Footprints of Thunder

by James F. David

  “Come on. Run.”

  Ellen and Angie followed Ripman, running and struggling to keep him in sight. They trusted his instincts. As they ran, they heard something coming—something big.

  Cubby and John were awakened by the roar of a motorcycle engine. John felt his insecurity come back. He immediately assumed he cut the wrong wire or tube, and Cubby obviously agreed. Ripman would have blamed John too. When Cubby shot John an accusing look, he protested, “Hey, it could have been you, Cubby.”

  The engine was being revved, and every time it slowed it sputtered. Finally it sputtered once more and died. Cubby and John left their hiding place to get closer to the clearing, John crossing his fingers and hoping it wasn’t one of the bikes he had disabled. The engine roared to life again but died almost instantly.

  When the boys got closer they saw the bikes had been moved; they were now parked around the still-smoldering fire. To John’s relief he couldn’t tell which bikes he had worked on. He could recognize only the deputy’s gaudy blue one; the rest were mostly chrome and engine.

  All four of the men were crowded around one bike. After a few minutes one of them climbed on and jumped down on the starter. After three kicks the engine roared. The rider revved it to keep it going while another one did something on the engine. It died again. The rider climbed off angrily and began yelling at the one working on the engine. They traded places and tried it again. It took eight kicks to start and died almost immediately. It didn’t start again after that.

  Carl, his leg bandaged with a folded shirt, shouted the guys down and then took control. After they argued for a while, Carl and two others picked up their rifles and headed into the forest. The third man picked up his rifle and watched the others go, then he went back to the bike and kicked it three times till it rocked over onto its side.

  Cubby pulled on John’s sleeve, and they slipped deeper into the forest.

  “Do you want to take him?” Cubby asked.

  “How? He’s watching now, and he’s got a rifle. We couldn’t get far enough across that meadow to hit him with that pistol before he’d plug us both. Besides, I’ve never shot a pistol before, have you?”

  “Once, except it wasn’t like this one exactly.” Cubby doubtfully looked over the gun. “I think this is the safety,” he said weakly. “Okay. Let’s follow the others then. Once we’re sure Ripman got your mom and her friend away safe, we’ll head for my house.”

  They detoured wide around the end of the clearing and headed in the direction they had seen Carl lead the other men. With Cubby in the lead, they moved quickly, nearly jogging so they could catch up. Soon they spotted one man in the distance, carrying his rifle behind his neck with his arms looped over the stock on one side and the barrel on the other. He looked lackadaisical, as if he didn’t give a damn.

  Cubby and John could not see the others, but when they heard a voice to their right they dropped back, easily keeping out of sight. Occasionally they caught glimpses of the other men. Carl was limping along, the wound in his leg apparently hurting but not enough to suit John. He hoped Ripman had dipped that arrow in dinosaur shit before he stuck him with it. It might give him some incurable prehistoric infection.

  The sound of a jet engine stopped the men as they looked up, but the plane passed quickly and the men resumed their search. The boys soon realized the men weren’t following tracks, and they became confident that John’s mom and Ripman would get away.

  When they heard a distant animal roar, the men froze and checked their rifles. Another roar sounded closer and they marked the direction and moved toward it. Knotting together in a small group, they followed Carl, who limped in the lead.

  The next roar was much closer—the dinosaur was coming toward them. John spurted ahead to catch Cubby and pulled his arm to stop him.

  “Let ‘em go. I hope the dino eats them.”

  Cubby looked thoughtful for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah. Ripman’s long gone by now.”

  Then they heard the scream—a woman’s scream.

  Ripman pounded uphill and down, running full speed. Angie and Ellen soon lost him in the forest ahead. But they kept on the same path, following blindly. Ellen, ahead, quickly saw Angie was falling behind. Pounding up to the top of a rise, Ellen intended to wait for her friend. A downhill start would get her to top speed as quickly as possible. At the top Ripman’s voice came out of the tall grass.

  “Get down!”

  Ellen dropped down next to Ripman, disappearing into the grass. Angie was having trouble with the hill, barely trotting by the time she reached the top. Ellen pulled her down. Angie wheezed and Ellen gasped nearly as hard. Ripman lay quietly, trying to listen, shushing them over and over. When they caught their breaths, Ripman turned his head to listen to the forest.

