Danger: Dinosaurs!

Chapter 7 Trapped

Chuck’s eyes followed his brother’s. He looked at the sauropods as they tramped out of the lake. Owen had been right in his first guess; they were brontosaurs, some of the largest of the reptiles. He listened to the sound of their ponderous hoofs as they pounded against the earth, and he thought they had been named correctly: brontosaurs, thunder lizards.

Thunder lizards they were. Mighty thunder lizards that rumbled forward with an awkward gait. Thunder lizards with all the fury of a storm behind them. Thunder lizards that could crush the jeep, smash the truck, tear the expedition asunder.

These were no stegosaurs. Compared to these beasts, the stegosaurs with their armored backs and tails seemed like barnyard pets. No, these were real dinosaurs, the dinosaurs everyone automatically pictured whenever the word was mentioned. They barged up out of the lake, dripping vegetation from their jaws.

The land trembled, and the party was gripped in the clutches of a tight, unreasoning fear.

They looked like islands on legs. From the tips of their small heads to the ends of their long, bulky tails, they measured more than sixty-five feet. Their backs were humped in the center, giving the illusion of a mountain with a weathered, rounded peak. Their color was a dull green, the color of bread mold or tarnished metal. They moved rapidly for their size. Their weight: thirty-eight tons! Thirty-eight tons of powerful muscle and ponderous bone. Thirty-eight tons of fury and stupidity that now sought the source of the explosions.

Their necks were ludicrously long, a good twenty feet from the creature’s snout to the curved beginning of the mountainous back. The tail was equally long, and if there had been a head on the end of it, it would have been difficult to tell one end of the animal from the other.

Chuck knew which end was which at the moment.

The end that was bearing down on them with remarkable rapidity was the front. The other end carried a powerful tail that could probably knock the underpinnings from the Empire State Building!

Figures were figures and they meant nothing. They were only numbers until they were compared to other known figures. The creatures were more than sixty-five feet long. What was sixty-five feet? A number, yes. But more. It was a locomotive engine attached to a railroad car. It was a good-sized swimming pool. It was a three-story house laid on its side.

Chuck didn’t have to compare thirty-eight tons with anything. He knew what thirty-eight tons added up to. Two thousand pounds in a ton, and he weighed 160 pounds. He weighed 160 pounds and each of the creatures charging for the camp weighed at least 76,000 pounds! That was a lot of beef — an awful lot of beef — and it was all angry; it was all destructive and it was all intent on doing something about these people who made disturbing noises with rifles.

The fear gave way to the need for immediate action. They began to run. They would have run straight into the thundering herd if Owen hadn’t shouted, “This way! To the rocks!”

The rocks rose like a beckoning fortress a few hundred feet from the camp. They weren’t high, but they were long, set like the thousands of stone walls that dot New England. Ferns and mosses grew around and over the natural barrier, and it was a little hard to see exactly where the rocks ended. But they offered protection — a wall behind which to hide from the murderous, trampling limbs of the brontosaurs.

They began running, Owen leading the way, Pete behind him, Denise next, then Arthur and Chuck. Only Masterson turned in the opposite direction. There was fear in his eyes, an unmasked fear that told Chuck the erstwhile hunter hadn’t expected anything quite like this. Firing at a stegosaur was one thing and firing at a fragile-looking pterosaur was another. But a brontosaur was a mountain on legs. No man in his right mind stood and fired at a moving mountain.

The party straggled across the countryside like the tail of a kite, running, stumbling, reaching for the rocks. Behind him, Chuck heard the whine of the jeep’s engine as Masterson started it. He turned his head, still running, in time to see the jeep back away from the truck and head off in the other direction, away from the rocks.

The word “coward” crossed his mind rapidly, but he shoved it aside when he caught sight of the brontosaurs again. They weren’t bothering with the jeep They had swerved and were heading for the majority of the party now. They were headed for the group that staggered toward the rock barrier.

“Owen!” Chuck shouted.

Owen stopped dead in his tracks. Pete stumbled past him, intent on reaching the rocks, and Arthur took Denise’s hand and dragged her after him. It didn’t take Owen long to see what was going to happen. Even the rocks would offer poor protection if the herd decided to trample them into the ground.

Chuck had started to run back for the truck and he glanced back over his shoulder to see that Owen was following him. He had reached the truck and started the engine when Owen popped into the cab beside him. They didn’t waste many words.

“What’s your plan?” Owen asked.

“Cut them off. Drive around them and try to head them the other way.” Chuck spoke rapidly, his voice hoarse.

