Dinosaur Thunder

by James F. David

  “Get down here!” Nick shouted. “Hurry.”

  John and Jeanette came recklessly, Me still on Jeanette’s back, but only one other velociraptor chick at her side. Elizabeth thought it was So. Elizabeth and Nick reached out, taking their hands, pulling them onto the small ledge.

  “The opening’s bigger,” Elizabeth said, bending to enter.

  “That may be bad,” Nick said, barely heard above the growing din. “Go, go.”

  Then a velociraptor had Nick by the leg, clamping down so hard Elizabeth heard a bone break. Nick gasped as he was pulled over the edge. Elizabeth grabbed an arm as Nick fell, and she was dragged over the edge. John fell on her legs, wrapping his arms around them, arresting her fall. They lay there on the side of the hill, the velociraptor trying to tear Nick’s leg off, Nick screaming from the pain. Elizabeth held his arm, and John her legs or she would go over the side. It was a stalemate, but Nick would lose his leg and his life if it went on much longer. Then So attacked, bounding down the hill, nearly out of control, leaping at the last second, clawed feetfirst. The adult velociraptor released John’s leg, instantly sliding down the hill, snapping at So.

  Jeanette and John pulled Elizabeth up, inch by inch, Elizabeth holding on to Nick for dear life—his life. Using his good leg, Nick pushed as well as he could. At the bottom of the hill, the raptors fought, a fight that little So would lose. Elizabeth made it over the ledge and then helped drag Nick up and over. He was bleeding profusely, a piece of bone poking through the skin of his leg.

  “Leave me,” Nick said, face contorted from pain. “It’s coming.”

  The roaring was deafening now, and Elizabeth could see a boiling cloud towering a mile into the sky.

  “Follow me,” John said, taking Nick by the armpits and dragging Nick into the cave.

  “So,” Jeanette called down the hill, looking for her velociraptor.

  In response, the adult velociraptor bounded up the slope. Jeanette raised her rifle, firing nearly point-blank as the velociraptor reached the top. The bullet hit midchest, the raptor dropping dead and tumbling back down the hill.

  “That’s for So,” Jeanette said, sobbing.

  “Come on,” Elizabeth said, putting her arm around Jeanette, who was crying uncontrollably.

  “They saved our lives,” Jeanette said.

  Me leaned out, rubbing his snout against Jeanette’s cheek.

  “You still have Me,” Elizabeth said.

  “Awk,” they heard behind them over the approaching din.

  The women turned to see an injured So struggling up the hill. Jeanette started down, but Elizabeth stopped her.

  “You’ll never get back up!” Elizabeth said, shouting to be heard.

  The blast wave was towering above them now, approaching at the speed of a jet.

  “Come on, So,” Jeanette called. “You can make it.”

  The little raptor clawed its way up the hill, slipping back a foot for every three feet gained.

  Elizabeth’s eyes darted between the onrushing fury and the struggling velociraptor.

  “Come on, So!” Elizabeth screamed, and then threw herself over the hill, landing flat, feet holding her on to the ledge.

  Sensing its last chance, So lunged, Elizabeth grabbing it by the head with both hands, pulling its bloody snout toward her face. So scrambled up, stepped on Elizabeth’s head, and then walked up her body to Jeanette. Elizabeth felt every claw cut into her back. Then Jeanette was pulling Elizabeth by the waist, helping her back to the ledge. The forest was exploding now, flaming trees thrown into the sky, the blast wave so high, Elizabeth could not see the top. They had only seconds.

  “Hurry,” Elizabeth said as Jeanette helped her to her feet.

  Elizabeth turned to find the opening as big as a picture window. Behind them the last of the forest was pulverized, and as the women and velociraptors stepped toward the opening, the onrushing hell caught up with them.

  53

  Distortion

  The Boonoke Fire in 1987 burnt out 120,000 hectares in the Riverina, New South Wales, and is one of the fastest recorded grassland fires. The midday temperature was 40.6°C, relative humidity of 7%, wind speed of 44.5 km/hr, and had a head fire rate of spread of 23 km/hr.

