Danger: Dinosaurs!

Chapter 6 The Mighty Beasts

The sun, a fiery ball that knew no time, poked at the night sky with a probing, red finger. The stars fled, trailing the blackness behind them, seeking safety from the blazing invader. The moon faded like a half-forgotten portrait of a loved one, and the sun rustled its tresses, sent dazzling locks of orange, yellow, red streaking across the sky. It lifted its head, and the land came alive with its brilliance. The leaves spread wide with glistening dewdrops. The animal sounds began. The mist rose, hung over the plants like a gray shroud and crumbled beneath the penetrating glare of the orange ball that hung in the sky. And the beasts lumbered from the caves and the lakes, stretched their muscles, blinked their eyes and went forth to greet the new day.

There was the smell of coffee brewing and the low crackle of a wood fire. The ground was damp, but the inside of the sleeping bag was warm and comfortable. The coffee smell invaded Chuck’s nostrils, clung to his senses with delicious warmth. He stirred, blinked his eyes, rolled over.

The sizzle of frying bacon reached his ears, followed immediately by the tangy, succulent aroma of the meat as it turned brown in the pan. Chuck’s eyes opened wide and, for a moment, he thought he was back in his own room, with Mom preparing breakfast in the kitchen, and the house warm and secure with the smells of early morning baking.

He closed his eyes and thought of home, and he allowed the dream to fill his mind and his body.

The voice was loud, but it was also mellow. Chuck kept his eyes closed and he listened to it, pretending it was the radio resting on the kitchen cabinet. He didn’t want to stir. He knew where he was now, but he didn’t want to shatter the dream.

He knew it was Pete singing to the early morning air as he prepared breakfast for the party. There was an innocent exuberance in Pete’s voice, a complete detachment from all problems, large or small. Chuck yanked down the zipper on the front of his sleeping bag and propped himself on his elbows. He listened to Pete and a smile broke out on his face.

As Chuck squirmed his way out of the sleeping bag, Pete looked up, cutting his song short.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Chuck said quickly.

Pete chuckled softly, his green eyes crinkling at the edges. He ran one stubby hand through his bright red hair and said, “I was about running out of choruses, anyway.”

Chuck walked over to the fire and held out his hands to it. “How many choruses are there?”

“I don’t suppose anyone has ever counted them,” Pete said. “I know at least thirty myself.”

“Really?”

“And I’ve only been cooking a short time. Why, there are cooks who could prepare a banquet and never run out of choruses the whole while.”

Chuck shook his head in appreciation of the feat and looked around the camp. “Are we the only two up?”

“No,” Pete said. “Mr. Masterson left with Arthur a little while ago. Said he wanted to look over the countryside. Brock’s in the back of the truck with a rifle across his knees.” Pete chuckled again and shook his head. “Don’t know what he expects to shoot.”

“Is my brother up?” Chuck asked.

“Oh, yes, almost forgot. Masterson woke him and asked him to go along, too.”

“I see.” Chuck considered this a moment. Masterson was certainly going at this hunting business with all he had. He began to wonder if the force field accident had really been an accident. For a man who’d planned to take only pictures, Masterson had certainly come prepared with a junior armory. He shrugged this aside and turned his head as he heard the shuffle of feet behind him.

Denise walked quickly to the fire, hugging herself against the morning chill.

“Good morning,” Chuck said.

“Good morning,” she answered. She held her hands out to the fire and said, “Are Jurassic times really colder or do they just seem that way?”

“As a matter of fact,” Chuck said, “they’re much warmer. The dampness will go as soon as the sun has had a chance to work a little. All these plants, you know.”

Denise shuddered. “I wish the sun would stop loafing, then,” she said.

“How about some bacon and eggs?” Pete asked. “And a steaming mug of coffee? That ought to take the chill off.”

“My uncle doesn’t like me to drink coffee,” Denise said. She looked around the camp and asked, “Say, where is everybody?”

“Exploring,” Chuck said.

“So early?” She shook her blonde head and opened her eyes in wonder. “You’d think my uncle would want to stay as far away from those brutes as possible. Sometimes I don’t understand him at all.” She paused and turned to Chuck. “Like shooting at those — stegosaurs, were they? You’d think he’d have more sense than that.”

“Your uncle thinks he’s on an African safari,” Chuck said, smiling.

Denise smiled back, a warm smile that lit her entire face. “Yes, isn’t it silly? A grown man playing Tarzan.”

