Colter crawled forward and then stood, using the dinosaur’s body to steady his gun. He sighted on another dinosaur and fired. This time the shot was wide and buried itself somewhere in the dinosaur’s neck, but it roared in pain and began swinging its head, then turned and staggered away. Now the rest of the herd bolted for the tall brush and were soon at a full gallop. Colter fired another round at the wounded dinosaur, hitting it in the rump; it roared again but kept walking even as blood streamed down its left rump and leg. When Colter put another round into it, the retreating dinosaur only whimpered and Colter was disappointed, but at least it bled more. Another shot got no further response, and as Colter watched, the bleeding dinosaur walked across the clearing and disappeared into the tall brush.
Colter was satisfied. It was heading into the heart of the dinosaur land and bleeding bad enough to attract a pack of scavengers. He smiled. This was one dinner party he planned on crashing.
He returned to the RV and packed some water, a little food, and a box of ammunition. Then he stretched out on a mattress on the floor to take a nap, his hands behind his head. He wanted to give the scavengers time to gather before he went after them. Besides, he was days behind in his sleep. Sarah came out from under a pile and sniffed all around Colter, looking for food. When she was sure there wasn’t any, she flopped down next to him, pushing her head into the warmth of his armpit. Her closeness bothered Colter, bringing back memories of Petra, but he soon fell asleep.
When he woke, Moose was stretched out on his chest, but as soon as he stirred the animal was up the wall to the top of the cabinet. Sarah stirred but didn’t wake. Colter realized she was shivering and he covered her with a blanket. It was just too cold for them, he realized. Colter remembered Dr. Coombs or Dr. Piltcher talking about the extinction of the dinosaurs. He remembered one of the theories was that a comet slammed into the earth, kicking up enough debris to block out the sun and bring winter to the entire planet. The dinosaurs just plain froze to death. Colter hadn’t paid much attention to the theory then, but he could see that Moose and Sarah weren’t equipped for an eastern Oregon fall, let alone winter. They were both lethargic and slept much of the time.
Of course there’s another thing that might have happened to the dinosaurs, Colter told himself, something Dr. Piltcher or Dr. Coombs never would have thought of. Maybe the dinosaurs died off because they all came to the future and were blown away … by me! Colter frowned as a memory of Petra drifted through his mind. Then he put out a bowl of water and more fruit for Moose and Sarah and left.
Outside the RV, the position of the sun told him he had been asleep for hours. The carcasses nearby were still intact. Probably the gunfire had scared the scavengers deeper into the forest. But there was still the one that got away, leaving a blood trail, and it should have drawn a crowd by now. Checking that all his clips were fully loaded, Colter slid a hunting knife in a sheath onto his belt, picked up his pack, and left the RV. The trail was easy to follow. It led him straight into the tall brush, and toward the clearing where the big carnivore had eaten Dr. Piltcher. It also led toward the lake where that walking fish had killed Petra. That suited Colter fine. First he would kill the dinner guests, and then he would camp by the lake and wait. If he had to, he’d wade out into the lake making himself bait. But he wasn’t leaving until that walking fish paid for what it did to Petra.
There was so much blood, Colter guessed the animal must have a severed artery, but the track went on and on. He was approaching the clearing when he heard growling. Making sure the rifle had a bullet in the chamber, he crept forward. The monoclonius had made it through to the clearing and its carcass—picked nearly clean from neck collar to tail—was fifty feet from the brush line. All of its ribs were bare. Three of the fifteen-foot carnivores were in the clearing chewing on rib bones, and half a dozen of the three-footers were reaching around looking for tidbits. It was just what Colter wanted, a shooting gallery.
Colter crept right to the edge of the clearing, crawling under a bush until he had a clear shot. Then he lined up his first one, aiming at the head of one of the fifteen-footers. As its head came up with something red from the body cavity it turned to look around. When the head was parallel to Colter he fired and it screamed in pain. The other dinosaurs froze at the sound of the rifle, trying to spot the danger, their heads pointed up. Colter realized that in this food chain, none of them would think to look under a bush for an enemy.
