Danger: Dinosaurs!

Chapter 12 Earthquake

Chuck felt strange, as if he had no part in it at all.

It was as if the ichthyosaur behind him wasn’t really a threat to his life, as if Arthur swimming toward him awkwardly, with the ax poised in his fist, was really an apparition.

He only wanted to reach the raft. He kept swimming. Denise was a dead weight on the end of his arm; Arthur was a dim blob on the water ahead, and the sound of the reptile’s gnashing teeth behind him merged with the greater sound of the thunder in his ears.

He swam and he saw Arthur pass him. Then the raft suddenly loomed ahead like a square wooden rug. He reached up with one hand and felt the coarse, splintery surface. A stronger hand closed around his own, and he shook his head weakly, dragging Denise up beside him, wanting them to take her aboard first.

When the weight was lifted from his arms, he felt marvelously light, light enough to drift up into the sky, almost weightless. Suddenly he was drifting up to the sky, with strong hands clamped under his armpits. He saw red hairs curling on rounded forearms and he knew that his benefactor was Pete. He was lowered gently to the deck of the raft.

“Artificial... resp...“ he gulped, struggling for breath. “Denise. Artificial respiration.”

He saw boots near him and a pair of bare feet. The lashings of the raft were before his eyes, and beyond those, the water. And in the water he saw a brown man raise a powerful arm to ward off the swipe of swordlike jaws. He saw brown fingers close around the jaws, saw the other arm come back quickly, caught the flick of the ax as it came down against the conical-shaped head of the huge reptile. The arm came back in a blur of brown, and the ax descended again. And again. Arthur clung to the twisting jaws, the water splashing up around him as the reptile twisted furiously. Blood sprayed into the air as the ax glinted murderously in the sunlight.

He’s going to get killed, Chuck thought. Arthur is going to die.

The blackness came in then, as swift and as sudden as Judgment Day, and Chuck drifted off into a welcome oblivion.

“He’s coming around,” the fuzzy voice said.

Chuck kept his eyes closed tightly. There was a warm orange glow on them, capping them shut, obliterating everything but its own brilliance.

The voice receded down the length of a long black tunnel. A faint spot of light glowed there, grew larger, larger, until it filled Chuck’s consciousness.

There was warmth on his face, and the warmth felt good. He didn’t want it to go away. He kept his eyes closed because he thought he was dreaming and he didn’t want the dream to end.

His eyelids flickered.

He felt his fingers move involuntarily, and then he blinked his eyes rapidly, opened them and closed them once more.

“Chuck?” the fuzzy voice asked.

He wanted to answer, but somehow he couldn’t find his voice. He groped for it, reaching into his throat with a swollen, parched tongue. All he could produce was an unintelligible “ugnhhh.”

“Chuck?” the voice repeated. It had lost some of its fur and it sounded a little clearer, a lot closer.

“Yes,” he said, surprised to discover that he had a voice, after all.

“This is Pete, Chuck. Are you all right?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” He opened his eyes, and the sun splashed into them. He closed them quickly, surprised when the smell of growing things invaded his nostrils.

After awhile he opened his eyes again. He was lying on the ground, the ferns spreading around him in green abundance.

“Denise?” he asked, pushing himself to one elbow, his arm sinking into the soft earth.

“She’s all right,” Pete said. “It took awhile, but we got her breathing again. She’s all right.”

Chuck didn’t want to ask the next question. “Arthur? Is he... did he...?”

He heard a hearty laugh echoing in his ears, and then a deep voice boomed, “Chuck, it’ll take more than a little old fish to do me in.”

He didn’t bother telling Arthur that an ichthyosaur was a reptile and not a fish. Instead, he clasped Arthur’s hand firmly, a smile covering his face. “Thanks, Arthur,” he said. “Thanks... a... whole lot”

“Shucks, I enjoyed the swim,” Arthur said.

“We made it, I guess.” Chuck sat up and looked around him. Far in the distance he saw the twin white rocks leaping up at the sky.

“We made it,” Pete repeated. “Once we got rid of those ichthyo-whatever-you-call-’em, the rest was easy.”

Chuck looked again at the white rocks. “There’s our goal,” he said. He paused. “You think we’ll get there in time?”

“Why not?” Arthur asked.

“We’ve only got two days. That’s an awful lot of distance to cover in...”

“We’ll do it,” Pete interrupted. “But first I’m going to make some hot chow for you.”

“Maybe we ought to get started right...”

