by David Boyle
Ron threw an arm up, ducking. “Warn me before you do that, would you?”
Charlie settled against the trunk and pulled out his safety line. “Your turn, McClure….”
Charlie was harnessed in by the time Ron was in position on the branch below.
“I had no idea how messed up my hands were,” Ron said, flexing his fingers. “You need to peel a boat off a rock, this stuff is fine. But for climbing”—he jiggled the rope to Charlie—“it sucks.”
“It’s all in how ya hold it.”
“You think so huh? Stick your nose out and I’ll show you how to hold it.” Ron leaned away, gazing along the trunk. “Prentler?” A head showed sixty feet up. “We’re—ouch!—ready down here. Tell Wheajo the rope is his.”
The rope started up a few seconds later, Wheajo feeding it over the hanger and back down to Hayden, who in turn jiggled it through the branches down to Charlie. The slack came out between Hayden and the canoe, then up to Wheajo, and finally from the downside section to Charlie, who flipped the rope around the limb and caught it on the upswing.
“You sure once around is enough?”
“With all that crap between you and Wheajo… one’ll be plenty. More than that and we’ll end up with too much friction.” Ron took up the slack. “Course you could do two if you don’t mind splitting the lift three ways instead of four.”
It took a second for what he’d said to register. “‘Fraid not, McClure.” Finally with more than just bark to hang on to, Ron tied a loop in the rope about knee high. “You’re really gonna do this?”
Ron leaned against the trunk. “Not to worry. Be like riding an elevator.” He slipped the loop over his shoe, got a good two-fisted grip on the rope, then tested his weight. “Prentler, you ready up there?”
“We’ve been ready,” came the weary reply.
“Good, so am I. And watch your hands.” Ron winked at Charlie. “Ding ding! Going down,” he quipped, and stepped off the branch.
Except that he didn’t, and he hung there, just as Charlie had suspected. “Nice try.”
“Trust me, Bull, it’ll work. Just give it a pull to get me started.” Charlie yanked on the rope, and Ron started down. Slowly at first—the canoe slammed against the trunk, bonnnng!—then faster. And faster still as the rope burnished slots in the branches both high above and below. Ron went one way and the canoe the other, the aluminum half-shell banging along the trunk, honks and squeals erupting from the far end of the island.
Ron hit the ground, “Ooof!” and crumpled onto his back.
“Wow… that worked slicker’n’ snot!” The canoe thunked and yo-yoed not ten feet away. “And man, you should see this branch. I mean, this thing is smokin’!
“McClure? Hey, you okay?”
Ron had avoided all the roots but one, and somehow hadn’t let go of the rope. “Yeah,” he groaned, and got to his feet. “Did go a little faster than I planned.”
“A little?”
Ron rubbed his thigh. “Okay, a lot. But the boat’s up, and that’s the main thing.” He limped out from beneath the spray of limbs. Hayden was waiting, halfway up the tree.
“Pretty cool, McClure. Good idea.”
Ron took the comment in stride. “Unfortunately,” he said, massaging his rump, “that’s it for the easy part.” He got himself situated, then checked with Charlie. “We’re set down here, Prentler.”
Hayden called everyone to the ready. Arms extended, fists tightened on the rope. “Everybody, altogether now… pull!”
The canoe scraped up an arm’s length, and Ron cinched the rope.
Again, “Pull!” Another arm’s length… and tight.
And another, and another…
The Rockfinder clunked higher into the evergreen. It was like slow motion racing, backs and arms straining, Hayden calling cadence, the canoe lurching upward a foot, maybe two.
Birds sang in the trees. Dinosaurs squawked and hooted from various points about the lake. And a loan voice repeated over and over: “Pull…!”
They called their first break after a heady flurry of fourteen straight lifts. The next came at ten… then eight. Now, with the canoe nearing half way, five lift series were the norm, Ron batting cleanup and holding the line taut while the others worked out the inevitable cramps.