He had already started the truck in motion, turning the wheels toward the charging brontosaurs.

“Right,” Owen said. He swung out onto the running board and climbed the slats into the back of the truck. When he returned, he was carrying a rifle.

The truck rolled forward, bouncing over the pockmarked ground, driving in a straight line between the enraged herd and the rock barrier. Chuck couldn’t see any of the party, and he assumed they were down low behind the wall, flat against the trembling ground.

The huge dinosaurs kept coming. They had a new quarry now; a dull brown truck that moved across the ground and somehow resembled one of the smaller lizards. The brontosaurs knew how to dispose of other annoying reptiles. It was simple. Step on them. Step on them until they were broken and crushed and unable to move. This was the law of the times, survival of the fittest, the weak against the strong. They had felt the terrible teeth of the carnivores, had learned to seek refuge in the deeper water when Allosaurus showed on the horizon, his claws bared, his jaws snapping. But when they fought, they fought with their bodies, using their enormous bulk to stamp out resistance. This thing that rolled across the ground was the thing that had spoken with a booming voice. It should be crushed and therefore eliminated. It was as simple as that.

From behind the wheel of the truck, it didn’t look quite as simple. Chuck saw only the massive wall of green flesh as it rumbled forward, long necks bobbing, tails thumping. He thought of how easily that wall could crush the truck, and the thought sent an ache to his throat. He swung the truck in a wide circle and then headed back for the herd.

“Here goes nothing!” he shouted.

Owen was smiling as he leaned out of the cab, the rifle ready for firing. “It’s been nice knowing you, world,” he said.

Chuck kept his foot pressed tight on the accelerator. Like long-lost relatives rushing to greet each other, the truck and the herd hurried across the ground. Owen’s rifle spoke once, twice. There was a short pause and then the rifle bellowed into voice again. Chuck turned the wheel sharply, driving for the edges of the herd, picking one brontosaur and aiming the front of the truck right at its middle. Owen was out of the cab now, one foot braced on the fender, his arm looped through the open window of the door. He kept firing, the ejected shells streaming over his shoulder like a brass pennant.

“They’re turning!” Chuck shouted.

“Force them over,” Owen replied. “Crowd them.”

Chuck turned the wheel again, and the herd began to swerve toward the right, fleeing from the pugnacious brown thing that kept barking at them. They stumbled over each other, their huge hulks crowded together as they made a complete turn and started running away from the wall of rocks.

Owen kept the rifle going. He didn’t bother aiming now. Chuck knew he didn’t really hope to do any damage with the gun. Instead, he was using sound as a weapon — and an effective one, it seemed to Chuck. The brontosaurs were now in a frenzied flight. They seemed to have forgotten just why they left the sanctity of the lake. Their only concern was to escape the sounds that came from everywhere around them, sharp staccato bursts that whistled past their bobbing heads.

Chuck’s hands were sweating on the wheel and he could feel perspiration soaking his shirt, trickling down his face. His heart was thumping against his ribs, threatening to drown out the thunder of the dinosaurs as they fled before the truck. His foot was clamped on the accelerator, almost as if it were an extension of the truck. He wasn’t aware that he had clenched his lower lip between his teeth until he tasted the salty flow of blood in his mouth.

“That’s it,” Owen shouted above the din. “We’ve got them running now, boy.”

“I think we can turn back...” Chuck started.

The scream knifed the sky, terror and helplessness sending it into the upper register.

“What the...”

Chuck stared through the windshield, his eyes scanning the ground ahead. The dust rose in billowing clouds as the brontosaurs trod the earth in headlong flight.

The scream came again, a piercing, peace-shattering scream that sliced its way up Chuck’s spine.

“Owen, what...”

Owen’s eyes opened wide. “Good gravy! Masterson!”

Chuck saw it then. Masterson was sitting at the wheel of the jeep, anxiously looking over his shoulder at the advancing herd. His eyes were wide. Stark terror was etched on his face. The jeep, sunk to the hub caps in mud, was directly in the new path of the herd.

The dinosaurs were still a good two hundred yards away, but at the speed they were traveling, Masterson was as good as dead unless something was done quickly.

Chuck didn’t stop to think. By all rights, Masterson was to blame for everything that had happened. If he hadn’t shot at the pterosaur, he wouldn’t have attracted the brontosaurs. They would not have had an angry herd of moving mountains to contend with, and he wouldn’t be sitting in a useless jeep now watching death bear down on him with amazing rapidity. It would be a sort of ironic justice if Masterson...

