by Will Hubbell
Joe turned off the plane, and the seats relaxed their grip. Rick rose with a sigh. "I'll make the first trip," he said. "I'll take a load of stuff and an extra flashlight to high ground and leave a flashlight there as a beacon."
"I'll go, Rick," said Joe.
"No," replied Rick, "you're the pilot."
"A pilot without a plane," said Joe.
"It'll still be here when the rain stops," said Rick.
"Of course," said Joe for Con's benefit. "This old girl's been through fire, what's a little water."
"It seems to me that I'm the one who should go," said Con.
Rick and Joe both shouted "no" simultaneously with such vehemence that she did not argue.
"Look, Con," said Rick, "I just made the trip. It'll be safest for me." Once they resolved to leave the plane, they worked hastily to do so. Each packed their clothes in their duffel bag. Then they distributed the remaining supplies among the three duf-fel bags and a fourth bag to make four equal loads. Rick grabbed a bag, opened the door, and departed on the first trip. Water poured in the opening, but Con and Joe did not close it. They left it open to watch Rick's progress. The water was up to Rick's thighs, and he moved slowly.
Gradually, his light became a misty apparition in the driving rain. It moved unsteadily as it diminished in the distance. The wandering light stopped, then separated into two—one light that stayed put and another that slowly approached Joe and Con. The anxious time until Rick returned was measured by the rise of the water level within the plane. It had reached Con's calves by the time Rick stood before the opening. Out-side, the water was waist-deep.
'Toss me another bag," he said, "then sling your bags over your backs so we can hold hands. The current's getting strong."
They formed a human chain with Joe at the lead carrying the flashlight, Rick in the middle, and Con at the rear. As Con entered the river, she felt it tug at her legs, and she gripped Rick's hand tightly. The pelting rain was no longer refreshing, and her breath smoked in the chill, dank air. The slippery mud sucked at her feet.
About halfway to safety, Con called out. "Hold up a min-ute, my sneaker's come off in the mud." Aware of what a disaster losing a shoe would be, Con released Rick's hand to search for it. Leaning over to grope for her shoe, Con ex-posed her torso to the force of the current. It pushed her over. She struggled to regain her footing as the river forced her off the crest of the ridge. The river bottom was farther down each time her feet sought it. As more of her body submerged, the current had more to push. It took only a few seconds before she was completely in the river's power.
"Con!" screamed Rick, as he fought to get loose from Joe's grip.
"Use your head!" yelled Joe as he straggled to keep Rick from diving into the current. As he fought Rick, he found Con with his light. "We've got to guide her to the shore. Two people in the river will only make things worse."
Keeping the light beam on Con's terrified face, Joe rushed with Rick to the bank. Twice, Rick slipped and was saved by Joe's strong hand. Once on shore, they raced to catch up with Con.
"Con," yelled Joe, "swim toward the light, but don't fight the current. Come in at an angle." Soon they were jogging parallel with Con, following her slow progress to safety and shouting encouragement. They could see that the duffel bag was both help and a hindrance to her. The air trapped inside helped to keep her afloat, but the bag interfered with her movements. Foot by foot, she came closer to the shore, and Rick prepared himself to rush in and help her the moment it seemed feasible. Then, when Con was only ten yards from Joe and Rick, a tributary barred their way. They watched helplessly as the side stream pushed Con farmer from shore. They kept their light on her as she dwindled into the distance, finally to be swallowed by dark-ness.
AS CON STRUGGLED to keep afloat and reach the shore, the light had been her star of hope. She knew Joe was directing it, but she could see only the light. It had grown brighter and brighter before it had begun to fade. Now it was gone, and hope was gone with it.
The duffel bag slowly filled with water and lost its buoyancy. Con thought of its precious contents as it turned into a deadweight—warm clothes, a flashlight, two blankets, a water bottle, a pan—so many useful things, all irreplaceable. Now the possessions that were supposed to sustain her were dragging her toward death, tempting her with the peace of oblivion.
