***
A willow branch slapped the survivor’s face, stinging his right cheek and stopping him in his tracks. He had been stumbling blindly through the scrub brush, stubbing his bare toes on willow roots, skinning his elbows on their trunks. Now he stood still a moment, collecting himself and rubbing the pain out of his cheek.
Where the heck was he? Who was he? He couldn’t remember.
He had wandered out of the ruined citadel and then worked his way along this small willow-choked stream for hours. It was rough going without shoes or socks. His jailers had taken those from him days before. A while ago, he had spotted a half dozen of their fighting machines coming up the canyon, so he had decided to keep to the thickest part of the brush in the winding stream bottom. Eggshell Creek, that was its name. How did he know that, when his mind was blank about most everything else? His ears rang from last night’s explosions and he was just about deaf. And fear that one of those creatures might follow him, catch him and kill him, gave him the shakes.
An open stretch of streambed surrounded by willows seemed a good place to stop and clear his mind. He sat on a boulder with his feet in the water and dug his toes into the sandy creek bed. The cool water eased the pain of his bruised toes and soothed his sore feet.
Memories came back in little bits and pieces. He’d been kept in a cage, a small one with barely enough room to stand up or lie down. But the cage had saved his life when the first explosion came and the roof caved in. Huge slabs of rock fell from the ceiling and crushed his jailers, but the cage kept the stones off him. The second explosion was so loud it had left a damnable ringing in his ears. And with the second explosion had come fire. An instant after the concussion a wall of flame had lit up the stone hallway and rushed into the chamber at him. He had pulled the covers of his bedding over himself as the flames overwhelmed him. And then he had shrieked and tossed the blazing bedcovers away, frantically swatting out the patches of fire on his tee shirt and pant leg. Mercifully, there had been nothing else flammable in the stone chamber so the flames had left him alive but writhing in agony on the damp floor. Overcome by smoke, he had passed out. When the pain of his seared skin awoke him, he had crept out the door of his cage, which was off its hinges. He had wandered the black corridors of the mountain for—how long?—maybe a few hours, maybe a whole day. But finally he had crawled out a small hole into the light of day. Now he meant to put as much distance between himself and the mountain as he could before nightfall.
He splashed some water on his face. Then cupped his hands and poured some over the top of his head to cool his overheated brain. After a few minutes the ringing in his ears let up and he heard something. A crashing sound sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. Something big was coming at him through the willows. Before he had time to stand, half a dozen large animals rushed out of the thicket. He slipped off the boulder and tumbled backwards into the stream, thinking he was a goner. But amazingly the creatures leaped over him and bounded off through the willows. After they had gone it dawned on him what they were. Elk. A small herd of elk running fast, like they had been spooked.
He sat up in the stream, soaking wet and gripped by a new urgent question. What had spooked the elk? The way they had jumped right over him, it must have been something they feared more than him.
The willows rustled. Before he could react, the elks’ pursuer burst out of the undergrowth. It was—
A dog.
A black-and-white border collie. He laughed at the sight of it. When it saw him it immediately lay down on the stream bank with its two front paws stretched out. It gazed at him with friendly, warm brown eyes and panted a tongue-lolling doggie smile.
“Zippy!” he said without thinking. Then he started to chuckle. In response, the dog wagged his tail, splashed to him and licked his face, wiggling like a puppy. That got him laughing all the more. He had been prepared to meet death, but not Zippy. He hugged the dog and roared hysterically. He laughed till he cried. He could hear echoes of his laughter rolling off the broken face of the mountain. Sandstone Mountain. Things were coming back to him.
He let go of Zippy. The dog trotted a few paces away and stopped, waiting for him to come along. He stood up, dripping with creek water, and asked the pooch, “You know the way out of here, boy? I’m all turned around.”
Dinosaur Wars: Earthfall Page 70
