by David Boyle
*****
The boats were loaded. Their bellies were full. And even the weather was cooperating, bright and sunny enough to keep the dinosaurs penned in the trees, and a breeze to cool them while they worked. Everything they could possibly need or use was primed and ready.
Hayden was pumped, sore palms and shoulder or no. He’d never been to the Cape, or seen a green missile, but, add some smoke here and there, and the evergreen looked damned near like a rocket ready to take off. One last climb. This time for real! Already he could see the canoe, dangling from the top. Just waiting. And when the storm came….
Ron slid the Tripper into the water. “Prentler, get a move on. We don’t have all day.”
“Hold on a minute. Wheajo, Bull….”
Charlie reached up and hung himself with an invisible noose. “Now what!?” he grumped, dangling his tongue from the side of his face.
Hayden looked from the evergreen to the far side of the lake. “I’m thinking we got a problem.”
“Uh huh,” Ron said. “I know if I thought about it I’d find one too. This better be important.”
Hayden cleared his throat. “Hear me out before you go jumping in, okay? We set the canoe up and head home to wait for a storm to blow through. And bang… one does, say three days from now.”
“Hopefully.”
“We should be so lucky.”
Wheajo shot the humans a look. “Please continue.”
“We’re what? Seven, eight miles upriver… something like that? We won’t know one way or the other if the storm hit the lake much less if lightning nailed the transporter. So we paddle back. Then hike to the lake. Then have to paddle all the way here.” He paused. “You see where this is going?”
All Hayden got were stares.
“I hear what you’re sayin’, only we knew all that days ago when Wheajo laid everything out.”
“Yeah, before we got here. And that’s part of the problem.”
“Damn it, Prentler, get to the point.”
“The point, McClure, is that it’s a bitch just getting here. And then we have to cross the lake—which we still need to figure out how we’re going to do—then climb to the top of that thing to check whether Wheajo’s time-shifter is charged. The getting from shore to the island isn’t going to be easy no matter what we come up with. And the climb? Hell… that’s no walk in the park either. And that’s not the worst of it. What if storms blow by every other day… and every time we get here we end up having to shag dinosaurs off the island before we can land? Even if they’re the same ones we just got rid of,” he turned to Ron, “we can end up spending what I assume by the look on your face earlier is a lot of valuable ammunition. And unless we get lucky, and the first trip is also our last, we end up with what? Nada.”
A few seconds was all it took for what Hayden had said to register, heads turning as each of them ran through the scenario he’d presented. If there was a hole, it wasn’t obvious. But how to check the translocator without physically examining the device itself?
“God damn it, Wheajo, this is your idea. Think of something!”
“Revisiting the island does present a potential strain on our resources. However, I am at a loss for an alternative.”
“That’s bullshit. Can’t you get it to send out a signal or something?”
“The brizva transmits only when activated. It has no innate capability to allow remote monitoring of its status.”
Ron kicked at the sand. “I knew something like this would happen.”
“Stay calm,” said Hayden, thinking maybe he shouldn’t have opened his mouth.
“Well, didn’t I?”
Charlie drifted alongshore, glancing now and again across the channel at the evergreen, standing straight and tall in the morning sun. He scratched his forehead. His wasn’t the sharpest broadhead in the quiver, yet he couldn’t help but think he’d encountered a similar situation. Whatever it was squirreling around in his head, he knew he’d never be able to coax it into the open until he put some distance between himself and Ron’s constant grousing.
As if staring at a scrambled puzzle, Charlie scanned the adjacent forest, the shoreline, the channel, and nearing the end of the island the trail leading into the forest. The slot through the trees—their work trail—yeah, that was a piece too. He studied the evergreen, squinting into the sun, and imagined the Rockfinder strapped to its summit.
And all at once the pieces fell into place.
“Hey!” he yelled down the beach. “You can stop with the third degree, McClure. I know how to do this.” Charlie stood shaking his head. Who said hunting never paid off?
“Okay,” Ron said, splashing alongshore. “What have you got?”
