Dinosaur Summer

by Greg Bear

  The truck shuddered and began to slip again. "Go!" Peter and Anthony yelled together. Julio hunkered down behind the windshield and let the winch clutch out completely. The rear bed of the truck ahead jerked under the sudden strain and the struthio cage rattled and banged. Sammy's truck began to move, however, and Julio applied power to the rear tires once more. The truck leaped ahead, the winch screamed as it reeled in cable, and suddenly the cable parted with a sound like a small cannon. Peter and Anthony jumped aside. The cable lashed back and shattered the truck's windshield. Glass sprayed down on Julio in tiny shards.

  The rear wheels continued to turn and grab, pushing the truck up the road until Julio kicked in the clutch and applied the brakes. The truck rocked slowly back and forth and Sammy bawled hoarsely.

  Peter got up from the mud and reached the truck cab in time to see Julio calmly brush glass out of his hair. Anthony stepped forward to help him. Peter ran to the back. Ray and OBie and Shellabarger inspected the cage. The roustabouts and camera crew stood ready with more branches and rocks.

  "All right," Shellabarger said. "Give that driver a medal."

  "Julio," Peter said.

  "Give Julio a medal and let's get some more rocks in that muddy area. We have to keep moving."

  In the last hundred yards, with visibility down to zero, Anthony, OBie, Ray, and Peter walked with the trainer ahead of the trucks, swinging flashlights to make sure the way was clear of thick limbs and boulders. Yard by yard, the trucks advanced in pitch darkness, headlights flaring, flashlight beams fishing at the dark, and brilliant sheets of lightning painting everything icy white.

  Peter pulled his hat down tight as a gust of wind tried to lift it from his head. The rain pounded. He could hear the animals complaining—all but the venator, who kept his grim silence, beyond all outrage.

  The rain stopped abruptly, as if someone had cranked a tap shut. The trucks roared their way onto a grassy clearing with flat stretches of rock beyond. They covered the distance to the edge of Pico Poco in a few minutes. The trucks formed a line and Shellabarger called for them to cut their engines.

  After so many hours of the belching roar of the diesels and the hiss of rain and the crack-rumble of thunder, Peter felt stunned by the sudden quiet. The animals had fallen silent, all but the avisaurs, who made small whistling sounds as they flapped their wings in their cage. A waning quarter moon cast a mottled glow through parting clouds in the west.

  Everyone swung down from the cabs or leaped from the backs of the trucks. They followed OBie and Shellabarger across the flat, weathered sandstone to the ghostly outline of the old steel swinging bridge. Years before, this had been the outside world's gateway to El Tepui Grande.

  Beside the bridge, five large tents had been pitched. Near the tents squatted two jeeps, one Army green, the other white. Beyond the jeeps lurked the shadows of several canvas-backed Army trucks.

  Three men strolled out of the darkness beyond the tents, two soldiers in steel helmets and a broad-shouldered, heavy-bellied man with a thick black mustache. From other tents came dozens more soldiers, all armed with holstered pistols and slung rifles.

  The mustachioed man's tailored khaki uniform strained over his shoulders and paunch. He wore a stiff-brimmed, high-peaked officer's hat and carried a small, thin-barreled pistol in one beefy hand. This, Peter thought, must be el Colonel.

  Two almost identical men and a woman emerged from the closest tent, all dressed in tough hiking pants and wearing leather jackets. The woman was tall, with long black hair and a face more severe than Peter liked, young but with the air of a stern teacher. The men were short and balding. Peter wondered if they were twins.

  "Welcome, Senor Shellabarger, and congratulations," the woman said, walking ahead of the colonel. She obviously wanted to stake a claim to the visitors. "I am Catalina Mendez. I represent the Office of Natural Resources in Ciudad Bolivar. May I present Colonel Juan de Badajoz, commander of the security of this region?"

  "Pleased to make your acquaintance," Shellabarger said. He shook the colonel's hand firmly, then turned and shook hers.

