—Animal Kingdom
Present Time
Orlando, Florida
As a girl, Kris Conyers had been a tomboy, hunting and fishing with her father and brothers, the dresses that her mother insisted on buying gathering dust in her closet. Kris could tie a fly but not braid her own hair. She could adjust the air–fuel mixture on an outboard by ear, but could not remember if it was baking soda or baking powder that went into cookie dough—not that she made cookies. Now grown up, Kris was still a tomboy, with her hair cut short so she did not have to worry about braiding it or fixing it in any way except brushing it. More important, short hair fit better into her helmet. Kris Conyers was a member of the Orlando Mounted Patrol.
Kris had followed her father into the Orlando Police force, making a slight detour. Six months ago, Kris earned one of the rare openings on the Mounted Patrol. One of only eight mounted officers, Kris loved the duty, quickly bonding with her mount, a Thoroughbred bay named Torino. A former racehorse, Torino had been donated to the unit when the owners could not find a buyer. Too slow to earn his keep on the track, and a gelding so he was useless as a stud, Torino got his second chance with the Mounted Patrol. Torino’s personality made him a natural for police work. In simulations, Torino quickly learned to stay calm when guns were fired, when he was hit with objects, and when sprayed with liquid. Most important, when faced with screaming, angry people, Torino kept his head, taking guidance from his rider.
Today, Kris and Torino were working a rock concert. The Orlando police were present in a show of force to head off potential problems. Orlando was the fifth tour stop for Bust-a-Cap, Twisted Gerbil, and Poppa’s Kum. Hundreds of groupies followed the bands on the tour, cleaning out local food banks like locusts do a cornfield, camping under overpasses, and urinating and defecating where convenient. Worse, these particular groups attracted gangs, and Kris had already seen tats for the Jamaican Posse, MS-13, and most worrisome, Jacksonville City Boys. Not that the Jacksonville City Boys were any worse than local gangs, but gangs were as territorial as alligators. You could not encroach on a gang’s territory and not expect to get bit.
For the concert duty, Morgan Nara partnered with Kris, riding a big filly named Tess. A hand taller than Torino, Tess was tall, thick-chested, and kid-tested. The only filly in the police stable, Tess nevertheless ruled, using her size to intimidate the geldings. Like his mount, Nara was big. A result of his Samoan, Japanese, and Irish mix, Nara’s size was half the battle with most pimps, dealers, abusers, thieves, drunks, and thugs. Only gangbangers took Nara’s size as a challenge. The Asian and Hispanic gangbangers were generally smaller men, and always had more to prove, seeing Nara much the same way Sir Edmund Hillary looked at Everest—he just had to take it on. Kris had more luck confronting gangbangers, but often ran into machismo issues, the fragile egos of the males easily pricked. However, Kris was getting good at male ego management, and mothered them, taking the “bitch,” “cunt,” and “dyke” references without reaction, all the while giving them firm, clear direction with just enough wiggle room for face saving. If Kris had a dollar for every middle finger she had seen, she could retire, buy Torino and a ranch, and ride off into the sunset.
Torino and Tess did most of the crowd management. If a crowd started to coalesce into a mob, the officers would use the mass of the horses to break up the clumps of people, isolating the ringleaders, forcing the others to think for themselves. As individuals, even gangbangers could be reasonable and even moral, but in a gang, they suspended moral reasoning, letting stronger personalities make decisions for them. Unfortunately, in gangs, the sociopaths tended to be the charismatic leaders.
Starting the concert at 7 P.M. was part of the agreement with the promoter. The earlier time cut down on the drinking/using/smoking time before the concert, and then the concert ended with enough time for the concertgoers to make other plans, dispersing through the city to favorite bars or hangouts or, better yet, going home. The audience would be 70 percent young-adult male, and dispersion was essential to prevent friction, because friction caused sparks, and sparks fires. Extra buses would be ready, getting people out of the area as fast as possible. More police would arrive just before the end of the concert to create an intimidating presence.