“Why’d we bring weapons this time?” Charlie asked when Hayden and Wheajo caught up. “I mean shit, it’s not like they’re a regular part of the trip list.”
“We were supposed to be bear hunting. So…?”
“Yeah, bear huntin’. You ever see how they do it in Canada?” Charlie had the answer for a change, and he loved the confused look on their faces.
“Come on, Bull, what’s that got to do with anything?”
Charlie smiled, relishing the moment. “They hunt from baits. Lots of ‘em. And none of ‘em fancy. Stale donuts the bakeries throw out, with honey or other stuff sprinkled on top. Sweet shit mostly. Anything, so long’s it’s smelly. So they put down a bunch of donuts, then pile logs on top. Big stuff heavy enough that foxes and raccoons can’t get at the bait. Logs, trees, anything so long as it’s heavy. Which don’t mean nothin’ to the bears on account they’ll rip through pretty much anything to get at those donuts.
“So you set a bait, then check it every day to see if it’s been hit. But it’s like you said McClure, they got good ears, and an even better nose. Go stompin’ through the woods to check the bait, and there’s a chance you’ll end up leavin’ your scent. And once that happens, ole blackie ain’t never comin’ back.”
“Bull, would you—”
“So they flag the baits. Plastic pails, old milk jugs, anything so long as it can be spotted from a long ways off. They tie whatever it is to a pole and jam it in the middle of that big pile of logs.” Charlie waited, a smile creeping when he saw Hayden staring up and nodding at the evergreen. “You got it now?”
“That’s really pretty clever.”
Even Wheajo admired its simplicity. “A most elegant solution.”
“What the hell are you guys talking about?”
“Charlie, tell him before he explodes all over us.”
“We make a flag out of something… a shirt maybe, and tie it to the lightning rod. Then if, I mean when it gets struck, the tie points burn through and the flag drops away….”
Ron smacked his forehead. “Talk about dense! So we’ll still have the hike to do, but once we get to the lake, all we’ll need to check is the binoculars.”
“Yeah. We only get wet when we’re successful.”
Hayden was digging through his clothes when Charlie crawled into the tent. “For all the stuff I normally drag along you’d think I’d have brought something I didn’t need. Which I did… sort of…,” he said, holding up the bloodied remnants of shirt number two. “Not much left of this one.”
“That’s for sure,” Charlie said, reaching into his pack. “And don’t worry about it, Prentler. This one I got covered.” He felt around and shortly pulled out a very small, neatly folded T-shirt. Charlie slumped on his heels, his eyes glistening as he considered the tiny bundle in his hands.
“Something special there, Bull?”
“Yeah. It’s Mikey’s.”
“That’s your little guy, right?”
“Uh huh. We took him down to see my folks for his fifth birthday. They live just outside of Orlando, so naturally we made a side trip to Disney World.
“And talk about excited! Him bein’ five an’ all. His sister was only three. That whole trip… I don’t know who had more fun, him or me. I’d been so darn busy w
ith that housing project west of Elgin that I hadn’t been spendin’ much time at home. Workin’… keepin’ the yard up. You know how that goes…. So that was my first chance to do something really fun with him in a while. I mean, hell, just gettin’ out of Illinois was different. I’m not sure what he was lookin’ forward to more, seein’ Granny and Grandpa… or the Magic Kingdom. He was like flyin’ around the house for weeks before we left.
“Donita was a coupla months pregnant, so she stayed with the stroller most of the time while Mikey and me did the roller coasters.” Charlie thought for a second, then chuckled. “Even had him stand on my shoes once, you know, so’s he could be tall enough to get on the ride? Still gets to gigglin’ when he talks about it. Standing on my shoes.” He sighed, the memory still painfully close. “Little bugger remembers that like I remember sneakin’ into the movies.”
“You too? Funny how stuff like that stays with you.”
“So we’d been up and down Main Street half a dozen times when Donita says she’s got to get off her feet. And Mikey starts up with his ‘Pulheeese daddy’. Like gettin’ a souvenir was the most important thing in the world.”
