Footprints of Thunder

by James F. David

  John felt as if they had been walking for hours when Cubby finally stopped again.

  “Something’s not right, John. We should be to Portland by now. This is where we saw it.”

  John looked around but recognized nothing. He could tell they were down in a valley, since hills were visible to the right and left, covered with tumbled-down trees. The forest was thick, but it looked level. Was it the Willamette valley? Cubby was sure of it, and John, as usual, trusted Cubby’s instincts better than his own.

  “Maybe it’s just a little farther ahead,” John suggested. Cubby pursed his lips considering.

  “I don’t know, John, we should at least be able to see those skyscrapers.” Cubby looked around intently. Then he pointed up at the hill to the south. “Let’s climb up to those fallen trees. Maybe we can get a look around from up there.”

  John hesitated, then followed Cubby, though his stomach was rumbling, and his muscles complaining. After another crested hill, he was just about to quit when they came to a clearing amidst fallen timber. Trees lay every which way, and their roots and crowns towered into the air, blocking the view. They worked their way to where the hill dropped off sharply, then climbed the jagged roots of a big tree and stood on the top of the trunk. They had an unobstructed view of the valley, its floor a forest with clearings sprinkled here and there. In the middle of the valley was Portland, wispy and still shimmering, but undeniably there. Cubby and John shouted and whooped and jumped up and down. Then Cubby gave another shout and whoop and pointed to the south of the city. John looked, at first seeing nothing but buildings and trees. But then he spotted it. Separated from the city by a stretch of suburbs was a. hill, and shimmering and flickering on its crest was Cubby’s church. John stared, then looked for his house. He knew there was no way he could see it from here but he looked anyway.

  “Thank you Lord Jesus for delivering us,” Cubby prayed aloud. John whispered an amen silently to himself. Enthralled with the feeling that something good was about to happen, they stood there staring at the church. Soon, John’s thoughts were interrupted by a roar—not the roar of a dinosaur, but the distant roar of a jet.

  Spotting it, he watched it arc across the sky above Portland; then it was gone. John tried to estimate the distance to the church and then looked at his watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock. He was sure they wouldn’t make the church by nightfall, but like Cubby, he was willing to give it a try.

  They rushed into the forest, recklessly hiking toward their destination. Still tired and hungry, but like racers nearing a finish line, they found reservoirs of strength. The forest on the valley floor was thin, with little underbrush. They still had to dodge razor grass and walk around giant clumps of ferns, but they made good time. At one point when they heard something big moving through the trees, they hid in the undergrowth, lying flat and praying that dinosaurs have a poor sense of smell. Soon the sound moved off in another direction, and the boys quickly got back on track.

  John watched the sun sinking lower and lower as they walked and began to get nervous. Here the vegetation was sparse. They’d have difficulty finding a place to hide for the night. John heard the distant roar of another jet and looked at the sky, but couldn’t spot the plane. As the roar of the jet engines faded he heard the familiar sound of motors. Someone was driving through the forest.

  “People, Cubby. Listen, I can hear people.”

  “You’re right. Maybe we’re near the edge of the city.” They listened, trying to locate the sounds, which suddenly died. Cubby pointed in their direction and led off through the trees at a quick pace.

  They stopped in the creek bed while Bobby climbed the bank again. The rough terrain had made Ellen’s sore bottom burn with pain, and she was glad Carl finally stopped. Bobby had just disappeared when they heard a shout.

  “I’ll be damned. You’ve got to see this. Come on up here.” Following Bobby’s track up the bank, they found themselves in a large clearing. There, shimmering faintly in the background, was the Portland skyline. Ellen felt hope flood her body. She had been slowly reconciling herself to the loss of her son—but maybe, just maybe, there was hope.

  Now John felt better. If they were near the edge of the city he could catch a ride to his house and spend the night there. John and Cubby found themselves climbing yet another hill, a gradual one so the climbing was easy. On the other side, the trees thinned, and they found themselves staring into a large clearing.

  Near the far edge were parked several motorcycles. Eight people stood near the bikes, and even from this distance, John could tell two were women, and one seemed familiar. When she moved he knew it was his mother.

