Throwback

by Edward J. McFadden III

  “But why we no see better?”

  “We could be below sea level, plus the trees block our line of sight.”

  “Da.” She didn’t sound convinced.

  Hawk said, “Also, it’s a little cloudy over there, and we don’t know the contours of the land. We could be standing in a depression.”

  No ‘da’ this time, just silence.

  “Let’s head back.” As they walked, Hawk stared at the pulsating glow in the west, and with each step his resolve grew. The light was from the beacon. It had to be. Nowhere else could the pale white light be seen, like a star crashed to Earth and was hailing them in Morse code.

  As if reading his mind, Svet said, “That must be it, nyet?”

  “Da,” Hawk said, and she smiled, her teeth flashing white in the blackness.

  When they got back to camp they filled Max in, and Hawk announced he was going to take a walk, and his companions smiled like teenagers at his courtesy. Hawk wandered into the bush, the Ash 12 hanging on his shoulder, Svet’s knife stuck in his belt.

  He found a tree and sat with his back against it, his mind conjuring pictures of Svet and Max entwined, naked atop a pile of sticky green leaves next to the fire. The torch stuck in the ground beside him sputtered and went out, and he sat in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the jungle, trying to pick out the cries and bellows of the various creatures.

  When he got back to camp, his friends were sitting before the fire. Max had his arm around Svet, and when Hawk approached, Max let his arm fall to his side.

  “I told you guys I’m fine with you two. The fact that you’re uncomfortable makes me uncomfortable.”

  Svet and Max said nothing.

  When Hawk was seated by the fire, rubbing his hands together for warmth, Max said, “So, about that extra bullet.”

  Hawk hadn’t given the events on the plain much thought. So they’d miscounted the bullets. Of all the things that had happened in the last few weeks, this didn’t register. “What is there to talk about?”

  “You no understand,” Svet said. “Max did not shoot the beast.”

  Hawk laughed. “Really. Who the hell did? Guns won’t be for sale in these parts for a hundred million years, and I’m not sure dinosaurs have the dexterity to fire a weapon.”

  “No make fun, he—”

  “I only fired two shots,” Max said.

  “Max, I was in a battle once. Nasty firefight that lasted three days. A sniper held a tower, and the guy was a good shot. Picking off anyone he could get a bead on. You know how many bullets we fired in those forty-eight hours? Two thousand four hundred and twelve. You know what I thought we fired? A thousand or so.”

  “That’s different, and you’re missing the bigger point.”

  “Da.”

  “Which is?”

  “I never aimed at the beast. I fired into the air.”

  Silence fell between them and the insects and lizards filled the gap in the conversation. Something big was moving through the forest to the south, and the sound of crunching leaves and breaking limbs echoed over the forest. The beast didn’t sound close; insects trilled, and the ground didn’t tremble.

  Hawk said, “You must have aimed in your frenzy. Things happen in stressful situations that appear different when the adrenaline stops flowing. How many heated arguments have you had where you can’t recount exactly what you said five minutes later? Because you’d been angry, or nervous, or scared?”

  “I hear you, but—”

  “But what? If you didn’t shoot the beast, who did? I didn’t fire at it.”

  Hawk knew his friend wasn’t comfortable with his explanation, but he’d experienced this kind of thing before. The frenzy of battle clouded the mind.

  “You’re right,” Max said. He sounded beaten and tired. “I thought I’d killed a man once, and it turned out I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Do tell,” Hawk said.

  “I was driving my Porsche—my wife hated the thing. Said I looked like an old shriveled ass driving it.” At the mention of his wife, he looked sidelong at Svet, who stared into the fire. “It was dark. I’d had a little too much to drink, and I came around a curve and hit a man walking along the side of the road. At least that’s what I believed. I panicked and took off. When I got home I checked the front of the car for the person’s blood, or a dent, anything, but all looked good. I put the car in the garage and tried not to think about what had happened. In the morning the local news said a young man walking home from a party had been struck and killed along the road I’d driven the prior night.”

  “Dear god,” Svet said. She’d pulled her attention from the fire and was staring at Max.