No!

Chuck turned the wheel of the truck, leaving the herd and cutting across the terrain in a sharp diagonal line that sliced the path of the dinosaurs’ advance. Retribution might have been good in Masterson’s case, Chuck reasoned. But there was something that flickered beneath the dictates of reason — something basic. Masterson was a man. No matter what he’d done, he was a man — and he was at the mercy of beasts, waiting for his death. Something seemed to call out across the lush stretch of ground, something as primitive as the beasts themselves. And without hesitation, Chuck answered the call. Here in the beginnings of time, millions upon millions of years before Man evolved on earth, Chuck sensed the bond that would eventually set Man high above the beasts. He knew what he must do and he did it without further thought, driving the truck at breakneck speed to reach Masterson before the dinosaurs did.

When he reached the jeep, he stopped just short of the deep mud. Masterson was staring at the animals, his face a chalky white. They were no more than a hundred yards away now, their speed never lessening, their hoofs setting up an unholy din.

“Come on, Masterson,” Chuck shouted. “Hop in.”

Masterson didn’t move. He kept sitting in the jeep, his hands frozen to the wheel, his head turned over his shoulder to watch the approaching brontosaurs.

“Masterson!” Owen shouted. “For crying out loud, hurry up.”

Masterson swallowed, but otherwise he didn’t move.

“Masterson!” This time Chuck’s voice was edged with panic. The dinosaurs were getting closer every second. Unless they...

“Ill get him,” Owen said suddenly. He put the rifle down and leaped from the truck, sinking to his knees in mud as he approached the jeep. Masterson sat in a frightened stupor, sweat standing out on his forehead, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.

“Snap out of it!” Owen shouted.

The sound of the brontosaurs was loud now. It filled the air and left room for nothing else. There was only the thunderous noise, echoing and re-echoing, hammering on the eardrums.

Owen lashed out with the open palm of his hand. The sound of the slap was lost beneath the greater roar of the animals, but Chuck saw Masterson’s head snap back with the blow.

“Come on!” Owen shouted. “Come on. Masterson, for the love of...”

Chuck was frightened now. Fear leaped inside him like a cold, slimy thing. It clutched at his heart, set the muscles of his back twitching, tore at his mind with unnerving fingers.

“Owen... Owen—”

He didn’t know what he wanted to say. His cry came out of his mouth like a hoarse plea, drowned in the noise around them.

“Owen—”

He saw his brother reach for Masterson’s hands. Slowly, methodically, Owen began prying Masterson’s fingers loose from the wheel. Chuck watched, counting the fingers, listening to the thunder swell, feeling the truck vibrate beneath him as the animals came closer, closer.

Two... three... five. One hand was loose.

“Come on, Masterson,” Owen bellowed. He was breathing hard, the sweat staining the back of his shirt in two great, round semicircles. “Come on, you dirty...”

The engine of the truck stalled.

Panic gripped Chuck as he stepped on the starter. It was all a bad dream now, the worst dream he’d ever had. Everything seemed to blend together into a horrible nightmare of sound and vague impressions. It was like a madman leading a symphony orchestra in his own composition.

Beneath everything was the steady, incessant rumble of the approaching reptiles. In counterpoint to that was the whine of the starter as Chuck pressed on it. And over that was a dim view of Owen prying the remaining fingers loose, one at a time.

Six... seven... eight...

Chuck kept his foot pressed on the starter. He could barely hear the whine. He didn’t know the motor had caught until he heard the sullen protest of the starter’s teeth. He shifted his foot to the accelerator, idly wondering what had caused the truck to stall.

“I’ve got him!” Owen shouted.

Chuck glanced over his shoulder at the herd and then his eyes flicked to his brother. Owen was bodily dragging Masterson from the jeep. Masterson was limp, a quivering, frightened hulk of a man. His eyes were blank with fear, and his mouth had come unhinged.

Owen tossed him into the cab of the truck and stooped to pick up his rifle.

“Get going!” he shouted.

“Get in,” Chuck replied anxiously. There wasn’t much time. He could almost hear the breathing of the animals. He heard the rifle go off as Owen triggered a shot at the herd.

“Go on,” Owen shouted, “I’ll hop aboard. Move! Move!”

Chuck started the truck in motion, turning the wheel slowly, treading lightly on the accelerator. He wanted to make sure Owen could hop aboard, and he didn’t want to give him a fast-moving vehicle to reach for. Behind him, he heard the rifle belch again and again. He kept the truck moving in a slow arc, curving away from the path of the herd.

