by C K Burch
Impact: the winch on the bumper bore the brunt of it, bent, and tore itself away from the rest of the frame. The bumper dented inward significantly, and the hood crunched like a makeshift accordion. Dust saw the grill wing outward and fly away as the rear of the jeep came down and shook the whole of the vehicle. He mentally crossed himself and prayed for no damage to the engine. Blessedly, when he gave the gas some pressure, the jeep once more pulled forward, shivering with effort, but it pulled forward nonetheless. Dust made a note to offer thanks to whichever temple he found first whilst in the city of paradise.
He briefly glanced in the side mirror, and saw the maw of the Father Rex bear down and open to snap at Thomas.
Dust pulled hard to the left, and the bony, hollow clap of the rex's jaws closing was terrifying. Thomas had his eyes squeezed tightly shut and held onto the straps of his harness for dear life, whimpering softly. Cairn scrambled into his seatbelt at last, refusing to take his eyes away from the rex as he did so. Father Rex roared, the volume and depth of which made Dust's hair stand on end, and he pulled the jeep further away to the left, ignoring the bumps and roots in the road, and how the jeep was bouncing wildly like a drunken dancer. If he did not outswerve the rex, then the road wouldn't matter in the slightest anyhow.
Wait – Dust realized that there was only one rex beside them. Where was the other?
Off to the left, deep in the jungle, Dust heard a crashing noise. He glanced over, and saw the huge shadow of Mother Rex running through the bushes, easily keeping pace with the jeep. She was out there, following, waiting, perhaps preparing to make her move once Father Rex got in a dutiful kill. Or perhaps Father was merely herding them along until the perfect position for Mother to emerge and sweep up the jeep in her jaws. Whatever the case, chills engulfed Dust's limbs, and he realized that he was completely out of his league here.
Up ahead came a miracle, however – light. A break in the jungle. Perhaps even more room to maneuver. Which was also probably why Mother was flanking them, ready to prevent them from reaching the exit of the enclosed space. If that was the case, then precise action was called for.
“Duck down!” Dust shouted to Jack, and as she threw herself forward, he drew his pistol and aimed it in the direction of Mother's shadow. He pulled the trigger three times, and Mother barked sharply in pain. At least one of the bullets had hit, and that was enough to slow the beast down. Father Rex turned his head in her direction and roared with concern; he fell backwards slightly, his focus on his wounded mate. Fair game at this point, but the gun was empty, and the spare moment would be all they had for reloading.
“Cairn!” Dust held the butt of the gun towards the boy, and he accepted it. Then he spoke to Jack. “Take a magazine from my harness and give it to him!”
Jack responded quickly, removing the ammo from the leather grasp of the pouch. Once she'd passed it back, Cairn nimbly reloaded the gun, and handed it back to Dust's awaiting palm. Now for a few rounds for Father, and perhaps one or two more for Mother, and they might have a chance once they broke free from the jungle.
Dust looked ahead of them now that they were closer to the exit, and what he saw made his heart drop.
Beyond the canopy of trees, the road came to an abrupt halt at the edge of what appeared to be a sharp drop, possibly into a canyon of some sort. He surmised this because a wide bridge, strung together by rope and vine and wooden planks, ran across the crevasse and over to the other side, where moss-covered ruins lay in wait. Beyond that was the cityscape of Shambhala, tantalizingly out of reach, but they needed to cross the bridge and the drop first – and there wouldn't be time to stop the jeep and get out of it to run.
Meaning they would have to drive across and hope.
Dust smiled and swore he would have at least three ounces of liquor from Thomas' flask if they made it across alive.
Jack looked towards the light, saw what he saw, and gasped. No words came out of her mouth, which formed a horrified, silent O, and instead she slapped impotently at Dust's shoulder, begging him to stop or slow down with her pantomime.
“Are you strapped in tight back there?” Dust hollered back.
“Tight as a glove, guv!” Cairn replied. Thomas, in response, merely whimpered.
Jack began fumbling with her harness, struggling to get it over her shoulders.
With renewed vigor and anger, Father Rex growled and roared and increased his speed, aiming to capture the rear of the jeep with his jaws.