The crowd was queuing up into four security lines, passing under an awning, putting bags on a table to be searched by security guards. Two police officers stood just behind the security guards, lending their authority. Garbage cans stood near the lines, slowly filling with water bottles, beer bottles, cigarette butts, and joints. Guns would get screened out, but the crack, meth, and PCP would get through. Kris hoped those would stay hidden until well after the concert.
The crowd was well mannered, the gangbangers clumped, self-absorbed, competing for attention. Even from a distance, Kris could pick out the leaders, seeing the subtle deference of the others, and she marked them. Control the leaders, and you controlled the gang. Torino snorted as they passed through a sweet cloud of marijuana smoke. Kris ignored the joints hidden in cupped hands, guilty-looking boys and girls turning away, blending into the crowd, giggling as they moved toward the security lines. With a last couple of puffs, the butts were tossed into the cans. The potheads did not worry Kris. Let them smoke their joints, giggle through the concert, and return home short a few more brain cells. The other users would be the problem.
They finished their latest pass, using the corner of the block as one end of their patrol line. As far as Kris could see down the street, young people were flowing toward the concert venue. A city bus disgorged another thirty, mostly men, most pierced and tattooed, heads shaved or hair cut in bizarre patterns and colored neon orange or green.
“Give it another half hour and nuke the theater and watch the crime rate plummet,” Nara said. “I might be able to let my kids play in the park again.”
“They’re all somebody’s baby,” Kris said.
“There but by the grace of God go my kids,” Nara said, turning Tess with just a light touch of the reins.
Torino turned just as easily; then with a gentle nudge from the heels of Kris’s black boots, they started back through the throng. Torino stepped on a sewer grate without flinching at the clang. The horses were trained for urban surfaces, something Torino never encountered in his short racing career. Kris’s radio crackled from where it hung on her belt; then she heard the code “Be advised, ten-ninety-one C” followed by an address near their location. A unit responded, taking the call.
“Ten-ninety-one C?” Kris repeated, racking her brain for the code.
“Injured animal,” Nara said, looking puzzled. “Usually it’s a dog hit by a car. Sometimes a cat, but they tend to get squished up pretty good so you don’t get many cat calls. I once answered a ten-ninety-one C, and it was a ten-foot python run over by a bus.”
“Not a lot of dogs around here,” Kris said, indicating the office buildings and stores lining the streets. “Or snakes.”
“Lots of apartments above some of those shops,” Nara said, nodding vaguely down the street. “Probably someone’s Lhasa apso got out and had a close encounter with an SUV.”
“Nara, you’re overdue for sensitivity training.”
“Not to worry. I can fake sensitivity better than any bitch, wetback, or fag on the force.”
“Damn, Nara. Watch your mouth. Buy me a beer after the shift or I report what you just said to the watch commander. As bitches go, she’s particularly sensitive.”
A commotion ahead caught their attention. People were running, colliding, clearing out of the street in front of the theater.
“What the—?” Nara said.
Kris and Nara nudged their mounts toward the commotion, the leading edge now reaching them. Then, far ahead, a dinosaur stumbled into the street, squealed, struggling to get its balance.
“Ten ninety-one C my ass,” Nara said.
“What is it?” Kris said, wondering out loud.
The dinosaur was wide bodied, with a potbelly. Its
neck was long and thin, tapering to a small head. It was skidding on all four legs, trying to get traction. The back legs were much larger than the front. The dinosaur was the color of ripe eggplant, with white striping reminiscent of a badger. Kris had never seen anything like it.
“Who the hell cares what it is?” Nara said. “All I need to know is if the damn thing eats cop?”
Neither knew if it was a carnivore. As post-Quilt officers, they had undergone training that did include a unit on dinosaurs, but nothing like this had been covered. Kris’s equestrian training had nothing on managing dinosaurs, although the horses had been crowd trained. Horses were trained to bump up against people—barrels simulated human bodies—driving them back. This dinosaur was bigger than a person but smaller than a horse, leaving Kris wondering if Torino’s training was ingrained enough to handle a dinosaur.
