by David Boyle
Hayden flinched when Mark gave him a poke. “Get with the program, man. Take some pictures!”
“Oh, right.” Hayden pulled out the camera and put it to his eye... then popped the lens cap and tried again. But he was shaking too bad, and he just couldn’t frame the thing. He looked away, took a deep breath, and after a slow exhale, turned to the dinosaur and clicked the shutter. Film advanced, he shot the thing again.
“What idiot would try taking this thing on?” Slivers of orange were moving through the foliage, but the animal itself was still too well screened to see with any clarity. Ron looked to the beast that had already eaten the better half of what yesterday had been an animal weighing more than a ton. “What is this thing, Bennett?”
“It’s a tyrannosaur, though whether it’s a rex I can’t say. Either way, I doubt it’s full grown.” Ron’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah, they get even bigger,” Mark said, passing him the binoculars. “Check the hands. Tyrannosaurs as a type have only two fingers.”
The tyrannosaur’s head and body were counterbalanced by a massive and hugely muscular tail, the predator seeming to fill the entire clearing. The animal exuded power, and it took no stretch of the imagination to concede their fate should it or anything like it ever reach the island.
A growl fluttered the monster’s throat when a snarl issued from the forest. Hayden shifted and clicked the shutter, the camera dropping along with his jaw when a monster in tiger stripes stepped clear of the trees.
“H o l y fuck…!” Ron exclaimed. “Would you get a load of those teeth!”
The newcomer was stunning by every measure—size, color, weaponry—the fangs jutting past its jaw verging on the unfathomable. Patterned midnight-black over orange in a scheme reminiscent of a tiger, the oncoming predator had a weird, double-ended crest on its head, and a long series of what looked like shark’s fins running nearly the length of its body. The arms were three and possibly four times the length of the tyrant’s, the three fingers carrying claws tailor made for disemboweling. Slimmer than the tyrannosaur and considerably less massive, the intruder oozed with an arrogant malevolence that seemed more than a match for the swaggering beast on the beach.
The eye-catching predator glanced about the clearing with a calm, even nonchalant gaze; the tyrannosaur watching intently as the invader strode from the fringes of the forest.
“Okay Mister…,” Ron fumbled for the word, “whatever the fuck you call ‘em.”
“You mean paleontologists?”
“That’s them. Okay, Mister Paleontologist. What the hell is that?”
“Me a paleontologist? That’s a laugh. Back home I wouldn’t rate amateur status.” Mark stared across the river, as awed as anyone. “Closest thing that comes to mind is Allosaurus—they had three fingers too—but they weren’t anywhere near this big. Besides which, allosaurs died out like 30 or 40 million years ago. Bottom line: I haven’t a clue. And the professionals most likely wouldn’t either. Far as I know, there’s nothing even remotely like it in any book or museum. Which means we’re the first to know this thing ever existed.”
“Exists,” said an alien voice.
Ron and Hayden snapped around. “Damn it, Wheajo! You like to scare the crap out of me,” Ron snarled. “How long you been standing there?”
“For a time,” the alien said ambiguously, craning to peer through the stranded willows dangling beyond the bank, the challenger jockeying for position. “An intriguing manner for a creature so markedly smaller than its opponent.”
“I’d have said that too,” Mark said, “except for those teeth.”
Hayden glanced over. “You had to have made stops before you got to us. You ever seen animals like these two before?” Wheajo answered that he hadn’t. There were, of course, planets with similar animals, but that wasn’t the question.
Mark thumbed his glasses up onto his forehead and stared through the binoculars at the dinosaurs snarling at each other across the river. He focused, then shifted from one to the other. “Remember that screwy patch of scales we figured was a scrotum?”
“What about it?”
“Unless my eyes are playing tricks, the big one’s got pretty much the same thing. But Snaggleface doesn’t.”
“You mean that thing is a she?”
Mark held out the binoculars. “You don’t believe me… here. See if you can see balls.”