“You’d better not let him hear you say that, Miss,” Pete said.

Denise shrugged. “I think I’ll have a little coffee after all,” she said.

Pete served up the bacon and eggs, poured the steaming coffee into big, white mugs. They ate hungrily, sipping at the coffee, not stopping to talk. Pete watched them with obvious enjoyment, a cook’s pride sprawled all over his face.

“This is delicious, Pete,” Denise said.

“Why, thank you, Miss.” Pete beamed at her.

“Excellent,” Chuck chimed in.

Pete’s smile grew larger and he looked as if he were ready to burst into song again. He began cleaning his pots, the smile still on his face.

Chuck got to his feet and stretched. The meal had made him feel full and lazy. He glanced over at the truck in time to see Gardel swing a leg over the tailgate and drop down to the ground. Quickly, like a black snake slithering across the ground, he came up to the fire.

“That coffee I smell?” he asked.

Pete looked up. “Like a cup, Brock?”

“I could use one.”

Pete took the big pot from the fire and poured a cup for Gardel. He handed it to him and asked, “Did you kill any dinosaurs for supper?” A merry twinkle sparkled in his eyes as he studied Gardel’s face.

“Things were pretty quiet,” Gardel said soberly, missing Pete’s wit completely. He sipped at the coffee, his thin lips pulling at the rim of the cup.

“Where are we going from here?” Pete asked.

Gardel took the cup from his lips. “Hunting,” he said simply.

“For what?”

Gardel hesitated a moment. “Animals. What else is there to hunt?”

“We’d be smarter hunting for a nice warm cave or something,” Denise said. “Doesn’t my uncle realize these animals are dangerous?”

Gardel pulled his black brows together. “That’s what makes hunting interesting,” he said. “Nobody hunts household pets, Denise.”

“According to law,” Chuck put in, “nobody hunts dinosaurs, either.”

Gardel smiled a thin smile. “You sound like your brother, son.”

“My brother knows this period well,” Chuck said. “He explained why real hunting wasn’t allowed and...”

Gardel chuckled a little. “Did he really expect us to believe that knocking off a few dinosaurs is going to affect the future history of mankind?”

“No, not if that were the extent of it. But how many of a species can you kill before you exterminate the entire species?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Gardel said. “We don’t intend to knock off more than our quota.” He thought that was funny and began laughing, only to stop abruptly when he saw he was laughing alone. “You know,” he explained, “like in hunting season.”

“Let’s hope we don’t wind up being the hunted” Pete said. “Those animals yesterday looked mighty fierce.”

“They didn’t touch us, did they?” Gardel asked smugly.

Pete shrugged. “Maybe they weren’t very hungry.”

Gardel laughed halfheartedly, then glanced at his watch. “I wonder what’s keeping Mr. Masterson.”

It was almost as if he’d spoken the cue for a stage entrance. The words had barely left his mouth when a thrashing in the bushes announced the return of the explorers. Masterson was the first to step onto the flat shale, stamping the mud from his shining boots.

“Well,” he boomed, “I see everyone’s up and around. Have a good night, Denise?”

“All right, I suppose,” Denise said.

“We’ve got a big day ahead,” Masterson said cheerfully. He was smiling broadly, as if his little sortie had been a big success. Chuck’s eyes sought his brother’s face, found it expressionless. “Mighty interesting country hereabout,” Masterson went on. “Eh, Spencer?”

“Fine country,” Owen replied.

Arthur stood silently by Owen, his arms hanging at his sides, his big hands open.

“I want to get under way as soon as possible,” Masterson said. He looked at Gardel. “From what I could gather, Brock, we should head out past the lake, swinging away from it about a mile from here. That sound all right to you?”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Masterson.”

“Fine! Let’s load up then. Pete, Arthur, get started on this mess, will you?” He rubbed his hands together. “We’ve got a big day ahead. A mighty big day.”

The sun climbed into the sky, peering down on the moving truck and jeep like a hot, unwinking eye. It was a warm day, like a spring day back home, with the smell of rich earth and growing things in the air. The vehicles left the flat rocks and began shoving through the tangled vegetation again. Insects sprang up around them like fine clouds of dust. The ferns parted, leafy lacelike curtains that would be pressed with the weight of time to form the coal beds of the future. The progress was slow, and the land begrudged the party every inch it gave up.