Their morning visitors had quickly become accustomed to the clanging of the boat, the former murmur of grunts and honks growing ever louder and more distinct. From an occasional glance to a constant stare, Ron had reached the point where he couldn’t take his eyes off the trees. One swished somewhere near the cove. No doubt about it, the stupid duckbills were back.
They’d dragged out every limb with a handle, yet a glance about the clearing showed the ground littered with tiny aromatic morsels. And while the adults might not bother, the little ones might.
Little ones. Right. The smallest dinosaur he remembered seeing was like twelve feet long.
“Pull…!”
Ron glanced at his rifle as he snugged the rope tight.
A limb snapped somewhere opposite the cove. A big one, judging by the tone. Shattered by an equally big foot. The forest all of a sudden seemed to be closing in.
“Okay, that’s enough of this shit. Bull, Prentler… you guys are on your own. And tell Wheajo. I need to shag these guys out of here.”
“To hell with that!” Hayden said in a panic. “My hands are about to give out.”
Charlie was nodding. “Yeah, mine too.”
“You want to dick around with the dinosaurs, fine. Just don’t go anywhere until we get the boat hung on one of these stubs.”
Ron was focused on the splashing. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Only let’s get moving.”
Hayden tracked the bow plate as the canoe crept toward a stub. “We’re close guys… another two feet. Keep it coming.” He let go of the rope when the bow hit the stub—“A little more”—then wrenched the canoe tight to the tree. “Hold it! Let down…. Good, that’s got it!
“Okay guys, it’s break time.” Hayden sighed, working his fingers. “McClure, whenever you’re ready.”
But Ron was already gone.
Even poking his head into the branches, the best Hayden could get were glimpses of movement through the leaves. The duckbills had returned in force, the honks resembling a nasally cross between a very large trumpet and an equally large clarinet. But why just listen?
“Charlie?”
“Hold on a sec,” came the reply. “Okay… now we’re tied off. Whatdya need?”
“Not a thing. Just wanted to let you know I’m going up to keep Wheajo company. No reason he should be the only one with a view.”
“Gotcha,” Charlie said, scanning, a twinge of envy in his voice. “From here about all I can see is green. I take that back. I can see a piece of the island. Oh… and the tent.”
Hayden climbed out from the maze of tree limbs and started up the corridor they’d created, his spirits soaring as the leafy shroud thinned, his every step revealing ever more of the lake and its magnificent surrounds. He lingered for a moment to gaze across the lake’s northern expanse, eyeing the rock bluff and the tree line that ran along the river. Clouds, far off in the distance, like puffs of cotton candy, drifted above gently rolling hills. And not so surprisingly, a stream far to the north, glistening like silver as it wound through the forest and patchwork pastures, with one… no, two tributaries entering from the east. He drew in a breath, head swiveling. All this… and he wasn’t at the top yet!
Wheajo was waiting as he hurried ever higher.
The view made Hayden forget all about his sore hands. The lake shimmered into the distance, its surface a cool topaz, like the sky. Wilderness in every direction, with hints of mountains far, far to the west. And below, pterosaurs skimming the surface, birds swarming about the island beyond the point. The swamp going on and on and blending with the horizon; dinosaurs of every shape, size, and color browsing its mind-numbing expanse.
“It’s just…. I just can’t…. I mean it
’s….”
Wheajo considered his recently arrived companion. “Are you ill?” he asked, the dinosaurs now his lesser priority.
“Was I jabbering?”
“Most assuredly. Do you feel ill?” Wheajo forcefully repeated. The humans always needed to be asked twice.
“No… no, not at all,” Hayden sighed. “Overwhelmed maybe, but definitely not ill.” He was as happy as he could possibly be. Their plan was on schedule, and with every sign suggesting that it would be successful, they would soon be returning home with the most fantastic memories anyone could imagine. He didn’t know how long Ron would be—he gazed across the breathtaking landscape, drinking in the sights, sounds, and wonderful smells—and knew already that days would be way too soon.