Sudden realization snapped at his senses like a bull-whip!

Owen had no intention of hopping aboard. He was firing to attack the attention of the brontosaurs, firing so that the truck could make a safe escape.

Chuck acted instantly. He slammed on the brake and Masterson lurched forward drunkenly on the seat, almost smashing his head against the windshield. Chuck threw the gears into reverse, rammed his foot against the gas pedal and started to back up. His head was outside the window. What he saw made him want to die.

The beasts thundered ahead, and Owen stood directly in their path, infinitesimal compared with the monsters that bore down on him. The rifle cracked ineffectually. And then the beasts overran him, crushing him into the earth. His blond head showed for an instant beneath the rolling, trampling dull green hoofs, and then it was gone.

The sight wrenched at Chuck’s eyes and he felt tears spring up instantly. His face crumbled, and there was an ache in the pit of his stomach and a heaviness around his heart. He saw the animals whirl and start forward again. Instinct told him he should start the truck and leave this danger area. He glanced once at the man sitting next to him, a seething hatred boiling up inside him like a dark, evil brew. His hand reached the gear shift, went through the motions. He turned the truck and drove, leaving the spent brontosaurs behind. He found it difficult to see because of the tears that welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.

Owen, his heart cried. Owen, Owen, Owen.

The party was silent when Chuck pulled the truck up beside the rock barrier. He sat behind the wheel, his eyes dry, emotion drained out of him. There was only an emptiness within him — a lonely bitterness that filled him with a dull, aching pain.

Arthur was the first to come to him.

“We saw,” he said. His voice was strangely gentle. “We saw everything.”

Chuck nodded silently. Gardel had come around to the other side of the truck and was shaking Masterson now. “Are you all right, Mr. Masterson? Mr. Masterson, are you all right?”

Masterson shook his head and sighed deeply, seeming to come out of his stupor all at once. “Those... those...” he stammered.

“We saw it from here,” Gardel soothed him. “It must have been terrible.”

“Charging down,” Masterson said. “All of them. Like... like the end of the world.”

“You shouldn’t have fired at the pterosaur,” Pete said suddenly. His voice was as hard as a chip of granite.

“Wh-what?” Masterson blinked at his cook,

“You caused the stampede. You killed young Owen!”

“Owen?” Masterson asked. “Me? I didn’t...”

“What kind of fool talk is that?” Gardel wanted to know.

“As sure as if you’d used a knife on him, you killed him,” Pete went on. He stood near the truck, his green eyes blazing with anger.

“I did nothing of the sort!” Masterson said firmly. “I had no idea the animals would stampede.”

“Owen warned you,” Arthur put in.

“I certainly didn’t ask Spencer to try any fool heroics on my be—”

“How can you talk like that?” Denise suddenly shouted. “How can you be so pompously self-righteous? Don’t you see what you’ve done? Don’t you see...”

“I’ll thank you to respect your elders,” Masterson said. A deep scowl had begun on his face, and a pout was beginning to form on his thick lips.

“You’re a murderer,” Arthur said clearly.

“I don’t have to take that talk from a lousy...”

“That’s enough of that,” Pete cut in sharply.

Masterson seemed puzzled. He turned to Chuck and his voice got softer. “Chuck,” he said, “you don’t believe that, do you? You don’t believe I murdered your brother.”

It took Chuck a long time to answer. He was remembering Owen. He was remembering the older brother he’d loved and honored. He was remembering the times they’d had together, the fights against the neighborhood bullies, the excited sharing of new toys or games, the hushed talks they had in their room at night when the rest of the house slumbered. He was remembering this. He was also remembering the way Owen had looked just before the dinosaurs had crushed the life out of him.

His voice came at last. It was low, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think I want to talk to you, Mr. Masterson.”

“Aw now, Chuck, let’s be sensible about this. After all...”

“I said,” Chuck warned, his voice rising, “that I didn’t want to talk to you. Not now, not ever.”

“Look...”

“Shut up!” Chuck shouted hysterically. “Shut up! Leave me alone, can’t you?”

He felt Arthur’s arm around his shoulder, and he saw Masterson shrug and climb out of the truck. He heard Gardel whisper, “Don’t let this upset you, Dirk. It wasn’t your fault.” He closed his eyes tightly and refused to let the tears come.

After a little while he climbed out of the cab and walked to the back of the truck. He didn’t look at Masterson. He took a shovel and rested it on his shoulder.

Then he went out alone to bury his brother.