Chuck sat in the jeep and watched the land unfold before them. The panorama of green stretched for miles, a gently undulating sea of growth that shifted and rolled with the mild breeze. There was a stillness on the land that somehow made it more alien. Far in the distance, Chuck could see the jagged, weathered peaks of a mountain range. And dotting the land, like glistening mirrors embedded in a green velvet carpet, were countless lakes. There were scurrying creatures in the brush-small reptiles that gleamed brightly as they scampered by. Chuck was thankful that they’d seen none of the larger animals since their brush with the stegosaurs.

And then the pterosaur appeared, quite suddenly.

At first it was nothing more than a shadow that skimmed the ground, covering the truck and moving back over the jeep.

Chuck looked up rapidly and there it was, silhouetted against the sky, the sun filtering through its membranous wings.

It was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.

The truck stopped and Masterson came running back to the jeep, his rifle in his hands.

“What was that, Spencer? Did you see it? A bird or something!” His face was flushed with excitement and his eyes kept flicking to the sky.

“That was a pterosaur,” Owen said. “A flying reptile.”

“Brother, it was something!” Masterson said.

“Probably Rhamphorhynchus,” Chuck said. “It looked like one.”

Masterson’s eyes lit up, and he pointed rapidly. “It’s coming back. I’m going to get a shot at that baby!”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Owen said tightly.

“I’ve had enough of your advice,” Masterson replied.

The pterosaur was winging its way back to the jeep, gliding lower and lower. It looked something like an enormous bat with a peculiarly shaped head. It had a short, stout body, a fairly long neck and a short tail. Its wings were fully spread, some four feet from wing tip to wing tip. As it fell toward the jeep, Masterson readied his rifle for a shot.

Chuck could see every detail of the creature now.

Its front limbs ended in sharp claws. One finger of each limb was enormously elongated to support the membrane, which spread like a thin web and connected with the rear limbs.

The creature’s head was a long, flat, bony affair, terminating in a pointed beak at one end. The whole head gave the illusion of having been passed through a wringer. When the pterosaur opened its jaws, Chuck saw the sparkle of sharp teeth. Then the jaws snapped shut, and the reptile’s shadow fell over the jeep as the creature passed directly overhead.

There was the loud boom of Masterson’s gun breaking the stillness of the morning. The reptile’s jaws opened again, and a hoarse, high scream tore the air to shreds, ran up the spine like the blood cry of a banshee. The wings flapped frantically as Masterson squeezed off shot after shot. Chuck stood by helplessly, his fists clenched tightly. Then the pterosaur gained altitude, its long shadow gliding over the land. Higher it went, and higher, flying away from the thing with the fast-flying, steel-jacketed teeth.

“Brother!” Masterson said. “That’s the strangest darned bird I’ve ever seen!”

“It’s one of the strangest flying creatures that ever existed,” Chuck said. “But it’s not a bird.”

“Well, it certainly looked like a bird,” Masterson insisted.

“We may see some birds before we leave the Jurassic period,” Owen said. “As a matter of fact, the first feathered creatures make their appearance in these times. I don’t think you’ll recognize them as birds, though.”

“Well,” Masterson said, still dubious, “whatever that was, I’d have liked to take it back as a trophy.” He turned and started walking back toward the truck. “Hey, Brock!” he called. “Did you see that?”

The rain came at noon.

The clouds had been piling up on the horizon since about ten o’clock, darkening the sky, casting a deep pall over the land. Lightning streaks suddenly slashed through the gray overhang, illuminating the cycads and ferns with electric fury. The thunder rolled out of the mountains, shook its noisy fist at the land, and then the rain came.

It spilled out of the sky in a wet sheet that ran across the vegetation in lashing torrents. The leaves flapped in protest, raising their frantic plea to the shrieking wind and the flailing water. Roots tore at the earth, wrenched free. Evergreens turned over, rolled beneath the force of the gale. The waters began running down out of the mountains, filling the lakes, flooding the land and turning the ground into a mucky, rain-drenched quagmire. The entire party sat in the truck, listening to the wind rip at the canvas top and watching the rain sweep by outside.

And then, almost as suddenly as it had started, the rainstorm ended. The clouds pulled their tattered gray robes across the sky, trailing smokelike wisps away from the sudden rays of the sun. The earth smelled clean and fresh. The plants glistened with a million, sparkling, watery jewels.

The mighty beasts lifted their heads to sniff the air, raised their dull, flat eyes to the sun and came forth to soak up the warmth.