  “I tortured myself for days, and it wasn’t until a week later that I turned myself in to police to discover someone had already confessed to the incident, and the man’s account had been confirmed via blood and hair on the driver’s bumper. I went back to where I thought I’d hit the man, but there was nothing in the road on its shoulder that gave any indication as to what I’d hit. Nothing.”

  “Yeah, like that,” Hawk said. “Humans do strange shit when under stress, and the mind works as if in a dream.”

  The fire crackled, and gray smoke ran to the heavens, sparks and ash floating within the gray cloud like stars.

  “Let’s knock off for the night. I want to make some time tomorrow. I’ll take the first watch.” He got up and went to the edge of the firelight and sat on a stone. Svet and Max huddled together by the fire, and both were snoring loudly within minutes.

  Seeing Svet and Max sleeping together, embracing, made him think of home and everything he’d lost. All the things he’d never be able to do again. All the time he’d lost and that he’d never get back.

  He looked up through a gap in the tree canopy, and stars wheeled, the lights of a million other worlds. Had the beings who put the beacon come from one of those stars? Were they still here? All signs pointed to them being long gone, but there was always hope.

  Hawk rested the Ash 12 against the tree trunk and settled in, folding his arms across his chest. The hours ticked by, but he wasn’t tired, so he didn’t wake Max for his shift. He looked so peaceful, a thin smile cutting across his sunburned face. Svet talked in her sleep, and the words, while out of order and in Russian, sounded calm and loving. She was a having a good dream.

  Dreams. That was another reason Hawk didn’t like to sleep. His wife and kids were always there, saying how much they missed him and how they wished he could come home. But he would never be able to go home, not unless the last few months were nothing but a dream. Some nights Michel would come to visit, and in many ways seeing him was worse. He’d seen Michel’s dead face. The cloud had killed at least one person, Michel Fulcello.

  An hour before sunrise, several creatures crept to the camp’s edge. They had white glowing eyes, and when Hawk threw a pebble in their direction the beasts didn’t scatter and run. They watched him with unblinking eyes as one would observe an animal in a zoo. The creatures looked like birds, but they didn’t have feathers. They reminded Hawk of the strange chicken-like thing they’d seen in the caves.

  He threw a bigger rock and this time the creatures scattered with a series of squeals and squeaks. The commotion woke Svet, and she disentangled from Max and came to sit by Hawk.

  “Why you no wake me? You tired?”

  “Not really.”

  “How possible? You should be dead on feet.”

  Hawk loved her accent. Her hair was clean and brushed, and she looked amazing in the glow of the fire. “Just… my mind never stops anymore. I’m always running overtime. Worrying about tomorrow. The next day. Will we find any peace?”

  Svet didn’t answer right away. She ran her fingers through her hair, looked up at the stars, then down at the fire. “My ma used to say peace is an illusion for the ignorant.”

  Hawk laughed so hard he woke Max. “What are you two gabbing about?”

  “Just discussing the purpose of our exi
stence. You know, nothing important,” Hawk said.

  Svet said, “You sleep well?”

  “Ja. I’m going hunting with the spear. You want to come?”

  “Da.” Svet got up, and the two lovers disappeared into the underbrush at the top of the gully.

  Hawk was alone again with his thoughts, and his kids’ faces filled his mind. He went through his mental album of events and special moments that kept him sane. The Christmas Jonah got the game system he wanted and was so grateful he hugged his father like he’d never hugged him before. Hawk lived on that hug like food, recalling it daily, reliving the moment again and again.

  The gray of dusk permeated the forest, and Hawk cooked some meat they’d gotten from a bird Svet had nailed with his bolas. She was getting adept at using the weapon—better than Hawk. He had to make her one as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He stretched, rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles.

  26

  Another day passed as the three time travelers fought their way through the twisted jungle, the green creepers, underbrush, and trees fighting for every inch of earth and every beam of sunlight. The party was forced off their path several times, twisting and turning through the forest as if they had no idea where they were going. Which they really didn’t. They were heading west toward the sunset, and had no other markers during the daylight hours.

  Hawk strapped the Viking to his leg. It had three bullets left, and he didn’t know what he’d do with the gun when it ran out of shells. He was thinking of burying it and if it was ever found—which would be highly unlikely—it could be one of those great mysteries his kids would read about on the internet.

