Window In Time

by David Boyle

  The conical spire of the evergreen rose well above the surrounding trees. “Got way more branches to trim than these… but yeah, I’d say it’s doable. Still gonna be one hell of a climb. Best part is, we’ll be able to pitch the tent close to where we’ll be workin’.”

  Hayden was nodding. “We’ll even have our own little harbor.”

  Charlie picked up his paddle. “That too,” he said, digging in. “Wheajo, how about we find ourselves some dry ground?”

  “An excellent suggestion.”

  Charlie and Wheajo pulled quickly away, their goal finally more than a figment of their collective imagination.

  Ron held off, his gaze sweeping the shoreline. “Just don’t get careless guys. And you did see the trail at the end of the island, right?” Ron said, raising his voice. “And what was in the mud?”

  “You mean the tracks?” Charlie said, stroking away. “Yeah, we saw ‘em.”

  28

  Wheajo was busy untying the spears when the Tripper grounded and Hayden hopped out. Ron leaned back on his seat, “Talk to me, Bull,” while Hayden slid the boat onto the sand.

  “Place gets lots of visitors that’s for sure.” Charlie finished buckling the holster. “Got tracks… hell, there’s tracks everywhere. Old ones mostly,” he added, moseying alongshore. “By the looks of ‘em, I’d say there’s nothin’ here less than a coupla days old. ‘Cept for these guys….”

  “What’d you say?”

  “Relax, Hayden. Ain’t nothin’ to get excited about. Could be birds for all I know.”

  Ron chambered a round and walked over. “Which way?”

  “For what it’s worth, toward the mainland.”

  There were two sets of impressions where the sand was neither too wet or too dry, the animals either walking together or simply following the shoreline, the prints vanishing in the sun-dried powder not far from the water. “Kind of makes you wish it was a little less sandy.”

  “You mean, trade this for a better read…? I don’t think so.” Charlie went to a knee and felt along one of the prints. “He was here… I dunno, four… maybe six hours ago.”

  “Your assessment?”

  Ron had to think about the question. “I can’t say as I’ve ever had to assess tracks before, but based on how deep these are I’m guessing they weren’t birds.”

  “Could be herons,” said Charlie. “Or cranes. They’d have toes this long.”

  “Yeah, that’s a possibility. Just in case, make sure you keep that spear handy Wheajo. And give the other one….” Hayden was snooping along the horsetails ringing the cove. “What are you doing?”

  “Told you we should have brought our poles. There’s some nice fish in here.”

  Charlie had seen enough. “I’m thinkin’ they kept going, McClure, and unless you got somethin’ else, I’m gonna see about findin’ a place for the tent.”

  “Go on. I’m good.” The trees bordering the cove immediately east sprawled into the sky, clumps of green garnishing the intertwined roots, a treeless gap in the middle. “Just don’t go unpacking quite yet. And it might not be a bad idea for you to give him a hand, Wheajo. Either that or polish that program of yours.” Ron toggled the safety. “I need to check something out.”

  The sun spilled from a cloudless sky, the heat all pervasive despite the breeze. A few hardy dinosaurs lingered alongshore, though most had retreated into the shady seclusion of the forests, the skies all but abandoned. Charlie and Wheajo were yet cautious as they scouted the forest fringe beyond the cycads.

  From the evergreen to the cove was a span approaching eighty yards, and Charlie was hoping to locate their campsite somewhere in between. Dinosaurs were browsing a mile to the south, and once the temperatures started down he was sure there’d be more. More dinosaurs, some with prying eyes. There was no way of knowing how good their eyesight was, but dinosaurs closer than a quarter of a mile would be blocked from seeing them, first by the out-islands, then by the trees on the island itself.

  He kicked at the leaves. “Whatdya think, Wheajo? We clear this stuff outta here. Flatten it some. I’d say we can put the tent right here. Got these palms for a canopy. A decent view of the lake. And out the door about as pretty a picture as you’re gonna get. The sun first thing, and shade by late morning. What more could you ask for?”