The storm had ended.

Masterson surveyed the mud with a disgruntled eye.

“Quite a mess,” he said. “Quite an unholy mess.”

“We’ll feel better when we’ve had something to eat, Mr. Masterson,” Pete said. He had set up a stone fireplace and started a fire with the newspapers from the truck. When the blaze was strong, he fed it from a bag of charcoal.

Owen had walked several yards from the group surrounding the fire. He returned with a worried expression on his face.

“I think we’d better find another spot for lunch,” he said.

Gardel, squatting by the fire, looked up suddenly. “Why?”

“We’re near a small lake, and there are sauropods in it. I don’t like it.”

“What the deuce are sauropods?” Gardel asked. “Some kind of fish?”

“Fish?” Owen was plainly surprised. “Maybe I’d better explain the life setup here a little more fully.”

Masterson nodded. “Maybe you’d better.”

“To begin with, the word ‘dinosaur’ covers a large group of reptiles — most of them of gigantic size. Within that group, there are further groupings, groupings that distinguish the different types of dinosaurs. For example, a stegosaur is any armored dinosaur. Sauropods are the largest of all Mesozoic reptiles. Theropods are carnivorous dinosaurs. Ceratopsians are the horned dinosaurs — none of which exist until later in geologic time.”

“I don’t get it,” Gardel said.

“It’s easy,” Owen replied. “These are simply methods of classification. For example, let’s take a horse. We can start by saying that he is a mammal. We can then classify him as that mammal which is a horse. And from there, we can go on to say he is a Shetland or an Arabian or what have you. Do you follow?”

“I think I understand,” Masterson said.

“In the same manner, we can pinpoint any particular dinosaur. The stegosaurs we ran into happened to be the genus called Stegosaurns, which is the type that gave the name to the entire stegosaur group. But there are other stegosaurs we haven’t as yet seen — and may not see.”

“That sounds simple enough,” Gardel said, nodding.

“Now, a pterosaur is a flying reptile. There are two subdivisions of pterosaurs. The one we saw earlier today was called Rhamphorhynchus.”

Pete’s eyes opened wide. “Wow!” he said.

“About the sauropods over there,” Owen said, pointing, “I think they’re of the Brontosaurus group, though I can’t be sure at this distance. Whatever they are, they’re darned big, much bigger than the stegosaurs we ran into yesterday, and I think we’d better get out of here while the getting’s good.”

“How far away are they?” Masterson asked.

“At the edge of the lake. About a hundred yards or so.”

“They won’t bother us,” Masterson said calmly.

“I might be inclined to agree with you,” Owen said, “if I didn’t know how trigger — happy you were. The sauropods are plant eaters, and I doubt if they’d be very interested in us as food.”

“I’m not interested in them, either,” Masterson assured Owen. “Don’t worry about them.”

“Did somebody mention food?” Denise asked, trying to lift the conversation out of the menacing route it was taking.

“Be ready in a few minutes,” Pete said. He stood over the fire, stirring a huge caldron of hot soup. He was reaching over for a ladle when the shadow fell over the ground again.

Masterson leaped to his feet instantly, his eyes turning eagerly to the sky. “Another one!” he shouted. “Another of those pterosaurs.” His face flushed with excitement as he sprinted for the truck. “Where’s my rifle?”

“You just said you weren’t going to do any more shooting,” Owen said desperately.

“I didn’t say anything like it,” Masterson yelled over his shoulder. He had his rifle and was already ramming cartridges into the loading chamber.

“The sauropods...” Chuck started, but Masterson had lifted the rifle to his shoulder and was taking aim at the pterosaur overhead. When the rifle shot came, it was loud and echoing. It seemed to fill the land with its angry bellow.

“I’ll get it this time,” Masterson muttered. He swung around as the reptile drifted past, sighting along the barrel of his gun.

“Masterson,” Owen said. “The sauropods! Your fire is attracting...”

“Shut up, Spencer!” Masterson snapped. He squeezed the trigger, and another shot burst on the air, reverberating in every hollow of the land. The echoes were a long time dying, but before they were gone, another sound had replaced them.

The sound was low and steady like the sodden beat of a tom-tom. It got louder as they listened, seemed to expand until it rolled like thunder.

Owen took one look in the direction of the lake. Then he turned his head and his voice was deadly cold when he spoke.

“They’re coming, Masterson,” he said. “And your popgun isn’t going to be much help this time.”