“Not until you and Denise have eaten,” Pete said firmly. Chuck noticed that the cook still carried his rifle slung over his shoulder. He wondered now why he had ever doubted Pete’s loyalty. He hugged his knees to his chest as Pete started a fire. Masterson was in animated conversation with the doctors. Gardel was standing off by himself, leisurely puffing on a cigarette. Chuck saw Denise lying on a blanket in the center of the camp. He got up, staggering a little when he discovered his legs weren’t as strong as he’d thought, and then walked over to her.

“Hi,” he said, “enjoy your morning swim?”

“Oh, delightful,” she answered. “Nothing like a swim to give you an appetite.”

“Nope, my brother always used to say—” He cut himself short, wondering how he had planned to complete the sentence. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what Owen always used to say. Something about swimming, of course. But what? What?

“Do you feel all right, Chuck?”

He snapped his attention back to Denise. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I hear they really had to tear you away from the gates of heaven, though.”

“I guess it was all that water I drank,” Denise said, laughing lightly. “You see, I prefer orange juice in the morning.”

“Of course,” Chuck said. “I understand completely.”

They both laughed loudly and then stopped short when they heard a loud, raucous voice begin a song.

“Oh no,” Chuck moaned. “He’s making up his own lyrics now!”

But this time, Chuck joined in the chorus.

They started out for the twin rocks after Chuck and Denise had eaten. Dr. Dumar kept running ahead like an eager cocker spaniel, picking up rocks wherever he found them, carrying a large instrument case in one hand and his specimens in the other.

Dr. Perry, on the other hand, stayed close to Chuck, pointing out the various flora and fauna of the period. On one occasion, when the flurry of wings overhead announced a visitor, Chuck looked up, fully expecting to see a pterosaur. He was surprised when he saw one of the most awkward-looking creatures he’d ever seen in his life.

The animal had distinctive bird features: a beak, feathered wings, and it was — of course — flying. But there the resemblance ended, for it also had a very long tail and the toothed jaws of a reptile.

“That, my friend,” Dr. Perry said, “is one of the first birds. His name is Archaeopteryx, the species macrura.”

Chuck shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t look very much like a bird. It looks more like... like... a flying squirrel or something.”

“No,” Dr. Perry said. “Most zoologists agree that Archaeopteryx was the first bird. It has birdlike feet and skull, feathered wings and tail, but reptilian teeth. Far removed from the modern bird, of course, but a bird nonetheless.”

Chuck looked up at the flying creature and blinked his eyes. “That tail...”

“As a matter of fact,” Dr. Perry interrupted, “the tail is possibly its most interesting characteristic. In modern birds, the tail proper is shortened to a rudiment ending in a large bone, with the feathers radiating from it to form a tail fan. But take a look at this customer.”

His finger pointed up at the bird, tracing its tail as it moved in awkward, flapping flight.

“His tail is as long as the rest of his vertebral column. It consists of twenty-one joints, with the tail feathers in pairs on each side.”

“What does it all mean?” Chuck asked.

“It’s significant only in that the tail fan of Archaeopteryx differs from that of modern birds in exactly the same manner that the tail fins of the earliest fishes differs from that of modern fishes.”

“Being vertebrated you mean?”

“Why yes, exactly.” Dr. Perry nodded his head appreciatively.

“What does Archaeopteryx mean?” Chuck asked.

“It means ‘primordial winged creature.’”

“And macrura?”

“That simply means ‘long-tailed.’”

“A long-tailed, primordial winged creature,” Chuck said. “That’s quite a mouthful. It’s easier to say Archaeopteryx.”

Dr. Perry smiled. “Yes, it is.” He paused and said, “Many zoologists felt that the reptilian characteristics dominated and that it should be called a birdlike reptile, rather than a reptilian bird. One thing is certain, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Birds evolved from reptiles.”

“Mmmm.”

“But they did not necessarily evolve from pterosaurs or flying reptiles.”

“I see,” Chuck said.

Dr. Perry smiled again. “You must forgive me for running on like this. I sometimes get carried away and forget that I’m not in front of a classroom giving a lecture.”

“I didn’t mind at all,” Chuck said honestly.

“You’re being much too tolerant. You probably know all this, anyway — being a guide, I mean.”

“A.. guide?”

“Why, yes. That is — well, yes, you are the guide for the expedition, aren’t you?”

“My brother...” Chuck cut himself short. There was no sense explaining it. No sense telling him how Noah had led the expedition until he’d met his death that day with the brontosaurs. Noah meant nothing to anyone but Chuck now. Noah...

A puzzled look crossed Chuck’s face. He struck a pensive posture, his face screwed up, his eyes clearly confused. Noah?

“Is anything wrong?” Dr. Perry asked.

Chuck shook his head rapidly. “No, nothing. Nothing at all.”

And yet... Noah. There was something about that name. Why, of course. The name wasn’t Noah! It was... was...

Sudden panic fluttered inside Chuck’s chest.