Dust gave silent prayer once more and pushed the jeep faster. Perhaps if they hit the bridge going as fast as possible, they might actually get across without any of the ropes breaking.
Father Rex leaned in, looked up, and then skidded to a bracing halt, tripping and bouncing off of the tiles and roots in the road. It cawed in warning to Mother, but Dust was no longer paying attention to Mother's movements; he'd have enough to worry over in just a moment.
The jeep emerged into the day and drove out onto the bridge.
Rapid, staccato vibrations ran up through the jeep as the tires tumbled over the wooden slats that comprised the walkway; the bridge immediately began to dip with the weight of the jeep, the ropes pulled taut as they extended as far as they would, and then the reverse action pulled the jeep back up towards the sky. They fit snugly between the narrow edges of the bridge, rubbing hotly against the twined vine that made the handrails of the bridge, and the tires skipped at times on the corners of the planks.
Dust slowed a quarter of the way across, as the bouncing of the bridge would surely toss them up and over into the chasm below. And a chasm it was: the sides of the ravine angled downward in a V that led to at least an eighty foot drop down to the floor, which was cragged with rocks. A trickle of a river ran between them. Yet there were thick, sturdy vines that had been knotted and tied in place once upon yore as what could only be called a safety net. Tens, if not close to a hundred vines were strung in a crochet laced directly below the bridge, and if the worst should come to pass and they broke the ropes, perhaps at least they might be caught on the vines along the way down. Perhaps. This was no guarantee, and Dust was not eager to test the theory. Carefully, now that they were outside of Father's chomping range, Dust drove forward at a cautious pace, the tumbling slowing to an adagio of wooden thumps.
Jack still fumbled with her harness. For whatever reason, it appeared as though the buckle would no longer affix, and she kept looking over the edge of the passenger side towards the bottom of the crevasse.
“Jack,” Dust said, “take your time. Don't look down, take your time with the harness, everything's going to be just fine.”
She nodded and turned her gaze directly ahead of them, still working the buckle with her fingers. She grinned, but her skin had turned slightly green. “You do know how to keep things interesting.”
“It's a gift,” he chuckled, and ignored his own advice and peeked over the edge. Those vines truly were crafted to capture anyone that fell over, which gave him a bit of peace as to the crossing. The density of the knitting, and the way it appeared to be layered, was quite genius. Of course, they'd have to survive the drop itself and not be flung from the vehicle, or have the jeep bounced out and away from the net after landing upon it, but this was a worry for after the fall. He just needed to make sure that they didn't reach that point.
Behind them, Father Rex stood at the entrance to the bridge, growling, a sentinel. He kept looking off to one side, then back at the jeep, over and over again. Something was agitating the beast, and when Mother Rex emerged from the jungle to the right of the bridge, Dust understood. Her hide was bleeding from two places; his aim had been better than he'd hoped. Mother then carefully took a step out over the edge of the ravine, angling herself along the decline. She slid down, stumbling gracefully once she got to the bottom of the ravine, and then looked upwards towards the bridge, placing herself below the net of vines.
Dust had terrifying thought, and when he turned to look back at Father it was confirmed: the male,
having assessed that his mate had placed herself into position, now leaned forward and began to gnaw at the ropes of the bridge. Tremors rocked the support as the first of the ropes frayed and began to give. Dust pulled the jeep over to the left as far as he could as the right side of the bridge threatened to spill over and send them into the drop.
“Hold on, hold on!” he shouted. Jack still couldn't manage her harness, only able to produce a frantic clicking report as her metal clasps struck each other over and over.
Below them, Mother Rex opened and closed her jaws with anticipation, barking at Father impatiently. Dust grit his teeth and hit the gas. Worst case scenario was they fell over. Next worse was they fell over because the dinosaur behind them severed the bridge. At best, they might reach the other side, which was only twenty yards away. The vehicle struggled against the lean of the bridge as the rear half of the jeep slid with the lean and the front half pulled them forward. Waves of disorienting tremors continued to rock their balance as Father kept gnawing at the anchor. Finally, dreadfully, Father finished ripping through the right anchor, and at the same moment Dust desperately turned the jeep hard to the left – he drove the exposed front tire into the support rope and twisted hard, hoping against hope that it would catch.
