by G Sauvé
Just when I think all is lost, the snail does something so unexpected I can’t help laughing. It retreats into its shell, protecting itself from the onslaught. One look at my surroundings reveals the other giant mollusks have done the same. For a brief moment I think we’re safe, but then the Pterodactyls start pecking again. Only this time they’re focusing on the shells, not the flesh.
I don’t know how thick prehistoric snail shells are, but I suspect they can withstand the repeated onslaught of Pterodactyl beaks. Unfortunately, the winged predators are only getting started. The pecking continues for a while before one of them flies away. Thinking this is the beginning of a retreat, I breathe a sigh of relief. By the time I realize my mistake, it’s already too late.
The Pterodactyl soars high into the air, spins around, and dives straight toward the snail it only just abandoned. It gains speed with each passing second. By the time it finally reaches the snail, it’s travelling at such high velocity it’s nothing more than a blur. But it snaps right back into focus as soon as the tip of its beak makes contact with the giant mollusk. Seemingly unaffected by the brutal impact, the Pterodactyl hovers and watches as the snail wobbles. It sways from side to side for a few seconds before dropping.
I watch with a mixture of awe and horror as the snail plummets. I follow its trajectory until it whistles past me. It passes so close I could reach out and touch it. I don’t, of course. Nor do I continue watching once it drops past me. The last thing I need right now is to be reminded of how high I am.
There’s a distant thud, followed by a long silence. Then, as if reacting to a soundless command, the Pterodactyls fly off and start pummeling the snails. Not all fall as quickly as the first one, but it doesn’t take long before dozens start plummeting. One slams into a fragment of the former staircase. The stone steps shatter, sending debris flying in all direction. I feel sorry for the poor snail, but at least now I know what happened to the staircase. It also proves this isn’t the first time the prehistoric mollusks are attacked. But I forget all about that when a high-pitched scream reaches my ears.
I look up just in time so see Kara soaring through the air. At first, I think she’s falling, but then I realize her trajectory isn’t steep enough for that. That can only mean one thing.
She jumped.
I don’t understand why she would do such a thing until she lands in a nearby tree. The first branch smacks her in the face, but she manages to hang on to the second one. Within moments, her fall has been interrupted, and she’s safely sitting on a branch, her back resting against the trunk.
It was an impressive jump made all the more remarkable by the fact that she was almost at the very top of the cliff when she leapt. What I don’t understand is why she chose to jump. It’s not until I look up at the spot where her snail used to be that it all makes sense.
She didn’t want to jump; she had to jump. I wonder if I would ever have the guts to—
“Jump!” yells Kara before I can finish the thought. “You have to jump!”
I stare at her in disbelief. Deep down I know it’s only a matter of time before my snail is targeted, but the fear that courses through my veins keeps me from even considering the possibility of taking a leap of faith.
“You have to jump!” repeats Kara. I know she’s trying to help, but I don’t care.
“No!” I refuse, tightening my grip. The shell feels strong, safe.
“WATCH OUT!” yells Kara. At first, I think she’s trying to motivate me, but the horror-stricken look on her face tells me it’s no act. I look up and see it.
A Pterodactyl—the biggest one I’ve seen so far—dives toward me, its beak pointed straight at me. He will be upon me in mere less than thirty seconds.
“JUMP!” orders Kara.
I try, but my limbs have stopped working. I’m too terrified to move. I can barely even speak.
“I-I can’t,” I whimper.
“Yes!” insists Kara. “You can! And you WILL!”
I want to believe her, but my acrophobia overpowers me. I peer over the edge, and the sight of all those fallen snails littering the ground far below me makes my vision swim. I try to focus, but the world is nothing more than a blur. I’m vaguely aware of Kara yelling. I can make out a shape above me, drawing nearer, yet I can’t estimate its exact distance. All I know is, unless I overcome my fear, I will die.
It’s with sweaty palms and a thumping heart that I release my mount’s shell. I unfold my legs until I’m standing. The world is spinning so fast I can barely see, yet I somehow manage to retain my balance. I hear the whistling of the approaching Pterodactyl. Though I can’t see, I can tell it’s almost upon me. If there was ever a time to overcome my fear of heights, it’s now.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I hold it for a second, then exhale. I’m hoping it will clear my vision, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes things worse. I can no longer differentiate up from down, left from right. And the whistling in my ear tells me I’m out of time.
Just when I think all is lost, Kara’s voice reaches me. It envelopes me in a cocoon of comfort, momentarily allowing me to regain control of my body. Taking full advantage of my renewed strength, I take in my surroundings.
The Pterodactyl is only metres away. In less than a second, its beak will puncture my body.
The snail is already swaying softly, ensuring one strike is all it will take to send it tumbling.
A few metres before me stands a massive tree. It’s the same one Kara used to break her fall. It’s a long jump, but it’s my only option.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and leap.
Memory 69
I jump. At least, I try, but right before I can propel myself forward, my foot slips.
“Oh f—” I begin, but the second half of the word dies in my throat when I realize I’m out of options. Even if I somehow manage to regain my balance, my mount will soon be knocked from the cliff, which means a plummet to certain death for me. The only way to avoid it is to propel myself forward with all the strength I have and hope for the best.