  “Won’t it follow the blood?” Ellen asked: “Why would it come after us when there’s all those dinosaurs to eat? We’re too small, aren’t we?”

  Ripman, irritated by the noise of the questions, ignored Ellen for a full minute. Finally he answered, “If it’s a carnivore it’s probably following the herd because that’s its food supply, but if ir just ate one of those suckers it’s not going to be hungry.”

  “So it’s not dangerous?” Angie suggested.

  “It’s more dangerous to us. If it smells us it might get curious. It can always pick up the trail of that herd. A full belly means it can afford to explore, look for new food. Easier food.”

  “Us,” Ellen concluded.

  “Just a little cheesecake for dessert,” Angie added with a false laugh.

  “Quiet,” Ripman said suddenly.

  Ellen listened hard and picked out the distant sounds almost as soon as Ripman, who lay still waiting,

  The density of the forest and the dinosaur’s deep brownish green coloring made the carnivore difficult to see. It walked on two powerful back legs, leaning forward so far it looked as if it would fall. Somewhere behind it was a massive counterbalancing tail. It had long forelegs, nine or ten feet in length, and a huge head that was mostly jaws. Deep breathing sounds rumbled past bloodied teeth, and it swung its head back and forth as it walked.

  Ellen started to get up to run, but Ripman grabbed her arm and kept her down. Then he leaned into her and whispered, “Slowly and quietly. If you can’t keep up this time, I’ll leave you. Tell your friend.”

  Ellen relayed that to Angie in a whisper, and Angie’s face fell. Ripman inched his way down the hill away from the dinosaur, moving as little grass as possible. His bow was still slung over his shoulder, but Ellen realized it would be of little use. She and Angie followed, keeping their heads below the top of the grasses. Halfway down the hill Ripman turned and padded softly through the forest, his speed and noise increasing as he put distance between himself and the dinosaur.

  Again, Ellen and Angie followed, but their best speed would not keep Ripman in sight for long. Angie pressed her hand against her waist, wheezing again and slowing. Ellen trotted beside her. They settled into a low running rhythm, a pace Angie seemed able to sustain.

  After a mile they heard the roar.

  Ellen looked back to see the dinosaur’s head staring at them from around a tree. As they gaped in horror, the dinosaur’s mouth opened wide, and another deafening roar rattled their nerves. Angie poured the rest of her energy into her feet and picked up the pace, as Ellen, risking another look behind, saw the dinosaur in pursuit, gaining fast.

  Suddenly they broke free of the forest into a small clearing. On the other side was a section of tumbled-down forest— smoke drifted up from the far side of the clearing. Ripman’s head appeared above the grass and his arms began waving. His voice drifted over the clearing. “Here, this way!”

  Angie and Ellen raced across the clearing, too afraid to risk a look behind them. Ripman was waving frantically, signaling them to pass him and keep on going. As they passed, Ripman dragged a flaming bundle behind them, setting fire to the grass. When Ripman passed her at a dead run, she looked back to see the
dinosaur pound through the fire, extinguishing the small flame with its massive feet. Now Ellen knew they weren’t going to make it.

  Ripman made it to the fallen trees first, dodging around the massive foliage of one and climbing over the trunk.of the next, using broken limbs like a ladder. Ellen followed his lead, throwing herself over the log, panicked by the crashing sounds of the dinosaur behind her. She reached back to pull Angie down with her, only to see her friend silhouetted on the top of the tree trunk behind her, leaning forward to roll down the other side. But she never made it. Towering over Angie was the dinosaur. A nine-foot foreleg with razor sharp claws swept the length of the tree, shearing off limbs six inches thick. Angie screamed when she saw the arm coming toward her, and with a whipping motion it caught her full in the side. Her left arm, across her body, was severed above the elbow as the claws buried themselves into her torso, and it tumbled down Ellen’s side of the trunk disappearing into the grass six feet from Ellen’s face. When the dinosaur swiped Angie off the tree and threw her back in the clearing, it followed the body with a triumphant roar.

