Cretaceous Dawn

by Lisa M. Graziano

  He said no more until they were nearing the hill of rock, the “sentinel hill” as he had called it. Then he turned to Julian and said, “I call her Corla.”

  By then the sky was almost completely overcast and the moon alternately appeared and vanished behind fast-moving clouds. The wind moved in gusts and carried an occasional drop of rain. Every few minutes Julian glanced about nervously, half expecting Corla’s enormous head to emerge over the tree tops. But Carl seemed unconcerned.

  The rain came down hard with a sudden blast of wind as they climbed the hill. Within seconds they were drenched, and Julian slipped and barked his shins as he carried the ferns up the rocky side of the hill. Carl moved about the top of the wall uncovering his wells, and Julian went inside to stack the ferns in the middle room of the hut. A few minutes later Carl came in, his bedraggled hair flat against his head and clinging to his shoulders. He added a few pieces of dry wood to the fire and the flames sprang up, sending shadows and lights spinning about the stone walls.

  “Won’t you douse the fire?” Julian asked, confused that Carl seemed to be settling in rather than preparing to head back out, and west. “I have some meat that I smoked,” he added, lifting his bundle of Triceratops hide from the corner. “I suppose we won’t have to carry water for a while yet.” Now that the time had come, he was more than ready. Yes, Carl’s home was comfortable after so long living in the wild, sleeping in trees and living from meal to meal; but time was moving, his companions were still lost, and it was past time to find them.

  Carl’s look was neutral rather than puzzled as he squatted beside the fire, carefully arranging more wood. “You may go,” he said. “But you will be quickly lost. Weather in this season is a thing to fear.” He raised his head and looked Julian in the eye. “I will find your friends, if they live. I will start when the sun returns.”

  Julian was momentarily at a loss. He realized he was counting on Carl’s help; and the thought of venturing out in the stormy darkness, alone again, solitary, leaving behind the only other human being—not to mention the probability of being stalked by a hungry T. rex accustomed to taking handouts—these thoughts shook his resolve more than he cared to admit.

  “But. . . ,” he shifted his feet but didn’t release his bundle. “But daylight is hours away. I want to go now.”

  “Half the night has gone,” Carl replied calmly. “Daylight will be soon. Sleep now. I do not wish to search for you tomorrow, and find you drowned in the flood that will come.”

  The wind gave a particularly loud howl just then and the sound of the rain changed. Julian shivered. Guilty as he felt being warm and sheltered while his companions endured this night in the open, he suddenly felt extremely weary. His eyes drooped and the bundle of smoked meat fell to the floor. He was half aware of his strange host quietly moving about, stowing things away. Then the scene became unclear, and he thought that Yariko was bending over him, pulling at him. “He’s my father,” she was saying. No, Julian tried to tell her, his hair is blonde. But he couldn’t seem to form the words; and then Yariko was standing, and a cave grew in the darkness behind her.

  Julian sat up straight, his eyes wide open in the blackness. The fire was a mound of glowing coals in a ring of ashes. He was sitting on a thick piece of hide with another on top, its musky smell filling his nose.

  A dim shape stood in the doorway. The shape moved, and Carl’s voice said, “We will leave early. If your friends stay clear of the river they will be all right. The Big Ones will never hunt in this.” Then he turned and disappeared into the back room.

  Julian lay for a time listening to the storm. The wind roared over the thatched roof and the rain splashed and pounded on the stones in the yard. A faint sound drifted in now and then, and his last half-awake thought was, “But how can there be music?”

  SEVENTEEN

  The Rocky Mountains first emerged as a volcanic chain, the result of a subduction zone beneath the North American continent. The Pacific plate edge was in the process of colliding with, and sinking beneath, the expanding North American plate, just as it continues to do in our time. In the Cretaceous Period the Rockies had not yet been uplifted to their current grand height; for the Rockies are young, mere children as mountains go, unlike those ancient slopes in the east, the Adirondacks and the Alleghenies.

