. But the snorts are new, and I’m guessing, Cretaceous.
“Mammoths,” I say to Inola, and when she gives me a questioning look, I say, “The big hairy elephants.” And when that doesn’t help, I say, “The big animals with brown hair we saw on the way down.”
“But that’s not all,” she says.
I nod. “That’s definitely not all.”
My eyes widen as the trees thin further, giving me a striated view of the clearing ahead.
Massive brown bodies thunder across the clearing, thrashing their heads about, swinging and lunging their enormous tusks. Their enemies are a little smaller, but also more agile. The bright yellow dinosaurs have protective hoods, like triceratops, and a rhino-like horn atop their beaked snouts. They move on all fours for the most part, but occasionally rear up on their hind legs, standing taller than the mammoths they’re battling.
When we clear the woods, my horse rears up. I’m expecting as much and manage to cling to its back while it whinnies and kicks. My ride settles as the others emerge beside us. I’m not sure if my horse has just gotten over its initial fear, or if it feels there is safety in numbers. The rest of the horses take the battle scene in stride. Whoever owned these steeds before has definitely seen action. The horses stomp their hooves, eager to move, but I don’t see a clear path to where we need to go that doesn’t take us through the Ice Age and Cretaceous reenactment of the rumble scene from The Outsiders.
“Raspberry flavored Daniel in the Lion’s Den,” Levi exclaims when he takes in the scene. “Mr. Snuffleupagus is killing Big Bird!”
He’s right. The mammoths, with their thick, fur-covered hides and long tusks, have killed a handful of the dinosaurs, but they’re still outnumbered. Several are wounded. They’re going to overheat soon, and one is definitely on death’s doorstep. Despite being driven to its knees, the mammoth continues to trumpet defiantly, thrusting its tusks back and forth while a pair of the yellow creatures jab their horns into its side.
Blood coats the ferns and grass.
The sounds of battle rise into the darkening sky.
How long until predators arrive?
How long until Tsul’Kalu catches up?
“Is that our house?” Owen asks, pointing to the ruins of our home. The place has been absolutely flattened. The only thing still recognizable is the large propane tank. For a moment, I feel a flash of hope, but then remember that propane tanks only explode in video games and movies. Unless we can set the foliage around it on fire first…but everything here is damp from rampant humidity.
“Not anymore,” my father says.
“Think they’ll move if we make enough noise?” Cassie asks.
Even if we all start shooting, the pops aren’t going to be any louder than the chaos of oversized battle. Both sides are lost in a frenzy of confused rage. We might just incite violence toward us.
“I think we need to ride through it,” I say. Despite the large number of animals on the battlefield, there are gaps through the action. “And if anything gets in our way, we’ll drop it.”
“If we have a choice, can we shoot the Big Birds?” Levi asks. “I’ve always been a Snuffy fan.”
If I’m honest, I’m kind of rooting for the mammoths, too. Maybe because they’re familiar, and somewhat romanticized by modern culture. They did share
the Earth with people at one time. There must be some strands of distant kinship.
“If you have a choice,” I tell him. Our safety is paramount, and I’m certain that if the herd manages to walk away from this fight, they’ll eventually overheat and die anyway. Unless they can shed, which I doubt anyone in my time knows.
I’m about to point out a direction and tell the others to follow when I notice Flores is missing. “Where’s Minuteman?” I ask.
“Minute-who?” Levi asks.
“Flores.”
He hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “Hung back a bit to watch our backs. He shouted it ’bout halfway through the woods.”
I shake my head. I’m torn between appreciation and annoyance. Sticking together is our best chance of mutual survival. But keeping an eye on Tsul’Kalu gives us a tactical advantage.
“Sorry,” Levi says. “Thought you heard ’im.”
The real problem is that now I don’t know if we should wait or go. Any path we leave is going to be trampled. Following us alone, through this mess, might not be possible. I’m not comfortable leaving him behind, but the mission comes first.
Well, it should. But it doesn’t.