As the bridge fell to one side, held aloft now only by the left half of the ropes, the jeep caught and stuck in the construction and hung in space, the rear dangling precariously over the net of vines below. As this occurred, Jack was thrown from her seat. She slid along the cushioning of the passenger seat, flailing madly, and Dust quickly turned and grasped her forearm with his right hand. But inertia held: her fall continued, and as Dust held on, he too fell from his seat, desperately clutching the steering wheel with his left hand. His grip held true and his shoulder protested against the sudden jerk as Jack's descent came to a sudden halt.
Where he was suspended, his body dangled lengthwise over Thomas, who was still securely fastened into his harness, and who was attempting to push Dust's hips out of his face. Jack was holding onto Dust with both hands and reached out with both of her feet to try and get a toehold on the rear bumper, which was just at too awkward of an angle for her to purchase. Her legs spun impotently, and she couldn't get her knees up high enough for a grip, either.
Below the vines, Mother Rex was standing on her tiptoes, barking and snapping her jaws, growling between cries of impertinence. She was damned angry now, and with those bullets in her hide, Dust couldn't blame her. But he was not interested in becoming a meal just yet.
“Thomas,” Dust grunted, “your help, please.”
“I can't!” Thomas wailed. He still had his eyes shut. He continued to cry with rapidity. “I'm stuck! If I move I'll fall! I don't want to be dead! This isn't how I'm supposed to go!”
Dust allowed himself a moment to curse inwardly, then turned to Cairn. “Kid?”
“Righto, guv!” But Cairn's voice was not as confident as he meant it; a scared child was responding, but one who was reaching down to unclip his harness nonetheless. The boy held onto the side of the jeep with one hand while he removed the harness with the other, bracing his legs beneath the seat as he did. Then he stood on the seat, defying the angle of the vehicle.
“The pistol,” Dust spoke through his teeth. The strain was becoming quite a bother.
Cairn nodded, and reached for the holster.
The steering wheel shifted and bent, pulling away from the dashboard without warning. Dust's body fell a few inches, then stopped – the control was still attached to the dash by wires and slowly rending metal.
“Gun, grab, now,” Dust demanded.
Cairn, now closer, reached out with ease and plucked the pistol from its holster.
“Fantastic,” Dust groaned. “Down below. Shoot the mother.”
Cairn nodded, but then the jeep shifted again, and Cairn was forced to steady himself like a high wire acrobat, his torso swaying and his arms out to each side.
Dust looked back to the cliffside: Father Rex was chewing on the remaining support ropes. Within moments, the anchor would be severed and the bridge would collapse entirely.
He looked down and gauged the distance. It was perhaps a ten foot plunge from this point to the vines beneath, which if they were a true net would not be a problem. But since they were strung at uneven levels, there was a chance that a body might slip through them, bouncing from one to the next without a chance to catch a grip. It was a risk they would have to take.
“Change of plan! Shoot the male!” Dust shouted.
Cairn again nodded, and calmly aimed the gun at Father Rex. The gun was directly above Dust's right ear, so he closed his eyes and prepared for the thunderous report.
Sound became white noise and a series of tinny, ringing echoes as Cairn pulled the trigger. Dust blinked and shook his poor, echoing skull. He briefly looked over at Father, who had been struck along the lower jaw by the bullet, and was shaking his head as well. At least it had made the beast pause in his attack of the anchor, so that was worth the loss of hearing at least. Better than being dead.
Frayed rope pulled and stretched and the jeep lurched once more. The steering wheel gave a little further, and Dust realized that it would tear away entirely within seconds if he didn't act.
“Jack!” he shouted. “Mind the drop! Grab for the vines!”
Jack looked up sharply and stared wide-eyed at Dust in horror.
So he let go.