Running men and women flowed past Torino and Tess, dispersing into any and every open door in the buildings lining the streets. Those closest to the scrambling dinosaur parted like the Red Sea, leaving a lane leading straight to Kris and Nara. Then another dinosaur slid into the street, followed by another—four, five, six of the striped animals piled up, clearly panicked. The first dinosaur squealed frustration, snapping at its brothers and sisters, who kept it off balance.
“What the hell is going on?” Nara said.
“It’s a damn stampede,” Kris said.
The first striped dinosaur regained its balance, then reared back, lifting its front two legs off the ground; extended its long, fat tail; and charged through the parting crowd, front legs barely off the ground. One by one, the other dinosaurs got traction and followed the lead dinosaur toward Kris and Nara. Young people pushed, shoved, tripped, and trampled one another, getting out of the way.
“We have to stop them before someone gets killed,” Kris said.
“How?” Nara asked.
“Down the alley,” Kris said, pointing to a space between buildings. “It dead-ends behind the theater.”
Without waiting for a reply, Kris kicked Torino into a trot, closing quickly on the dinosaurs. Never having seen a human or a horse, the lead dinosaur slowed almost immediately, eyeing the two-headed thing coming at it. Kris yelled and whistled, waving one arm. Tess came up on Torino’s right flank, Nara’s booming shout loud enough to be heard over pounding hooves. It was a game of chicken, and the lead Stripy broke, turning left into the alley, the others following. Pulling up, Kris slowed Torino, Tess moving ahead.
“Don’t get too close!” Kris yelled.
Nara pulled Tess sharply right and gave the herd of dinosaurs room, letting them flow into the alley, encouraging stragglers in the same direction. Then Kris noticed the last few Stripys twisting their long necks, looking back where they had come from. Kris caught the head move and pulled up, stopping Torino. Nara missed the warning sign and charged along the flank of the last of the herd, encouraging them down the alley.
“Wait!” Kris yelled.
It was too late. Screams from scattered concertgoers announced the arrival of another dinosaur. This one Kris recognized. It was a T. rex or a close cousin. As allosaurs went, this one was small, only three times the size of Torino. Tess sensed the danger before Nara spotted the T. rex. Unable to arrest her momentum, Tess veered away, almost tossing Nara with the unexpected move. Jerking on the reins, Nara tried to stop Tess’s turn, but managed only to hang on. Too late, Nara saw the T. rex.
With its meal disappearing down an alley, the T. rex ignored the small humans running for their lives, instead going for the full meal. With giant steps, the T. rex covered the ground to Nara and Tess with surprising speed. With its small arms pulled up to its chest and its jaws opened wide, the T. rex lunged for Tess. Nara rolled off his mount just as the T. rex clamped down on Tess’s neck. Hung up on one stirrup, Nara dangled as Tess was briefly lifted from her feet. The horse’s momentum twisted the T. rex’s head, but its grip held. Tess screamed, kicking and bucking as blood spurted from her neck. With a jerk of its head, the T. rex broke Tess’s neck. Nara kicked free of the stirrup and hit the ground, tried to get to his feet, and then collapsed again, clutching his left leg.
Torino danced nervously as the T. rex tore a chunk of meat from Tess’s neck. Splashed with blood, Nara used his good leg to inch away from the T. rex.
“Easy, Torino,” Kris said, studying the scene. “Let’s go.”
Kicking Torino into a run, Kris kept a firm grasp on the reins, fighting Torino, whose instincts told him they were going the wrong way. Like the warhorses of the Crusaders, Torino sensed the courage of his rider and drew on it. Horse and rider ran toward trouble.
Nara saw them coming and crawled faster, trying to get some distance away from the feasting T. rex. Protective of its meal, the T. rex hunched, a bloody strip of hide hanging from its jaws, eyes on the approaching horse and rider. Afraid of triggering an attack, Kris reined Torino in, the horse wide eyed and on the edge of panic. Tess’s blood flowed into the street, giving the humid air a metallic smell. The T. rex roared a warning, putting one giant three-toed foot on Tess’s neck.
Approaching Nara, Kris pulled her foot from the stirrup. She would never be able to lift Nara, who had eighty pounds on her.
“Grab the stirrup!” Kris yelled, pulling up next to the injured officer.
