Danger: Dinosaurs!

Chapter 4 Hasty Flight

At almost the same instant, Masterson stuck his head from the cab of the truck, a beaming smile covering his face. “Look at that!” he shouted. “There are some dinosaurs for you!”

The stegosaurs were still nothing more than huge, grayish blobs set against the thick green background. Chuck looked at them again, squinting his eyes for a better view. The vehicles kept moving closer to the grazing herd.

“Turn back!” Owen shouted, his voice shrill and piercing. “Those animals can be dangerous, Masterson.”

Masterson began laughing — a highly, penetrating laugh that echoed over the land.

“Masterson!” Owen shouted.

Masterson did not answer. The truck kept moving forward, and Chuck found himself unable to sit still. He kept his eyes glued to the herd. He jiggled his feet against the floor board of the jeep, clenched and unclenched his fists, nibbled at his lower lip. They were much closer now, far too close for comfort.

“Masterson!” Owen shouted again.

Masterson’s head appeared. “What is it, Spencer?”

“You don’t know what you’re doing. Those brutes...”

“Brutes?” Masterson scoffed. “They’re eating grass, Spencer. They’re just big cows, that’s all.”

Owen shouted, “They’re plant eaters, yes — but even herbivorous animals can stampede. Masterson, can’t you...” He stopped talking as Masterson’s head disappeared within the cab. He turned to Chuck in exasperation, a tired expression pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“We can’t stop him, Chuck,” he said. “It’s no use.”

“Maybe... maybe it’ll be all right. They are plant eaters.”

“Sure,” Owen said, “but take a look at them.” He pointed over the windshield, and Chuck followed the line his arm and outstretched finger made.

The stegosaurs were huge, truly huge. They stood on the horizon like enormous gray boulders. Chuck stared at the grotesque brutes. They were something out of a madman’s imagination, something to tax the most creative mind. Their heads were close to the ground, small beaklike affairs that nibbled at the plants. Two short legs supported the front end of the beast, and from there on nature seemed to go berserk. Arcing up from the head in a high, curving line, the animal’s back rose like a half-submerged island. Two rows of jutting plates, hard bones that stood out on the creature’s back like a low mountain range, ran from the back of the head down the length of the tail. The tail was long and powerful, and where the bone plates ended, several sets of sharp, pointed spikes rose up to take their place. Chuck estimated the length of the stegosaurs at somewhere between fifteen and eighteen feet. The animals tilted forward precariously like clowns walking on their hands. Their hind legs were easily twice as long as their forelegs, giving them a peculiar off-balance look, as if they would fall forward on their small, hard faces at any moment. They moved ponderously, working their way among the plants, nibbling, moving on to another plant, nibbling again.

Chuck knew that the brains of these animals weighed no more than two and a half ounces, judging from the scientific measurement of the cranial cavity. He knew, too, that their total weight was greater than that of any elephant, and that an elephant’s brain averaged about eight pounds — sometimes going as high as eleven pounds. The weight of an elephant’s brain was seventy times that of a stegosaur’s. This gave the stegosaur an intelligence approximately equal to that of a three weeks’ old kitten, comparing size for size.

Chuck stared at the powerful tail with its spiked end, knowing this tail could be wielded with lethal effectiveness. In an age of reptiles with gashing teeth and ripping claws, in an age where flesh-eating dinosaurs ranged the earth preying on their weaker numbers, the stegosaur’s only weapon was his effective armor plate and his powerful tail. Chuck shuddered as he thought of it in action. Then he realized just how close they were to the animals.

“Owen! For Pete’s sake, he’s practically driving into their mouths!”

Owen was about to answer when the truck ahead squealed to a stop, the tires gripping futilely at the slippery vegetation. Masterson leaped from the cab, the gun clutched tightly in one hand. He began walking back toward the jeep, his hat tilted back on his head, his black curly hair spilling over onto his forehead.

“Hey, Spencer!” he called.

