Window In Time

by David Boyle

  The water separating their island from its sister was at most fifteen feet deep, the color an inviting pale green. Even nicer was that the point provided an excellent view of the evergreen and a shot across the cove to the far side of the lake. Move back a bit, and there were palms to block the sun and a magnificent view of the entire lakeshore extending to the north. When it came to relaxing, the point was too good to pass up.

  They dug pits in the sand, and with driftwood for backrests, Charlie and Hayden enjoyed the view as they lounged below a tight little pocket of palms.

  A pterosaur broke from its companions, and heading down, flattened out just inches above the water, its extended jaw cutting a furrow in the lake. The head snapped for an instant, the furry reptile at once beating skyward with a prize in its jaws. Hayden closed his eyes. “There’s just nothing quite like Colorado in springtime,” he purred.

  Charlie rolled on his side and was digging with his shoulder when a flock of birds suddenly took wing on the mainland. Trees started shaking not far from shore, and within minutes one, two… then an entire column of animals marched from the forest and headed south alongshore. Even from better than a quarter of a mile, they looked more like tanks than animals. Big and clunky, with a spray of huge spikes jutting around their heads, he could almost hear the clink and rattle of treads. “Check it out,” he said, pushing up onto an elbow. “We got us a parade comin’.”

  The frilled quadrupeds spread out across the beach with a ‘You-wanna-fight? You-got-it’ truculence. Golden brown in the sunshine, the herd numbered over thirty in all, the babies and juveniles shepherded within a protective ring of adults.

  “Whatdya think? Twenty feet?”

  Hayden sat brushing himself off. “I don’t know who’s worse, you or Mark. Even that big guy in front can’t be much more than fifteen. Ron and I saw a bunch that looked a lot like these along the river. They were big too. Only they didn’t have such nasty-looking heads.”

  “Kinda reminds me of the collars you see on bulldogs in cartoons.” Charlie let his eyes drift from one animal to the next. “You catchin’ how the spikes are longer on some than others?”

  Hayden hadn’t noticed, until now. “You’re right. And there’s a difference in thickness too. Which makes perfect sense when you think about it. The males carry the heaviest armor—”

  “‘Cause they do most of the fightin’,” Charlie filled in. “Good way to tell the guys from the gals.”

  By that reckoning, the animal leading was a male. And from the tip of its hooked beak to the back of the longest spike, its head was easily seven feet long, or just shy of half its length. He saw, too, that the front legs were shorter than the back. Raked at an angle, back to front, the animals had an almost sporty look. Hayden chuckled—a sporty dinosaur—and preened his beard while wondering how fast they could go.

  The big bull grunted.

  Three of the younger animals had broken from the adults and were pounding through the underbrush. Dodging between elephant-size legs, the first stopped and turned, then butted heads with its nearest pursuer. The third raced around them, stumbled, and piled squealing into the legs of an adult.

  At most five feet long, the youngsters were considerably different than the adults in both shape and color. Darker too, almost chocolate brown. Watched by the animals grazing beside the forest, the babies had only a hint of a frill, and no nose horn at all. Except for their parents, Hayden was certain he’d have mistaken them for an altogether different kind of dinosaur.

  The youngsters ran past one of the bulls, who huffed and swiped at them halfheartedly with its stubby nose horn, hoping, no doubt, to direct their antics elsewhere. Far more flexible than any adult, one flopped on its belly to graze. But its sibling wasn’t interested in eating, and instead trotted up and nipped its tail. Up and squealing and racing after its attacker, the two were soon joined by a third, the playful trio soon lost to view as they weaved between the legs of their elders and along the beach.

  “Now that’s what I call being in the right place at the right time,” Hayden said when the last of the dinosaurs disappeared behind the big island. “Almost makes me wish I was a kid again.” He stepped out and splashed water on his arms.

  “Don’t know about that, but it was fun seein’ how they got under that big guy’s skin. For a second there, I thought he was gonna give that one a poke.”