The tigress paced a slow arc just inside the trees, then back again, the combatants’ eyes locked on one another as each searched for a crack in the other’s resolve, the newcomer advancing slowly when she snarled abruptly and went to a three-footed stance. The rex hissed back a step, its gaze unwavering.
“I know exactly how he feels,” Hayden said, sweat trickling down his face when the tail wagging stopped and the tigress got to pacing again.
“Yeah, me too.” Mark caught Wheajo staring. “I’m guessing this isn’t the first time she’s done a head-to-head.”
“Indeed.”
The tigress stopped to stare at the carcass; the slab-sided tyrant glaring for but a second before roaring forward a step, its tail arched and rigid. The tigress took a hesitant step, the long tail flagging as she shifted her weight from side to side. Arms bent, fingers twitching, the sabre-toothed tigress renewed her advance. A growl rumbled in the tyrannosaur’s throat as she closed the distance, mere yards separating the contestants when the tigress lashed out and raked the tyrant’s snout with her claws, the tyrannosaur countering with a snapping lunge forward, the garish tiger deftly leaping aside….
“It’s Liston and Ali all over again,” Mark mumbled, the thought falling unconsciously from his lips. Hayden looked over. “You have to have heard about that one. Theirs was like the most famous heavy weight fight ever. Liston, huge and powerful; Ali in like his twenties and very fast when they duked it out for the championship. The sportscaster guys… hell, everyone thought it’d be no contest.”
“Okay, so? Who won?”
Mark grinned. “Just watch.”
The crested predator circled back, blood dripping from the tyrant’s snout when by chance it stepped on the hadrosaur’s tail. It glanced to the side, then nosed down and bit the carcass, a throaty growl spewing saliva from between its teeth when it started dragging the carcass. The tigress thumped forward and took hold of the head, muscles rippling when she went jerking to all fours, the tyrannosaur tugging back.
Theirs was the next thing to a tractor-pull, the predators yanking themselves about the glade, the half-eaten carcass flailing between them, sand and leaves, even roots flying as talons raked the riverside enclave. Muffled pops sounded amid the never-to-be-forgotten sounds of flesh being ripped from bone as the two twisted and tugged, one on the tail, the other on a gruesomely mangled head, a long fang protruding through the duckbill’s flattened snout.
A tear started below the ribs and spread quickly to the spine, slimy spittle oozing along the monsters’ lips and teeth when the carcass sheared in half. The tigress jerked back, a half-ton of shredded duckbill tugging her around before the hadrosaur’s head snapped free and the bony forequarters clattered into the river. The corythosaur’s head plopped to the ground, the tigress staring in bewilderment as ripples expanded away on the current.
She dropped snarling into a three-footed stance, the rex reaching to pin the carcass’ meaty hindquarters when the tigress charged. Clearly unexpected, the tyrannosaur rushed forward as well, the intruder turning too late to avoid the boxy-headed uppercut that knocked her off her feet, the tyrant snapping as she slammed the ground and rolled in a cloud of dust and clawed limbs.
The tyrannosaur stood crouched as the tigress wobbled to all fours, a snarl burbling in her throat when she stretched forward and tauntingly lifted a paw. The tyrant roared forward; the tigress stepped quickly aside, an extended arm raking the tyrannosaur’s flank as he spun nipping at her thigh. The tigress retreated, the rex thudding briefly after as the intruder padded away. She stopped short of the tree line and looked back.
They stared like monstrous gladiators, bloodied, chests heaving, the tyrannosaur’s tail swaying confidently as it shifted its weight side-to-side.
A twist of the neck and the tigress snorted, a shudder rippling the triangular plates on her back while she gazed about the forest. A paw reached up and scratched the side of her face, a purple tongue at length licking the blood on her thigh. She nosed to the ground, sniffing, and started forward, the tyrant’s tail stilling when the tigress slowed to a stop. The snout went up, nostrils flaring, her tail brushing the tops of the ferns as she followed the scents around. A twisting bob of her black and orange head and the gaudy predator was moving again.