  Sadness washed over Hawk at the thought of his kids and he looked over his shoulder at his friends. Svet had the Ash 12 slung across her back. It had nine bullets left. Max trudged behind her, looking exhausted. Hawk called a halt next to a huge fern with a porch-like area beneath a roof of tightly packed fan leaves.

  The party dropped bags, stripped off spacesuit boots, and drank some water. Max shuffled off to go to the bathroom and Svet went to look for a stream or watering hole. Hawk sat and leaned back, hands behind his head. In moments he was asleep.

  Hawk woke to screaming and vaulted to his feet. It sounded like Svet and he ran toward her voice.

  “Screeeeeeeeeee. Screeeee. Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

  The forest canopy obscured the sky, but the trees were thinning out as Hawk ran through the jungle, jumping over roots and ant hills. Birds tittered and chirped and the song of the jungle urged him on, its rhythmic buzz like electricity. Palm fronds and fern leaves lashed his face as he threw himself forward, heart in his throat, lungs stinging with pain. A gunshot rang out, and the jungle went quiet. Every insect and beast pausing in its conversation, startled by the noise.

  Ahead, the trees gave way to a watering hole with a thin pebble beach that ran half way around its oblong shore. The other half of the shoreline was packed with vegetation, and as Hawk broke free of the jungle he saw Svet fleeing, a dark shadow descending on her. Smaug’s massive wings snapped as they closed and the giant pterosaur dive-bombed the cosmonaut.

  Hawk drew down and fired twice, both bullets landing in the back of Smaug’s neck. The dragon screeched an earsplitting cry, and rolled as would a wounded bird, twisting in the air like a kite with a broken wing. The beast pulled itself from its tumble right before crashing into the ground, and the great flying reptile spread its wings and sailed over the pond, a picture of its terrible face reflected in the still water.

  Smaug arced in a circle and headed back toward Svet.

  Hawk holstered the Viking and burst out onto the shoreline, running toward the fray, twirling his bolas. He couldn’t bring himself to fire the last bullet. It was a line within him that once crossed was un-revocable. That bullet was the only insurance he had with his pill gone. The only proof that if things became too much, or he was badly injured, or…

  “Yo. Dipshit!” Hawk yelled. He ran along the rock beach, bolas hissing through the air.

  The dragon banked toward Hawk and let loose with its loudest and longest scree. He’d pissed Smaug off, that was certain, and if the flying reptile was truly a dragon he’d be cinders.

  But Smaug wasn’t a real dragon and couldn’t breathe fire.

  Hawk dodged into the jungle, zigzagging through the trees, hiding behind the trunk of a thick conifer. Smaug wailed, and a dark shadow extinguished the light beams cutting through the tree canopy. The buzz of the insects rose in a crescendo, as if the scene was coming to its climax.

  Hawk couldn’t see what was happening, and ran back to the watering hole. Smaug circled overhead, and Svet was nowhere to be seen. Hawk figured she’d made it to the jungle.

  “Screee. Screeeeeee.” The pterosaur’s wings snapped in the wind as it picked up speed, its razor teeth bright against its dark beak.

  “Yo. Dipshit.” Hawk fired his bolas, aiming at Smaug’s eye as the dragon missiled at him.

  The bolas made of vines and rocks flew, spinning so fast it was nothing more than a round blur. Like Aaron Rodgers firing a timing pass over the middle, the bolas caught the dragon in the side of the head. The beast jerked from the impact, flew off course, and almost crashed into the forest, only recovering at the last instant as it pulled up hard and banked over the jungle.

  The dragon wailed as it flew in a tight arc, tucking its wings and turning its bleeding head toward Hawk. In his peripheral vision, Hawk saw Svet step from the jungle and take aim at the pterosaur’s face with the Ash 12. Smaug dove at Hawk with a single-minded hatred, and didn’t appear to see Svet. Hawk held his ground, the creature’s bulging eyes and sharp teeth a hundred yards away.