  The colonel's two adjutants also wore khakis, with a yellow handkerchief pushed beneath one epaulet. The taller of the two advanced and offered his hand. "On behalf of the Army of Venezuela, Colonel de Badajoz welcomes all to the region of El Tepui Grande." The colonel smiled briefly and gave them a curt nod. Soon there was a flurry of hand-shaking and congratulations.

  Catalina Mendez was a naturalist assigned by the Betancourt government to oversee the return of the animals. Peter quickly realized that she was the only representative of the government; she and her two brothers, the bald-headed men. They were construction engineers and as Peter had surmised, they were identical twins. There seemed no love lost between them and el Colonel.

  Tin cups were brought out, and OBie rummaged through the camera supplies to find two bottles of red wine. Everyone drank a toast. The colonel stood to one side and downed his wine quickly, then tossed the cup to the taller adjutant. The colonel still clutched his pistol and stared off into the night as if nervous about what might be lurking out there.

  Peter sipped his cup. It tasted like medicine, but not unpleasantly so.

  The shorter adjutant, young-faced and beardless, with a shiny nose and forehead, approached Anthony. Peter's father was the darkest, most Hispanic-looking of their party. "The Venezuelan Army is proud to be of assistance," he said. "As you can see, there have been efforts made to bring the bridge back into repair. Colonel de Badajoz has brought Army engineers with him to make sure all is well."

  Catalina Mendez

  The colonel holstered his pistol and shook hands formally with Anthony, but still said not a word. He snapped to attention, saluted, and gestured to the shorter soldier.

  "The colonel apologizes for not speaking English. I will translate for him."

  After Colonel de Badajoz returned to his tent, Catalina Mendez took Shellabarger aside and whispered to him for several minutes. The trainer listened with a deepening frown, then shook his head vigorously. "We'll talk about it in the morning," Peter heard him say, and he stalked away from her. She stared after him, arms folded and fingers clutching her forearms.

  Peter was very tired and the wine made him ache for sleep, but he followed the others as dry wood was pulled from beneath a tarp and a large fire was kindled to warm them all. Peter looked at his watch with the aid of a flashlight: ten o'clock.

  OBie found a third bottle and offered a toast to their hosts and to Vince Shellabarger. "We made it," Peter said to his father and to Ray as they gathered around the fire. Everyone lifted their glasses. Peter glanced over his shoulder at the animals, still in their cages on the backs of the trucks.

  Shellabarger took Anthony and OBie aside for a conference. Peter and Ray followed.

  "The Mendez woman says things are getting dicey. The colonel is here to monitor some sort of native uprising. The Betancourt government supports the local tribal alliance, but the Army apparently doesn't agree. Senora Mendez represents the government, such as it is; but she's not sure who's going to be in charge in the next few days or weeks. They can't reach anybody with their radio—must be a hell of a lot of interference. Sounds like the Army junta is pulling back from Betancourt and Gallegos and they're going to install their own new man, someone by the name of Perez Jimenez.

  "They've flown engineers from the airport at Uruyen and landed them here on Pico Poco. They looked over the bridge and flew back. The Army engineers think the bridge won't hold more than a few hundred pounds—that it might collapse any minute of its own weight. The Mendez brothers think the bridge is sound enough to hold about four tons, and they've been working to get the motor running, but they haven't got many resources. The Army wouldn't let them bring more than their jeep up here. Besides that, everybody's in complete agreement."

  "That's the way things are in this part of the world," OBie said. "So, do we go or not?"

  The trainer shrugged. "I'll look at the br
idgeworks tomorrow—Anthony, you've had some engineering training, haven't you?"

  Anthony nodded.

  "We'll see what's what in the morning."

  The conference broke up. Peter and Anthony walked away from the fire toward the steel bridge. It was as big as a covered bridge across a stream, but completely open, mounted on a large motorized pivot sunk into the rock, with girder-hung concrete counterweights slung on both sides behind the pivot. To Peter it resembled a big, thick construction crane, with a roadway built down its center. Its girders were rusty and the engine house had not been painted in years, but tools and oil cans and drums of fuel were lying about; work had been done recently. Anthony peered into the engine house, wrinkled his nose, and walked to the edge with Peter.