For a moment, as she fell, time seemed to come to a standstill. Jack's hair whipped about her face, which had transformed from horrific realization to frantic denial of the circumstances. Her arms began to move of their own will, fingers flexing, clawing at something she might be able to grasp hold of to halt her descent. Her knees bicycled as her legs attempted the same routine as her arms, which succeeded only in turning her about as she dropped, facing her towards the vines. Then she struck the net and held – briefly. Her arms could not get around the plantlife quick enough, causing her chest to bounce violently, whipping her backwards in the air. She flipped over and fell again, now headfirst, through the knit. Dust thought he'd sentenced her to death and damned himself, but just as she came towards the ultimate depth of the vines she latched onto a pair and held on, arms wrapped tight over the width, her legs suspended over the valley and kicking rapidly. She was shouting something back up towards him, but his mind was not on the situation as the steering wheel finally gave way, and he dropped as well.
Dust reached out and grabbed Thomas' harness to halt his descent. Thomas screamed in useless protest, but Dust held on anyway.
“You're going to kill me!” Thomas yelled. “You're going to kill us all!”
Dust glanced over at Father Rex, and saw that he was back to tearing at the rope anchor.
“Cairn,” Dust said calmly, “unlatch his Lordship, please.”
Cairn stared back bug-eyed, unable to comply, but the bridge dropped slightly as another rope frayed, and he understood what was coming. He reached forward and tried to work the harness buckle, but Thomas continuously slapped the lad's hands away, screaming about how it was all Dust's fault and that they never should have come at all. Cairn shoved Thomas' hands aside, worked the buckle with his free hand, and unclasped it. Gravity worked as it ought: the harness freed, the straps fell away, as did Thomas and Dust. Dust dropped towards the vines below, angling himself, watching as the net came up to meet him. He was a slight more prepared than Jack had been, and so managed to grasp onto the first of the vines he met. It was not a good grasp, however: the vines were slick with dew and moss, and both his hands and feet slid in their attempts to balance his weight. The vines were also not as sturdy as he hoped they were, and the imminent collapse of the bridge now gave him even more chills.
Thomas, meanwhile, landed in the net and immediately twisted himself up in the looser of the vines, nearly strangling himself. After a moment of contemplation, Dust reached over and removed the rogue plant from around Thomas' neck, who responded with deep, grateful br
eaths.
Dust looked up. “Cairn! Jump!”
The boy looked down and shook his head. He still had the pistol grasped tightly in his right hand, and he clutched it to his chest in fear.
At this, the jeep lurched downward as the rope wound about the front tire partially gave way. Cairn dropped the pistol as this happened to steady himself, which fell miraculously into Dust's awaiting palms. He holstered it and held out his hands once more. “Jump down! The ropes are going to give!”
Cairn turned his gaze upwards to the sky as if in prayer, and then he stepped out and dropped.
Dust had positioned himself so that he might catch the boy and lean the impact against the vines beneath his back. He'd already hefted Cairn once, so he understood how much weight he'd need to parlay with his brace. Cairn fell right into his arms, a beautiful landing, and together they both fell backwards into the net.
And snapped the vines below Dust's back.
Damn! Cairn separated from Dust's grasp, tumbling off to the right, and coming to a halt before Dust could. Dust stretched his arms out to either side and managed to find a slimy hold on two individual strands of vine, tightening his grasp, moss and mold squeezing between his fingers to deny him. But he stopped, and held himself suspended in the air for a moment, until he could rest his feet on the vine directly below him. Time was important – if he and Cairn together could break through the knitting, then the jeep would rip the whole damn thing to shreds. Positioning was necessary.
Dust looked up at Cairn and lifted a curious thumbs up. Cairn responded in kind, though he appeared shaken. Good lad. Still in the game.
Dust then cupped his hands around his mouth. “Thomas! Move away from the jeep!”
“Kill us all!” Thomas screamed back. Bastard. He was going to get himself bloody killed and possibly the rest of them if he didn't move.
The jeep inched downward, then paused.
Damn.
Dust began climbing down towards Jack, whose legs were still spinning fervently in the air to give her the momentum to lift herself up onto the vine. Her tenuous grip was slipping all the while, and she sounded winded. Below her was Mother Rex, staring up anxiously whilst waiting for the inevitable. There was a good thirty feet or more between the lowest point of the vines and the tip of Mother's snout, and Dust had no doubt that if that space closed by as much as ten feet, Mother would have the lift to leap and snatch Jack right from her perch. Meaning he would need to attend to her promptly.