I flex my knees and ready my muscles. I wait until my body is almost vertical, then unfold my legs. My body is propelled forward like a bullet leaving the chamber. Wind whistles past my ears as the world snaps into focus. I’m not sure why, but I can now see everything clearly. The ground far beneath me—the sight of it terrifies me, but since there’s nothing I can do about it, I do my best to ignore it. The tree that harbours Kara—my original intent was to aim for the spot where my friend is waiting for me with open arms, but my slip has made that impossible.
Kara must have realized this as well, because she grabs on to the branch that stands above her and leans forward, her free hand outstretched. I contort my body in a desperate attempt to reach the offered limb, but it does little good. Our fingers barely even touch as I plummet past.
“NOOO!” yells Kara. Her voice grows farther with each passing second, which means I’m falling with increasing speed. The fact that the branches are now speeding past me in blurs of green confirms it. I’m afraid of trying to grab hold of them, but fear of death is a good motivator.
I reach out and grab the first branch I come across. It snaps, and I’m left holding a clump of leaves. I release them and try again, only to miscalculate and slam face-first into the tree limb. Momentarily blinded, I don’t see the next branch until I slam into it.
A wheezing grunt erupts from my mouth as the sturdy limb halts my momentum. The air is knocked from my lungs as a searing pain shoots through my chest. I can’t tell if it’s a side effect of the lack of air or if my ribs have snapped. For all I know, a severed branch has stabbed me, and it’s only a matter of time before I bleed out. But, for the time being, I don’t care. I’m just happy to be alive.
I lay there for a while, half lying on the branch, half hanging off it. I can’t tell much else. My ears are buzzing, and my vision is filled with stars. Time means nothing. Seconds feel like hours and hours feel like seconds.
After a while, something grabs hold of me. My first thought is that one of the Pterodactyls has decided I look like a tasty snack, but then I hear Kara’s voice in my ear and I know I’m safe. I still can’t see, but I sense her help me up onto the branch. She leads me along until we reach a broad vertical surface. The trunk. Kara helps me rest my back against it. My legs hang down on either side of the branch, which is so massive it feels like I’m riding a kaar. I feel safe. But that feeling evaporates as soon as my vision returns.
“Oh, no!” I groan as I realize how perilous our situation truly is.
Kara and I sit on one of the lowest branches of one of the tall trees that stand by the cliff. The tree—and most of the cliff—towers high above us. A few Pterodactyls still fly around, but now that every last snail has been knocked off the stone wall, there’s nothing of interest at such an altitude.
I hold off for as long as I can, but curiosity eventually gets to me, and I glance down.
Bad idea. Not because my head starts spinning and I feel sick. Not even because I lose my balance and nearly topple out of the tree. It’s a bad idea because the spectacle I discover is so shocking I’m left staring at it in disbelief.
The Velociraptors must have been scared away by the falling snails because there’s no sign of them. Or so I think until I notice a group of Pterodactyls fighting for access to what appears to be a corpse. I only catch glimpses of the half-eaten carcass, but I have no trouble identifying it as a Velociraptor. I’m not sure if the animal was killed by a falling snail or swarmed by a flock of Pterodactyls, but the result is the same. It’s dead and serving as a feast for the winged predators.
I watch for a while before the goriness of the scene forces me to inspect the remainder of the peculiar display. The Pterodactyls that aren’t busy feasting on their wingless cousin’s corpse are trying to break through the shells of the dozens of snails that litter the clearing. The giant mollusks remain hidden within their shells, yet it’s only a matter of time before the Pterodactyls find a way to break them open.
The only good news—at least, for Kara and me—is we’re still alive. Well, that and the fact that I’m somehow unharmed by my painful tumble from the giant snail’s back. My chest hurts a little, and the bottom of my foot is exposed as a result of my encounter with the Velociraptor, but otherwise, I’m as good as new.
Given what happened, I should be counting my blessings. Instead, I hang on to the tree as though it were the only thing keeping me alive and do my best to ignore everything around me, including Kara.
“It’s all right,” she says. “We’re safe now.”
“No, we’re not,” I argue, but I can tell I won’t win the argument. I may be terrified and useless, but at least I’m still alive. That’s more than I can say for the snails.
The Pterodactyls keep pecking until one of them has the brilliant idea to pick up one of the snails, fly it high into the air, and drop it. It fails to crack, but I can tell it’s only a matter of time before it hits something hard and splits open like a hot, freshly-roasted chestnut. Fully aware of this, the flying reptiles begin carrying the prehistoric mollusks high into the air and dropping them.
It takes a while, but one of them eventually breaks open. A second soon follows. Then a third. By the time a dozen have been split in half, all of the winged dinosaurs are busy. Taking advantage of this, the snails that survived the attack emerge from their shells. Now undisturbed by the Pterodactyls, they slither toward the cliff and once again begin the long climb to the top. I can’t believe how quickly they recovered. Then again, I guess they’re used to life in the wild. Unlike me.