The memory of Rick and Joe and the peaches made her choose life. Con freed herself from the bag and it sank into the depths. Still, the river sought to claim her. In total darkness, she had no sense of where to go. All she could do was try to keep her head above water. Con was a strong swimmer, and she was smart enough to conserve her energy. As long as she did not fight the current, it was relatively easy to stay afloat. The river was strong, but not particularly turbulent. She also realized that death was patient. She would eventually tire, as swimming in the chilly water sapped her energy. Con was beginning to feel the onset of fatigue when something bumped into her. She could not tell what it was, but she instinctively grabbed hold of it. The object was very large, and it bobbed slightly under her weight.
She had difficulty maintaining a hold on its wet knobby surface, which seemed inflated like a huge rubbery bal-loon. After a few puzzled moments, she realized that the object must be the bloated corpse of a dinosaur. I'm prob-ably hanging on to its belly. Con groped around for a limb to grab hold of and soon found one. From its size, she imagined it was a forelimb. Rigor mortis had made it as stiff as a tree branch. She grasped it, and the corpse shifted with her weight. Her macabre raft would not per-mit her to get out of the water, it rolled when she tried to pull herself up, but it did allow her to rest. The rest would buy her a little more time. Maybe an hour or two, she thought, wondering if it was worth the effort to hold on. Yet, she did hold on. Con and the dinosaur floated together, beyond hope—two lost souls in the inky Styx.
26
AS THE WATER SLOWLY NUMBED HER BODY, CON WON-
dered if she were already dead. This is surely not Heaven, she thought. Yet neither did it seem quite like Hell. It re-minded her more of the Hades of the ancient Greeks—sun-less, chill, and dreary, a place without any passion except regret.
The corpse she clung to abruptly stopped, jarring her loose. It began to deflate, venting a putrescent stench. The odor acted as smelling salts, reviving Con's senses. She re-alized her feet were touching mud. As her mind cleared, Con decided she was either stranded on a shoal midstream or washed close to a bank. Her eyes gave her no clues as to which. She moved to her left, and the water became deeper. She retreated to the right, then moved farther in that direc-tion. The water became shallower. Slowly, she felt her way, measuring her progress by the depth of the water. When she could no longer touch the dinosaur, the river reached her waist. Its current was strong.
The prospect of safety made the threat of being swept away all the more terrifying. The river bottom was as slip-pery and treacherous as when she had first slipped and, this time, there was no light to guide her. Worse, she was near the end of her strength. If the river overpowered her again, she knew she would quickly drown.
For a while, Con's fear paralyzed her, and she stood trem-bling as the current clawed at her legs. Then, with difficulty, she composed herself and started inching her way in the dark. Sometimes, she took a wrong path, and the water became deeper. When that happened, she retreated to strike out in a new direction. In this blind, blundering manner, she found where the water was shallower until, at last, her feet sank into only muck.
Con fell to her knees, then collapsed on the mud. Rain pelted her and, as she rested, the river swelled until it washed over her legs. With effort, Con crawled a few yards up the embankment, then collapsed again. In her exhaustion, the only emotion she felt was a dull form of relief. Only grad-ually did some strength return to her. She sat up and removed her remaining shoe. Tying its laces together, she hung it around her neck. Con's sole resources consisted of that single shoe, a tee shirt, a pair of shorts, and a pair of pantie
s. The pockets in the shorts were empty except for a few seashells. Con stood up and let the driving rain wash the mud from her. Then she began to falter uphill. Her only orientations in the dark were up and down; otherwise, she had no idea where she was headed. "Up" promised escape from the river and, perhaps, relief from the muddy cascades that flowed over her feet. Using her bare feet as groping hands, she climbed with little steps. Moving felt good, despite the effort it required. It brought a bit of warmth, and it gave her a sense she was doing something. Slowly and cautiously, Con made her way in the dark. Occasionally, she stumbled into the remains of a small scrubby tree or bush. Every time she felt the wood, it crum-bled in her hands. It's only charcoal, she surmised. Once her foot touched a rock. She bent over and picked it up. Flat and rounded like a cobblestone, it fit well in her hand. A tool, she thought, and a weapon, too. Recalling the nightstalker, she took comfort from the stone, as would her ape ancestors. It offered a defense against claws and teeth, however meager. Con did not step on the dinosaur—she bumped into it with her chest. For a terrified instant she thought it was still alive, but her free hand soon told