Window In Time

by David Boyle

  “You sure that was Boy Scout?” Ron said, wandering toward the tent. “Seems to me that happened higher up. In Horserace maybe. Or what’s the rapid after… Twenty Day?”

  Hayden squinted into the darkness, “Yeah, they are kind of bang, bang, so that could be. The good thing is, he doesn’t get near as flustered as he used to, and after all the rapids we’ve done together I’ve gotten pretty good at picking up on what he’s thinking.

  “The new stuff can still get me. The not knowing what’s around the next bend. You think about all the rivers we’ve been on, it’s a miracle we’re alive and in one piece.”

  “There is another choice?”

  “Not really.”

  “Sure there is,” Charlie said, toeing a log deeper into the fire. “You screw up and trash your boat and end up walkin’. Simple. We’ve just been lucky.”

  “Your belief in happenstance is an illusion,” Wheajo said. “I have experienced but a modicum of the turbulence about which you speak, and have no doubt I could not have done so well as you.”

  Hayden piped up. “That’s only because you don’t have the experience.”

  “Precisely.”

  Ron came strolling from the darkness. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that sounded like a compliment.”

  “An observation,” Wheajo replied.

  The wind rustled the trees, ghosts of pale orange playing across the forest opposite the channel, the fire sending a spark-filled plume swirling alongshore. Garbled calls drifted on the windy darkness.

  “Boat’s up. Raft’s all put together….”

  “So?” Hayden said.

  “So what better time for a toast?”

  “Uh huh,” Charlie said. “And what with?”

  Ron waggled his hand, a faint metallic sheen glinting in the firelight.

  “Now there’s a sight I didn’t expect.”

  Charlie did a double take. “How’d you manage that? I’ve been through our packs gotta be half a dozen times and—”

  “None of your business. Just get over here. You too, Prentler, Wheajo. This is a special occasion and we’ve got to do this right.” Ron popped open the only can of Boulder Beer ever to make it to Bennett’s Lake. “To challenges met and overcome,” he said, and took a sip.

  “To storms,” Hayden said. “And the sooner the better.” He tipped his head back. “I’ll be damn if that’s not pretty good even warm. Bull….”

  Charlie looked them all square in the eye. “To family,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, his voice cracking. “To birthdays and seein’ our kids grow up. To seein’ our wives and girlfriends… and makin’ love again. To—”

  Ron patted Charlie’s shoulder. “Ease on down there, big fella. We got a big part of this job behind us, but there’s still a ways to go.”

  Charlie took his turn at the can and handed off to Wheajo.

  “To friends and comrades,” the alien said, his eyes aglow in the firelight. “Whatever the species.”

  The can made endless rounds in the hours that followed, as if by the mere act of holding it they were able to establish a link to the world from which they’d come. Waves lapped the shoreline. The fire hissed and sputtered. And around them creatures great and small called from the darkness.

  Still, they were alone. Alone and yet with a very long ways to go.

  35

  Dawn crept like a thief across the Cretaceous landscape, sullen skies drifting steadily from the southwest. The whitecaps were lessening, a disgruntled chop yet surging around the point and along the channel, the waves churning the near shoreline turbid with sand and debris. The breeze was uncommonly cool, and if numbers were any indication, well suited to the locals whose exotic trumpeting and storied grunts rose and fell with the vagaries of the wind.

  Wheajo had spent the night beside the fire, adding fuel periodically and monitoring the evergreen for any tensile decay in the ropes binding the canoe. There had been no indications of distress, yet with the thick overcast partially obscuring the treetop, even he had been reliant on first light to confirm the integrity of the various tie downs. He would of course perform an in situ verification when the dawzon was activated, his attention at the moment centered on the exceptional number of dinosaurs prowling the shorelines, and most certainly the forests.

  The humans in the last hour had begun making brief forays into the mist, staring about and grumbling as seemed their morning routine, and just as quickly returning to the tent. Their rations were depleted and the weather inclement, a combination that Wheajo was certain would provide the humans cause to request the earliest possible departure. He was equally certain that to do so prematurely would enhance their risk of creature encounters on their trek.