The wounded dinosaur was using its small front legs to paw at his jaw. Colter, skilled from his first killing spree, turned and shot another of the fifteen-footers in the side, leaving the first wounded dinosaur for later. The second dinosaur screamed like the first and spun, looking for its attacker. Blinded by its pain and rage it sunk its teeth into its wounded brother’s neck. The first dinosaur crumped and bellowed and the fight was on. The dinosaurs fell, rolling to the ground. The first one still had its teeth in the neck of its friend, but the one on the bottom was using its three toes to rip at the belly of its attacker. The noise was deafening, but Colter couldn’t have been happier. He loved it. They were killing each other.
Colter decided to add the last dinosaur to the fight, the one who had backed off a few feet and was watching the fight from a safe distance. He put a slug into its chest. But this dinosaur simply shuddered and stood dumbly, watching. Colter shot it in the leg, trying to get a reaction. This time it spun around and Colter shot it in the tail. When it spun again, Colter excitedly repeated the tail shot—again and again as the beast whirled and shrieked, ten times in all. It took two shots at the head before he dropped the spinner.
By now, the dinosaur fight was over. The one on the bottom had died in the grasp of its brother. Colter took aim to kill the winner but never fired the shot.
Something was coming up behind him, and from the sound of the crashing brush, something big. He realized it was almost on top of him, its progress covered by the noise of the gun and: the dinosaur fight. He rolled onto his back and looked up through the brush. There, towering three stories above him, was the dinosaur that had chased Colter and killed Dr. Piltcher. He was about to shoot when he realized the dinosaur wasn’t looking at him. It didn’t seem to know he was there. Instead it was lodking into the clearing at the remaining carnivore.
Colter began to worry about the dino’s feet. If it kept coming it might step on him. He quietly got to his knees. He couldn’t get all the way up without noisily pushing branches out of his way. Colter watched the huge legs for movement, but nothing happened. Then he heard the loud sounds of a dinosaur sniffing and saw the giant’s head dropping toward his bush, where it paused and inhaled loudly and deeply. With its head low over the brush it bellowed, blasting Colter with its warm putrid breath. It remembered him.
Colter pushed the rifle up into the bush above him until the barrel pointed up. Then he steadied the gun and pulled the trigger. The dinosaur took the slug in its snout and blood gushed from its left nostril. The dinosaur reared, blinded by its agony, and Colter slithered out from under the bush, then turned just in time to see three huge, clawed toes, swinging toward his head. He rolled out of the way and came up firing wildly, hitting the dinosaur in the side. It didn’t flinch. Instead, it turned toward Colter, a murderous gleam in its eyes.
Colter bolted into the clearing, running past the cringing fifteen-footer, hoping the big monster would pick on something closer to its size. It didn’t work. As the monster followed him, Colter had a terrifying feeling of déjà vu—running from the monster again, toward the trees where Dr. Piltcher had been eaten, and the lake where Petra had been taken.
Hours had passed, and with each one Petra had become more miserable. She was terrified of the fish, she was in throbbing pain, and she had a new fear: She was afraid of falling asleep, of moving and alerting the fish to the life still in her. So Petra spent the hours lying motionless, enduring the pain, and fighting to keep herself conscious. She spent most of the hours grieving for Dr. Coombs and Dr. Piltcher, and fear
ing for herself. Strangely, she never worried for Colter. The last time she’d seen him he was swimming after her, but somehow she knew he was safe. But was he looking for her? No, he was probably back at the RV with Moose and Sarah. She hoped he was grieving for her. An image of Colter sitting in the RV, knees pulled up to his chest, head down and crying, flashed through her mind. It was too much for her. She began to cry over Colter’s grief, over her own death. In her exhaustion and pain she lost control and one sob wracked her body. It was enough. The fish stirred.
Petra felt the fish rock back and forth against her back as it struggled to its rudimentary feet, Petra lay there too exhausted to be terrified, too exhausted for anything but resignation. She lay there motionless waiting to see what came next. She would fight. But there was little life left in her. Too little to fight long.