  Ellen lay in the foliage under the trunk paralyzed with horror, seeing only the blood stains in the grass. Then she felt someone pulling on her, jerking her out of the foliage.

  “We’ve got to go while it’s busy. It won’t take long.”

  Ellen became an automaton. She followed Ripman over and under trees carelessly, her footing and grip mattered little. She tripped, fell, and fell again. Her pants and blouse tore and shredded. Her skin underneath was scratched and cut by broken limbs. She felt nothing and saw nothing except Angie’s blood in the grass.

  Every time she fell she got up more slowly. Soon Ripman was helping her to her feet every time and supporting her with an arm around her waist. They worked their way across the fallen trees and to a small stand of upright trees, then back into fallen trees. Sometime after that Ripman pushed her up onto another tree with his hands on her bottom. When she reached the top she collapsed spread-eagled, her eyes in a glassy stare, her mind filled with bloody grass. This time Ripman didn’t help her off the top.

  Shouts and laughter filled her ears. Slowly the bloody grass was replaced by another image. It was Carl’s laughing face. She forced her eyes to focus and realized the face was real. It was Carl and behind him were the guys. Carl smiled, showing all his teeth.

  “Now, where were we?”

  59. The Toolmaker

  According to the rabbinical authority Rashi, ancient tradition knows of periodic collapses of the firmament, one of which occurred in the days of the Deluge, and which repeated themselves at intervals of 1,656 years.

  —Immanuel Velikovsky, Worlds in Collision

  Warm Springs Indian Reservation, Oregon

  PostQuilt: Wednesday, 7:10 A.M. PST

  Moose was riding on the dashboard, stretched out and soaking up the rays of the morning sun while Sarah was curled up on the passenger seat with a blanket. The two of them had gorged on raisins and apples. Behind them, tucked safely in a cabinet, was a rifle with a bore big enough to bring down an elephant, and three boxes of ammunition. Colter was retracing the route Dr. Coombs had taken, except Colter had a different purpose in mind. Dr. Coombs, Dr. Piltcher, and Petra had come to explore, to understand what had happened. Colter was going back for only one reason: to kill the monsters that had taken Petra from him, and especially one. He didn’t know how he was going to get it, but he wasn’t leaving without its head.

  Colter knew he was close now. The road was nothing but two ruts. He cleared the top of the hill, and then rolled to a stop, surprised. He expected to see the dinosaurs, but not one fifty feet away, walking down the road ahead of him. When it heard Colter’s engine the animal turned and looked at the RV. It was like the one that had killed Dr. Coombs. Colter’s anger flared. He set the brake and dug the rifle out of the cabinet, checking the clip to make sure he had a full load, and then jacked a round into the chamber. When he aimed the rifle through the front window at the rear of the walking dinosaur, he looked down the sights to see Moose’s head staring from the end of the barrel.

  Colter put the weapon down and shooed Moose out of the window, and then carried Sarah, blanket and all, to the back of the RV. To keep them busy and out of the way he put a few raisins on top of Moose’s cabinet and a bigger pile on the floor for Sarah. Moose immediately attacked Sarah’s pile, knowing his would still be there when he was done. Colter snickered. He liked Moose. He was a thinker.

  Now the dinosaur was well down the road, so Colter released the brake and pulled up on its left. The creature kept walking but looked nervously at the RV rumbling along beside it. Something was wrong, Colter thought. Why wasn’t it scared? Colter pulled ahead of the dinosaur and parked, getting out with his rifle. He checked the load. There was one round in the chamber and eight in the clip. He had three more clips tucked into a fanny pack.

  Colter scanned the area, making sure none of the big carnivores were around. When he did, he noticed other dinosaurs like the one on the road were milling around in the prairie grass bordering their meadow. Everything looked the same as when he left, except the grass. It was wilting. Not enough water? Colter wondered. Maybe it was the cool air. The dinosaur land looked almost tropical, but if it was too cold for the grass and brush, maybe it was too cold for the dinosaurs. Maybe they were dying. Colter smiled at the thought. Then something blew across the road—one of Petra’s T-shirts he’d thrown out the RV window. Colter flushed at the thought of Petra, and he turned, bringing the rifle to his shoulder. The dinosaur was lumbering toward him at a slow pace. Colter waited with his finger on the trigger, letting the dinosaur come closer. He didn’t want to miss. He knew the head and neck were heavily armored with bone, and he needed to hit it dead on to kill it instantly. If he just wounded it, it would be as dangerous as the mother whose egg they had stolen.