her differently. The creature was stiff and lifeless. She explored the body that barred her way. It was very large. She encountered a leg and traced her hand along its length until she reached a huge foot ending in large clawed toes. Such a foot was burned into her memory. It belonged to a Tyrannosaurus. She felt her way toward the head and as she did so, her feet detected that the dinosaur's corpse blocked the flow of water down the hillside. She squatted down and discovered that there was a cavity formed between the corpse and the ground. The Tyrannosaurus had collapsed on its side with its back turned uphill. Its lower abdomen, stiffened by projecting bones that formed the front of its pelvis, made a shelter from the rain. Con dug in the rain-softened earth with her hands to enlarge the cavity. Eventually, she excavated a space in which to wedge her body. She crawled out of the rain, curled up, and fell into the merciful arms of sleep. CON STOOD BEFORE an immense pink cake decorated with white confectionery roses. There were nine lit can-dles on top. The smell of burning wax blended with the aroma of vanilla and sugar. "Make a wish! Make a wish!" called voices around her. Con made her wish, the same one she had made for the last three years. She blew out the candles. "Cut the cake! Cut the cake!" called the voices. Con was very hungry, and though the cake smelled wonderful, she hesitated. As she held the knife poised over the cake, her eyes were on the door. She was waiting for it to open and make her wish come true. Con's dream dissolved, leaving only hunger and mem-ories of vanilla and disappointment. The memories faded as the hunger grew. She awoke. Her feet were cold. She looked at them and was surprised that she could see them. They were black with mud.
Rain still fell from an almost, but not completely, black sky. It had the eerie, unnatural look of overcast night reflecting a city's lights, except this dull sky was without color. Its feeble light was strongest overhead, suggesting that, despite a predawn level of illumination, the light of a noontime sun filtered through the thick clouds. Meager as it was, this was the first daylight she had seen since the sky had burned. She crawled out from her shelter to look around.
The rain was not as heavy as before, yet in the dim light, it obscured most of the landscape. Con could see the near shore of the river, but not the distant one. She could vaguely discern the silhouettes of hilltops nearby. She was standing close to the crest of a hill. It was a bleak and barren place. Whatever had grown there had burned, and even the ashes had washed away. The dead Tyrannosaurus was the only landmark. Con climbed to the top of the hill to get a better view. There was nothing new to see, the barrenness was complete.
Con peered into the gloom, hoping to spot a light. There was none. She reasoned that Rick and Joe must be conserving the batteries. Drawing in a deep breath, she shouted as loud as she could, "Rick! Joe! I'm here!" She listened intently for a reply. The only sound was rain. She called out again. "Can you hear me?" Silence was her answer. She screamed, hoping the shrill sound would carry farther. Silence. She screamed again, then over and over. Her cries voiced her despair, her fear, and her lone-liness long after she abandoned hope for a reply. They turned into sobs that racked her as she stood alone in the empty, shadowy landscape. Only hoarseness and the cold caused her to stop crying.
Con held her head back and tried to drink the rain and ease her raw throat. I did not work; too few raindrops hit her open mouth. She was forced to drink from a puddle. She sucked in the muddy water through clenched teeth in an attempt to filter some of the dirt.
"Where should I go?" she asked herself aloud in a hoarse voice. Speaking eased her loneliness. She knew little about surviving in the wilderness, but she did know purposeless wandering would only hamper rescue. It seemed foolhardy to leave the hilltop without a destina-tion. Furthermore, she was poorly dressed to be out in the weather. The rain had already chilled her. She would need shelter to live. Her gaze returned to the dead dino-saur on the hillside. "Is that the best I can do?" Scanning the barren land around her, she concluded it was.
Con returned to the Tyrannosaurus. The clean air of the hilltop had cleansed her sense of smell, so, as she approached the carcass, she recognized the onset of de-cay. Still, she knew she had little choice but to stay. "I ignored the smell before, I guess I can do so again." With resignation, Con set about improving her shelter. First, she piled earth against the dinosaur's uphill side to seal the drafts and scooped out a little trench to divert the flow of water around it. Next, she dug in the earth to enlarge the cavity that was her den. She scoured the hill-side for rocks to build a crude wall between the front of the dinosaur's abdomen and the ground. A gap in the wall served as a doorway. Just outside the doorway, she ex-cavated a hole to collect rainwater to drink. "If only I had something to cover the doorway," she said,
"it would be almost cozy."