“To a five-year-old…? Hell yes.”
“I guess. Anyway, Mikey’s got me by the pants leg and drags me into this shop. There’s a million people… and I’m not kiddin’. Not really my kinda place. But Mike goes bouncin’ in like he owns the place… zippin’ in an’ out between people’s legs… me bangin’ along behind. Like I was on a leash. But nobody cared. Mostly cause they had kids doin’ pretty much the same thing.
“I don’t remember what all I ended up buyin’. Hats and shirts… Mickey Mouse ears. Some for Mike and some for Anita. Linda too. Only she wasn’t born yet, so I had to get stuff in blue and in pink.”
“Got to cover all the bases.”
“And this was his favorite. Mike calls it his lucky shirt, though I never have figured out why. And once he got too big to wear it, he’d be there, just like, what…? A week ago, watchin’ me pack. Won’t let me go on any of these trips without me bringin’ his lucky shirt along.”
“So Daddy will have good luck too.”
Charlie sniffed. “Yeah, he’s always worrying about his daddy.”
Ron poked his head in. “What’s taking you guys so long? If you can’t find anyth—”
“It’s okay, Ron. I got some dental floss and Bull’s got a shirt we can use.” Hayden gave Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come on, Bull, we’ve got climbing to do.”
Charlie hesitated. “You don’t think he’d mind, do you? I mean… what if I can’t bring it back?”
“Not to worry. Bring it back or not, your Mikey’s going to be the happiest kid on the planet when he hears that his shirt—his lucky shirt—was what helped get his daddy home.”
A grin spread across Charlie’s face. “Yeah. I guess he would.”
“Okay,” Charlie said, following Hayden out of the tent. “Think we’ll be able to spot this from across the lake?” He snapped his son’s T-shirt, and Mickey Mouse spilled into the sunshine.
Ron seemed relieved. “For a minute there I figured it was going to be something in camouflage. A smidge on the small size, maybe. But yeah. Mickey will do just fine.”
Wheajo was curious. “A creature of some importance?”
“Sure as hell,” Ron said, propping the lightning rod so it stuck out over the end of the canoe. “He’s what you’d call a real character in our time.”
They marked the tie points and, unsure as to whether the jacket would melt when the time came, stripped sections of the cable forming the transmission line down to bare metal. Secured with dental floss, their Mickey Mouse strike indicator was soon fluttering in the breeze.
“I probably shouldn’t ask…,” Ron said, “but are we ready yet?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Hayden said. “Wheajo?”
“We may proceed.”
Ron sighed. “It’s about time.”
Charlie ruddered, letting the Grumman coast while Ron and Hayden dragged the Tripper ashore. “It’s gonna be hard, ya know? Leavin’ her behind and all by herself in the woods.”
Wheajo slid around on his seat. “You are referring…?”
“To my baby,” he said, patting the hull. “She’s a beater, but I know where most every ding came from. Where I was when it happened. The times I screwed up. Spent weeks… no, prob’ly more like months in this here boat. And now it’s like… like she’s part of me.”
“A not uncommon affliction, I can assure you.”
Charlie frowned. “You make it sound like a disease.”
“Then perhaps a symbiosis,” Wheajo said. “A recognition of complementary capabilities. Indeed, a merger of vessel and crew.”
“Uh huh. Well… yeah, I guess that fits.” Ron waved them in while Hayden finished tying up alongshore. “Whatever,” Charlie said, taking up his paddle. “I’m not gonna feel comfortable until she’s back on the water.”
They grounded near the foot of the path, and after stowing Charlie’s paddles in the Tripper, hauled the Grumman over the bank and into the woods. The path was curvy and the trees more closely spaced than they realized, and only by tipping the canoe on its side were Charlie and Ron able to squeeze the boat through. Birds flitted among the trees despite the ruckus, their songs mingling with the murmured grunts and calls spiriting constantly from around the lake.
