Footprints of Thunder

by James F. David

  The whales circled Patty and Pat, coming closer with each pass. Then Chris shouted and pointed straight down. Ron looked to see a black shape shoot between Patty and her baby. Another orca followed, but this one rammed Pat, driving him away from his mother. More whales swam between Pat and Patty, driving the baby farther away from its mother.

  “They’re after the baby,” Rosa said sadly. “We’ve got to help it.”

  Suddenly the baby let out an ear-piercing squeal. The mother immediately whipped her head around, wrenching her body into a partial turn. Ron and the others dropped spread-eagled, to keep from being thrown off.

  When the mother was satisfied the baby was still following she resumed her course. Ron looked down at the baby and heard rapid, deep breathing, punctuated by a slight whine. Rosa pointed silently to the baby’s wake; everyone saw that Pat was leaving a pink trail in the water.

  Suddenly Pat dipped deep into the water, nearly submerging his head, and screamed again. Chris put his hands to his ears to block the horrible sound, but Patty wrenched around again and Chris had to spread his arms wide to keep from rolling off. Ron looked back to see two more fins rushing toward Pat. Now the fins dipped below the surface and a few seconds later Pat shuddered twice in quick succession.

  Pat screamed continuously now, and his wake was a crimson stream far into the distance. The orcas were in a blood frenzy and the pack circled closer. The flashing orcas were designed for this kind of attack. Sleek and powerful, they darted in and out, biting into the struggling Pat, who squealed with every blow. Patty’s huge tail might have been formidable on land, but in the water it was nearly useless in the defense of Pat. Occasionally Patty’s tail would break the surface and slam down into the sea with a deafening slap. The orcas seemed bothered by the sound at first, but then ignored it, dodging it every time.

  The kids were horrified. But Ron realized that to the orcas it was just feeding time, and Pat was the target. Even in the civilized world justice is fleeting; in the animal world it is meaningless.

  The attack on Pat was going on at a leisurely pace. The orcas were enjoying the hunt, streaking up from below—their attacks drenching Patty’s passengers with bloody spume.

  “I want to get out of here,” Chris moaned.

  “Me too,” Rosa said. “Let’s swim away.”

  Ron had never heard of orcas eating people, but he wasn’t sure anyone had ever swum through a feeding frenzy, covered in the blood from the kill. Apparently Carmen agreed.

  “We’re still safer here, kids,” she said. “If we get in that water they might come after us. Let’s stay up here as long as we can.”

  Ron nodded. He decided now was the time to use the last of the water and passed the bottle to the kids. They each drank about a quarter and passed the bottle to Carmen—who started to refuse, but Ron frowned at her. There was no point in saving the little that was left. After Carmen drank her share she passed the bottle back to Ron. As he drank the last of the water, he noticed dozens of seabirds gathered overhead. They must have been following the killer pack, scavenging the remains of their victims. The birds circled and screeched, waiting like vultures.

  Pat was barely moving now, although he still seemed to have little trouble floating. Patty was getting frantic, and began bleating defiantly at the circling orcas. Then as Pat slowed to a near stop, Patty turned in a wide circle, around him. Carmen yelled for everyone to lie flat, to get as much traction as possible. Patty, even with the long dragging tail, couldn’t come close to encircling her baby.

  The orcas paused, apparently considering Patty’s new strategy. As Patty circled, Pat floated in the reddening water, squealing for his mother’s help. Ron began to think it was time to get off.

  “Here they come again!” Carmen shouted.

  Ron turned to see an orca darting toward Pat, skimming along just below the surface, timing its attack to just clear Patty’s massive tail. They could feel the muscles along her spine bunch as she suddenly lifted her tail and stopped swimming. The whale continued forward, confident it would clear Patty’s tail, but Ron realized the orca had miscalculated. The refugees felt the collision when several tons of tail slammed into the attacking orca, and then her whole body wrenched to the side.

  The whole family cheered.

  “You show them you’re the mama!” Carmen shouted.

  “Way to go, Patty!” Rosa yelled.

  “Yeah, way to go,” Chris echoed, and then added, “one down, nine to go.”