The fish’s scales scraped skin off her bare back and tore at her panties, shredding them and the flesh underneath. Then it was up and moving. Petra listened and waited, sure it knew she had moved. But it walked deep into the den and began to feed. Petra’s body ached from lying motionless for hours, and her ankle was still throbbing, but her head was clearer. It still ached, but now the blinding pain was reduced to a bad headache.
The walking fish finished its meal and then waddled back toward Petra. It paused by her back and sniffed up and down her body, pausing at her bottom. Petra realized it was smelling the fresh blood. The fish was confused. Probably few of its meals bled. It sniffed higher up onto her back and then pushed her again. This time she resisted slightly, trying to mimic rigor mortis. After one more push, the fish snorted, the warm wet spray from its nostrils coating Petra’s back. As Petra lay there, eyes wide open, the fish padded to the pool and splashed into the water.
Petra counted to five hundred and then moved slowly. Her head throbbed when she rolled over and sat up, but she hung on to consciousness. The pool was glowing much brighter now, making Petra wonder how long she had been in the den. She scooted her bottom across the stone until her feet were dangling in the water, so cold it brought out the ache in her ankle. It also revived her, however. She sat there breathing deeply, trying to oxygenate her blood for what might be a long swim. Her own feeble efforts might nor be enough to reach the surface. Finally she sucked in air, filling her lungs, and let her body slip down into the pool.
As soon as she was below the surface, she pushed off hard from the edge of the pool. Only one leg was working, so she had little speed. She kept her eyes open, focused on the brightest glow ahead of her. Mostly she pulled herself along by grasping on the rocks that lined the entry tunnel. She made slow progress, however, and her air was running out. The glow was brighter, she was sure of that, but a ceiling still hung over her. She kicked and pulled again, desperate to clear the overhang. She had only seconds of air left when she turned, swam out, and kicked upward. Her lungs demanded air and she felt faint— then she broke the surface.
He made the treeline a few steps ahead of the monster and darted around the trunks. Still the beast came on, shearing off limbs and bulldozing smaller trees. This time it wasn’t going to let the forest keep him from his prey. Colter knew he was little more than snack-size for this beast, but this wasn’t about hunger; his tormentor had a personal mission. That was fine with Colter; his was personal too.
At the lake shore, the enraged monster was still forcing itself through the trees. It was perfect. The beast had little maneuvering room and Colter could hide behind a tree and take his time pumping out lead, one well-placed shot at a time. A large limb lay at the edge of the little wood, and Colter turned toward it. The monster was still coming, still angry; the snapping of big and small limbs filled the air.
Petra gasped and sucked in fresh, oxygen-rich air. Her starved brain cleared itself and her headache faded slightly. Now she found herself too weak to tread water and kicking with only one leg was nearly useless. Petra turned in the water, scanning for the fish, and saw the shore was close. She stretched out in the water and began swimming, one weak stroke at a time.
The shore, with its grove of trees, inched closer. Petra thought it might be the grove where Dr. Piltcher had died. She knew there was a tree there she could climb. It wouldn’t save her from that big monster, Dr. Piltcher had proved that, but it would keep her safe long enough to rest and get some strength back. Suddenly something moved in the woods ahead. A figure jumped over a large fallen branch and then turned its back to the lake. She recognized it: Colter.
Colter was exhilarated as he planned the perfect shot. He decided to aim about where a lung should be. That should slow it down in case he had to run again. A lungful of blood should cut you down to size, he silently told his enemy.
Colter smiled and began to squeeze the trigger, but then he heard something new. It was coming from behind him, the sound of splashing and dripping water. Something was coming out of the lake.
He turned at the sounds behind him to see a ghostly stick figure emerging from the water. It was a human figure, pale, white, and deathly, and looked zombielike as it walked through the shallows. Most horrifying of all, though, was its resemblance to Petra. Colter knew he was losing his mind. Petra was dead. She had been at the bottom of the lake since yesterday. She couldn’t be alive. Yet here was her body returning from its watery grave. Unnerved, he slumped to the ground with his back to the fallen limb and stared at the phantom, forgetting about the dinosaur behind him.