  A flight of pterosaurs swooped past the trees and pin wheeled over the lake. For Hayden, there was something of interest in every direction. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in no hurry to get back. What do you say we paddle to the end of the lake and see what’s there? Looks like there might be a cove or something around that bend.”

  Wheajo looked like a Christmas ornament along the evergreen. “I don’t know, man. I’m thinkin’ we should stick around and give them a hand.”

  “First off, they weren’t all that concerned about us. And second, there’s only one axe and one hatchet. And yeah, I’m sure McClure would be more than willing to let you take his place.” Hayden could see the hesitation. “Come on, they can handle it. Besides, my shoulder is stiff, and paddling will give me a chance to work out the kinks. An hour tops, there and back.” Charlie was teetering. Almost there. “You know we’ll be too busy tomorrow… it’s now or never.”

  “Okay,” Charlie relented. “But there and back. No screwin’ around.”

  Hayden smiled. Bingo! “No screwing around.”

  They were twenty minutes and nearing a mile out, and Hayden was once again standing in the bow. “I tell you it’s the old riverbed,” he said, staring into the water. “Whoa… there goes another one.”

  “Maybe. But I can show you lots of other places with drop offs that got nothin’ to do with rivers. And even if it is,” Charlie said, catching a glimpse of the bottom, “so what?”

  “I just find it interesting, that’s all.”

  “Uh huh,” Charlie said, taking note of the way Hayden was studying the distant shoreline. Hayden was a pretty good bull-shitter, but not that good. “And you expect me to believe that?”

  “Believe what?”

  “The ‘that’s all’ part. You’re thinkin’ that if what’s under this here boat is a river bed, and it's headed south, then the place where it empties into the lake might be just ahead.” Charlie held a hand up when Hayden tried to speak. “And now you’re just itchin’ to see if it's there.”

  “Okay, so maybe that had crossed my mind. Aren’t you just a little curious?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a little?”

  Charlie had limits too. “Come on, man, don’t do this. I mean, look… we’re already closer to shore than I wanted to get. You an’ me are paddlin’ together for the second time in years. Nobody’s botherin’ us. Sun ain’t bad. Water’s great. So why not just let’s paddle and enjoy the sights before we head back?”

  Even without his toolkit, Charlie every so often could hit the nail on the head. Hayden smiled at his broad-shouldered friend. “You’re right,” he said, then dipped his paddle. “But you do know I had to try?”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, similarly driving the canoe. “Like the sun’s gotta come up in the morning.”

  Hayden appreciated the analogy, and with a clearer understanding of what was truly important, he was content to bide whatever time he and Charlie had left to perusing the ever-changing shoreline.

  Aside from the fact that dinosaurs called it home, the lake had character. And not just one. For with every few hundred yards the shoreline presented a new face. Hayden was mesmerized by the changes, and in such moments found himself questioning whether becoming an engineer had been the right thing to do.

  The shoreline near the islands had risen gradually into the forest, yet here they were, only a mile away, with a sheer hillside standing not thirty yards from shore, in places rising seventy feet and more above the lake. How did that happen? The beach too. Earlier on it was mostly just sand; here there were knots of gnarled shrubs grow
ing only yards from the water’s edge. Was that because of geology, or biology? A guy could spend an entire lifetime searching for answers.

  Bushes carpeted the slopes, and where the incline was more weathered, puffs of green were shot-gunned in and amongst the gray and brown rocks. And above it all, endless untouched forest. As he and Charlie had earlier failed to find anything recognizable, here again were a brand new batch of trees, growing right to the edge. Some even further.

  Hayden noticed a grove of trees edging the ridge a hundred yards ahead, the branches bowed and speckled with reddish orange dots, a good number of which extended over the drop.

  “What are you doing?” Charlie said, ruddering to redirect their course.

  “Just looking.”