  The golden-haired human stumbled from the tent, covered this time in a gray plastic sheet.

  Wheajo prepared for the inevitable confrontation.

  “This sucks,” Charlie said, clutching a poncho to his chest.

  “You are, I presume, referring to the environmental conditions.”

  Charlie nodded. “Sure hasn’t affected them much,” he said, spotting movement on the beach at the far end of the channel. Then farther back, toward where he and Hayden had gotten the broranges. And across the lake. “Man oh man… they’re everywhere. I woulda thought they’d be holed up when it got this cold.”

  “Their daily routine does appear to have undergone a rather severe transformation.”

  “Guess we’re just gonna hafta hang tight for a while.” Charlie caught the look. “You know… stay put until they skeeedaddle?” he said, walking his fingers through the air. “A pain in the butt if you ask me.” He looked to the raft, nodding as if to himself, and snugging the poncho, headed for end of the island.

  Ron was the last one out. “Anything around here to eat?” he scowled, long minutes later, glaring at the sky.

  Hayden was warming his hands by the fire. “I’m not sure about the stuff from yesterday, but I know there’s a piece or two of jerky left. Burn the mold off…,” he shrugged, “and it might be okay.”

  “I’ll pass.” Ron looked to Wheajo. “You seen Charlie this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn it, cut the crap already. Which way’d he go?”

  “You can find your plasticized friend at the end of the island,” the alien replied, careful to indicate which end as well.

  “Was he wearing the holster…?”

  “He was.”

  …and started off along the beach.

  Hayden watched him go. “I’ve seen that look, McClure. What are you up to?”

  “I’m hungry,” he snapped, not bothering even to turn. “And with what’s out this morning… there’s gotta be something I can kill.”

  “But I thought you were low on ammunition.” Ron said nothing, and simply kept going. “Wheajo, aren’t you going to stop him?”

  “No,” he answered dryly. “Are you?”

  Hayden was back to skipping stones again when Ron and Charlie came hustling through the drippy underbrush. “You get the spears,” Ron said, slashing his way. “I’ll get the paddles.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “You’re not actually—” Hayden jumped aside when Ron hustled past on his way to the canoe. Then Charlie, with a spear in each hand. “Guys, hold on a minute….” But neither was listening. “Come on now, you can’t do this!” The Tripper was out and floating only moments later, Hayden watching in a near panic. “Have you guys gone crazy?”

  Twin paddles hit the water. “Stoke the fire, Prentler.”

  “And make it a big one, cause we ain’t comin’ back empty.”

  Hayden stood there with his mouth open. “But I thought….” He looked to the mainland, blinking, then turned and trotted along the beach. “You coming?”

  Wheajo fell in behind. “Most assuredly,” he said, a limp in his step. He was curious too.

  *****

  Smoke drifted along the channel, a hastily fashioned spit holding chunks of meat ov
er the flames. Ron cocked his head, chewing. “Is different. I don’t know, a little like—”

  “It’s not like chicken,” Hayden said, nosing a drumstick. “Hell, not even close.” He sniffed. “What is that…? Fish?”

  “Quit complaining,” Charlie said, gnawing his way along what passed for a breast bone. “We’re eatin’ ain’t we?”

  “And how many rounds did we use?”

  Charlie smiled, his index finger tucked along his thump. “Zippo!”

  “And that, my friend, is the best part.” Ron and Charlie smacked hands.

  For all its isolation, Bird Island had been a death trap for the numerous fledglings who, in spite of concerted attacks on the part of their parents, had been plump and easy pickings at the point of a spear. Charlie hadn’t gotten away unscathed, a nick still oozing above his ear. Then too, that particular dive-bombing attacker was now part of breakfast.

  “A rather novel use of a paddle.” Wheajo seemed genuinely amused.

  “I got my head in the bushes, and I’m trying to get Charlie to stop rocking the damn boat. And all of a sudden I hear him yelling. Then a splash. And I look back, and here’s this… well, sort of bird, flopping alongside with Bull beating the thing with the paddle. Lucky it wasn’t wood, or the fucker’d be broken.”