The tyrant turned and padded to the carcass, then nosed down and tore a stringy sliver from the bones. The head tipped back, the jaws working twice before swallowing. The tigress stopped when the tyrant pinned an ankle, the jaws nipping at the hadrosaur’s thigh. It sniffed and bit down, tugging, but the tendons held firm. The jaws let loose. The foot shifted. And with its next bite the tyrannosaur flopped the shredded carcass onto its side. It waddled slowly around, sniffing, then pinned the carcass and tried again, muscles bulging along its upper body as the tyrannosaur rocked its enormous head….
Bolting from the trees, the tigress was halfway across the clearing before the tyrannosaur even noticed, the big predator taking the impact broadside when she leaped. The head snapped back, the jaws opened, the tyrant's garish attacker sinking her teeth and claws deep into its flesh before she splashed spectacularly into the river. The tyrannosaur slumped to the ground, stunned and bleeding, a defeated hiss fluttering its lips when the tigress thrashed upright. She snarled ashore, confident and emboldened, and went to one paw, the long tail swaying as the tyrannosaur backed away from the river. Blood coursing down its flank, its tail held in awkward submission, the defeated tyrannosaur turned and lumbered into the forest when the tigress strode boldly forward and claimed her prize.
The garish victress stood lashing her tail, the crash of vegetation fading when she reared back and roared. Long, loud, and darkly malevolent, the call booming along the river ended with a lionesque series of chest-heaving coughs.
Having the shakes in any other situation wouldn’t have mattered, but the bitch was still picking at the carcass and not being able to hold the rifle steady if he had to was getting on Ron’s nerves. “I’m not kidding, this is pissing me off.”
Hayden held a hand out, the quivering down another notch when he peered across the river. “I’m really glad now that Charlie wasn’t here. First that big one… now her?” He shook with a chill. “Not good is all I can say.”
Mark's breathing was almost back to normal. “Let’s just hope… she doesn’t stick around. It’s scary enough being here without… hell, I don’t even know what to call her." The animal was beautiful as well as powerful, and even Wheajo was impressed.
“A truly magnificent creature,” he remarked.
Hot and sweaty, his shirt plastered against his back like green skin, Mark watched as the dinosaur raised its head, gulping. “Tell me you got some of that.”
Hayden checked. “Says I’m out of film, so I must have.” He reached for the cap. “Too bad nobody’s ever going to see them.”
“Don’t say that, okay? We’ll get there… eventually.”
It was hard to be positive with monsters living not more than a chip shot away. Mark looked at the waterline and the difference the storm had made. Before whitewater, he’d never imagined the connections that existed between rivers and rainstorms. That had all changed, of course, and he was all too well aware that big rains meant beefier rapids and faster water to where a long day’s paddle could be more a short day’s float. He looked to the brilliantly patterned predator, the river now serving as a moat.
The dinosaur bent down, sniffing what remained of the hadrosaur. Having animals like you around is enough to make me hate sunshine.
The shortening shadows said the day was approaching midmorning, the predator licking what parts of itself it could reach. Hayden slipped the camera into his shirt. “Show’s over guys. How about we head back? I’ve seen enough of this thing to last me a lifetime, and I’d rather we not press our luck.”
“I guess we can get back,” Ron said, staring thoughtfully.
Mark knew the look. “Not a chance, McClure. Least ways not one you’d live to tell about.”
Ron pushed up onto his knees. “I’d be certain if this was a .300 H&H Mag or better, but even with this thing”—he patted the old Remington—“I could do it.”
Mark jerked the cuff of Hayden’s trousers and motioned him into the forest. “Just do me a favor and don’t try it while I’m around.”
Ron crouched beneath an overhang, took hold of a sapling, and on his way under snagged a root with his toe. The sapling jiggled, the tigress dropping at once to a three-footed stance. Mark froze. “Don’t anybody move,” he whispered.