  —Liam Fogarty

  Orlando, Florida

  Present Time

  Jacob emerged in a room lit by light from high windows. It was thirty degrees cooler in the room, and relief from the heat made him pause.

  I forgot how much I miss air-conditioning, Jacob thought.

  The floor was concrete, with remnants of green paint. The Realtor in him estimated the room at twelve by fifteen. He saw nothing like the “hell” that Betty had described—until he looked straight ahead at a new door in a freshly painted wall. A poster next to the door showed male and female musicians dressed only in strategically placed strips of leather, and wrapped in chains, playing penis-shaped guitars. With heavy black makeup, obscene tattoos, and multiple piercings, the musicians looked demonic—at least to the Browns. Next to this was a poster for TWISTED GERBIL, showing the lead singer biting the head off a rodent—probably a gerbil. Turning, Jacob saw the rest of the walls were older, and layered in posters. More of the Poppa’s Kum and Twisted Gerbil posters sprinkled the wall he had just passed through, as well as Bust-A-Cap, Devil’s Mistress, and Wet Dreams posters.

  “No wonder they went back,” Jacob said, realizing rock music had devolved while he was gone.

  Jacob ran to the door and tried it, but it was locked. Then he turned to the poster nearest the door to try to rip it down, but found it glued to the wall like wallpaper. Scratching at the edges, he peeled off strips of the offending poster. Finally obscuring enough of the offending instruments, he worked on the poster next to it, trying to create a safe zone for the Community. Then he realized the room was filling with smoke—could it pass through? If so, could the fire? Hurrying now, he ripped off a couple of more strips, realizing he could never scour the room of all the obscene images. Giving up, Jacob went back to the wall he had passed through, and stepped through it, emerging back in time. Hot air hit him like a slap in the face. Caught by surprise, he gasped, sucking in smoke and then coughing. His eyes watering, he rubbed them clear enough to see what had been a forest fire was now a prairie fire and closing in on his family.

  “It’s not hell,” Jacob said. “They were just posters for some kind of music group.”

  “You saw them!” Betty wailed. “They were … male members.”

  “I tore them down,” Jacob said. “Hurry now, we must go.”

  “I won’t go to a world that gave itself to the Devil.”

  “What a lot of hooey,” Wynooski said, pushing through the crowd. “You turn tail because of some sort of posters? With that kind of thinking, the world would be better off without you. Do me a favor, and stay here.”

  “You hear that?” Jacob shouted. “The fat ranger wants you to stay here.”

  “I’m not fat,” Wynooski said, fists planted on her ample hips.

  “Ranger Wynooski is trying to talk us out of going through this passage,” Jacob shouted to all who could hear. “The ranger wants us to stay here. Look around you. Isn’t this hell?”

  Those that heard erupted into discussion. Those that could not hear got a secondhand account of Jacob’s speech.

  “I’m big boned,” Wynooski said, still perturbed with Jacob.

  “Crazy, I need you,” Jacob said, and then turned to the crowd, shouting so that as many as possible could hear. “Choose who you will follow! The ranger wants you to stay here and not seek a new life. I believe God is waiting for us through this passage. I can’t tell you what to do, but as for my family and me, we choose to follow the Lord. Those choosing the ranger’s path, step aside. Those who believe that God loves us enough to rescue us from this hell, follow me.”

  “I didn’t tell them to stay here,” Wynooski said.

  “Crazy, come on,” Jacob said.

  “Let’s do it!�
� Crazy shouted, joining Jacob by the black opening.

  Jacob picked up Bonnie and took Beatrice by the hand. With Leah right behind him, he walked into the opening and straight through to the door on the other side, Crazy following. Leah and the girls looked around, amazed.

  “Whoa!” Crazy said, looking at the posters.

  “Crazy, get that door open,” Jacob said.

  “All right,” Crazy said, first trying the handle. “Stuck.”

  Taking his machete, Crazy hacked at the door with powerful blows. As he worked, more and more people flooded the room, bringing clouds of smoke. With Crazy wielding his machete wildly, everyone gave Crazy plenty of room to work, and the room quickly jammed with people, preventing others from coming through from the other side. With a clang, Crazy’s machete split the wood clear to the handle. A dozen mighty hacks and he had several holes. Then he resorted to kicking out chunks of wood.

