“They suddenly rushed across?” Mel asked. “Did Streaker see any predators approaching to spook them?”
“I think he would have shown that to me, just for more meat, but let me double check.” A quick step up on the truck, a Tap, and he was back down.
“No, they just milled around on the slightly higher sides of the ridge, where the water hasn’t eroded as much, and then about a dozen of them quickly separated and waded into the water and got to the other side as fast as they could, but without running. Not all of them waiting went across at the same time.”
Jimbo made an observation. “Those horns and armored protective neck frills would make them front heavy. If they don’t swim well, they might worry about being swept over the ledge into deeper water and drown, just as these animals probably did. The rock could be slippery.”
“Hadrosaurs should swim well, I think.” Cory countered. “Unlike the two-horns, they live in water most of their lives. They also left bones here.”
“Flash floods possibly? We had a rain late yesterday. A big storm upstream might send water down this far suddenly. We can see that it floods here sometimes, apparently deep even this far from the main channel.” Mel pointed at the big trees that had floated here to prove his point.
Shrugging, he said, “Let’s drive up there and have a look. I studied the map and aerial pictures while we drove this morning, and either side has equal access to the mountain passes before we need to leave the river plain. I checked in with Prime City today, and gave them our progress. If we decide to use the ford, I’ll tell them we are traveling on the other side of the river. Saddle up.”
Three of the cats, ran ahead, after learning there were two-horns trying to cross, and that they might be too afraid to go. It sounded like potential easy prey for them to take down. Kayla, who had hunted yesterday stayed with the rest of the “pride” as additional protection.
The cats had decided they would always keep one ripper with the slower SGs at all times, if possible. Kopper had also hunted yesterday, but with a two-horn, his bulk and jaw size might be needed for the strangulation neck grip if they managed to isolate one of the animals from the herd. Unlike the rhinolo, who were not genius level grazers, most dino grazers were positively dim witted. They seldom charged to the rescue of a downed herd member.
Ricco and Neri got back into the first truck, and Danner and Cory into the closest truck with Mel, who assumed the second spot in the little caravan now. The other two took station in line as they trundled over the lumpy knots of grass, eventually getting back onto the migration trail.
On the smoother ground, they made twenty-five miles per hour. Except Ricco’s halftrack kept throwing damp clots of red clay airborne, so Mel shifted farther right to keep the muck off the windscreen. Even that hydrophobic clear substance allowed the mud to slide down too slowly for good vision, if it was being replaced too quickly.
The ridge proved to be over three miles away, and as they drew closer, they saw the rippers hunting hopes had been frustrated. Apparently, the movement of the four vehicles, despite their distance, had frightened the two dozen ceratopsians gathered on the rocky approach to the ford. They were waiting for courage, to make the crossing before the unseen rippers had reached an ambush position. The remainder of the herd on this side had run away from the crossing, to wait for another chance to cross later, or even tomorrow.
Cory expected to hear some complaints from the three cats about the “sloppy” habits of some people that didn’t know how to avoid stampeding the prey like cubs. Ignoring a fact, that no one else was hunting because plenty of frozen or cooled meat had been brought along, and they were not running low.
The two-horns they hoped to trap on the ridge, pinned between the water and the cats, foiled the ripper’s hasty plan by the simple expedient of all of them rushing and splashing, sure footedly, over the fifty-foot wide gray granite ridge.
Ricco parked twenty feet from the edge of the water on the smooth stone, worn by untold centuries of migrations and floods. He leaned out to tease the three cats, who were watching their prey stroll away on the other side.
“Why didn’t you get your feet wet and chase them?” This question garnered him sharp looks from three sets of narrowed blue eyes, all glaring his way.
Watching these cats grow up, and having played with them as kittens, he laughed. This would probably earn him a ripper’s form of humorous retaliation before the week was done. Repeated three times. For example, pee directed at his boots, wet fur shaken hard next to him, or perhaps one would catch some small prey animal, eat what little meat there was, then “gift” his boots, underpants, or sleeping bag with the bloody fur and intestines that night. You laughed at even a friendly ripper at your own risk.