  “It’s my mom,” he said, starting past Cubby into the clearing. Cubby’s hand on his arm stopped him.

  “Wait, John, something’s not right.”

  Maybe it was the motorcycles—John and Cubby had seen many biker movies—or maybe they’d developed natural caution in the forest. But John and Cubby just stood and watched.

  * * *

  Ellen and Angie were excited by the presence of the city, but the guys seems disappointed, and even angry.

  “Thought you were going to find us a mama dinosaur, Coop,” Carl said in a threatening tone.

  “Yeah,” Kishton added menacingly. Ellen could see that some of the razor grass cuts were still bleeding. “I missed out on the first hunt, and I came out here looking for some excitement.”

  He was off his bike and approaching Coop, who urged Angie off, then confronted Kishton.

  “I found you one dinosaur, I didn’t say I could find you two.”

  “Well that’s not good enough, Coop. If you can’t find dinosaurs for us, just what the hell are you good for?”

  “Coop didn’t let us down, Kishton,” Carl said, walking up in front of Coop. “He found us a dinosaur. And not only that but he brought us some more fun.” Then he chuckled.

  Coop’s face was drawn, his lips tight, his eyes fearful.

  “Good buddy Deputy Dawg brought us Ellen and Angie. Two of the hottest babes in the county.”

  “At least Angie is,” Kishton said, walking up behind her.

  “Hey, Kishton, you and the others can have her. Ellen straightens out my pecker.”

  “Knock off that kind of talk, Carl,” Coop said, his voice trembling. “They might think you’re serious.”

  Carl grabbed his crotch and gave it a shake. “Don’t I look serious, Coop?” The others laughed.

  “Don’t touch them, Carl.” Coop dropped his hand to the butt of his gun.

  “You gonna stop me, Deputy Dawg?”

  “I’m the law—”

  “Coop, you weren’t much law back in Carlton and you sure ain’t the law out here. I’m the law here.”

  Then, without any warning, Carl dropped his hand to his gun, pulled it and fired it into Coop’s chest. Coop dropped to the ground, twisting left and falling into the deep grass. Ellen knew he would never move again.

  The other guys stood still, shocked, Ellen imagined they would have willingly beat up Coop, de-pantsed him, tarred and feathered him, or even tied him to a tree naked and left him. But she believed only Carl would have killed Coop in cold blood. Carl’s ruthlessness was probably what made him their leader. But now that he’d murdered Coop, how much further were they willing to go? Kishton answered the question by grabbing Angle’s arms, and pulling them behind her back.

  “Give me a hand here, will you, Butler?”

  Butler hesitated. Then a big smile crossed his face, and he stepped forward and grabbed Angie’s breasts.

  “Oh mama,” he said, “we’re going to have some fun.”

  With that Butler tore Angie’s blouse open. She didn’t scream or cry out, but she began to struggle and kick. Butler jammed himself up close to Angie, so she couldn’t kick him between the legs, and tore her blouse down to her waist.

  Ellen, frozen in disbelief, now saw Carl’s face turn toward her and took off running. Heavy footsteps behind her urged her to r
un faster. She headed for the treeline, hoping to lose herself in the underbrush. In the twilight she might be able to hide herself.

  Halfway to the trees Carl tackled her. She went down hard on her stomach, her chin striking the ground, her teeth aching from the impact. Still, she kicked and pushed to keep Carl from getting a solid grip on her. He laughed, enjoying her struggle. When Bobby arrived, the two men flipped her onto her back. Carl sat on her, pinning her solidly to the ground, and then timed his grabs to seize her flailing arms. Then Bobby pulled them above her head. Carl leaned back, putting more weight on her stomach, staring at her breasts, smiling in anticipation. Thinking quickly, she relaxed a little, encouraging Carl to lean back some more, then she jerked her knee sharply upward, cracking Carl in the back. Carl yelped with the pain. His eyes flashed and he slapped Ellen hard across the face, twice. Suddenly she felt Carl’s hands on her chest, tearing, her blouse open.

