Outside, the wind dropped into silence for a moment and then picked up with another gust. Caleb lifted his head, listening curiously. Some sound outside had caught his attention, but he couldn’t identify it. The wind whipped and howled, then died down again after a few more minutes. For a moment, Caleb heard a distinct whistling chirp outside the window, followed by a metallic crash and clinking glass. The howling wind resumed, and Caleb was left sitting perfectly still, staring intensely at the window. Nothing was visible in the blackness outside. In the study, Aunt Carol continued laughing and talking. The fire crackled and cast its orange light around the room.
Finally, Caleb rose to his feet and crossed slowly into the back hall near the kitchen. The wind shook the door that led out onto the porch, and the dark window still revealed nothing. Caleb inched cautiously up to the door, peering through the inset window with wide eyes.
The sky was thick and dark with clouds, and the mountains were black shapes in a black landscape. Aunt Carol’s truck was barely visible in the light from the windows. Caleb could see the trash barrels sitting in the truck’s bed, waiting to be driven off to the dump. The wind surged again, blowing snow, twigs, and other debris across the yard.
Caleb almost cried out loud as a small shape rolled in front of the truck, then clattered to the ground. Quickly, Caleb realized that the shape was the lid from one of the garbage cans. He peered back at the truck in puzzlement.
Two of the cans stood neatly in place with their lids firmly closed, but the third was lying on its side, barely visible inside the bed of the truck. It was rolling back and forth, banging against the sides of the bed. The wind slowed, then died down again. It took Caleb a moment to realize that the trashcan was still rolling about energetically, even after the wind died down. He thought he could hear the strange chirping noise again, coming from the back of the truck.
Caleb started reaching for the switch that would turn on the porch light, but remembered that it had burnt out earlier that week and hadn’t been replaced yet. He gripped the door handle in one cold hand, and looked out once more at the rattling trashcan. The wind blew against the door, forcing Caleb to lean into it as he pushed it open. He stepped out onto the dark porch, shielding his eyes from his wildly blowing hair. The can was turned now, unable to roll back and forth but still rattling and clanging. Gripping the railing tightly, Caleb climbed down the porch steps, then began creeping cautiously toward the truck. He could hear what sounded like several animals chirping and hooting in the bed of the truck. Small clangs and scraping sounds echoed above the stinging wind. Already, Caleb was feeling the chill of the winter air sink through his thin shirt. By the time he was within ten feet of the truck, his skin tingled with goose bumps and his teeth chattered loudly. The chirping and whistling continued in the back of the truck, but Caleb wasn’t tall enough to see into the bed. He began circling the vehicle slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, although the wind obscured most sounds.
Once he had circled to the back of the truck, only a couple of feet away from the tailgate, the wind suddenly died down again. He could clearly hear high-pitched, trilling squeaks and whistles coming from the fallen garbage can. Caleb stood perfectly still, waiting for the return of the wind that would conceal his approach. He almost jumped and ran when a stray piece of foil wrapper flew out over the tailgate and brushed his face, but his nerves held.
After a moment, the wind picked up again, and Caleb began to climb onto the rear bumper, hoping to peer silently over the edge of the tailgate. He managed to perch, crouched on his knees, on the edge of the rear bumper. The truck rocked slightly, but the wind had been rocking it much harder, and his presence went unnoticed.
With agonizing slowness, Caleb reached up to grasp the top edge of the tailgate. He planned to just barely peer over the edge and into the bed, hopefully unseen. His hand found a grip on rusty metal and peeling paint, then a loud metallic click rang in his ears. As the tailgate swung out over him, he realized that he had grabbed the broken latch mechanism, causing the tailgate to fall open.