Damnit, I’m getting soft.
I crane my head around to look for Flores again, and I’m surprised when I spot him. He’s just fifty feet away, galloping toward us like his horse is on fire and racing from hell itself.
“Go, go, go!” He shouts, waving a hand at me.
My imagination pictures the giant chasing him through the forest, perhaps gaining, ready to tear torso from legs. But then I see reality, and it’s not much better. A panicked herd of duckbills charges through the forest, honking in fear.
They’re being chased, I realize, and I shout, “Everyone, go!”
My heels thump against my horse’s side and I snap the reigns with a “Hee-ya!” The line of horses breaks toward the rampaging battle ahead. I try to find a path through it, but then I don’t have to.
Flores, whose ride has already reached full speed, plows ahead. He weaves a path that, from behind, looks unflinching. I’m sure he and his horse are absolutely freaking out, but they’re making it look easy.
The sea of Snuffys and Big Birds seems to part for us, perhaps intimidated by the sheer mass of the duck-billed herd into which we’ve been absorbed. I can’t see past the front wave of dinosaurs, but there could be up to fifty of them, all a few tons larger than our horses. But we’re not small enough to go unnoticed by them. As the herd catches up, they veer around the steeds, careful not to step on the smaller creatures in their midst. With brains the size of walnuts, they might not even realize we’re not part of their herd.
One of the duck-bills pulls up alongside me. It lets out a breathy honk with each step, its big orange eyes open wide with fright that has nothing to do with us. That is, until it looks at me. Its long head, twice the size of my horse’s, cranes toward me. The creature looks concerned upon seeing the horse, but when its eyes meet mine, they flare even wider. The dinosaur honks and veers away. It careens into its neighbors, and they go down in a heap. The herd spreads out wide to avoid the pile up, entering the violent fray around us.
Prehistoric carnage blooms like a bloody death flower.
While some Big Birds fall under the panicked mass of onrushing duckbills, others ram them head on, or tear at their flesh as they pass. The mammoths are no more forgiving, trumpeting loudly and thrashing with their tusks. Some duckbills are knocked aside, where they collide and cause more chaos. The unlucky ones are skewered and tossed about.
Every inch of the field I will one day call home is absolutely overflowing with a kind of primal madness, the frayed tension of having been ripped through time finally broken free.
The matriarch mammoth lets out an ear-splitting battle cry before thrusting her tusks up into a duck bill. The dinosaur cries out as it’s lifted up and catapulted over the scene, trailing a spray of blood.
Levi, now beside me, cranes his head up to watch the spiraling animal’s path. “Holy shi—” A pair of jaws slides out of the forest on the far side of the clearing, catching hold of the duck bill and biting down hard. The poor thing is split into three pieces, the core being swallowed whole, the outer two portions falling to the ground. “—HOLY SHIT!”
I recognize the Appalachio species from our previous encounter. This specimen is even larger, and it’s incensed by the madness it has stumbled across. Though it has just eaten a third of a dinosaur, it plunges into the field, snapping at everything that passes, catching and killing a large number of creatures it will never consume.
Ahead, a Big Bird on the warpath has set its sights on Flores. Its large beak snaps open, closing in on his horse’s backside. I draw my pistol and fire. My first three shots strike the broad, bony shield atop its head. The rounds cut gashes in the thick skin, but fail to penetrate. The dinosaur flinches, but doesn’t alter its course.
“Bad Big Bird!” Levi shouts, firing his own weapon at the beast. To my left, Cassie opens fire. The three of us unleash a torrent of bullets at the enraged creature, and it takes six strikes to divert its attention away from Flores—and directly toward us.
While Levi and Cassie continue to fire, each bullet proving how impossible it’s going to be for humanity to survive in the time period, I line up a shot, adjusting for the steady up-and-down of my horse’s gallop. I slowly pull the trigger, but I never get to finish.
The familiar crack of the family Winchester snaps through the air behind me. The single round plunges into the creature’s eye socket—and the small brain beyond.