  “Hot damn!” Carl said. He looked up at Bobby. “I think we made the right choice. Besides, we can always have a go at Angie later.”

  Carl reached down, trying to pull off Ellen’s bra. The straps held, cutting into Ellen’s back. Finally, the clasp gave, and she felt Carl’s rough hands on her breasts. Bobby was giggling uncontrollably by now, and Carl rocked back and forth, inching his way down so he could get at Ellen’s pants.

  Then Bobby screamed.

  He reached around to his back and stood, almost falling into Ellen and Carl, his mouth opening and closing. But the screaming had stopped, replaced by short gurgling breaths. He collapsed to his knees, then fell sideways onto his face. Ellen could see an arrow sticking out of his back. Carl leapt to his feet, pulling his gun. He was looking past Ellen into the trees when another arrow flew over Ellen’s head and buried itself into his calf. Now he too fell to the ground with a scream, dropping the gun and grabbing at his leg.

  Ellen rolled to her stomach and then came up onto her feet running. She bolted toward the darkness of the treeline, listening for pursuit but heard only her own blood pulsing through her system. She made the trees and ran wildly, not looking where she was going. Bushes and branches swiped at her face as she ran. When she stumbled to her knees, gasping for breath, she looked behind her. Someone was crashing through the trees, a strange half-naked figure. Ellen realized it was Angie.

  “Thank God,” Ellen sobbed. “I’m sorry, Angie, I’m sorry I left you.” Ellen felt guilty for getting Angie into this mess in the first place, and for thinking only of herself when a chance to escape had come.

  “Nonsense,” Angie said briskly, “you did what I would have done. Now let’s get out of here.”

  They were about to head off again when they heard a voice.

  “This way, Mrs. Roberts.”

  Ellen looked to see a man—no, a boy—emerge from behind a bush. He was wearing a camouflage jacket. A bow with three strings was in his hand, and a pack and a quiver of arrows was on his back. Ellen searched her memory. The face was familiar; it was Robert, John’s friend. Except, she remembered, he liked to be called by his last name, Ripman.

  41. Pursuit

  The careful arrangement of eggs in a nest, and the close proximity of adult fossils and that of their young, suggest dinosaurs may have had a maternal instinct similar to mammals.

  —Gregory Hale, Dinosaur Dreams

  North of Bend, Oregon

  PostQuilt: Tuesday, 7:13 A.M. PST

  They spent the night huddled in the RV, afraid to move or even make a sound. Occasionally the dinosaur could be heard moving around outside, and twice it sounded farther in the distance. Both times the creature returned within an hour, snuffling around the outside of the RV. As morning broke the dinosaur could be heard moving off into the distance again. After twenty minutes, Colter stood to peer out.

  “It’s gone,” he whispered. He walked through the RV checking the other side and the front and back. “Yeah, it’s gone for sure.”

  The others stood slowly, each checking separately that the dinosaur was gone. Only when they were all sure did they speak, and then only in hushed tones. Incredibly, Dr. Coombs and Dr. Piltcher immediately fell into another debate.

  “Are you sure it’s not triceratops?” Dr. Coombs asked.

  “Certainly a ceratopsian, but the horns are wrong for triceratops. More likely monoclonius,” Dr. Piltcher countered.

  “I can’t agree,” Dr. Coombs argued. “The curved nasal horn would be typical of monoclonius, but the frill horns seem exaggerated for this particular species. Mono means one after all. Perhaps it is an intermediate form—”

  “What difference does it make?” Petra shouted. “Triceratops! Monoclonius! What matters is whether it is coming back or not!”

  Dr. Coombs and Dr. Piltcher looked sheepish.

  She found Colter outside looking at the RV. Its entire length was crumpled or dented. He tried to pull a crushed fender away far enough to free one tire, but failed.

  “Help me, Petra,” he urged, straining.