The tailgate swung out and down, knocking Caleb from his perch and into the snow-dusted dirt with a dull thump. He struggled to draw a breath as the rear of the truck erupted in panicked squeals and whistles. Before Caleb could even fill his stunned lungs, a flurry of small shapes spilled out of the truck. At least a couple dozen small, birdlike animals came running and leaping off the tailgate, landing in the dirt around and on top of Caleb. He flailed his arms and gasped as the tiny bird-like feet pummeled his legs, chest and head. In all the flurry, he could barely make out sleek, long-tailed forms, chicken-sized and somewhat similar to both birds and lizards. His groping hands and arms brushed against tiny, warm bodies covered in a fine coat of fuzzy down. Brilliant green eyes glinted in the dim light, and tiny mouths opened, screeching in fear and displaying their pointy tongues and tiny rows of sharp teeth.
By the time Caleb was able to draw a full breath, the animals had darted away, disappearing around the corner of the house. Caleb lay on his back, drawing a gulp of freezing, garbage-scented air into his chest, then he let it all out in a wild scream of terror and excitement.
Inside the house, Aunt Carol dropped her phone, then her tea fell on top of that, as Caleb’s cry penetrated the cold night air. The sound was half a shriek of primal fear and half a cry of exultant triumph. Carol rushed through the living room and out through the back door onto the porch, her blood hammering in her head. She scanned right and left, searching for Caleb, then spotted him lying in the dirt behind the truck.
He was covered in loose scraps of garbage, with snow and dirt in his hair, holding one fist up in the air like an Olympic runner with the torch. Carol bolted over to him, almost slipping on the patchy ice. By the time she reached his side, she saw that his panicked cries had changed into hysteric fits of laughter and incoherent hollering.
Caleb’s eyes had a wild, ecstatic gleam as Carol helped him up on his shaky legs. He still held one hand out in front of him in a white-knuckled fist.
“What happened?” Aunt Carol asked in a fear-tinged voice. “Are you okay? Was it coyotes? Are you hurt?”
For the first time, Caleb spoke clearly.
“Compsognathus!” he shouted gleefully.
“What?” Carol thought that he might have slipped on the ice, hit his head. Could he be delirious? Hallucinating?
“Compsognathus!” Caleb yelled again. “Compsognathus longipes! I’m sure of it, Aunt Carol. Dozens of ‘em!”
“Come inside, Caleb,” Aunt Carol pleaded, brushing at his hair and checking for bruises or bleeding. Caleb let her guide him inside as she glanced nervously around the yard.
“I did it,” Caleb continued, oblivious to his aunt’s ministrations. “I don’t need T-rex footprints. I have Compsognathus feathers!” Once through the door, Caleb ran to the brightly lit kitchen table.
“Caleb, don’t play games,” his aunt said. “I need to know if you’re alright.” Caleb was spreading a selection of small, light objects on the table, peering closely at them.
“I’m fine, Aunt Carol,” he said quickly. “I’m great. Come look at this. These are real dinosaur feathers!”
Carol stepped up to the table, staring at the handful of tiny, downy feathers arranged there. They were short, thin and black with a spot of brilliant green at the tips. Carol looked at them with an odd expression as Caleb beamed up at her. The feathers resembled the downy, hair-like feathers usually found on young birds or flightless birds, but the coloration was distinctive and quite unfamiliar. What kind of bird had feathers like that?
“Where did you get these, Caleb?” Carol asked quietly.
“From the little dinosaurs, like I said. I did it, Aunt Carol. I’m gonna go down in history.”
THE FADED NETWORK OF VEIN-LIKE lines reflected the glaring sun up into Caleb’s squinting face. There were no tall shade trees on the rugged hilltop where Caleb stood, so he moved to one side, then the other, trying to cast his shado
w over the wrinkled and tattered map. He was able to cover most of the dirty yellow paper with his shadow, but the bright morning sun still reflected off of the boulder on which the map was spread. “Hey, Chuck,” Caleb called distractedly. “Come here.”
Chuck looked up from the small lizard she was trying to pry out from under a larger boulder, then snorted and continued scratching at the dirt. Caleb reached into one of his dust-filed pockets, withdrawing a large chunk of twisted brown material, somewhat like stiff and wrinkled cord.
“Chucky,” he said in a sing-song voice, “I have a chew toy for you...”