  —Julian Whitney, Lectures on Cretaceous Ecology

  1 September

  10:46 PM Local Time

  The vault was clean and in order again. Broken dials were replaced and new wires, just brought in, were being fed through conduits in the ceiling. Bowman grumbled as Mark Reng worked inside the vault.

  “There’s no reason to hurry,” he said to Ridzgy. “I’m tired, you’re tired, that silent graduate student with his wires is getting on my nerves. I say we turn in, start again tomorrow. It’s not like we’re working against a time limit.”

  “We are, though.” Ridzgy’s eyes were drooping but she wasn’t ready to stop for the night. “I want to know if our guess is true—before the government descends on this lab and takes it out of our hands. I want to make this translocation happen. Tonight is our chance. And as for that kid with his wires. . . .” She nodded toward the vault, where Mark’s feet could be seen on the third step of a ladder, and lowered her voice. “There’s only so much he can know, right? He’ll think we’re working to bring his bosses back. If we’re careful, he won’t notice the subtle differences in the settings.”

  “Well, you won’t get far tonight.” Bowman nodded toward the vault. “Oh, he’ll have the wiring set up again by morning, and we’ll be able to rerun the program. But it won’t tell us anything about what really happened.”

  “Why won’t it tell us anything?” The voice was not Ridzgy’s. Both scientists whirled around and saw Earles. She had entered silently, and stood listening to the end of their conversation. “Is it that platinum bar that you need? I can get you another. Tell me the dimensions.”

  Bowman and Ridzgy exchanged glances.

  “That won’t work. We need the exact same. . . .” Bowman began, but Ridzgy interrupted in a rather loud voice.

  “I’ve got the measurements for you here.” She handed over a sheet of paper, torn from a lab notebook. Giving Bowman a stern look, she added, “Make sure it’s exact to these dimensions. The wrong size bar, even a little off, wouldn’t replicate the exact settings. And unless the settings are identical, we can’t find your missing people.”

  “Very well,” Earles said, taking the paper. “I’ll set Hann on it.” As she turned to leave she saw Mark Reng, with his crazy mop of hair, peering out of the vault’s portal. He had an astonished look on his face that made her smile. Probably knew nothing of this platinum thing, she thought. They must have kept their secrets well, Miyakara and Shanker, for her only graduate student to know so little.

  She felt sorry for him.

  When the storm hit, Yariko and Dr. Shanker took shelter in a small clump of conifers. “Shelter” was perhaps too strong a word, but at least there was a semblance of a structure around them. It had begun with the wind, late in the day; the rain followed in the dark hours, and more wind. The trail across the brushy plain led straight to a dark smudge that, in the intermittent moonlight, could only be a stand of evergreens. This they hurried toward; but the breezy shower, which they were glum enough about, became a howling torrent before they reached the trees.

  Under the branches the wind seemed easier and the rain was only scattered drops instead of sheets. They crouched, huddled together and shivering, Hilda trembling every time the wind gave a particularly loud howl or knocked down a branch.

  It didn’t last long. As the rain gradually stopped, Yariko began to explore their tiny woods. Soon she was shouting for Dr. Shanker.

  “I found something. He must have been here. He’s still ahead of us.” Close beside a thick trunk, half screened by brambles, was a small, neat stack of wood. The pieces were about as thick around as Yariko’s arm, and a few feet long; they were stacked
log-cabin style, and held in the center were smaller sticks and split wood for kindling.

  Dr. Shanker looked closely at the ends of the sticks. “Seems a strange thing for Whitney to leave behind. How in the world did he cut them?”

  “I don’t know,” Yariko said happily. Her spirits were high now the storm was easing. “He must have made an axe of sorts, with a stone or—or a tooth. He knows all about teeth.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought Whitney’d be so resourceful,” Dr. Shanker said thoughtfully.

  Yariko gave him an exasperated look. “Of course he’s resourceful. He got this far on his own. But. . . .” She still couldn’t understand why he’d gone ahead without them. Surely they would have found each other near the river, if he’d stayed there. Or did he think they’d gone on without him? That thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

  “Nice of him, anyway,” Dr. Shanker said matter-of-factly. “It’s almost dry against the tree here. How’d he know which was the weather side?” He stood and felt his pockets for his keys. “Think these’ll do as steel?”