Charlie stumbled into the clearing, Ron struggling with the stern. “What a pain in the ass,” he said, slowing at the base of the evergreen and glancing back at Ron, the two then offloading the canoe. “And what happened to the wind?”
Hayden stopped just inside the trees, got Ron’s attention, and handed him the rifle. “Has gotten a little sticky,” he agreed, spreading his arms while Wheajo squeezed past with the lightning rod.
“A little sticky?” Ron plucked at his shirt. “Getting to feel—I’ll take that Wheajo—more like a sauna if you ask me.” Honks wafted through the muggy air, loud, close. “Pricks,” he grumbled, propping the rifle and lightning rod against the evergreen. “Except for them, we might have been done already.”
“And to delay further will serve only to permit conditions to worsen.” Wheajo ran briefly through the positions Hayden and Charlie were to take, and with a long climb ahead, took hold of the rope and started up.
Hayden shook the rope from the last of their throw bags. “Be with you in a minute, Wheajo. I just need to undo these knots.”
“Save your fingers for the climb,” Ron said, holding the line for Wheajo. “You worry about whether that fits right, Charlie can handle the knots. And before I forget… Once you get situated, you need to remind Wheajo about routing the rope over the hanger and back around the branch lower down. It’s important, so make sure he doesn’t forget.”
Hayden snugged the fanny pack around his waist. “Uh huh,” he said, stepping onto the first notch, “like that’s gonna happen. That’s Mister Clean we’re talking about, remember?”
“Don’t give me that. We can’t afford having it slip.”
“Over and back around,” Hayden repeated, starting up the evergreen. “Okay, so I’ll remind him. Anything else?”
Ron twisted away, dodging bits of bark. “Yeah, quit dropping that shit on my head.”
With the knots undone and the throw bag temporarily discarded, the last of their rescue lines made the connection between the canoe’s forward thwart and the loose end hanging from the evergreen. The three rescue ropes together totaled just under 200 feet, which, while too short for a round trip, was close enough for Charlie to reach once stationed on any of the lowermost branches.
A last check on the knots holding the dawzon assembly and they wrestled Charlie’s Rockfinder upright, the hull against the trunk so the thwarts wouldn’t snag whatever stubs were left on the way up. It was a later start than they’d expected, warmer too, with shafts of sunlight spearing through the overhead branches and leaves. Charlie wiped his forehead. “You wanna go first
?”
Ron stared into the evergreen, its mammoth spire jutting past the surrounding trees, blue sky above. “No. I do that and you’d end up having to climb around me. And I’m not sure the branches are situated to where we’ll have that kind of room.” He spat in his hands, still craning. “I’ll manage.”
Charlie could see he was nervous. Ron wasn’t much for trees, or any climbing for that matter. “Last time up,” he said, taking hold of the rope. “Keep tellin’ yourself that and it won’t seem so bad.”
Ron admitted he’d been doing that all morning. “I’m okay. I got up there once… I can do it again.” Even the lowest branches were a hell of a long ways up. “You know where we’re going?”
“Yeah. That big guy.” Charlie pointed. “Fourth one up and a little to the left? You can take the one just below it.”
“Got it,” Ron said. “Okay, go ahead. I’ll hold her steady.”
With a good 24 hours having passed since the storm, the bark was dry and the footing solid, and Charlie found himself making an easy go of scaling the big evergreen, hoisting himself along, one notch at a time. He’d done his share of hunting from tree stands, but never from this high. And the trees he’d used normally had branches to climb. And if not he’d fitted them with either screws or climbing blocks. Chunks of two-by-four even, nailed up the side. The whole cutting notches thing was new.
Hayden was high overhead, Wheajo higher still, the branches they were climbing marking the years. The earliest were long gone, but count the layers—Charlie smiled—and just like that, he’d have a fix on how old the evergreen was. Centuries, he was sure. He climbed onto the limb, then walked its sisters around to the side opposite the corridor they’d cut along the trunk. Bleached and weathered, though still with lengths of bark attached, the limb was stiff and very brittle, bits and pieces flying into the trees when he tested it with his foot.