Chuck looked at the dried dinosaur sinew dangling from Caleb’s hand, gave a whuffling hoot and charged over. She stopped just short of Caleb’s hand, twitching her jaws excitedly.
“Sit Chuck!” Caleb said. “Come on, sit.”
Chuck plopped her thick tail in the dirt, sitting up tall with her mouth opened wide. Caleb tossed the sinew between her jagged teeth and turned back to the map, now covered completely by Chuck’s sizeable shadow.
The map showed most of the western United States, from Washington east to Montana and south to California and New Mexico. Scattered all over the weathered printing were a number of notes, scribblings and hand-drawn additions. A large number of towns and cities were marked with a black charcoal X, including Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and several more. Others were circled, sometimes bearing new names like Salt Flat City or Port Phoenix. Many of the rivers, lakes, mountains and other natural features were re-labeled, with names like Sacramento Bay, Mount Yellowstone, the Wyoming Sequoia Forest, Death Valley Lake and the Mojave Grasslands. Great swaths of the coastal and lowland areas of the map were colored in with pale blue crayon.
Caleb’s attention was focused on the central region of the map, near the southwest corner of Wyoming. He examined the contours of the Bear River, the Uinta Mountains to the south and the Wyoming Range to the north. He continued to study the map for a few minutes, then carefully began folding it.
After placing the delicate paper in a sealed bag inside Chuck’s saddle pack, Caleb climbed on top of the flat boulder. He glanced around him, slowly taking in the wide vista available from the scrub-covered hill. He noted the distant snowy peaks in the south and checked his scratched and beaten compass. The “North” needle pointed reliably south, as it did with all compasses now. In the other direction, he could just discern the peaks of the Wyoming range. Beyond the distant mountains, a tall, white plume of ash and smoke rose from Mount Yellowstone, the fearsome volcano that had once been a popular tourist destination.
Caleb turned away from the ominous plume and peered down into the valley below. He could clearly see the winding gleam of the Bear River through the lush tree cover. It wound and cascaded over the rough terrain like a flow of liquid silver, turning out of sight behind another hill to the southwest. There, at the large bend in the river, was the tightly packed settlement that had prompted Caleb to examine his map.
“Ok, Chuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to his companion. “That should be Evanston. Only a few days ‘til we hit Salt Flat City.”
The town was fairly large by Caleb’s reckoning, but tightly packed. He guessed that it had enough room for at least a hundred, possibly even two hundred people. It was crowded onto a wide, rocky ridge, with the river wrapping around the base of the low cliffs. A massive stone wall surrounded the town where the cliffs stopped. The wall was impressive, roughly twenty feet high and at least ten or fifteen feet thick, constructed out of local rock. A single gate was set in the middle of the wall, with inner and outer doors made of sturdy hardwood logs. The buildings inside were low and sturdy, made of local stone, thick timber and river clay. Caleb could see a pair of sentries standing in an enclosed wooden shelter on top of the wall, over the gate. The men were in shadow, making it impossible to see any clear detail, but Caleb could tell that they were armed with large rifles.
Chuck snuffled in the background, and Caleb remembered the spyglass he had recently found. Rooting around in Chuck’s packs, he found half of a pair of binoculars. Removing the soft leather coverings on the lenses, Caleb climbed onto a higher boulder and settled in a comfortable sitting position.
“Let's see if this place is friendly,” Caleb whispered.
The sentries jumped into clear focus with the spyglass. They were pretty much what Caleb had expected; young, sturdy-looking men, dressed in the same ragged leftovers and handmades that Caleb wore. The rifles slung over their shoulders looked to be of decent quality, possibly Remingtons. Below the guard shelter, Caleb could now make out a sign over the gate. It was pieced together out of hacked up sections of reflective green highway signs, with letters of unmatched sizes.
.
Below that was a wide plank of wood with large, hand painted writing.
.
On either side of the plank were the skulls of some sort of medium-sized animal. They were so badly mangled that Caleb couldn’t be certain whether or not they were human.