  Chris’s mention of the odds sobered the group. There were many more orcas, and they had no idea how badly their member was hurt. Then it surfaced outside Patty’s protective circle. When it blew its lungs clear the spray was pinkish. It dove again and then quickly surfaced, again blowing pink spray.

  The family watched the injured whale swim off to the west, tilted at an angle, zigzagging through the water. Ron realized it was being followed by the flock of scavenging birds.

  The orcas continued to circle, now deadly efficient, businesslike. Then an orca split off and angled in at Patty broadside, disappearing beneath the waves a hundred yards from them. Suddenly something slammed into her, shaking Ron and his family. Patty screamed, swinging her tail up and down violently, and the family reached out, grabbing onto one another’s hands and holding one another up. Another hit came from the opposite side, and Patty wrenched again, twisting toward the new attack. Another hit came from the front and Patty’s screams became deafening. The attacks stopped for a moment, and Ron looked for the rest of the orcas—now busy with Pat.

  The baby was twisting in the water, whipping his neck back and forth as the orcas took turns hitting him. Pat began to list to the right and fought to keep himself upright. As he rolled, Ron could see his left front leg come up toward the surface. It looked like the leg of an elephant, thick with baggy skin, but with three distinct clawed toes. Now an orca buried itself in the flesh of the leg and whipped its body back and forth, tearing free meat and skin.

  Pat had no more screams left in him. Another hit to his belly finished pushing Pat to his side, and his head disappeared into the water. Pat would die soon, either of blood loss or drowning. As he rolled over, Ron could see the left rear leg was nothing more than a thick white bone with a few chunks of bloody meat still dangling.

  The attacks on Patty continued, even though the orcas were at the same time making a meal of Pat. It was getting harder for the family to stay on her shuddering back.

  Orca after orca slammed into Pat’s body, tearing away bloody chunks that now floated in the crimson water, making a gory soup. The seabirds were beginning to risk dropping briefly into the water to feed on the scraps.

  In her pain, Patty forgot about Pat and began swimming away from the attack, out of the red soup, but leaving a pink trail of her own. For a moment the attacks on her stopped. She resumed her eastward swim, returning hope to Ron and the rest of the family. A sense of relief spread through the little group, but they kept glancing back, fearful the orcas would follow.

  56. Mariel From The Window

  They do not know the hidden meaning of what is taking place now, nor have they even understood the lessons of the past. Consequently, they have no knowledge of what is coming upon them.

  —The Coming Doom, The Dead Sea Scrolls

  New York City

  PostQuilt: Wednesday, 7:50 A.M. EST

  Luis woke to the beat of a drum pounding in his head, the rhythm of his pulse, but with each beat came a stabbing pain. It was another blinding headache, but he managed to push himself up, using the arms of the rocking chair, and then stepped close to the window.

  His vision was coming back, but his eyes were blurry, making it difficult to see into the distance. In the bathroom he washed his eyes with a little water from the toilet tank, now three-quarters gone.

  Back in the living room, he saw a large still form in the meadow. Still groggy, Luis left the apartment and went down the stairs one step at a time, his hand firmly gripping the rail. The
trail was easy to find. It was marked with blood.

  Following the flattened sticky grasses, Luis moved slowly, keeping his eyes on the ground and placing each foot with care. When he looked up, he spotted a dinosaur in the path ahead. It was small compared to Mrs. Weatherby’s dinosaur, and only half as tall as Luis, but it stared, unmoving. Finally, he shouted at the beast.

  “Shoo. Shoo! I said get the hell out of my way!”

  The dinosaur stared back at him blankly. Suddenly Luis took three running steps forward, screaming at the top of his lungs. The dinosaur bolted to Luis’s left and disappeared into the shoulder-high grass, but two more appeared and darted across Luis’s path, following their sister. Luis stood still, shocked, then laughed at himself despite his throbbing headache. If he had known there were three of them would he have charged ? Certainly not. Sometimes, he reflected, the victory goes to the lucky, not the wise.

  Walking faster now, Luis plunged ahead. The path began to curve left as if the wounded dinosaur had lost its way. Luis paused and stood on the tips of his toes. He could see the form of the dinosaur over the tops of the grass. Luis turned, cutting through the grass, and then he froze. Something was moving ahead. He could see the tips of the grass waving. He squatted, waiting and listening.