  “It’s not… like….” Charlie choked down his latest bite. “It’s not like he gave me a choice. I mean, what the hell? Little prick was tryin’ to pluck the eyeballs outta my head.” He picked up the tail and gave it a shake. “Almost looks normal, don’t it?”

  “A little maybe.” Ron took a sip from the canteen. “Reminds me a little of a pheasant.”

  Hayden frowned. “Do they even make white pheasants?”

  “They do here,” Charlie said with a laugh.

  Hayden stuck his hand out. “Let me see that again.” The feathers weren’t white, exactly, more various shades of gray with a hint of banding, paired quills fanning along the sides of a very unbird-like set of bones. Like a lizards’ tail, except with feathers. “Weird, but in a cool kind of way.”

  “You bet weird.” Charlie swallowed. “That little jewel I’m takin’ home.”

  “No doubt it’d raise some eyebrows.”

  “An admirable goal,” Wheajo said, recognizing the tail’s scientific value. “However, in these conditions….”

  “You’re thinkin’ it’ll rot.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’m not worried. We get back to camp, first thing I’m gonna do is salt it. Pull the bone out. Fill it with salt… it’ll keep.”

  Ron moseyed over and rinsed his hands in the channel. “And while we’re on the subject of camp, how about we get this show on the road? Mark and Tony ought to be getting pretty lonesome about now.”

  “Sounds okay to me,” Hayden said.

  “Should we not allow time for the animals to resume their daily routine?”

  “On a day like this?” Ron shook his head. “With the temperature down, and misting… everything and anything with legs is going be moving all day.” The overcast had finally cleared the treetops, though the sun was still hours from burning it away. And whether they liked the cool or the lack of sunshine, the dinosaurs seemed willing to stay put for as long as conditions lasted. Wheajo was not encouraged. “I’m not going to fight you on this, Wheajo…”

  “Now there’s a switch,” Hayden said.

  “…only I will point out that the wind’s been changing all morning.”

  Charlie sat up, then realized the wind was at his back. “Oh man….”

  “You’re not surprised, are you?”

  For however long it was going to take, the wind was going to make the long trip home even longer. That after they’d activated the dawzon, taken the tent down, and gotten it and everything else packed. Then paddled the raft…

  Wheajo swept the shorelines, the all-too-abundant dinosaurs weighing heavily on his mind.

  “Ain’t no gettin’ around ‘em, Wheajo. And McClure’s right. They’re out now, and five’ll get you ten they’re gonna stay out. I’ve had shots at deer in the middle of the day in weather like this.”

  “The animals to which you refer are nocturnal?”

  “Mostly. Gone by ten and back out feedin’ by four or so. Like clockwork almost. Unless it’s rainin’ or misty, like now.”

  “Then there exists no reason to delay. We shall strike the camp and proceed in due course.”

  The all-important task of activating the dawzon fell to Hayden. While his injury was minor, the climb was not, and Wheajo had acquiesced on condition that should he encounter any difficulties, he was to abandon the effort.

  “It’s my neck too, Wheajo. I find any glitches, believe me… you’ll know.”

  Charlie had the rifle and had taken a position at the end of the island, an activity Hayden noticed only when he and Ron were halfway across the channel.

  “What’s Bull up to?”

  “Call him an insurance agent,” Ron said, explaining that he and Charlie thought they’d heard something earlier.

  “Wonderful. And just when the hell were you going to tell me?”

  Ron steered a course toward the trail leading to the evergreen. “It was need-to-know, Prentler. And you didn’t.”

  Hayden made short work of the climb, which Ron found amazing for a guy who was mostly arms and legs. The air was thick, the tree lines sullen gray in the distance. The Ruger handgun twitched faintly at his chest.

  Yesterday, trees and bushes and other crap had been crowded so tight around the base of the evergreen that he couldn’t see ten yards, which he didn’t like. Now it was all bent, twisted, or broken; the wind blowing, the trees creaking… every damn bit of which he liked even less. A piece of bark rattled through the branches, and he nearly lost his balance when he came around with the revolver. “What the…?” It took him a second, but he was standing in the footprint of a tyrannosaur. “Hurry up and get done already.”