The T. rex lunged, snapping its jaws, then roared another warning, a mist of blood coating horse and rider. Torino jumped and danced, eyes wide, turning, wanting to run. Kris talked to the horse, soothing, praising him for his courage. When Torino settled down for a second, Nara grabbed the stirrup, stuck his hand through, and then clamped his other hand down, holding on tight.
“Easy, boy,” Kris said, nudging Torino forward.
Kris held Torino’s head in tight, fighting Torino’s desperate need to run. If Torino took off, the stirrup would be pulled from Nara’s grip. Dragging along the ground, Nara winced, his injured leg stretched out behind. Foot by foot, Kris dragged Nara clear, not stopping until they were two blocks away. Nara finally released his grip, lying flat in the street, breathing hard.
“I can’t take anymore,” Nara said, rocking from side to side.
Kris looked back at the T. rex, which was now ripping entrails from Tess’s belly, snapping them up with jerking motions of its head, then rearing back, using gravity to help get the intestines down its gullet. Tess’s blood flowed along the curb, a red river disappearing into a storm drain. A distant siren reminded Kris that the problem was not over. Getting on her radio, she warned the incoming officers, advising the dispatcher of the situation. Then began a series of calls from the chain of command as each layer refused to believe Kris’s report.
As she explained, and reexplained, police cars arrived without sirens, blocking the street at either end of the block. A fire engine and a ladder truck helped fill in the gaps. Meanwhile, the Stripys milled in the blind alley by the theater, occasionally peeking out but ducking back down the alley when they spotted the T. rex. EMTs arrived, hauling Nara off on a stretcher, and Kris led Torino back behind the wall of police cars.
“It won’t do,” Kris said as she passed between the cars making up the blockade. “Look at the size of that mother.”
Crouched behind the cars, officers looked nervously at the T. rex and then at their nine-millimeter pistols.
“This is nuts,” one of the officers said.
Kris waited behind the line, stroking Torino’s muzzle. Increasing distance from the blood and the T. rex was a tonic for the horse. Torino shivered, pranced a few steps, and then settled down. Looking back down the street, Kris could see that the T. rex was halfway through its meal, although Kris had no idea how much horse a T. rex could eat.
“Let’s get you out of here before that tyrannosaur decides it wants seconds on horse,” Kris said, leading Torino down the street.
“Oh no, there are people down there,” an officer said.
Kris turned, looking back down the street. The concertgoers had scattered, but
now Kris could see that many had hidden, and were now peeking out from behind parked cars, corners of buildings, and doorways. With no rescue coming, and the T. rex gorging on horse, Kris could see those hidden calculating their chances of getting away.
“Don’t do it!” one of the officers said from behind his squad car.
“He’s going for it,” another officer said.
Kris spotted four young people hiding behind a car, one of them leaning around the back bumper, watching the T. rex and then looking down the block to the police barricade. Kris could see him estimating the distance, his speed, and the likelihood the T. rex would chase him. Looking at the T. rex, Kris could see that the best parts of Tess were gone, the carcass gutted, the haunches devoid of meat. The T. rex was gnawing bone and licking blood now. Then one of the officers stood, shouting down the street.
“Get down! Don’t do it!” he shouted.
Unable to make out the words, the man behind the car took the policeman’s call as encouragement and bolted. Kris estimated the young man was eighteen or nineteen, his hair cut in a Mohawk and then segmented with each section a different color of the neon rainbow. Heavily pierced, with rings and chains hanging from his lips, nose, and cheeks, he jingled as he ran. Adrenaline powered, he was fast, but not fast enough. As soon as the T. rex caught the movement, it gave chase, catching its prey in six steps. With a muffled scream, the young man’s head and chest disappeared in the bloody maw, the scream cut off as T. rex chomped down. Crunching bone, the T. rex pulverized the body, then tilted its head back and swallowed its meal.
“Let’s shoot,” an officer said. “Can we shoot?”
“Hold your fire!” three or four voices ordered. “There are people down there.”
“Stay hidden!” someone near the center of the police line said through a bullhorn. “Do not try and run. Help is on the way.”
Dinosaur Thunder Page 11