  “What the hell’s going on?” a woman said from the other side of the door.

  “There’s someone out there,” Crazy said.

  Before Jacob could stop him, Crazy put his machete arm and face through the opening he had created, blood-crusted beard and all, and shouted, “Bring it on!” shaking the machete at whoever it was.

  The woman’s scream and retreating footfalls were the last Jacob knew of her.

  “Funny,” Crazy said, pulling himself back in.

  “Just get the door open,” Jacob said.

  Jacob helped now, grabbing the edges of the wood and breaking away pieces. It was a solid wood door, not like most interior hollowcore doors that Crazy could have crashed through easily. Alternating between hacking and prying, Jacob and Crazy tore the middle of the door away clear to the frame, finally breaking it in half, and creating an opening wide enough for a single person.

  “Get on the other side,” Jacob said to Crazy. “Help people through.”

  Crazy climbed through the opening. “Cool,” Crazy said from the other side.

  Jacob helped Leah through to Crazy, and then handed Bonnie and Bernice through to their mother.

  “Come, Jacob,” Leah said as she stepped through. “You promised us a house.”

  “I have to help the others,” Jacob said, the next family already crowding forward and squeezing into the opening, cutting him off from his family.

  With his family safe, Jacob felt overwhelming relief, and he stood for a second watching person after person squeeze through the broken door. Dr. Gah hobbled through, and out to safety. Other injured men and women came through, and a lot of women and children. By twos and threes, people were being saved, and Jacob wept with relief. Leaning against the wall, Jacob spotted a ceiling light, and then found the switch by the door, turning it on. Seeing the ceiling light fixture light up at the flick of a switch felt like a miracle. With the smoke getting thicker, the light helped illuminate the room. Now looking back at the opening in the poster-covered wall, Jacob realized it had changed. It was smaller and irregular, and fewer people were getting through.

  “Hurry!” Jacob shouted, squeezing through the packed room to the back wall and pulling people through and then shoving them forward. Soon, there was nowhere for them to go. The bottleneck was the small hole in the door where people exited. Only one person at a time could get through, and the injured and old, many of whom were exhausted, had to be helped through the small opening. Given the size of the room, there were only so many people who could pack in to wait their turn. Helping another person through the passage in the back wall, Jacob realized the person’s back was warm.

  “Hurry it up, Crazy!” he shouted.

  Whenever there was a free space, Jacob pulled another person through and shoved them forward. When he had to inch forward to reach the next person, he realized the opening was closing even faster. They weren’t all going to make it. Pulling one of Mel Williams’s little girls through, Jacob noticed her back was hot to the touch, and she winced when he pressed the back of her dress to her skin. Looking at the opening, Jacob could see it beginning to glow. Picking up the little Williams girl, he pushed through the crowd, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “Crazy, I need you!”

  54

  Bolide

  The asteroid that killed the dinosaurs was … roughly 10 km in diameter and it hit with 100 million megatons of force. More than 50% of the world’s different species were killed off because of the climate changes caused by the dust that was thrown into the air.… Acid rain and fires would have finished those that did not die from the initial impact.

  —Jerry Coffey

  Sixty-five Million Years Ago

  Unknown Place

  Conyers sat on Torino on one side of the opening, Weller standing on the other. Sergeant Kwan was in the meadow, and Washburne was with the tail end of the stragglers. Tafua had been killed by the T. rex, a loss that weighed heavily on the marines. “No man left behind,” was an empty phrase when the lost marine had been eaten.

  The marines shepherded the civilians across the meadow, ahead of the oncoming fire, and into the opening that led back to the present. An opening that continued to shrink back into the cleft of the hill. As the opening moved back, it continued to conform to the shape of the hillsides that it clung to. It was like a soap bubble stretched across an irregular wand. Conyers only hoped this bubble would not pop before they all could get through. Behind the fleeing refugees, part of the irregular edge of the forest fire reached the edge of the forest and now burned across the meadow, pressed by the wind. Smoke and ash obscured Conyers’s view, but she estimated they would all make it. What worried her was getting Torino through the constantly shrinking opening. She could not choose to save a horse over a person, but she was determined not to have to make that choice. There was time for both. She delayed sending him through, however, since without the horse, her leg made her another invalid, and she would not leave until all the civilians were clear. Instead, Conyers kept watch on the height of the opening, planning to send Torino through before the opening was too small for him, and that would be soon.