The cats moved back from the water as a low wave, perhaps wind pushed, shoved water up the gentle slope of the low ridge, and the flow of water over the center increased briefly. The speed of the water over the top of the granite obstacle was only a few miles per hour, and it dropped barely eighteen inches from the dark pool of water above the natural dam, to a smaller and slightly more turbid pool below, where the slow current stirred leaves and floating dino dung caught in the weak undertow.
The upper lake was nearly a mile wide behind the ridge, and the low point in the center sloped very gently, a reflection of the wear pattern of high and low water levels over the years, and of the animals that trod this natural barrier only when the levels were low, as at this season.
The water at the edges of the lake sloshed gently, perhaps the result of that same wind. The stillness of the surface on both sides gave no hint of its depth, but the dark water suggested it was too deep for a large animal to wade if it fell in, on either side of the solid walkway. If the level of the lake was as little as a half foot higher than today, the flow could be great enough that an animal that lost footing would be gently swept from the fifty feet of stable pathway before regaining its feet. A two-horn with its heavy head armor might easily drown if unable to find purchase to clamber back up against the slow current.
Ricco looked at Mel. “The ceratopsians have a bit less ground to belly clearance than the bottom of these trucks. This halftrack should have as good a grip on the rock as any of our trucks, and better than dino feet. If I stay more to the right, away from the slightly faster current near the left edge I won’t have any problem, probably not on the left side either. I wouldn’t want to cross if deeper water was going to push against the sides of the truck, but it’ll pass under us if it went under the animals.”
“I agree. Go slow and we’ll watch for the undercarriage clearance as you near the low place in the center. Back out if the surface feels like you’re having slippage.”
Ricco looked at Neri, “Watch for any water build up on your side if it gets deeper than expected. I’ll just put it in reverse.” These trucks had passed through four-foot streams with stronger side currents on Cenozo, except there it was on sand and rocky bottoms, not flat rock.
“Hey, you want a ride to keep your feet dry?” He was offering this to the three cats.
Unsurprisingly, the miffed rippers turned and walked back to the other three trucks, preferring the company of someone who had not belittled their hunting miscalculation. Nevertheless, their natural instincts wanted them to resume the hunt when they reached the other side. Fateful decisions can rest on such trivia.
Ricco eased out into the first few shallow inches of water, about four truck lengths, staying ten feet from the right side edge. Informing the others by com set what he was doing, he applied combinations of motor power to test for traction or slippage. The drive motors of the front steering wheels gripped well against the drag of the switched off rear tracks. Then the tracks proved they too had a good grip. He used all four motors together in a surge of acceleration in forward, and then in reverse. The wheels and tracks worked with no significant slippage. There was a good gripping surface on the submerged rock.
This testing proved the other trucks wo
uld have no problem crossing, at least as far as traction went. Who would have thought this small delay and sense of caution was of more critical importance than tire grip? Perhaps the ceratopsians that had been seen rushing across earlier would know that. More significantly, it should have been the bones littering the downstream banks. They told everyone not to delay.
Ricco and Neri, their heads leaning out and looking down as the water rose, were relieved when the level quit rising with ten inches to spare from touching the undercarriage. All eyes were fixed on the truck. Except for those of the wolfbats, that had little curiosity about the not-life creature that sometimes carried them.
They watched the sky, their normal domain, for the frequent birds they encountered and sometimes hunted, and listened for distant cries of cousin bats that might hunt this far from the forests they normally chose for nest areas. That didn’t mean, sitting so low and vulnerable, that they didn’t look for other potential threats. They had lost squad mates that flew too low over “harmless” water in the past. Things sometimes leaped out of the water unexpectedly.