  “Yeah well, you can look all you want, but from out here.” Charlie gauged how far to the islands: a mile, maybe a smidge more. They might have to pick up the pace, but they’d still get back in time. Thing was, Hayden was picking up the pace. But in the wrong direction.

  “It is them!” he chirped excitedly.

  A mile. Might as well be a hundred. Charlie threw up his hands. “It’s what?”

  “Look at the trees along the top there,” Hayden said, pointing with his paddle. “They’re loaded with broranges!”

  31

  They cruised toward the beach. “You thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin?”

  Hayden feathered his paddle. “You mean that our diet sucks and what we need to fix it are right there?” he said, checking up and down the beach.

  The first part was true enough, though Charlie wasn’t sure about the second. He could see at least a dozen fruit trees along the ridge, a few angled out over the drop, their branches bowed with the weight of reddish-orange fruits. Getting to them was the tricky part. The outcrop was easily thirty feet high, and while there were bushes and rocks to climb, they’d be visible damn near the entire time.

  “Nice try,” Charlie said, dipping his paddle and angling the canoe toward home. “Too bad there’s no way to get to ‘em.”

  Hayden reached back. “Sure we can,” he said, dragging his paddle, braking. “You’re worried about what? Being seen?”

  “For starters.”

  “And…?”

  “Whatdya mean ‘and’…? Ain’t that enough?” Charlie said, sounding frustrated. “Damn it, Prentler, I didn’t want to bring this up… but I already did the retrieval thing, and I’m not all that keen about doin’ it again, okay?”

  Hayden did some fast thinking. “I understand that,” he said, realizing what was on Charlie’s mind. “But this is not the same situation. We can see almost the entire lake. Heck, that’s part of what made me think about this in the first place.” Charlie looked as if wondering whether it was safe to cross the street. Then up the hillside into the trees. “Don’t worry about the climb,” Hayden said. “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Really. All I need is for you to be the runner.”

  Charlie stood for a better view of the beach. There were lines of degraded pits alongshore, and plants showing clear signs of having been browsed. Nothing fresh though, except for the tracks of shore birds at the water line. If anybody lived nearby, they had yet to make an appearance.

  “I should know better,” he said, and slumped onto his seat. “But if that’s all you need me for, I suppose we can give it a try.”

  Charlie unbuckled his fanny pack while Hayden stowed his paddle, and just in case, peeled off his shirt. Camo had to be better than that bloody piece of shit he was wearing.

  “Thanks, Bull, but I don’t—”

  “Take it,” Charlie said, flipping his shirt and fanny pack the length of the canoe. “Call it insurance. And be careful with that knife. And don’t go losin’ it either.”

  The shirt was too big of course, but if that’s what it took to make Charlie happy, what the hell, why not? A minute’s worth of adjusting was all it took, the fanny pack doing a nice job of holding the shirt out of the way. Hayden checked his pockets.

  “Prentler…”

  “Relax. There’s nothing to worry about. Just watch for my sign,” he said, and sprinted away.

  Hayden zigzagged through the brush, keeping low until he reached the incline. The shaded soil was still damp and slick, but with so many bushes and roots for handholds, Hayden made the climb look easy. He peered over the edge, listening, then pulled himself over the lip and hurried into the woods.

  Forced wide by the foliage bordering the drop, Hayden wasn’t surprised to find a trail following the ridge. Nowhere near as wide as the one by the river, the trail made the run to the fruit trees a snap. Just follow the trackway, and bingo… there they were!

  Sunny and bright, and with a million dollar overlook, the grove was obviously frequented on a regular basis. There were tracks everywhere, some still holding water, the used-to-be ground cover trampled and broken. Making note to be long gone before feeding time, he hurried to the nearest tree along the drop that hadn’t already been picked over. Up the trunk, then out onto a limb, Hayden waved as soon as he was in position. “Charlie… over here…!”