“It’s time to go,” says Kara once the first snails have reached the midway point.
I don’t understand what she means but watch as she stands and travels along the branch upon which I landed. It’s not until she nears the end of it that I understand what she’s planning on doing.
She’s going to jump.
Leaping from a stationary snail and landing in a tree is one thing, but jumping onto the back of a moving snail is quite another.
“That’s a bad idea,” I mutter.
“We don’t have a choice,” says Kara.
“I—”
“You can do it. You just need to believe.”
I want to protest, but I know it will do no good, so I remain quiet. And seated.
“You can do it,” repeats Kara as she makes her way back to me.
I shake my head.
She nods.
“Just have a look,” she offers. “If you don’t think you can do it, we’ll find another way.”
The last thing I want to do is leave the safety of the trunk, but I know this is the best deal I’ll get.
“Fine,” I grunt, “but we both know I won’t be able to do it.”
“We’ll see.” What worries me isn’t her words, but the wink that accompanies it. Nonetheless, I allow her to help me up. Advancing isn’t easy because of my acrophobia, but Kara helps me along. It takes a while, but we eventually reach the end of the branch. I hesitate for a moment, then take a deep breath and peer down.
My heart skips a beat, then starts hammering away at my ribcage. We’re only a dozen metres in the air, but the precariousness of our situation makes my hands sweat. My head spins, and I almost lose my balance. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. It takes a while, but I manage to recover enough to open my eyes and turn toward Kara.
“I can’t do it,” I tell her.
“It’s all right,” she says.
“It is?”
“Yes,” she says, then does the most unexpected thing.
She kisses me.
It’s only a peck on the cheek, but it’s enough to make my heart melt. I lose my grip and just stand there, balanced on the tip of the branch. Oddly enough, I’m no longer afraid. In fact, I can’t feel a thing. Only the memory of Kara’s lips on my cheek remains.
“I’m sorry,” finally says Kara, snapping me back to reality.
“What for?”
“For this,” she says as she pushes me.
I can’t believe it. I feel betrayed, but also terrified. All the fear that was chased away by the kiss comes rushing back as I desperately try to halt my slow topple. But no amount of flailing can alter my future. I’m about to fall, and there’s only one way to keep that from happening.
I have to jump. Again.
Eyes wide with fear, I manage to spin around so I’m facing away from the tree. I scan the cliff and spot the nearest snail. It’s about three metres away and two metres down. With only a moment of hesitation, I plant my feet on the branch and, using what little leverage I have, propel myself forward just as I’m about to fall.
It’s not a jump. Nor is it a fall. It’s a cross between the two. I think I’ll call it a jull. No, a famp. You know what? It doesn’t matter. Call it whatever you like, it won’t change the fact that I’m about to die.
It’s crazy the things your brain comes up with when it thinks you’re going to die. Some people relive the most significant moments of their lives. What do I do? I make up a new word. It sounds ridiculous, but I don’t regret it. Why? Because it distracts me from what’s happening. By the time I realize what’s come to pass, it’s already over.
My eyes flutter open—I don’t even recall closing them—and I glance around. Less than a metre before me stands the cliff. Beneath me is the charcoal shell of a giant snail. Behind me, Kara is cheering. That can only mean one thing.
I made it.
My jull/famp was terrifying, but it helped get me out of the tree and safely onto one of the snails. All I have to do now is survive the journey up the stone wall, and I’ll be safe. Of course, that’s the very moment fate chooses to throw a wrench in the gears.
The cliff starts to tilt. As does the rest of the world. I don’t understand what’s happening until I realize it’s not the world that’s tilting. It’s me. And that can only mean one thing.
I’m slipping.
W hy is it that whenever something good happens, something even worse than whatever it is I just escaped occurs? Am I just unlucky or is someone actively trying to ruin my day? I guess it doesn’t matter because no amount of pondering will save me now.
The sliding of my body along the surface of the snail’s shell is slow, which somehow makes it worse. I desperately try to grab on to something, but the shell is smooth and completely free of ridges.
I slide. And slide. And slide, until I finally reach the edge. Just as gravity grabs hold of me and all hope seems lost, I see it. The edge of the snail’s shell. If I can just reach it…
I fall before I can make a move. What happens next is so incredible it seems to happen in slow motion. I slide off the edge of the shell and start to fall. In a desperate attempt at survival, I twist my body and thrust out my arms. I’m not entirely sure how I manage it, but I somehow alter my course significantly enough to grab hold of the shell’s lip.
I’m now dangling beneath the snail, my strength and willpower the only two things standing between me and a plummet to certain death. I want to look around for an escape route, but I know that will only make things worse.
“Help!” I yell.
“Hold on!” comes Kara’s voice from beneath me. Momentarily forgetting about my fear of heights, I look around. It takes a moment, but I finally spot her sitting atop a snail. The beautiful blonde and her mount are a few metres down and to the right of me, but their proximity fills me with hope. As does the fact that Kara seems to have found a way to steer the snail—using the tentacles as reins, she’s able to communicate her desired trajectory to the giant mollusk. I just need to hold on.