  The cosmonaut waited to the last second, drawing the dragon in as far as possible. She opened up with the Ash 12, the chatter scattering every creature for fifty clicks. Svet’s finger lingered on the trigger for an extra instant as she screamed with rage, and six shots peppered Smaug’s chest.

  The dragon kept coming, blue blood dripping like rain.

  Hawk dove for cover but didn’t make it. A shadow fell over him and he felt at peace. He’d see Andrea, and… but he wouldn’t see Andrea. That was all bullshit. She was lost to him, and giving up wouldn’t change that, no matter how much he might wish it did.

  A spear hit Smaug in the eye and the beast screamed and rolled through the air like it had been hit with a shotgun blast. The flying reptile flipped and tumbled, crashing onto the rock beach and coming to a stop against trees and underbrush.

  Max rushed to Hawk’s side. “Hurry now.” Max helped him up and the two astronauts headed for the cover of the trees where Svet hid.

  “You OK?” Max said.

  “Yeah. Nice throw, Tarzan.”

  Max smiled. Even he knew Tarzan.

  The three companions hid behind a tree trunk and watched Smaug. The dragon trembled and shook, but didn’t get up and fly away. The beast rested, crumpled and beaten, for several minutes, the sound of its deep breaths sharp and rhythmic.

  “Let’s go,” Max said.

  Hawk put out an arm. “Not yet.” Hawk searched about for a stone and found a golf ball sized rock the color of slate. He waited a few more minutes, and when Smaug didn’t make any moves he threw the rock into the jungle in front of the dragon. The stone crashed through the leaves and underbrush, making a racket as it went.

  Smaug sprang toward the noise with the agility of a cat. Blue blood splattered the jungle, and the pterosaur crashed into the forest with a screech, beak snapping.

  “Playing possum,” Hawk said.

  “Ja.”

  When the dragon didn’t find its prey, it roared in anger and lifted into the air, pounding its wings and kicking up a gale. The great beast soared over the jungle and disappeared from view.

  The party stayed hidden, afraid the beast might double back, but it didn’t. The two astronauts and one cosmonaut stood in silence, the pounding of Smaug’s wings fading. Hawk thought he heard a cry in
the distance, a great exultation of joy. His eyes snapped to his companions for confirmation and received none. If there had been a cry, his mates hadn’t heard it.

  Finding camp wasn’t easy, and Hawk worried the entire hike that their supplies would be pillaged. They went in circles for hours, the thick green fortress of jungle unvaried and dense. They found an animal’s trail Svet remembered, and using it to backtrack, they found camp. The canvas bags appeared against the wall of green and everything was where they’d left it. Hawk stepped into camp and froze.

  Svet’s ukulele was propped against her supply bag.

  “What is—” Max’s mouth hung open, eyes locked on the instrument.

  “Not possible,” Svet said.

  “And yet.” Hawk drew the Viking. It had one shot left. He eased behind a tree, scanned the area, and slipped forward into camp. As he walked, he holstered the gun, and knelt next to the ukulele, but didn’t touch it. There was nothing attached to it, and it didn’t appear booby-trapped.

  Hawk picked the instrument up and held it out to Svet. “It is yours?” He shook his head. “Not that it matters.”

  “Da.” Svet took the ukulele from him and strummed its strings. A gentle twang of music floated on the air and Svet slammed her hand across the strings, silencing them. Her gaze shifted to the jungle.

  “That’s it then. Something or someone is tracking us,” Max said.

  “Something? Like a monkey?” Svet said.

  “Monkeys are mammals and didn’t appear until the Tertiary period, but it’s possible something is missing in the fossil record. We are talking about a hundred million years,” Max said.

  “So this monkey has a gun and can fire it? Moves like smoke and leaves no trace of itself?” Hawk said.

  “No trace that we’ve noticed? Have you been looking? I haven’t,” Max said. “There is another possibility. Scientists speculated that a dinosaur man may have evolved if the extinction event hadn’t occurred.”

  “Dino-man?” Svet said.

  “Indeed, very odd, but not that crazy. They argued there could have been dinosaurs that walked mostly erect. With larger brains and better cognitive abilities with keen eyes and agile limbs. There is no fossil record for any of this, however.”