Caught in a shaft of sunlight, Ron was desperate to stay balanced, his one hand on the rifle, the other the sapling. Hayden had his eyes glued to the predator, his hope, his prayer being that she'd soon forget about whatever she'd seen or heard. A leafy sprig rustled. “McClure… stay still already!”
*****
She stepped forward, searching.
The fluttering had stopped, her gaze yet fixed upon the spot where her instincts said hiders lay watching. Hiders the color of sky fliers, hugging the ground. A tiny shift to the side….
Shapes on the high ground. There. Not shaky, not green. Foodies?
She took a half step forward.
Rustling there. New colors, more shapes. The tip of her tail quivered, and the tigress craned up ever so slowly, peering into the trees.
Eyes. Tiny eyes, there.
She stepped into the shallows, arms poised and the current surging around her ankles as she focused on the opposite bank.
*****
Of the four present, only Wheajo had the wherewithal to fully understand the predator’s tactics. A full dukot had passed, and still the predator had not moved. No simple feat for an animal its size, its prolonged stasis spoke volumes about the creature’s formidability. Given their cover, he questioned how long the beast would study the situation, though already the time was considerable. And therein lay the danger.
Historical depictions of the earliest battles fought on Nyvra, centuries before the Consolidation, would have found no counterpart with those of the humans. Battles were fought in slow motion, with victory awarded the side that lulled the opposition into a false sense of security. Waiting hidden, often for days, attacks could erupt from the minutest of cover, most with lethal ferocity.
Availed a dispassionate perspective, Wheajo saw within the predator glimmers of the same frightening tendencies possessed by his predecessors. Though perhaps not a certainty, the humans were about to learn a terrifying lesson.
The sun bore down, limbs and torn leaves slipping past on the current, and still the predator hadn’t budged. Even a real tiger would have moved something by now. An ear. A tail. Something. It just wasn't natural. Animals her size simply couldn’t do what she was doing.
The predator was magnificent from an observational perspective, but now it was him getting the third degree and there was nothing cool or alluring about it. Once before he’d been looked at with eyes that saw him as food—that time by an exceptionally large praying mantis—and he’d found the experience unsettling. Creepy then, terrifying now, Mark could see by its eyes how the animal with the oversize canines was stripping away the already flimsy curtain of willows, one scrawny strand at a time.
Ron’s was a slip that any of them could have made. Heck. A squirrel could have made that much noise. A few more minutes and she’d forget the whole thi—
The tigress roared forward—Wraarrrrrr!!!—the suddenness of the attack, feigned or otherwise, sending everyone save Wheajo recoiling into the trees.
“Fucker’s made us!” Mark gasped, fumbling about the clutter as the dinosaur snarl
ed knee deep into the current, a grimy mix of sand and water spraying from the lash of the beast’s serrated tail. Ron shouldered through the overhangs, branches clattering as he raced away. “Get back here, McClure!” Hayden was pressed against a trunk, his face nearly the shade of his T-shirt. Wheajo…? He was gone too.
A throaty snarl spun him around.
One paw down, golden eyes staring, to the animal across the river he was nothing but meat. He’d been scared before, but never like this, and Mark charged through the willows more terrified than ever in his life.
The predator splashed alongshore; her focus on Mark; Hayden’s worst nightmare about to come true. He spotted blue through the trees near the drop. “Don’t just stand there Wheajo, shoot! Shoot the thing already!”
Wheajo was tracking the dinosaur with the dawzon. “I cannot. Not yet.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“I will not use force indiscriminately,” the alien responded, a snarl sizzling across the river. “The available power reserves are irreplaceable,” he added in his coolly calculating way, “and I will fire only if given no other choice.”
Hayden couldn’t believe his ears. Grab the thing and shoot her yourself! But how? Even if he’d had the alien’s weapon in his hand, he wouldn’t have had the vaguest notion how to use the thing.
The beast’s next snarl sent him racing. Tony and Charlie had to be warned.
*****