33
Ron eased quietly through the forest, ducking under and around the thickening vegetation. He felt fortunate to have had a few days to polish what his dad had called ‘The Walk’, for he had no desire to spend even an instant thinking about where or how to put down a foot. Because just ahead was an entire herd of dinosaurs. He glimpsed the curved outline of a back. Big bastards too. And your mission, came a thought out of nowhere, is to boot their sorry asses off the island. A tight grin creased his cheek. Yeah, he could do that. He hated the idea of wasting ammunition, but then… they were the reason he was sweating, and after the lizards that had gotten him damn near jumping out of his skin, it was time for a little payback.
He squeezed ahead, the dinosaurs still unaware of his presence, and through gaps in the leaves he was finally able to see more than just edges; scaly legs, arms, body parts, and occasional heads moving beyond the foliage. Then pieces of the cove and the trees on the other side. For whatever reason, the honking had stopped, and he became aware of the murmured grunts and swish of evergreen boughs filtering through the trees… and splashing, like kids in a pool. He shook his head. About all that was missing was the clack of picnic baskets.
The four paces between stops went to three. He was close now, very close, the breeze swirling about the cove laced with the distinctive, if not unpleasant smell of dinosaurs. He cocked an ear, the sounds nearby hinting at the familiar, as if he’d heard them before. Which, of course, made no sense at all.
A cautious step. His finger went to the safety. His heart pounded. The dinosaurs were down on all fours, yet he found himself staring up at their backs! He didn’t want to shoot, and hoped more than anything they’d scatter when he showed himself. He drew in a breath... safety off... and stepped forward, the rifle at his shoulder. He thought about yelling—one of the dinosaurs looked in his direction—and quickly changed his mind.
The animal rocked slowly upright, a sprig dangling from its duck-like bill. Then the others, like flexible cranes, lifting their heads to stare at the creature in the trees. A few sniffed the air. The little ones blinked. And soon jaws started working again. The big one honked. And, as if having signaled an all clear, its multi-ton companions, one after the other, simply dropped down to feed.
Ron let the rifle sag slowly across his chest.
Hulking bodies crowded along the sandbar, tails flagging as they pawed through the shrinking pile of boughs. Dwarfed by their parents, but no less enthusiastic, the smaller ones nosed in between their parents legs, eager for their share of the banquet. They didn’t seem able to bite through the twigs, instead clamping down and, with a quick twist of the head, tearing loose a mouthful.
Guffaws. Make that a billful.
The skull they’d dug up came to mind, with its banks of ridged teeth. Now he was watching them in action. There was no getting around it, the duckbills looked downright dopey. Their heads were too long, their mouths squashed as if they’d been run over by a truck, the animals without either the crests or flamboyant coloration of the other duckbills they’d seen. At that, there was a placid grace about them. Like cows….
That’s why they sound so familiar. The tones were all wrong. But the constant grunting, the contentedness… Yeah, that was the same.
The biggest of the bulls stood upright, mouthing a wilted bouquet and testing the air. A thick tongue licked from its bill and drew the leaves in. Massive, confident in its position as herd patriarch, the animal considered Ron with its limpid eyes. Working its jaw, forward and back, blinking innocence, the big hadrosaur dropped to all fours to continue its windfall meal.
Ron felt foolish at having been at all frightened. Big and powerful by even local standards, the duckbills were gentle giants in every sense of the term, and he knew in his heart they would never intentionally hurt anything. All they wanted was to fill their bellies, enjoy the sunshine, and, when the time came, make bunches more little dinosaurs.
“Stay put, fellas,” he whispered, “and you’ll get no trouble from me.” And with that, Ron turned and slipped quietly into the trees.
*****
There hadn’t been any gunshots, or yelling, or anything else other than the grunting since before Ron took off. Charlie squinted toward the sandbar, the end of the limb quivering to the rhythm of his foot. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea—
He snapped against the trunk. “Damn it! How long you been standin’ there?”
Ron cracked the bolt. “Not long,” he said, and pressed the cartridge back into the magazine.
“Yeah, well… try makin’ some noise next time. And what’s with the dopes? I thought you were gonna shag their asses outta here.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Uh huh,” said Charlie. “And why the hell’d you do that?”