  “Yes yes, the site is more than adequate,” Wheajo said, peering into the tangled underbrush. “However, before we establish residency, I suggest we perform a thorough reconnaissance.”

  “Wheajo… Charlie… Come take a look at this.”

  A sea of lacy fronds obscured the better part the cove. “Prentler, you fall in a hole?”

  A shaft with an arrowhead wagged above the leaves. “Over here.”

  They waded through the barrel-bodied cycads and found Hayden digging with the butt of his spear. “What is it this time?”

  Hayden brushed away the sand. “See for yourself,” he said, straightening onto his knees. The strip joining the islands was an amalgam of sand and pulverized shells, hunks of driftwood lying about, and on first glance it was easy to dismiss the partially exposed lumps in the trench he’d made as nothing more than the weathered remnants of trees. But the lumps weren’t wood at all. They were vertebrae. “Pretty slick, huh?”

  “I’ll say,” said Charlie, shading his eyes, Wheajo out with the yaltok. “Good catch, that’s for sure. All this? Hell, I’d probably have walked right past them.”

  “Almost did, except that I tripped on one.” Hayden wiped his forehead. “Kind of funny, finding something this big by accident. There’s parts of the backbone this way. And more over here. What I haven’t figured out is which way is front, and which is back. Any guesses…?

  “Earth to Charlie. Come in please, over.”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Don’t go to sleep on me, Bull. I asked if you’ve got any idea which way to the head?”

  “How would I know?”

  “I just figured, you being a hunter and all.” Hayden shrugged, realizing he’d just have to find out the hard way. Though that would take time. He glanced to the forest and spotted Ron, not that he’d know any more than Charlie. Hopefully, Wheajo would turn up something with his scanner.

  Hayden caught the frown. “What do you see?”

  “It’s probably nothin’.”

  “Uh huh. And that hasn’t stopped you before.”

  “It’s just… I don’t know. Why here?” Charlie swiveled around. “Kind of an out-of-the-way place to die, don’t cha think?”

  “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, Bull. Your point being?”

  “It bothers me is all, this… whatever it is dyin’ here in the middle of bumbfuck nowhere. I can see comin’ out here to chow down or sleep—the place is loaded with browse and good cover—or maybe even to get laid. But come here to die? Doesn’t make sense.”

  “It’s not a person, Charlie, it’s an animal, and how it got here doesn’t have to make sense.” Hayden went back to working on the sand. “Don’t go getting flaky, okay? For all we know it floated here.”

  Charlie glanced about the lake. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “A reasonable supposition,” Wheajo said, his voice filtering through the fronds. “And also incorrect.”

  “The beast was attacked, killed, and eaten,” Wheajo said, not bothering to look when Hayden and Charlie burst through the fronds, “the level of disarticulation indicating that this was the site of the execution.”

  “But how—”

  “The left ulna and radius are fractured,” Wheajo went on. “And the right forelimb, including the humerus,” he swept the yaltok, “appear to be missing altogether.” Beneath one of the cycads, a series of ribs arched from the sand. “The second and fifth cervical vertebra also display signs of crush trauma, as do many of the thoracic vertebra.” Wheajo ended his sweep. “You asked about the animal’s skull.”

  “You mean it’s here?” Charlie dropped to his knees. “Prentler, gimme that spear.”


  “Just watch these leaves while you’re digging.” Hayden waved when he spotted Ron chugging around the cove. “Over here McClure…!”

  Wheajo slipped the yaltok into its conformal pocket.

  “Pretty nifty to be able to see underground like that,” Hayden said, amazed as always by how the closure on his uniform just vanished. “Though I still don’t understand how you can be sure this thing died here.”

  “The pattern of disarticulation suggests that the animal was first immobilized, then feasted upon by its attacker. Had the animal died elsewhere, and then—”

  “You won’t believe what’s back in the woods here,” Ron said, padding across the sand.