What was his brother’s name?

Not Noah, surely. Something similar, yes, but not Noah. Something like Aaron... or Orrin... No, no, that wasn’t it. But what? He felt an aching pain lash through his body, a pain that swept over his mind as he struggled with the memory, trying to dislodge it from its dark corner.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Dr. Perry asked again. “That time you spent in the water...”

“I’m all right,” Chuck said harshly. He bit down on his tongue then and said, “I’m sorry, Dr. Perry. I just... I...”

“You probably feel weak, owing to the time...”

“Owen!” Chuck shouted aloud, relief washing over his mind. “Owen!”

Dr. Perry stared at him curiously. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“Never mind, Dr. Perry,” Chuck answered. “But thanks a lot. Something you said reminded me of something I’d... something I’d almost...” He swallowed. The word was difficult to say. “... forgotten.”

But he hadn’t forgotten. He still remembered. Owen wasn’t even a memory to the others who had known him, but Chuck would never forget. Never, he promised himself. Never!

He set his lips firmly, his eyes on the white rocks in the distance.

The terrain got rougher as they moved along.

The twin rocks dangled before their eyes like a promised present. They didn’t seem to get any closer. The rocks stood on the horizon like two disdainful monarchs surveying their domain, a king and a queen with proud, cold bearing.

The plants were an army fighting for their monarchs. They threw themselves in the path of the invaders, erecting a wall of living, writhing greenness that held the line with remarkable tenacity. And the monarchs had strewn the path with booby traps; deep mud pits, sharp rocks, wide clefts in the earth, rock faults and slips, sliding talus.

The party waged a war against the country. Arthur was the forward guard, wielding the ax with a powerful arm that felled the foe. Pete was behind him with a meat cleaver, hacking at the tenacious plants. The rest of the party followed behind them, exhausted and ready to call it a day.

And over it all, constantly nagging, was Masterson. He whined interminably, telling them they’d taken the wrong path, that they’d struck out in the wrong direction after they met the lost scientists. Chuck tried to close his ears against the verbal barrage, trusting his memory of the rocks over the guesswork of Masterson.

He was not at all sure they would reach the rendezvous site in time. Nor was he sure that the party would get there safely. Arthur had been forced to shoot and kill two flesh eaters that had boldly attacked the group in a small clearing. It had been simple to kill them. They were small and their hides couldn’t very well stop a steel-jacketed bullet.

But Chuck kept thinking of Allosaurus wondering what the outcome would be if they ran across this dreaded flesh eater. He crossed his fingers, thankful that they had not seen any of these gigantic carnivores as yet. But could their luck last forever? And what good would a puny rifle be then? He thought of the enormous monster with its razor — sharp teeth and slashing claws, and a shiver wormed its way up his spine.

The sky behind the twin rocks turned a bright red as the sun dipped below the horizon. The red shifted color, shot with purples and oranges, deepening rapidly. And then the dusk hurried quietly across the sky. Night came, enfolding the land in an inky black cloak. The white rocks showed dimly in the darkness, with the stars wheeling sharply overhead like bitter white beaks pecking at the blackness.

Chuck called a halt for the night, aware that tomorrow was the sixth day and that time was running out swiftly. He debated the prospect of going on all night, but one look at Denise’s exhausted condition told him they ought to stop for much-needed sleep.

Pete put together a fast, delicious supper, and the party turned in. No one needed coaxing. They crawled wearily into their blankets and were asleep almost before they were fully stretched out.

Chuck took the first watch, telling Arthur he’d wake him in two hours.

He stood by the fire, listening to the familiar crackle of the logs. The wood sputtered and hissed with its newness, and Chuck thought of autumn fires in his own century, with the woods blanketed in yellow and red leaves, and the air knifed with the tang of approaching winter. He thought of Halloween and juicy red apples, crisp and cold to the palate, sharp against the teeth. He thought of his brother smoking a pipe on their long walks through the woods, with the leaves shifting and rasping underfoot, with nature dressed in a pretty party frock. He thought of pork roasting on an outdoor grill, with the fat dripping into the fire, the flames leaping with each fallen drop and the tangy aroma of the meat flooding the cold, clear air. He could almost feel the touch of a tweed collar against the back of his neck, the friendly, rough warmth it gave, and the clothy smell of the coat when it was taken out of the closet after a long seasonal rest. There was always a bitter — sweetness about autumn — the memory of a summer dying, the cast-iron skies overhead forecasting the approaching winter. He thought of home now, and an overwhelming nostalgia swept over him. Familiar things and places, familiar faces. His own time. Home.

He was deep in his thoughts.

So deep that the ground beneath his feet was trembling violently before he realized anything was wrong.