“Let’s just say I didn’t want to break up the party.” Ron stepped into the clearing and searched the evergreen near the canoe. “Okay, I give up. Charlie, where’s he off…?” Hayden leaned out from the branches a ways below Wheajo. “I hope you’re that high for a reason,” he hollered.
“You mean other than for the view?” Hayden hollered back. He asked the same question as Charlie, and got the same answer. “Just so long as they’re gone by the time we come down.”
“Trust me. They’re not a problem.” Which couldn’t be said for the canoe, what with it facing the wrong way and Hayden out of position. “You know it’ll snag on the way up.”
“You guys handle your end. We’ll handle ours.”
Ron wasn’t so sure, but took hold of the rope regardless once Charlie undid the knot. “Ready up there?”
“All green,” came the reply.
“Then it’s déjà vu all over again. Okay everybody, pull…!” And a breath. “Pull…!”
And for the next uninterrupted hour the canoe rose steadily into the evergreen. There were none of the glitches Ron had expected, Hayden able simply to kick the rope out and swing the canoe past whatever stubs it encountered on its way. But the trunk this high was only a fraction of its ground level diameter, and their limb-free corridor was closing, the ever smaller, ever more numerous branches scraping the hull as the Rockfinder lurched toward its destination.
“Easy now… Okay, keep her coming.” Hayden was wedged between the boat and the trunk, pushing to clear the bow, lifting. “Once more….”
Even Wheajo was getting nervous. “You must use care or the rope will pull free.”
A carefully configured stub poked from just below the summit, the rope running over but not around the trunk as Ron had earlier suggested. And now the angle was wrong, and there was no way to fix it. Too fast on the next lifts and the canoe could fall. Hayden called down, “Easy on the rope guys! We’ve got like six feet to go and no room to play with. So whatever you do… do it slow.”
Charlie passed the warning on to Ron. “Just remember how much rope we got between us,” Ron yelled, twisted like a pretzel. “This long? There’s gotta be some stretch to it.”
Wheajo apparently agreed. “Perhaps you would be better positioned below. Lift the stern, and I will direct the bow.”
Open to any suggestion, Hayden squeezed alongside the canoe and into position. “Okay, I’m good here.”
Wheajo w
as now the lift director, and he called down to the others: “Proceed.”
Hayden tried shoving. “McClure?”
“We’re on it,” he yelled, Ron and Charlie then hauling on the rope; Hayden lifting the stern.
Scraping the trunk, the bow plate crept to within five feet of the hanger, then four… Hayden scrambling higher while Wheajo turned the canoe. “Careful there Wheajo!”—and past his shoulder—“Easy, easy…!” The rope snaked over the stub, sliding out half an inch for every six inches up. “We’re not gonna make it Wheajo! The rope’s slipping…” The alien reached out. “What the hell are—”
“Push. Push now!”
Hayden shoved, and the bow plate screeched past the hanger, Wheajo tugging the canoe until the forward support thumped into place. “Hold up!” Hayden hollered, the canoe still rising. “Stop! We’re on!” The canoe settled onto the stub, yips and hollers carrying from below when the rope went slack, Ron and Charlie dancing in circles. “We did it,” said Hayden, and rapped the hull. “We actually did.”
Even Wheajo seemed pleased. “Indeed, our major task is complete. You and your friends have done well.”
“Fess up. You didn’t think we could do it at all.”
“The exercise, as you say, had its moments.”
“You mean like that stunt you just pulled? Hanging on the boat…? Gutsy move.”
“An improvisation I can assure you.”
“Whatever you call it,” said Hayden, latching his arm around the trunk. “How about you not do that again?” He tugged the fanny pack around. “Let me get my end tied,” he said, unzipping, “and you can do yours.” Ron, far below, was all smiles. “If you guys are done celebrating, how about tying on the lightning rod?”
“You need to fish this end back along the corridor first,” Ron said. “And while I’ve got you, have Wheajo stick his ugly mug out where I can see him…. Hell of a job there guys. Good going. And that’s from both of us.”