  “Yeah, and you’re not gonna believe this either.” Charlie handed the spear to Wheajo, then worked his fingers under the curved arch of bone. “Errrr…,” he growled, leaning back. “Prentler, how about a hand with this?”

  Ron swept aside the fronds, his sweaty shirt plastered to his chest. “You found one too, huh?”

  “You mean you found one?” Charlie asked, rocking the skull while Hayden cleared away the sand.

  “Not thirty yards in. And another two after that.” Ron swallowed. “I didn’t go far, but there are bones scattered all over the place. Whatever the deal is, we need to be careful. Somebody hunts here. And hunts here a lot.”

  “What’d I tell you?” Charlie said, putting his weight into it and yanking back. “One more Hayden… and I think…” The sand gave way and the skull rolled up and out. “It’s one of those duckbill guys.”

  Hayden brushed at the sand, then rapped the crest with his knuckles. “I bet if we shook the sand out this thing would be hollow.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Kind of hard not to, McClure. So?”

  “So quit with the screwing around. We got more important things to do.”

  “Uh huh. Like what?”

  “Completing a reconnaissance of the island should be foremost on our agenda,” Wheajo suggested.

  “Absafuckinglutely. You can dick with this thing all you want Prentler. But later. Right now we check this place the hell out. And I mean everywhere.

  “And Charlie, you better not have gotten any sand in that revolver.”

  Charlie got to his feet. “Jeeze, I… I didn’t think of that.”

  “Well you better fucking start,” Ron said, gazing about the lake.

  “Ron, slow down a minute. You’re—”

  “Spooked? You bet I am. There’s a killer on the loose, a big one, and if those scratches are what I think they are he’s got himself one hell of a cleanup crew. So unless you don’t mind ending up like this thing, we need to make sure this place is clean. And the sooner the better.” He glanced across the cove. “Talk about staying frosty.”

  “The spoor was fresh?” Wheajo asked.

  “Well… no. None that I could find.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it is. But the ground is so hard you can’t tell—”

  Wheajo stepped forward. “We should begin.”

  Ron nodded. “Right,” he said, taking a second to gather his thoughts. “We’ll check this side and work our way around. And if there’s nobody home on this end, we’ll do a loop to the mainland.

  “Anything tries to mess with us, we blow its fucking head off. Everybody got that…?” Nods all around. “Good.

  “Wheajo, like I said, keep that spear handy. Prentler, you too. And save the exploring for later.” Hayden knew better than to object. “Charlie, stay tight. I want you right behind me.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “And take that thing out of the holster.

  “Last thing. We got daylight to spare, so we do this slow and easy. You see anything, say so. And don’t get too spread out,” he cautioned, leading the way through the cycads. “No use making ourselves easy targets.”

  The sandy expanse funneled quickly into what was little more than a rocky, wet, and more often than not, driftwood littered strip from which to search the big island’s dense interior. The sun backlit the situation, though with scant room to maneuver, Ron was more than a little edgy, stepping once, looking twice.

  Searching single file, ever alert for movement, they yet found it impossible to simply bypass the huge evergreen that was soon to become their focus of attention. Roots fanned into the trees; broken branches and pine needles blanketed the ground. Frighteningly tall, overwhelming even, the ancient giant’s crown was lost amid the encircling branches.

  Charlie leaned back, gawking. “How are we gonna—”

  “Later, okay? Let’s get this loop finished before we worry about climbing.”

  Thoughts of the evergreen soon evaporated, their focus again on the island’s interior. The forest was a shadow-laced labyrinth of thick vegetation, which for Ron and Charlie made it ideal cover for plant and meat eaters alike. Following the shoreline, ever cautious, their search was further confounded by the ferns and shrubs that often overflowed the banks.

  A tree jutting over the water forced Ron to his knees, and he was surprised to find that the others were gone when he popped up on the other side. Confused, he was about to start back when he spotted Charlie, then Wheajo and Hayden, winding their way through the forest to shore.

  “You always go the hard way?” Charlie whispered before hopping off the bank.