  Wait till you see the whites of their eyes, he said to himself.

  The dinosaur came on straight toward Colter. Slowly he began to pull back on the trigger, the sights lined up between the dinosaur’s widely spaced eyes. Just before he pulled the trigger it turned, angling to Colter’s left to go around him. Colter kept his aim, but the head began to swing, occasionally blocking his shot with the bony collar. Colter’s frustration grew, and he lowered the rifle. He wanted a head shot, but he didn’t want to get too far from the safety of the RV. Frustrated, he raised the gun to his shoulder, aimed at the neck of the passing dinosaur, and pulled the trigger.

  The slug entered just in front of the dinosaur’s shoulder. But the dinosaur only jumped from fright at the gun’s loud report-then it jogged down the road. Colter jacked another cartridge into the chamber and chased the animal. He didn’t have to go far. Suddenly it collapsed to its knees, breathing deeply through its nose, and then fell to its side, its chest heaving. Colter watched it dying, a feeling of deep satisfaction filling his soul. After a few minutes the breathing became irregular and Colter worried it might die by itself. So he put another slug into its throat and then another into its exposed chest. It didn’t breathe after that.

  “Man, that felt good!” Colter screamed. Then he put two more rounds into the dinosaur’s belly and one into an eye. “Yes!” he screamed. “How does it feel to be the hunted? Huh? See what a toolmaker can do? Huh? That’s why you guys are extinct, you dead piece of crap!”

  Colter enjoyed the kill for another few minutes and then walked back to the RV. It was going to be a good day. These evolutionary rejects would learn who the real top predator was, and Colter would be the teacher.

  He looked around for another target; the other monoclonius, scared by the sound of the gunfire, were positioning themselves defensively in the prehistoric clearing. Colter jeered, then screamed down the hill at them: “It ain’t gonna do you any good. I got the magic!” Then he held the rifle above his head, whooped and danced, and ran back to the RV.

  He parked the RV near its earlier spot. Debris from the dinosaur attack, as well as Petra’
s clothes, littered the clearing. Leaving Moose and Sarah in the RV, Colter approached the dinosaurs. Six of them stood lined up in two rows. Their heads were down, the horns pointed at Colter. He walked parallel to the dinosaur wall, watching the horns track him every step of the way. When he reached the end of the line he lifted his rifle, lined the sights up between the eyes of the last dinosaur, and pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked into his shoulder, and the loud report startled the lines of dinosaurs, but they didn’t bolt. The one on the end took the slug just above the snout. Colter was disappointed, he thought for sure at this distance he could put it right between the dinosaur’s eyes. But it didn’t matter. The dinosaur’s front legs buckled, and it dropped to its knees. Its back legs seemed locked and held its rear haunches high. Then its eyes closed, and with the back legs still locked, it tipped left and fell onto its side, dead.

  The back row of dinosaurs moved nervously back and forth, swinging their heads. They looked like they wanted to bolt for the taller brush, but their instinct told them staying in the line was the best defense. Colter smiled. These poor dumb bastards were too stupid even to save themselves. He walked down the line to the next dinosaur. When he was directly in front, it pawed the ground. Colter raised his rifle and was about to shoot when a dinosaur in the back moved out of line and ran behind the one he was about to kill. Colter froze but held the moving dinosaur in his scope. The newcomer trotted up to the dead one, pushed it in the back with its horns, then raised its head and bellowed, prodding the carcass again and again. It then turned toward Colter, put its head down, and charged.

  This time Colter’s life was on the line. The huge monster was picking up speed and closing fast, so he kept the rifle aimed between its eyes, fired, and then dove to the side. When he hit the grass he rolled to get well clear of the monster, and swung his rifle up to fire another shot if needed. It wasn’t. The bullet had hit the dinosaur in the head, killing it instantly, but the momentum carried it into a skid, then a tumble.