  He should be with Melinda and his kids, he thought. He longed to see them all, but especially little Cinda. Luis had to get out of this conjured meadow and out of the war zone that surrounded it. Thinking about all of this, Luis still moved ahead. He would leave, he told himself, but with Mrs. Weatherby.

  Moving slowly, he found himself behind the iguanodon, who was lying on its side, his massive hind legs just in front of Luis. At more movement in the grass, Luis dove behind the animal’s legs for cover.

  Something slammed into the ground where Luis had been— the iguanodon’s tail. That meant the animal was alive. It also meant Luis was sheltering himself between the legs of a wounded dinosaur.

  Afraid to stand, he crawled along the creature’s belly. Now Luis saw the dinosaur’s head rise a foot off the ground, staring with a massive brown eye. As Luis froze, transfixed, he heard a soothing voice pleading with the dinosaur.

  “No, don’t move. Please lie still. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

  The voice was weak and hoarse, but it was Mrs. Weatherby’s. When the dinosaur’s head settled, Luis walked slowly forward. Mrs. Weatherby was lying in the grass, nestled against the shoulder of her dinosaur. The grass under the dinosaur’s head and neck was soaked in blood. Mrs. Weatherby’s eyes were closed and she was talking to the dinosaur in a hoarse whisper.

  “Go to sleep. Please go to sleep. It won’t hurt as much if you can sleep.”

  “Mrs. Weatherby? Mrs. Weatherby? Can you hear me?” Luis asked.

  Mrs. Weatherby stopped talking when Luis called to her.

  “Is that you, Luis? Oh, dear boy, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you with your family?”

  When she spoke she opened her eyes and looked at Luis, but her eyes couldn’t seem to focus on him. Luis realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses.

  “I’ve come to take you home, Mrs. Weatherby.”

  “I can’t leave him. He’s hurt … he’s dying.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Weatherby. I didn’t mean to get him shot. I only meant to scare the Zombies away so I could get to my family. I didn’t mean to hurt him … to hurt you.” . “I know, Luis. To you he was a big scary monster, but to me he was a friend. And friends don’t leave friends when they’re hurt.”

  “Mrs. Weatherby, I won’t leave without you. This time I mean it.”

  Mrs. Weatherby was still protesting when Luis reached her, and he looked at her, shocked. She was pale and sweaty, and when he bent to pick her up she had no strength to push him away. He lifted her, one arm under her knees and one across her shoulders. She wasn’t heavy, but the effort started the pain in Luis’s head again.

  “No, Luis. I don’t want him to die alone. No one should die alone, not even an animal.”

  “Maybe he won’t die, Mrs. Weatherby,” Luis lied, trying to calm her. Something was seriously wrong with her. She hadn’t been this pale or weak when she faced off with the Zombies.

  “He’s dying, Luis, I know it. Don’t lie to me.”

  “All right, Mrs. Weatherby.”

  “He shouldn’t die alone.”

  “No, he shouldn’t. But maybe his animal friends will come if we leave.”

  Mrs. Weatherby was silent for a minute after that. As he carried her off, Luis swung his head back and forth to keep an eye on both the thumb spikes and the dinosaur’s head. Now the mouth opened slowly, not sudden or threatening, and Luis heard a familiar sound.

  “Aaaaaahhhhhh—”

  Mrs. Weatherby’s head came up. Luis stopped and turned so Mrs. Weatherby could see her friend. The two of them looked at each other. The sadness in Mrs. Weatherby’s eyes was clear. Maybe Luis was imagining it, but he thought he saw the same emotion and intelligence in the dinosaur’s eyes. The animal’s mouth opened again and another soft “aaaahhhh” came gurgling from its throat. Then the head sank to the bloody grass, the eyes closed, and a long slow breath blew from its nostrils. It didn’t move after that.

  Mrs. Weatherby began to cry, tears streaming down her face. Luis quickly turned away and carried her into the grass. She never tried to look back. The old lady hung limply in Luis’s arms, still pale and sweaty. Since the day was cool but not cold, the perspiration worried Luis. He stopped frequently, resting his aching head more than his arms. Twice things moved through the grass around him, but he ignored them.