  They’d long ago each collected a small scrap of flint; now Dr. Shanker, by what miracle Yariko didn’t know, managed to strike sparks and get the damp wood lit after several intense minutes. A partial imprint of his lab key was burned into his forefinger, probably for life as he said, but they had a fire. In the lee of the huge pine the wind was tolerable and the now light rain hardly touched them. Their biggest problems were the smoke from the damp wood and the steam rising from Hilda’s fur.

  Yariko fell to dozing as she sat cross-legged on the damp brown needles. People seemed to be crowding around her. But I had to lead you on, Julian was saying. To the caves you see. That’s why I left you. Then Julian turned into Frank who said, Why did you leave me all alone you should have come with me. The air became swirling dust that choked her.

  “Don’t sit there,” Dr. Shanker’s voice said, and Yariko woke with a start as he shook her. Her eyes stung, and she coughed. “I scattered the fire,” Shanker said. “The wind got the ashes—they went everywhere. Let’s move.”

  Yariko got to her feet, still confused. It was very dark; she could see Dr. Shanker only as a bear-like form stamping out the last of the coals. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you sleep?” She shivered. The wind felt colder.

  “The clouds are coming in again. It doesn’t look good.” Dr. Shanker pointed to the patch of eastern sky showing through the trees, where the moon was again being obscured by clouds: thick, rolling black clouds, moving quite fast. “These trees won’t be safe when that hits us. Let’s get into the open.”

  Yariko was reluctant to leave the little woods; but Dr. Shanker said he preferred death by drowning to death by squashing under a fallen tree. They agreed to look for a thicket or a boulder so they could at least crouch against a partial wall. Dr. Shanker hurried out into the open, Yariko behind him.

  But she wasn’t the only reluctant one, it turned out: Hilda remained under the trees. She sat down and howled in fear, refusing to come out. They wasted valuable minutes trying to persuade her. Finally Dr. Shanker slung her over his shoulder and stalked off.

  The rain fell harder. After some time Yariko realized she was following a sort of shallow depression, or trench. Perhaps ten feet to either side the ground rose gradually a good few feet, making her stumble if she strayed one way or the other.

  “We must be in a dry streambed,” she shouted, grabbing Dr. Shanker by the arm to get his attention.

  “Probably joins the river,” Shanker replied. “Whitney could easily have found it too. Convenient, to have an obvious path.”

  Yariko nodded, and concentrated on walking in the increasing wind. After a while she took a turn with Hilda draped over her shoulder. She did it more as a way to keep warm than as a favor to Dr. Shanker, for the dog was heavy, but it turned out to be a fortunate chance. They had spotted a dark patch, maybe bushes, in the last of the moonlight and were squelching through the rain, backs bent as the wind pushed at them, when Dr. Shanker suddenly cried out.

  At first Yariko thought he’d stumbled and twisted his ankle; but the next instant he pitched forward and landed at full length in the mud. She couldn’t see anything but his vague form.

  “What is it?” she cried, struggling to lower Hilda. The dog clung to her in fear; thunder had been rumbling for some time, and now a louder clap than usual boomed over the drumming rain.

  Dr. Shanker rolled onto his back and sat up, clutching his ankle and yelling. When the thunder grumbled itself out and Yariko could distinguish his words, what she heard was, “Attacked! It’s got me!”

  Yariko dropped to her knees and unceremoniously dumped Hilda in the mud. Then she crawled forward. Her heart was pounding and part of her wanted to run; but Dr. Shanker was still sitting up, and she couldn’t make out another form in the darkness. She reached out a hand and touched his shoe.

  “I’ve got it!” he said. “Goddamn lizard. Never knew something this small could hurt so much.”

  Yariko almost laughed in relief. “Where did it bite you? What was it?”

  “It’s here. Something the size of a chicken. Bit me on the ankle, and then I fell over it. Damn thing hung on forever. Think I’ll keep it for our next meal—serves it right.”

  He sounded like his usual self. But when Yariko helped him to his feet he winced in pain and nearly fell over again. “Good thing you were carrying Hilda,” he said. “That fall would’ve broken my neck with her weight.”