Streaker first noticed the moving bulge out on the lake. He squeaked an alert to Flight Leader, but it was low, because they were sitting side by side. No one had sent them aloft again, since the destination had been reached. Alarmed when he saw that the bulge was moving, Flight Leader sounded a louder warning call, of essentially “look out, a thing in the water.” It was actually a composite warning of an alert, and an unknown water threat.
Cory heard and glanced back, because he recognized the first part, an alert call. He saw where they both were looking, and that they had slightly unfolded their leathery wing membranes for a sudden departure if needed.
He looked out over the water, and saw the hump of water, moving towards the natural dam. It was well out, but moving quickly. “Hey, what’s causing that?” He pointed.
Mel, when he saw it, said, “It’s a wave of some kind.” He switched on his com set.
“Ricco, get across fast, there’s a wave coming downstream towards you.”
There was a momentary pause as Ricco and Neri did what every human does, only slowly to a TG2. They looked out at the odd wave, on an otherwise smooth lake with mild wind ripples dimpling the surface. “You want me to come back, or continue?” Ricco asked.
He didn’t want to be stuck on the other side alone, and had decided the bulge was coming slow enough and right at the center, that he could go either way to escape. Another delay.
Danner, also looking, said, “I think it is increasing speed. Tell him to get moving.”
In fact, the rounded wave crest was also a bit higher than it had been, and a bit faster.
Mel sounded much more worried now. “Ricco, move now! Get going!”
The truck lurched into reverse, and Ricco decided he wanted to stay with the group, and was convinced he could beat the wave to get clear. It was only thirty or forty feet wide, and coming directly at the center, where the water was deeper. What he had not counted on, none of them had, was that the wave wasn’t directed at the center of the natural spillway. It was directed at the unnatural object that happened to be there in the center. As Ricco backed up, at a faster pace than he had been using, the wave deformed slightly and altered direction to intercept where he would soon be.
Neri came on the com set. “I’ve seen soliton waves, but those are wider, and this one is changing direction.” In the background, Ricco being focused on driving backwards and staying centered on the ridge, shouted, “It might be a tidal bore, I’ve seen those in rivers on other planets.”
He was wrong, but it was no time to debate with them, so Mel shouted, “Get moving faster, it’s picking up speed.”
Rigson’s home city had a river that passed through its center and emptied into the sea. It frequently experienced a tidal bore. It was always seen near the mouth of the river as the tide came in, and moved against the river current. This wave was nowhere near the river mouth or tides, and it was moving with the slow current. It was smaller and localized, and he was now convinced it was aimed.
“Get your rifles. Start shooting at the front of that wave. There is something pushing that water.”
Naturally, no one reached a weapon faster than the two boys, who leaped into motion as Rigson shouted. Danner grabbed his own weapon, a bolt action, but Cory took a few extra steps to grab the closest semiautomatic. In seconds of the warning, fifty caliber slugs were ripping into the wave that was now a quarter of a mile from the rapidly backing halftrack.
The slugs didn’t seem to have any effect, and Rigson said, “Try aiming lower than where I see you hitting. It’s deeper under the water I think.” They had been shooting into the center of the growing wave front, and the “It” that Rigson suspected was actually below the surface level.
The shots started hitting lower, but the wave was moving faster, building, and it would be a close race to see if the truck could avoid being cut off before reaching safety. The danger, aside from what was making the wave, was the truck being swept over the downstream side of the ford, by the force of the water.
The high velocity slugs were visibly affected by the water. As the slugs stuck, some deformed and deflected upwards, exiting the wave top. Others may have slowed rapidly to ineffectiveness, or turned sideways. Heavy bullets that could do such terrible damage to flesh, and penetrate hardened armor or an inch of steel, were mostly useless for a water target you couldn’t see. Besides, both youngsters, and the belated firing of the other men all made the same wrong assumption. They fired into and in front of the center of the mass of water, assuming that was where the target lay they had to stop.