  Ron brushed at his shoulder, a flustered look on his face. “I needed to cool off anyway.”

  “Liar,” Hayden quipped, following Wheajo to shore.

  “Keep your voice down. And I thought I told you guys to stay close.”

  “Then pick a better route,” Hayden retorted. “And I don’t see what you’re so worried about. I haven’t seen anything.”

  “Does look deserted. Wheajo?”

  “Nothing of consequence. And perhaps uninhabited would be more appropriate. The vegetation shows no sign of being eaten, recently or otherwise.”

  Charlie was nodding. “That’s my take too. There’s no trails, no tracks… no nothin’. If there is anything in here, it’s got to be small. I’d say we can pick up the pace.”

  Hayden ran a finger around his collar. “Anybody remember to grab the bota?”

  “If you’re that thirsty, try the lake,” Ron said, looking ahead. “Okay, I’ll pick it up some. If I remember right, that break up ahead says we’re almost halfway. From there to the point, and back… Maybe an hour.

  “Oh, and Bull… if you don’t like how I’m doing this….”

  Charlie didn’t have to think before answering. “No thanks. You’re doin’ fine.”

  “Uh huh.”

  The high road was used from then on to skirt the worst of the deadfalls. Not that Ron would have admitted a mistake—staying on course no matter what, going under instead of around—though it was easier, what with the bank varying from only knee to waist high. Still, the forest was where they would be hiding, and Ron stayed with shore wherever possible.

  They made good progress in either case.

  The trees were like sponges, squelching the breeze; the air hot and muggy. Birds screeched in the distance, fluttering about their little island and growing restless in the afternoon sun.

  A scuffling in the leaves got Ron swinging, a metallic click sounding a fraction later.

  Seconds passed, and still nothing. Scanning, his finger poised on the trigger, Ron shifted his gaze when Charlie directed him to a specific tree. He crept forward—the barrel quick to follow when a lizard skittered up the side of the tree. The rifle drooped to his waist.

  Charlie eased the hammer down on the revolver. “Told ya they’d be small.”

  “Little prick,” Ron snorted.

  “You’re off the river. Relax already, would you?”

  “You think this is so easy, how about you take the lead?”

  “Like that’s going to happen.” Hayden patted his shoulder. “You get off on this shit. Admit it.” Ron marched silently away, Charlie following with that same effortless walk, the
two slinking alongshore like shadows.

  “You got to watch when he gets like this, Wheajo. Or should I say them? I haven’t been there to actually see it before, but you can hear the change in their voices when they get to talking about hunting, these two and Mark. As much as Ron can get all hyper about it, he loves this sneaking around. And now that Charlie’s out of his shell, I don’t doubt he does too. It’s like any second they might have a chance to shoot something. And if that something can tear them to pieces… that’s all for the better.

  “So if either of them goes off on you, just try to ignore them. They’re finding their stride.”

  “Your insight is appreciated.”

  “Like I said. You gotta watch them.”

  Twice more Ron and Charlie went on high alert, weapons ready, whatever they were eventually skittering away when one of them tired of waiting and moved. Whether lizards or dinosaurs, both were small, signs that seemingly supported Charlie’s contention that whatever made the tracks near the cove could essentially be ignored.

  The surprises were over, the birds swarming about what Charlie had christened Bird Island their only living distractions by the time they reached the westernmost point of the island. The view from the point was spectacular, for they could see shoreline and hills from well east of the swamp to the south and past their put-in all the way around to the northeast. The breeze was freshening, a light chop on the water. Dinosaurs filtered from the forests, their multifarious voices skimming across the lake from near and far.

  Safeties on, spears cradled, they stood for long minutes, entranced by the sights and sounds of Bennett’s Lake.

  *****

  The return leg was uneventful, their inbound reconnaissance completed in under half an hour. They dug through the backpack for the jerky, Wheajo sanctioning but a short respite while they strove to quiet their ever more insistent hunger and thirst. Appeased, if not sated, they were underway again within minutes.