  Ray joined them. "Eager?" he asked.

  Anthony nodded. "Yeah," Peter said.

  OBie's footsteps sounded behind them, and he lined up beside Ray. "It's been a long time," he said quietly.

  They stood on the rim of the cleft between Pico Poco and El Grande. Peter felt dizzy, looking into the windy darkness below. He moved back a step.

  "A mile deep," Ray said, leaning over the abyss. The fringe of hair around his high forehead rose and fluttered in an updraft.

  They all stared across the gap of one hundred feet at the starlit cliff face opposite, the southern edge of the greatest of all the tepuis. Atop the plateau, beyond a clearing about fifty yards wide, rose the shadows of thick round sandstone shapes, weathered into weird faces and the broken battlements of old fortresses.

  For the first time, they looked upon the ancient landscape that Professor George Edward Challenger and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had called the Lost World.

  Chapter Twelve

  OBie and Ray and the camera crew woke before dawn. Peter had been too excited to sleep—or so he thought—but Anthony roused him before sunrise. For breakfast they ate beans and cassava bread and dried apricots. The air smelled of woodsmoke and steaming coffee and stony damp. The clouds had broken up during the night, leaving clear air still sprinkled with the brightest stars.

  Jorge's workers crowded around a smoky fire near their camp. They drank coffee and waved cheerfully as Peter and Anthony walked past. Billie and the river pilots and drivers sat around another fire. Billie leaped up to join them.

  "Today or tomorrow will be the big day," he said.

  "Looks that way," Anthony said, lifting his camera to check the composition for a sunrise shot. The cages were outlined by skyglow to the east.

  Shawmut and Osborne had placed the heavy camera and dolly on their tracks near the bridge. They were making sure the tracks were level and wouldn't wobble as the dolly passed over.

  Shellabarger was nowhere to be seen. Catalina Mendez stood with her brothers near the bridge. The bridge motor was being tested. As they neared the engine house, Shellabarger and the taller adjutant emerged, their hands black with grease. The colonel followed. His hands were immaculate.

  The trainer glanced at Anthony, face orange and eyes glinting in the flaming sunrise. "Looks like all the engineers need a little help," he said ruefully. Kasem and Keller joined him with more tools from the supply crates. Anthony walked along the length of the bridge, and at several points crawled underneath to inspect it.

  The young-faced Army adjutant said, "The bridge is very old and has had no maintenance for almost twenty years. We do not think it is safe."

  Wetherford stood to one side, picking his teeth with a twig. He seemed disinclined to get involved in the brewing dispute.

  Shellabarger approached the colonel as if he would tower over him.

  "We were told this bridge would be fixed and ready to go," he said.

  "Apparently, Caracas did not know it was so bad," the adjutant said with a half pleading look at Dona Mendez. "The engineers have come and gone. Their report is final."

  "We have made our conclusions known to Colonel de Badajoz," Catalina told Shellabarger, "but he tells me his engineers are more informed than my brothers."

  Shellabarger pointed at the steel-girdered span in disgust. "I've gotten eleven tons of animals and cages and equipment this far. The bridge will hold until they cross. I don't give a damn what happens after that."

  Colonel de Badajoz understood enough English to get the gist of the trainer's words. He spoke in a low voice to the adjutant and cast dark looks at Shellabarger. The adjutant, uncomfortable at being caught between these two, said, "The Army engineers say the bridge's main weight-bearing girders have rusted badly across the center span . . . It cannot support a truck and a big animal. Crossing would be disastrous."

  Catalina rolled her eyes and turned to Anthony, just back from his inspection. "My brothers are good engineers," she said. "There may be some concern about a truck carrying an animal crossing together, but the bridge is sound enough to bear at least three tons."

  "Our heaviest animal weighs three tons," Anthony said. "We can change our plans and keep the trucks off the bridge. We push the animals across the bridge, let them go free, one at a time, and after that . . ." He smiled at her. "We're done. Nothing over three tons."

  "We don't expect to crash a truck into it," Shellabarger snapped at the adjutant.