Owen climbed down out of the jeep, his eyes on the quietly grazing herd less than a hundred yards away.

“What is it?” he asked.

“These animals. What do you call them?”

“Stegosaurs,” Owen answered. “They’re dangerous, Masterson. They can use their tails like...”

“What was that name again?”

“Stegosaurs.”

“Does the name mean anything?”

“Yes. It means ‘roofed lizard.’”

“Say,” Masterson said. “That’s clever. With all those bones sticking out of his back, I can see where he got the name. Roofed lizard, huh?”

Owen tried a new tack. “Look, Mr. Masterson, let’s turn around and get out of here. These babies are nothing to play with, believe me.”

“I don’t intend playing with them,” Masterson said sharply. “Roofed lizard,” he repeated, apparently fascinated by the name. An engaging grin broke over his face, spilling white teeth onto his ruddy features. “How would you like a roofed lizard for one of your museums?”

“We’ve got some, thanks,” Owen said. “There’s a beautifully mounted skeleton in the Yale University Museum, for that matter. And there are...”

“A skeleton,” Masterson said, still smiling. “I mean the real McCoy. A trophy. Flesh and bones, Spencer. How does that appeal to you?”

“It doesn’t. It’s against the law, Masterson, and you know it.”

The smile dropped from Masterson’s face, and his lips set in a tight line. “Laws are made to be broken,” he said.

“That’s where we don’t see eye to eye,” Owen answered.

“And that’s what makes horse races,” Masterson countered.

Chuck watched Owen’s fists clench into tight, hard balls and he fully expected his brother to haul off at Masterson. Instead, Owen calmly replied, “It’s a little difficult to think of man-made laws when you’re so far away from them, Masterson. I warn you, though, that the punishment for what you plan to do is extremely severe. If I were you, I’d turn that truck around and head back to the rendezvous site.”

“He’s right, Mr. Masterson,” Arthur said from behind the wheel of the jeep.

Masterson turned slowly, his eyes cold. “I think,” he said slowly, “that you’d best keep your opinions to yourself, Arthur.” He turned back to Owen and said, “I’m going to shoot one of your roofed lizards, Spencer. Right between the eyes.”

“Think you’ll be able to do it?” Owen asked.

Masterson began chuckling, and Chuck looked in amazement at this man whose emotions could range from seething hatred to jocularity in the space of ten seconds. “This gun could fell a charging elephant, Spencer,” he said, holding out his weapon.

“These aren’t elephants,” Owen said. “A stegosaur has more armor than a heavy tank!”

Masterson smiled charmingly. “I’ve stopped tanks in my time, too, Spencer. Just watch me.” He turned crisply, striding away from the jeep, heading back for the truck with long steps.

“He’s crazy,” Chuck blurted. “He’s absolutely out of his mind!”

The truck started, lurching forward over the ground to a low, flat clearing that edged on the feeding stegosaurs. One of the beasts glanced up as the truck approached, its huge spiked tail flicking heavily to one side, thumping against a thick cycad. Then it lowered its head and continued to nibble at the low shrubbery.

The truck crept to within fifty feet of the herd, while Arthur cautiously guided the jeep behind it. Still, the stegosaurs paid no attention to the intruders. Their jagged, arching backs jutted up grotesquely over the vegetation like animated stone walls, but they continued to feed calmly.

The truck stopped, and Masterson climbed out of the cab, the thick plants beginning some ten feet from where he stood on the flatland. Chuck heard an ominous click as Masterson shoved a shell into the chamber. There was another click as the safety catch yielded to Masterson’s thumb. Masterson fell to one knee, his head cocked, the gun in firing position.

“He’s going to shoot!” Owen whispered. Then, as if suddenly realizing what was about to happen, he started running forward. “Masterson! Hold your fire. Hold your...”

The shot bellowed into the afternoon silence like the roar of a wounded giant. It echoed from the trees, spread over the rocks, carried its message of lethal doom to anything that heard and anything that would listen.