  Hayden worked his head out from inside the Grumman’s hull. “I think I already am,” he yelled from high up in the tree.

  “Good. Then come on down.”

  “I would, except that I haven’t been able to figure out if it’s on or not.”

  That didn’t make any sense. “Aren’t there any lights? A hum or something?”

  “Not that I can see. And I’ve tried listening, but with this wind….”

  Ron bit down. “Stay put, and I’ll check with the boss.” Wheajo and Charlie were waiting when he trotted to the bank.

  “What’s the deal?”

  “He says he can’t tell if he’s got the dawzon fired up or not. What do I tell him, Wheajo?”

  “You may tell him to come down.”

  “You mean it’s working?”

  “Hell yeah it’s workin’,” Charlie said, holding up his compass. “Thing’s got the needle frickin’ pegged.” He waved to Hayden. “You’re good. Come on down already.” The wind was rattling the branches, the whole upper half of the evergreen swaying as Hayden waved casually back. “What a dumbshit.”

  Ron hurried back to their recently disrupted clearing.

  “So…?” Hayden asked, huddled beside the canoe atop the windblown evergreen. “What’d they say?”

  “That you’re a dumbshit. Now get the hell down here before I make you swim back.”

  Their personal belongings had been stuffed in the dump bags; the tent, hatchet, and whatever else placed in the backpack along with the remaining broranges; the campsite scoured to ensure they didn’t leave anything behind. The trip to the river was mostly downhill, and they had unanimously decided to tie everything in and simply drag the Tripper, packs and all, the whole way. The axe went on the bottom, the spears and rifle pinned temporarily under the tie-downs so they wouldn’t bounce around. The wind quartered across the lake, misty and miserably cold.

  “Okay,” Ron said, “so who wants to paddle what?”

  “I’ll take the canoe.”

  “Me too,” Hayden said.
>
  Ron wasn’t surprised. “I suppose you don’t want to paddle the thing either.”

  “On the contrary,” Wheajo said. “For however long we must wait, I will eventually be returning. It follows therefore that I use the opportunity to gain experience propelling the vessel.”

  “Makes sense.” Ron traded looks with his partners. “Which leaves us.”

  “You neither, huh?”

  “Paddle that barge? Hell no. Having to wear this stupid rain gear is bad enough. The soggy feet thing I can do without.”

  Hayden dug in his pockets. “Anybody got a coin?” They didn’t.

  “Lemme go cut some twigs and we can draw lots.”

  “I do not understand,” said Wheajo.

  “To see who gets the albatross,” Hayden said before filling in the details.

  “There is no selection necessary,” Wheajo said. “You will come with me.”

  Ron jabbed Charlie with an elbow. “Good choice.”

  “And why’s that?” Hayden wanted to know.

  “If I were to become incapacitated, are either of your friends capable of climbing the tree?” Wheajo paused while the blue-eyed human’s gaze shifted to the top of the evergreen, his expression saying more than words. “I thought not.”

  “Hope you didn’t pack your sneakers.”

  “Shut up, McClure.”

  The raft was too ungainly to be paddled separately and make decent headway, and so was linked to the canoe with a rescue line. Crews boarded their vessels, paddles soon digging as they began their long journey home.

  Their strokes became synchronized as the paired vessels lurched slowly along the channel, past the forests that had been their home and protection, and eventually into the lake proper. The wind and waves, now unencumbered, came slashing across the open expanse, rocking the Tripper and washing constantly over the raft. No one was spared a wet crossing, a long arduous hour passing before they were nearing shore.

  Drenched, cold, and ever more occupied with scanning the shoreline, Hayden noticed a tree sway off to his left. The entire forest was in motion, of course, and what caught his attention was that this tree seemed not to have any leaves. He thumbed the mist from his glasses, and spotted two more. One of which turned slowly as if to look in his direction