  The adjutants and the colonel drew back and conferred for a few moments. The taller adjutant returned and said to Shellabarger and OBie, "We are here to ensure your safety. There is also another matter—that of quarantine inspection. The animals must be inspected before being released back into the wild. We apologize that our livestock inspectors have not yet arrived. They will be flown out of Uruyen within three or four days. Perhaps by then we will have resolved this controversy—"

  "None of this was brought up before," Shellabarger said. His face was growing dangerously red. He turned toward the colonel, hands raised to heaven. "The animals will be dead in three or four days! We don't have the proper food—they have to be returned to the wild—"

  He advanced on the colonel, who fingered the strap of his pistol's holster. The adjutants tried to push between their superior officer and the beet-faced trainer. Catalina intervened, taking the trainer's arm.

  "Senor Shellabarger, come with me, please." She nodded for Anthony and Wetherford to follow as well.

  Peter tagged along with them to the concrete pad surrounding the bridge's engine house. OBie and Ray listened from a few yards away.

  "Can't you just order them to stand aside?" the trainer asked.

  "It is not so simple," she said, sighing deeply. "None of us knows what may happen next between the junta and the president. May I make a suggestion?" She stood with hands on hips, taller than the trainer, glaring down at him.

  Shellabarger drew up one side of his lips in an acquiescing grimace. "Sure," he said.

  "You do not have to worry about the inspectors. They are civilians and under my authority. I can waive the inspection, which I did not ask for in the first place."

  "Our animals are healthy," Shellabarger grumbled.

  "I see that," Catalina said. "I suggest that we test the bridge to learn what sort of weight it might bear. We can drive an unloaded truck across first. If the bridge survives that, and my brothers are certain it will, we can then send the animals across. The Army cannot object reasonably under those circumstances."

  "What about unreasonably?" OBie asked.

  Catalina looked to the sky. This was the best she could offer.

  "All right," Shellabarger said. "Let's try it."

  Catalina and her brothers spoke with the adjutants and el Colonel, voices rising several times. The colonel finally gave in, with some sharply worded provisos. Catalina agreed.

  She returned to the concrete platform. "They will allow testing."

  Shellabarger softened a little and his face lost its reddish hue. "We appreciate the help," he said gruffly, and returned to work in the engine house, where the motor had begun to roughen its idle. Keller and Kasem entered after him, and then Billie.

  Wetherford pulled the twig out of his mouth and
tossed it aside, then stuck his hands in his pockets and ambled over to the weed-grown, sun-cracked macadam roadway leading to the bridge.

  Anthony looked at Peter and gave him a wan smile. "That bridge cost a lot of money in 1914," he said.

  "Is it really solid?" Peter asked.

  "It'll hold at least four tons for now. In another couple of years, who knows?" He made his left hand into the edge of the cliff and sailed the right over it and down.

  A crowd of J.E.M. 's workers began to cut at the brush and trees on the edge of Pico Poco. Ray filmed them briefly, then joined OBie near the bridge. Peter watched the two framing shots with their hands and looking through little sighting scopes. The film crew began measuring and marking distances to points near the bridge from the dolly and tracks.

  Shellabarger called for Peter and he joined the trainer near Sammy's cage, still on the back of its truck. "He's our main problem. The venator's only two tons; Sammy's three. All the other animals put together weigh less than either of them. Poor Sheila was five tons." He shook his head sadly. "She might not have made it anyway. If your father and the Mendez brothers are right, the bridge will still hang together." He sighed. "But we don't want any excitement."

  Peter nodded.

  "We're going to build a stockade to hold all the animals except Dagger. He stays in his cage and goes last. We'll dismantle the other cages and use the ramps to make a run for him directly from his cage to the bridge. I trust he'll have sense enough to go straight home." Shellabarger walked over to the venator's cage, Peter by his side. The tarp had been raised and tied back, giving the animal a clear view of the proceedings but shielding him from the direct sun.

  "For twenty years I've watched him, and he's watched me," Shellabarger said. "I've never made a false move . . . and he's never had a chance to show us what he can really do."