The big body goes rigid and topples over just in time for our horses to leap over. I glance back to make sure my father and Owen clear the jump, too, but they’re not all I see. Inola follows close behind them, holding the Winchester and looking pleased with her shot.
At the clearing’s far side, not far from where we exited the jungle, is a face. It flickers in and out of view as large bodies thrash about in the killing field. In some ways it’s almost human. The oval shape of it. The forward-facing black eyes. But there’s no nose to speak of, and I can’t really tell where its mouth is, if it has one.
This is the mystery observer Inola saw at the power station.
For a moment, I’m sure it’s looking back at me. I don’t sense the small-minded intellect of a dinosaur in its empty eyes. Instead, I see a calculating creature, undisturbed by the battle, or by death. I see intelligence, and interest, but not hatred. Nor hunger.
A mammoth stumbles between us, as it fends off the Appalachio, trumpeting. The pair are separated by the fleeing herd, giving me a clear view of the forest again.
The face is gone.
Mystery is then replaced by fear.
Rising over the stomping of giant feet, the shrill cries of the wounded, and the roars of the enraged, comes another sound.
Laughter.
The booming chortle rises from the field’s far side, several hundred feet to the right of where I saw the face. Tsul’Kalu stands in the dying light, a broad grin on his face, arms raised as though to shout ‘Yes!’
Where I see death and pain, he finds only delight.
And then, with a quick shift of his eyes, he finds me.
48
Our uphill journey isn’t quite as fast-paced as the sprint across the killing field, but the horses are working just as hard, if not harder. They’re huffing and frothing, desperate for a break and for a drink they’re not going to get. At least not until we reach the peak, and maybe not even then.
We attack Adel’s slope at an angle, following a switchback pattern. It’s slower than charging straight up, but the grade would be too steep for the horses in some areas. We’re making the best time possible. We’ll reach the peak in about twenty minutes—far faster than we could manage on foot, even in the tunnels. Even the golf carts, with their small electric motors, wouldn’t be able to tear up the mountainside at our current pace, and I suspect they’d run out of juice long before
these tough horses.
When we cross the threshold between the encroaching night and the last rays of light still reaching Adel’s side, the sun provides me with a bit of hope. It’s filtered by the thick canopy, but the jungle is brighter, easier to navigate, and harder to hide in.
I’m not sure if Tsul’Kalu could overtake us and stage an ambush. He might not be fast or quiet enough to pull it off. And as much as he might want to track us down and kill us—for reasons unknown to me—my gut says he won’t be able to resist joining the fray behind us, at least for a bit. When…if...he finds us, I have no doubt he’ll be bathed in prehistoric blood.
When the Cherokee dubbed him the ‘god of the hunt,’ they were being generous, or perhaps they just didn’t have words for psychopath and serial killer. Then again, perhaps Tsul’Kalu gave himself the title, installing himself as a deity among men. Hell, actual men have done that since the dawn of civilization, all the way up to the modern world, and people still fall for it.
When a buzzing sound fills the air, my body tenses. If a flux wave as big as the last hits us now, we’ll be launched off the mountainside. But I sense no onrushing wall of temporal power. Instead, the buzz grows subtly louder until I identify where it’s coming from: above.
A drone.
My horse flinches at the flying machine’s arrival, but pushes past its fear when I give it a nudge. The drone keeps pace with me, twenty feet above.
“Can’t say I’m a fan of what you’re attempting,” Langdon says from the drone.
“Just trying to stay alive,” I reply.
He chuckles. “Oh, you’re doing more than that. You don’t think I’m aware of what is following you to my doorstep.”
Going to bring him a lot further than your doorstep, I think, but I say nothing.
“You know what it is,” Cassie says, “don’t you?”
“Ms. Dearborn, we discovered his identity together. The Nephilim were—”
“You knew from the start,” she says. “That’s why you’re trying so hard to keep it away. You know what it’s capable of. You know how hard it is to kill.”
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