  Petra reached in next to him and grabbed the edge of the wheel well just below his hand. Bracing one leg against the side of the RV, the two of them pulled on the metal. It barely budged. More hands reached in; Dr. Piltcher and Dr. Coombs jockeyed for position. Moose appeared in the broken window above them, startling the group; he was balanced on the edge and staring down. His mouth moved open and closed, but no sound came out. When he made no move to jump down and run away, the others went back to their task. When they all had a firm grasp they pulled and the metal began to move. Suddenly Moose screeched, then spun and dropped back in the RV. Then something bellowed behind them.

  They turned to see the dinosaur charging down on them. Scrambling to get in the door they automatically paused to let Petra go in first. She dove into the RV as the others realized there wouldn’t be enough time to get in before the dinosaur rammed it again. Hesitating, not willing to be either first or last into the opening, the three men stood in the doorway paralyzed with indecision while behind them loomed the onrushing dinosaur.

  “Move!” Petra screamed.

  Colter was the first to break and ran to his right, the dinosaur’s head jerking in his direction. Dr. Coombs broke next, running left and pulling the dinosaur’s attention back from Colter. Left alone in front of the door, Dr. Piltcher struggled to climb in before the dinosaur crushed him in the opening.

  When Dr. Piltcher disappeared inside, the dinosaur turned toward the escaping Dr. Coombs. But it turned too late, crashing into the wall of the RV. Instead of pushing the RV back with the blow, the dinosaur’s snout horn penetrated, peeling the metal wall away followed by its massive head. The snout horn drove deep into the RV, demolishing cabinets, and only the massive collar of the dinosaur prevented the head from completely penetrating the wall. Dr. Piltcher, knocked backward by the force of the blow, bounced off the back wall, falling forward. As he put out his hands to stop his fall, he found himself slamming against the snout of the dinosaur. The dinosaur and Dr. Piltcher froze, startled at such close contact.

  Then the massive mouth opened and screamed, nearly deafening Petra, and Dr. Piltcher and he pushed back with his hands, throwing himself away from the opening mouth. When the dinosaur screamed again, Dr. Piltcher and Petra scrambled to the back of the RV to hide with Sarah.

  The dinosaur roared its anger again and then began violently shaking its head and pulling back with its massive legs. With every swing of the monster’s head the jagged edges of the torn metal sliced deeper and deeper into the thick skin of its head. Blood began to stream in rivulets at the base of the collar, dripping inside the RV. Oblivious to the pain, however, the dinosaur continued to swing its head. As the opening enlarged, the head moved back, and with a final powerful tug the head wrenched free, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the RV as Dr. Piltcher and Petra watched with relief from the back.

  The collision stunned the dinosaur, but once free it smelled the nest robber. The dinosaur backed two steps and then spun left, toward a figure racing through t
he clearing in the distance. Then putting its head down, it charged again.

  Petra, horrified to see the rapidly retreating dinosaur was chasing Dr. Coombs, turned to her mentor.

  “We’ve got to help him, Dr. Piltcher. What can we do?”

  Dr. Piltcher stood numbly, frozen into inaction. Theory and speculation were his forte, or the recall of fact after fact, but creative problem solving on the spot was alien to him. Sensing this, Petra bolted out the door and began calling for Colter.

  He popped up out of the grass at Petra’s shout. He’d tried to draw the dinosaur off by giving it a running target, but when it slammed into the RV he took the opportunity to disappear into the grass. Colter now saw her pointing at the retreating dinosaur and yelling.

  “Colter! It’s after Dr. Coombs! Help him! Help him!”

  Colter spotted Dr. Coombs zigzagging in front of the dinosaur to keep it from closing. Colter knew of only one option— give the dinosaur another target. He sprinted through the grasses, angling to put himself into the dinosaur’s peripheral vision. If he could get close enough to seem threatening, the dinosaur might slow to assess the new threat. That would give Dr. Coombs enough time to make it to the hedgerow where he could hide.

  When Colter’s plan became clear, Petra raced for the other side to create a third target. The couple sprinted through the grass shouting. But the dinosaur was singleminded and continued to close on Dr. Coombs, who was nearly to the taller brush. In desperation Dr. Coombs turned sharply to the right, almost running toward the onrushing behemoth. Like a charging bull, the dinosaur lumbered past Dr. Coombs before it could turn.

  Colter shouted out encouragement.