  The last clump of refugees was nearly across the meadow. Two men walked with an exhausted pregnant woman, who must be near term. Conyers was amazed that she had managed their arduous journey without delivering. Now she could have her baby in a clean, modern facility. Judging the size of the opening, Conyers decided there was time to let the pregnant woman through, and then she could ride Torino into the opening, Wynooski and the marines going last. Conyers was about to interrupt the flow and send Torino through when she spotted animals stampeding across the meadow, coming straight toward the opening—they were Stripys, running for the valley they had used for escape before.

  “Trouble!” Conyers yelled, pointing at the stampeding herd. “Give me your pistol,” Conyers said. “Get as many out as you can.”

  Weller tossed her his weapon. It was a Beretta, and Conyers was familiar with it. Conyers kicked Torino into a run, heading straight toward the herd. The Stripys were twenty or thirty feet long, and three-ton animals, but herbivores. Like cattle, if Conyers could turn the leader, the rest would follow. Torino’s trust in Conyers was tested again as they closed on the herd. Bred for racing, not cattle herding, the Thoroughbred nevertheless had the courage of a warhorse. As close as she dared now, Conyers swung left, shooting at the leader. Stung by a lucky hit, and surprised by the noise and the charging horse and rider, the lead Stripy deviated, now leading the herd parallel to the valley.

  Conyers let the herd catch her, keeping between escaping humans and the fire burning ever closer. It was a narrow strip now, and Conyers could see ahead that the fire was already up the hill. The leader would see it soon and turn again. Conyers drew up close to the leader, shooting it twice in the rump. The Stripy jumped, bucked, and then reflexively turned away from Conyers, toward the burning side of the meadow. Conyers turned away, pulling up, letting Torino rest, and the herd pass. When the leader realized his mistake, he tried to turn again, but the mass of confused animals pre
ssed forward. The leader stumbled just short of the burning edge and was trampled, striped animals falling, squealing, and tumbling into the fire.

  It was horrific sight, and Conyers turned away, looking to see how the evacuation was going. Just as she did, a fireball struck at the edge of the forest, the blast shredding trees and sending slivers of wood in all directions. The flash-bang startled Torino, and he reared. Conyers hung on, leaning into the horse, but then a wall of hot air struck. Torino stumbled and fell on his right side. Conyers yanked her right leg up and rolled off to keep it from getting crushed. Now flaming chunks of wood rained, and Conyers covered her face, brushing furiously at material. She heard Torino’s pained squealing, then the horse struggling to get up. When she felt it was safe, Conyers uncovered her face and brushed matter from her filthy uniform. Torino had trotted a few yards away, and stood, head low, no energy or spirit left. Conyers’s once beautiful mount was filthy, covered in ash, mud, and now blood that dribbled down his left shoulder.

  Smoke obscured the gap in the hills that was their only way home, so there was no way to know if the passage was still there, or how big it was. Hurting from head to toe, Conyers tried to get to her feet, only to collapse. Her ruined knee could not support her. Shifting her weight, she got up on her good leg and then hopped toward Torino. Three hops and she tripped, dropping face-first into a patch of ferns and big white flowers. Waiting for the pain in her knee to subside, she spit out flower petals and rolled over, moving her left leg with both hands. Turning backwards, she used her arms to scoot up the hill toward Torino.

  Torino stood, head down, breathing like an asthmatic. Conyers reached the exhausted horse, studying the gash in his shoulder. It was bad, but not fatal. Conyers could not mount Torino anyway, so there was no question of riding the injured animal. Using a stirrup, Conyers pulled herself up on her good leg, and then high enough to grab the saddle horn. Hanging on the side of her mount, Conyers said, “Time to go home, boy.” Then clicked her tongue to get the horse moving. It took three tries, but finally Torino took a step. Managing a slow walk, the shell-shocked horse moved through a landscape of shattered trees and small fires, dragging Conyers along with him.