Her exertions warmed her,1)ut sapped her energy. The hunger pangs transformed into stomach cramps. She knew her body was running out of fuel, fuel she would need to fight the cold. Con crawled into her cramped, muddy den and removed her shirt to wring it out before putting it back on. The mud-caked garment was only slightly less wet.
Speaking to herself, she said, "God! I'm hungry!" Yet the problem was not a lack of food, but rather its nature. Her situation was ironic. "You're lying under tons of meat." Only it was raw flesh, rotting on a hillside. In comparison, the charred dinosaur meat was dainty fare. Here, nothing would obscure the fact she would be de-vouring a dead animal. The idea made her squeamish.
The only other option was to starve. "I'm not hungry enough yet!" By her very declaration, she admitted she would be. When will "hungry enough" be? she asked herself. When I'm sick? When I'm so weak I can barely move? When I'm freezing to death? The sensible thing would be to eat while the meat was less spoiled and she still had some strength. She resolved to eat some and quickly encountered a problem. "How can I take a bite?' Con felt the thick hide above her. She'd need a knife to penetrate it. The idea of her gnawing through the tough, bumpy skin was ludicrous. "I could chew for hours with-out making a hole." Thoughts of her puny teeth made Con think of the Tyrannosaur's knife-like ones. An idea came to her. "They can be my teeth, too." She emerged from her den, rock in hand. Even in death, the Tyrannosaur's head was fearsome. Its nightmarish mouth seemed too large for a natural creature. Only a wheelbarrow of flesh would fill it. Above the mouth, a large yellow-green eye stared blindly sky-ward. Con looked into it, but only saw her mud-stained face peering back. She returned her attention to the mouth and its teeth. Con felt a pointed, six-inch tooth. It was sturdy and curved, with edges that had razor-sharp serrations like those on a steak knife. She struck it with her rock at the gum line. The blow sent the tooth flying into the partly open mouth and Con had to stick her whole arm between the jaws to retrieve it.
Tooth in hand, Con surveyed her forty-six-foot-long meal. "I wonder what's the best part to eat?" She chose an arm, purely for convenience. Compared to the massive body it looked tiny, y
et it was the size of a man's and more heavily muscled. Con discovered the serrations on the tooth sliced easily through the thick skin. Dark, sticky blood oozed slowly from the incision. She sawed through muscle, tendons, and cartilage until she held the severed limb in her bloody hands. Despite the cold, she butchered it in the rain rather than where she would rest. She sep-arated the upper arm at the elbow and sliced through the skin and peeled it away. "Brunch is served." Con placed her stone, her Tyrannosaur tooth, and the lower arm next to her shoe within her den, then crawled inside with her food.
The rain had soaked and thoroughly chilled her, but she did not want to wring out her shirt with bloody hands. Instead, she formed her body into a tight ball to try to get warm. In that position, she bit into the raw meat. It was tough and stringy. Tearing off a piece with her teeth was difficult. The flavor was not pleasant. The flesh was strongly gamy, with the odor and metallic aftertaste of stale blood. Con chewed thoroughly before swallowing. Despite her hunger, she felt like gagging. "I need to eat this. It may be a while before Rick and Joe find me." Con used the tooth to slice though the muscle, making it easier to chew. Methodically and stoically, she devoured a pound of the meat. Afterward, like a wild carnivore, she lay in a semistupor as her heavy meal digested.
Con's thoughts drifted from question to question. How long have I been here? How far did I travel down the river? When will Rick and Joe reach me? She had no idea. Often, her thoughts took frightening directions. What if they think I'm dead? What if they can't reach me? What if they were here while I slept? What if they've left? As quickly as these questions arose, she tried to banish them. The answer was terrible to contemplate, and it was always the same. I'll die alone. Then, only one question remained. How soon?
She forced her thoughts to happy outcomes. "They'll come for me. I know they will." She imagined running to hug Joe and Rick. "They'll say, 'We thought you were dead.' And I'll answer, "Takes more than a little water to kill me!' And Joe will say something smart. And Rick will gaze into my eyes like he