Caleb swung his view into the town, sweeping over the low roofs and narrow streets. He quickly found the cramped town square. There were a few small tents and stalls, plus a blacksmith. A few people could be seen scurrying about in the morning sunlight, carrying vegetables or water pails. No dinosaurs were visible inside the town walls, except for a few long-legged dryosaurs hanging outside the butcher shop. In the center of the square was a sort of open wooden construction. Caleb thought at first that it was the frame for a new building, but when he focused on it with the spyglass, he saw that it was something quite different.
Several small children were playing around the base of the structure, followed by one of the few dogs Caleb had ever seen in the past twenty years. The children stopped and crowded onto the low steps of the structure, patting the scruffy dog. Above them was a low, wide platform, topped by tall timbers. The beams were arranged in a post-and-lintel construction, with a sturdy crosspiece. Hanging from the crosspiece by short, thick ropes were the bodies of three small dinosaurs. Their slender corpses swung limply in the mild breeze, and their dull-beaked, crested heads stuck out at awkward angles from their long, noose-choked necks. The creatures’ colorful ponchos, elaborate necklaces and bright body paint stood out like a rainbow against the dull brown wood.
“Oh, shit,” Caleb gasped. “What the hell— Those’re Awaru!”
Caleb had seen these creatures more than a few times before. They were one of the strange, intelligent dinosaur races that had appeared along with all of the wild species. As far as Caleb had been able to tell, they weren’t dino-freaks: humans who had mutated into more saurian forms. Instead, they seemed to be a species of sentient oviraptor dinosaurs that probably existed millions of years ago, returning along with all the other species. Caleb had seen several of them over the years since The Lights Went Out. They were the most friendly and curious of the sentient dino-races, less skittish than the pterodactyl-like Ewahi and far more open and communicative than the mysterious Hininze. They also seemed to be particularly quick learners of human languages. The Awaru could frequently be seen near human settlements, trading food and information for such oddities as plastic spoons and brightly colored cloth.
Although he had seen much fear and cruelty directed toward the dino-freaks and saurian races, Caleb was deeply shocked by the sight of the three gentle Awaru hanging from a gallows. Although the Awaru had been known to steal small items from time to time, no one had ever seen an Awaru attack a human without extreme provocation. Caleb could hardly believe that these people would have such a fierce hatred of the cheerful creatures. He could see from their bruised and bloody necks that the Awaru had not died quickly. The unusual anatomy of their windpipes and blood vessels had been only partially cut off by the nooses, and their bird-like nervous systems had ensured that they died slowly, kicking and thrashing like decapitated chickens. Caleb’s stomach lurched at the thought.
“Well, Chuck,” he mumbled nervously, “I don’t think this is the
sort of open-minded community that’s going to like me bringing in a full-grown Ceratosaurus.” He climbed down from the boulder and began fitting Chuck with her saddle. “Let's find someplace further south to set camp. A lot further.”
Chuck snorted indifferently, unaware of the danger in the village. Caleb hopped into the saddle and the pair began climbing down the wide slope of the hill, aiming away from the town.
Below them, the Awaru’s bodies swayed like rags in the wind, tainting the air with the bitter smell of death, decay, and hate.
Caleb and Chuck traveled for most of the day after passing the Evanston settlement, crossing the Wyoming border into Utah. The mountains had become lower and more level, more and more like rolling hills the further southwest they moved. In the late afternoon, the heat became too much for the two travelers, and they settled down to rest in a grassy, shaded clearing on the side of a low hill near some open fields.
A herd of trumpeting lambeosaurs wandered into view after a short while, hooting with musical voices that echoed like whale song. Fortunately for the herd, Chuck was too deep in sleep to be awakened by the gentle hooting. Instead she rolled over and clicked her teeth, chasing the duckbills in her dreams.
Caleb leaned against a mossy tree root and wrote briefly in his journal, but the hypnotizing rhythm of Chuck’s snores combined with the singing of the lambeosaurs quickly drew him into soothing dreams.
Carnival of Time Page 4