Chuck felt his fingernails bite into his palms. He didn’t take his gaze from the stegosaurs. He saw one of the animals lift its head and stare around stupidly. Owen was almost upon Masterson now.

“You double-plated idiot!” he shouted.

Masterson didn’t look up. He triggered off another fast shot. This time he hit his target.

A terrifying bellow split the air. It tore at the nerves and splintered the silence. It was the very essence of primitiveness. It was a bellow of sheer, raw pain. It stifled the senses like the cry of a madman in a padded cell. Chuck saw one of the stegosaurs lift its head quickly, the gigantic tail lashing out like a spiked, bloated bull-whip.

“I hit him!” Masterson shouted. “I hit him!”

“Get back to the truck, you fool!” Owen said.

Gardel was leaning out of the cab, his eye pressed to the telescopic sight on his own gun. Pete had climbed into the front of the truck and was sitting behind the wheel. He winced, pulling his head between his shoulders, as Gardel’s gun added its thunder to Masterson’s.

The stegosaurs turned away from their food now, their small heads coming up, their bodies turning ponderously as the shots spattered around them. The ground erupted in showery cascades of mud and vegetation as the heavy slugs ripped into it. Another reptile bellowed in pain, and Gardel shouted exultantly from the cab of the truck.

And then it started.

It was almost imperceptible at first. It was as if all the reptiles had suddenly decided to shift their position at once. They turned slowly like comedians in a dead-pan routine, their powerful tails swinging around, their humped backs bobbing like ships on a sea of vegetation. They began to move forward slowly. They kept their heads low. Their ridiculously short legs stamped on the ferns. They moved like an outlandish football team struggling for a first down or a group of drunken lumberjacks staggering down out of the mountains. But they moved with purpose — a dim, primitive purpose spawned in a group of infinitesimal brains. Something was troubling them. They must defend themselves against this something.

Masterson shrieked in delight as the beasts began moving out of the shrubbery toward the clearing. Owen tugged at his arm, but Masterson shoved him aside angrily. He raised the rifle, fired rapidly, then reloaded and continued to trigger off shot after shot into the herd.

The stegosaurs moved deceptively. What appeared to be a halting, stumbling gait was suddenly a headlong flight. They moved through the ferns like a gigantic Juggernaut, their five-toed forelegs pounding against the earth, their tails thumping behind them. They formed a solid wall of destruction that charged blindly ahead, uprooting cycads, crushing rocks, setting the earth to trembling. The din was ear-shattering. It was like a thousand sledge hammers turned loose at once or a million bowling balls upsetting ten million pins in a million hollow alleys.

The crack of Masterson’s high-powered rifle sounded small and ineffective in the thunderstorm of the huge reptiles’ hoofs.

Suddenly Masterson seemed to come awake to the danger. He got to his feet rapidly and began running for the truck. Gardel kept firing from the cab. Owen sprinted for the jeep as the stegosaurs charged into the clearing, bellowing wildly, blind rage guiding their powerful muscles

“Get this baby started,” Chuck said to Arthur. There was an undertone of anxiety in his voice. He wet his lips as the stegosaurs roared forward, trampling over the spot Owen and Masterson had just left.

Chuck heard the motor whine as Arthur stepped on the starter. Owen reached the jeep and hopped aboard.

“Let’s get out of here,” he panted. “Fast!”

The stegosaurs stopped, raising their heads, seeming to sniff the air for their enemy. Arthur tried the starter again. A complaining moan came from beneath the hood of the jeep.

“What’s the matter?” Owen asked. He watched the stegosaurs as they lowered their heads again.

“I... something’s wrong. She... she...” Arthur swallowed hard, glanced up briefly at the herd of reptiles.

“What is it?” Chuck fairly shouted.

“She won’t start!” Arthur blurted. “Something’s wrong with her.” He looked at Chuck helplessly. When he spoke again, his voice was edged with panic. “She just won’t start!”