  “We’d better stop,” Yariko said, loudly over the increasing wind and rain. It was nearly as bad as when they’d taken shelter in the trees, and it was rapidly getting worse. The moon and stars were now completely obscured; it was suddenly absolutely dark.

  But Dr. Shanker wasn’t ready to give up. “Not here. We’re still in a depression—I can feel the water coming over my feet. I prefer life to death by drowning.”

  Yariko tried to act as a crutch but he said her pace was wrong, and her shoulder too high to lean on. “I’ll use the spear,” he said. “You go first. I’m right behind you. Just go slowly.”

  Yariko set out, walking as slowly as she could. Dr. Shanker’s harsh breathing and dragging gait was loud behind her. Every few seconds she felt the air with her hand to be sure he was still there. Finally he told her to stop. “If you keep grabbing my crutch arm you’ll make me drop the thing,” he grumbled. “I’m not going anywhere you’re not.”

  Then, with a suddenness that shocked her, the full storm hit. Yariko was knocked flat by the gust of wind that came over the plain, and the rain pounded her so hard as she lay on the ground that she wondered if she’d ever be able to get up again. The drops felt like solid pellets on her back and legs, or maybe like sharp splinters driving right through the skin. She realized that her face was in water and struggled to turn.

  Something tugged at her legs and she scrabbled at the stony ground, digging her hands in as hard as she could. She realized she was lying on the edge of the depression, fortunately with her head on the high side. With an effort she managed to drag herself out of the deepening water, and the tugging on her legs stopped.

  When she finally sat up she found it difficult to breathe in the seemingly solid sheets of rain. Cupping one hand over her nose and mouth, she felt around her for Dr. Shanker.

  Her searching hand found fur; wet dog fur, and then an ear. She dragged herself up against Hilda and felt around in the blackness with the other hand.

  “Dr. Shanker!” she yelled, but the sound came out as a strangled croak. She took a big breath through cupped hands and tried again, with better success. “Dr. Shanker!”

  There was no answer. Was he unconscious? Was he lying with his face in the growing puddle, unable to move? Yariko grasped Hilda’s tail in one hand and began to crawl in a slow circle, arm outstretched to sweep the greatest possible diameter. Her hand hit something hard and she grabbed it with a surge of relief; but it was only the branch of a shrub, torn from the soil and tumbling by.
When she let go it was gone in an instant.

  “Where are you?” she cried, miserably.

  For a long time, hours it seemed, she felt around in the dark, not daring to let go of Hilda. Once she began to slip back down into the water and was nearly taken away by it, but she clung to Hilda and dragged herself out again. That was when she realized the dry bed had flooded, and the channeled torrent had swept Dr. Shanker away, just as the river had taken Julian.

  Bits of shrubs and the occasional larger branch skittered by and even flew into the air around her. The storm was so loud that her senses were flattened, her mind confused. She lost all sense of place and of time, and at last collapsed on top of Hilda, clinging to the dog’s solidity with all her might.

  Julian woke to the sound of a steady rain. He had not slept well; his dreams had been tainted by the churning river, charging T. rex, and images of Yariko lost in the woods, calling his name as they had called for Hilda when she was lost.

  A few embers glowed in the ash pit and a dim, gray light filled the room. The thatched roof had done a good job of keeping out the storm, but still there were a few puddles on the uneven floor, and the stone slabs of the walls were streaked here and there with moisture. He rose and pushed aside the dinosaur skin that covered the doorway. Outside, the corral was awash in thick brown water, churning in the heavy rain. The ground rose up highest at the center, forming a small stony island on which the animals stood, packed together around the dead tree. Bits of soggy vegetation hung from their mouths. There was no sign of Carl.

  Julian shivered and turned back to the fire pit. There he found a bowl of clean water, and beside it, in a pot covered with a flat stone, something hot that looked very much like mashed potatoes. Two rough clay bowls had been set out beside the fire. He grinned; the lopsided bowls resembled the third-grade art work that he’d proudly brought home to his parents.