  When Luis paused near the apartment to rest again he heard a new sound: gunfire. The battle for the streets was raging again. Luis waited with Mrs. Weatherby, trying to locate the sounds, muffled but not distant. Perhaps on the other side of their apartment building?

  Luis looked down. Mrs. Weatherby seemed to be asleep. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign. He felt he could reach the safety of the apartment without getting shot, so he carried Mrs. Weatherby across the open space, past her garden, and into their building, pausing twice on the stairs before he reached her apartment. He lay her on the couch.

  “It smells like home, Luis.”

  Luis was surprised when she spoke, thinking she was asleep.

  “It is home, Mrs. Weatherby. Lie still. Get some rest.”

  “Are they shooting again?”

  “Yes, in the streets. Not too near, probably.”

  Mrs. Weatherby, silent, was breathing shallowly. Luis wasn’t sure if she was asleep but used the quiet time to get a washcloth from the bathroom and soak it in the water from the toilet tank, and used it to wipe the perspiration from her face.

  He didn’t know what else to do. Until the shooting stopped he had little hope of getting her any help.

  The wet cloth seemed to revive her and she opened her eyes and looked up at Luis.

  “There’s blood in your hair again,” she told him.

  “I know. I’m okay.”

  “I’ll wash it out for you.”

  “When you’re feeling better.”

  Mrs. Weatherby lifted her head but didn’t have the strength to sit up. Then she sank back down and looked at Luis.

  “Help me to my window chair.”

  “You’re better off here. Maybe in bed?”

  “My window chair. That’s where I always sit, well or sick.”

  Mrs. Weatherby seemed agitated. Making her unhappy wouldn’t help her heal, Luis realized, so he set her down gently in the rocker by the window.

  Mrs. Weatherby turned her head and looked into the distance. Luis had forgotten about the iguanodon’s body, and to his dismay, he saw animals around it. Mrs. Weatherby’s friend was being recycled.

  “Luis?” Mrs. Weatherby spoke in little more than a whisper. “I lost my glasses in the meadow. Can you see him? Did his friends come to be with him?”

  “Yes, I can see him, and he’s got lots of friends with him.”
r />   “I’m so glad. I wanted to be with him too.”

  “I took you away. Don’t blame yourself.”

  Mrs. Weatherby was silent for a few minutes and then whispered again to Luis.

  “Please, dear, can you fix me a cup of tea?”

  In the kitchen, Luis lit the stove and then put the pot on to boil. Then he sat with Mrs. Weatherby to wait. Her skin was ashen, now, and she perspired profusely. As he watched her she involuntarily shifted from sweating to shivering. Taking the crocheted blanket from the couch, Luis covered her. She managed to sit, clutching it in her hands and staring out the window.

  The teakettle whistled and Luis returned to the kitchen. Then he took the tea back to Mrs. Weatherby—she didn’t move when he set it down. Her eyes were open and staring out through the window.

  Luis watched her chest and lips. She wasn’t breathing, and she didn’t blink when he passed his hand in front of her eyes. Luis rejected the idea of trying to revive her. She wouldn’t want to be brought back to the loneliness and the pain of grief. Besides, she had died as she wanted, with a friend.

  Luis left her in her chair by the window, her head turned to the meadow, her lifeless eyes forever open to take in the view. A cup of tea lay at her right and her crocheting on the floor next to her.

  She would never finish the girls’ bedspreads. Luis knew someday she would need to be buried, but he believed she should be entombed just this way, like a pharaoh sent to the next world with everything he needed. Luis wished he could seal this room in concrete with Mrs. Weatherby just as she was. A thousand years later some archeologist could open it and see how one woman’s life had ended.

  It bothered Luis when he speculated that the archeologists of the future might think she had died alone and friendless. It hadn’t been that way. She had had two good friends in her final hours. One a dinosaur, who had come out of time and befriended her, and the other a human, no relation, who now grieved over her death.

  Luis left, closing and locking the door and went to his own ransacked apartment. On his couch he listened to the sounds of the gunfire in the street. It was more sporadic now. Someone was winning the battle. Luis dozed for a few minutes and when he woke there was silence in the streets. He waited another hour before he ventured out.