They were only partly right, and thus only partly successful. The center of the wave suddenly lowered and slowed, but the sides split into two onrushing sections, the right side the largest. The two waves, having gained on the truck now still a hundred feet out, angled back towards it in a move to prevent it from reaching dry rock.
The surge of water was turning so it presented more of a side shot to the men firing. Cory and Danner saw something with their IR vision and shouted at the same time. “Shoot down at the sides.”
Cory placed five shots quickly at a point a foot below the side of the near and larger wave, emptying his magazine, and Danner fired there as well. Mel did the same to the side of the farther wave, but with less accuracy. Cal and Jimbo split their shots between the waves, not seeing what the two TG2s saw. Suddenly, the rapid chatter of the thirty caliber automatic opened up, bullets striking the side of the nearer wave. Chack had pulled that weapon out from under a seat.
Abruptly, a long triangular fin briefly broke the surface below the front of the larger wave, and then a dark form twisted, dived, and turned away from them. The wave continued but was diminishing somewhat. Cory, racing to grab another magazine shouted, “There are at least four of them. We’ve hit two.”
Danner was also reaching into a truck for another clip, as Cory reloaded. The intensity and rate of fire reduced enough that the two remaining wave crests were going to reach the truck. The question now was would the truck’s weight and traction keep the vehicle from being swept away.
The double bulge of water merged, with the two combining to reach six feet high, with some of the additional wave momentum of the beast that had turned away still moving forward. The water struck the left side and rear of the truck the hardest, slamming it sideways. The back end swung towards the downstream side, still in reverse with full power applied. It moved ten feet in the wrong direction before Ricco, almost washed out of the cab, with Neri pushed against him, shifted into forward. He turned the front wheels to complete a right turn and try to reach safety in forward, forcing the blunt nose of the truck through the ebbing final five-foot wave of the creature that had ended its attack early.
The water didn’t recede properly, and the truck suddenly halted against a dark wet resisting wave. The presumed frozen wave suddenly raised two huge dark brown flipper-like front fins, and then a monstrous l
ong head filled with interlocking teeth appeared on the end of a six-foot thick neck. It used its long ovoid of a massive dark colored multi-ton body to shove the truck backwards four feet. It then hunched its back to pull its rear flippers up for another push. It was going to shove its prey into the downstream pool, and follow it in, to feed.
Cory walked towards the beast’s back, to get an angle where he could shoot without risk of a through and through shot that could hit Ricco or Neri. He put an opportunistic round through the top of the skull when it raised that for another four-foot push effort. He was surprised when it didn’t instantly drop dead. The truck went another four feet backwards, now eight feet from the edge.
Impossibly, the huge humped back rose again as the front flippers pulled the body forward, and the rear flippers moved close for the next push. The brain had to have been mushed.
Cory fired more rounds into the head, as Ricco jumped out of the truck, with Neri close behind. They both had their pistols out, firing at the head and neck. They may as well have been throwing rocks. The water was up to their lower calves, and they were moving away from the beast, to stay out of range of that long neck and damaged head that still was snapping its jaws. Another four-foot push. The next one could lose the truck.
Cal, running forward yelled to Cory. “Shoot into the hump at the base of the neck.”
Placing five shoots where Cal suggested, the beast did a massive shudder, and slid off the front of the truck sideways, moving it another two feet closer to the pool as it fell. However, except for some residual muscle twitches, it was done. Apparently, its main brain wasn’t in the skull.
As the neck and head had flopped towards Ricco and Neri, when the big body slid off the truck, they had danced backwards through the shallow and bloody water to stay clear of those fearsome teeth. Neri had drawn her hand back as if to throw something when it appeared the beast had lunged at them.
Ricco, realizing it was only the death throes of the plesiosauroid-like creature, put his left hand up to grab hers, before she could toss the grenade from which she’d already removed the pin. She had dug that out from the box under the seat as the beast pushed them backwards.
Koban: Rise of the Kobani Page 29