  Charlie ran his hand repeatedly across his throat before pointedly jerking his fist: Shut up and get to work!

  Message received, he slid the fanny pack around and got out Charlie’s knife. Situated almost four stories above the ground, Hayden was careful not to drop anything. With broranges seemingly all over, he saw no need to be particular and started hacking at the nearest of the weighted-down limbs.

  Kneeling beside the Tripper, Charlie was sure that any second now dinosaurs would come busting out of the woods to investigate the noise. And here he was, bunched up and trying to make like a chunk of driftwood. He might as well be naked for how exposed he felt, magnum or no.

  Constantly scanning for movement, Charlie looked when the branch Hayden was working on parachuted to the ground with its load of broranges. That’s one, he thought, watching as Prentler stepped along the limb. No screwing around. Yeah, right.

  He cringed when Hayden started up again, the clicks and clacks echoing about the forest: H E RE W E ARE … C O M E A N D G E T U S! The Boy Scouts hadn’t been able to teach him Morse code. Hopefully the locals didn’t know it either. The branch started drooping, and a few clacks later tumbled to the ground. Prentler motioned him over, then stepped farther along the limb and went to work hacking.

  “This better be worth it,” Charlie mumbled, nervously scanning the driftwood-littered shoreline before sprinting across the beach. It was a quick and uneventful in and out, and Charlie was back with the fruit-laden branches in what seemed no time at all. He searched in both directions, relieved to be in sole possession of the shoreline despite the clacking, and began stripping broranges from the branches and tossing them in the canoe. There was no getting away from feeling exposed, and he spent as much time looking as picking. But Hayden’s gamble was paying off—another limb shimmied down the hillside. He just hoped dumbshit knew to quit while they were ahead.

  Waiting near the foot of the hillside while Hayden finished cutting, Charlie hurried over as soon as the latest branch piled into the bushes. “That’s good. Now come on down so we can get out—”

  “Just one more,” Hayden said, winding his way higher along the trunk.

  The hillside was beginning to feel a lot like the backstop on an archery range—Charlie frowned—with him as the target. “To hell with that,” he said, twisting to stare straight up. “We got way more of these things than we need already. And I’m not about….” Hayden continued climbing. “God damn it, would you stop already?”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Charlie stepped into the bushes and wrenched the latest limb free. “You cut anymore,” he said, tugging the branch alongside the other, “and you can haul ‘em out yourself. I’m done playin’ mule.”

  “Sure thing. I can handle that,” Hayden said, finding solid footing. “You know, I think I’m finally getting the knack of thi
s,” he said, reaching around to the underside of the limb. “Still wish I had Mark’s scuba knife. But so long as you score the bark before you start cutting….”

  The latest branches were bigger than the first two, with more broranges and more twigs to poke him in the heels. And the next branch’ll be bigger still. Hayden had snookered him again—a brorange rolled into the bushes when he yanked the branch free of a snag—but no more. This was the last time. Period.

  He dumped the branches alongside the canoe, checked the shorelines, and like some migrant farmer started plucking. He wasn’t in a hurry. Not anymore. Not with Hayden acting like he was gonna cut down every damn branch on the tree.

  The canoe was beginning to look like a fruit bowl by the time he finished stripping branch #3, and he was halfway through #4 when he heard trees thrashing. Then heavy thuds, like cars slamming full speed into a wall.

  Charlie drew the revolver and crouched beside the canoe.

  Where the hillside met the beach he could see a wave of shaky tree tops edging toward the lake. Dirty plumes shot from the trees… then a tail and the stocky rear end of a dinosaur being forcibly driven from the forest. With a lunging snap of its head, the animal broke from its attacker and galloped in a tight circle snorting drool as a dozen more of the three-horned dinosaurs spilled onto the beach. As if knights at a joust, the antagonists lowered their heads and charged. Horns and shields met with a bony thud, feet gouging pits in the sand in a savage test of wills and strength.