* * *
Petra staggered along the bottom toward Colter, wading through the water and pushing herself along with her hands. She’d just about made it to shore when Colter suddenly turned and pointed a rifle at her. Petra froze when she saw the look on Colter’s face; he meant to kill her. Then she saw the monster behind him, and it was coming.
Now the dead body limped through knee-high water, favoring its left leg. Colter remembered the fish chomping down on that leg. It must still hurt Petra, Colter thought. But why would a corpse limp? No, death was a painless state. That’s the only way it made sense. That realization snapped him up short and he stood and stepped toward Petra.
“Petra? Petra? Is that you?” Colter shouted.
It was. And she was alive. As he watched, Petra pointed a finger at something behind him, but before she could speak there was movement in the water behind her, the walking fish was racing toward Petra.
“Run, Petra!” Colter shouted. “It’s behind you!”
Petra’s eyes were still fixed beyond Colter, but at his warning she glanced behind. She broke into a run—but the pitiful run of an exhausted, lame person. The walking fish was in the shallows now, and using its flipper legs to splash after Petra, its powerful tail helped to propel it forward. Colter took two steps to the right to make sure his shot would be well clear of Petra and raised his rifle and fired, the shot sailing over, the fish’s body and into the water. He jacked another round into the chamber and raised the rifle again, but the fish had come close to Petra. Colter hesitated, but fired a slug into the fish’s back, near the tail. The fish flinched, slowed for a second, and then lunged for Petra’s flailing legs, tripping her, and she belly flopped into the shallow water. When the fish lunged again, Petra’s left foot disappeared between its powerful jaws.
Her head vanished in the water but she came up screaming. Now she was again too close to the fish but Colter once more raised the rifle, aimed at Petra, moved the sight slightly to the right, and fired. This time the slug hit the fish’s body dead center, and it began to thrash, still holding on to Petra’s leg. Colter fired again, hitting the fish just behind its jaw. The violent thrashing continued, whipping Petra’s legs back and forth. She kicked at the fish, trying to dislodge her foot, and suddenly she was free, and pushing herself away with her good leg. Colter opened fire again, putting three more slugs into the fish, and finally it lay still.
“Yes! I got you, you sonovabitch!” Colter rejoiced. He was still celebrating when he heard Petra yelling, and he remembered the other dinosaur.
He spun to s
ee a huge three-toed clawed foot swinging to-ward his head and started to raise his rifle, but there wasn’t nearly enough time. Instead; he dropped the rifle and dove forward. He hit the ground and rolled toward the limb he’d been hiding behind, clear of the foot but not the huge tail, which swung to the left as the dinosaur turned. Colter crouched low beneath the limb, hoping it would protect him, but the tail knocked it sideways. He covered his head with his hands while the branches tore at his shirt and skin. Colter felt the limb break and its weight and the beast’s tail pounding him.
Petra watched in horror. She couldn’t see Colter, but the frantic turn of the dinosaur told her he was still alive. She ran to the side, then, above the din, she heard Colter’s shout.
“Get the rifle, Petra! Get the rifle!”
Petra could just make out Colter’s body beneath a huge fallen tree limb. Then he threw something at Petra. It landed just clear of the dinosaur and Petra approached warily. But the dinosaur was single-minded in its attack, so Petra retrieved the object—a loaded clip for the rifle—and then retreated.
She spotted the rifle under the dinosaur. There was no way to get to it except by running in the shadow of the towering behemoth.
When Colter hollered for help again, Petra trembled in indecision.
Now the dinosaur decided to get at Colter with its feet, stepping up close. With its huge three-toed foot, it clawed away turf. Its digging grew frenzied, throwing huge hunks of dirt toward Petra.
Petra was trying to time a run for the gun when the dinosaur clawed up the gun in a clod of dirt. Dodging the flying earth, she retrieved the gun—scratched and filthy. She hoped it would still work.
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