Sergeant Ginyard bounded toward the fray, and Tidwell pulled the reins on his horse, New Orleans Lady. He passed Ginyard before the sergeant made it to the gate leading to Decatur Street, where the carriages lined up.
The carriage driver behind the one attacked wasted no time in bugging out before he became the next course of the dinosaur’s meal. He veered in front of oncoming traffic, where a car had to choose a light pole instead of hitting the mule. The vehicle smashed into the immovable object to the sound of metal crunching and glass breaking. Steam billowed out from underneath its hood.
No time to check on the driver, Tidwell held his shotgun in one hand while guiding his faithful steed with the other. The other carriages sped away from the dinosaur, but traffic slowed to a standstill now that the behemoth and crashed car blocked the way. Drivers coming to a stop thought it best to abandon on foot and quickly dashed from their cars. Some ran in the opposite direction, while others took the steps leading up to the Washington Artillery Park memorial.
Tidwell expected people to scatter out of sight, but to his dismay, he noticed many chose to sit on the steps as if they were watching the New Orleans Saints playing football.
The allosaurus looked like a smaller version of a T. rex but none less deadly. The only thing left of the carriage driver were two boots laying on the ground. His legs cut just below his knees and leaking red on the cobblestone street.
As Tidwell approached, the dinosaur must have heard the horseshoes clopping on stone. It turned its beady eyes on him. For some reason, the allosaurus’ eyes reminded him of a shark’s before it rolled them to the back of its head when attacking its victim.
The allosaurus stomped toward him.
New Orleans Lady was one of the finest animals Tidwell had ever ridden. The poor girl had never encountered pheromones from prehistoric times before, and when they hit her nostrils, it sent her back on her heels.
For a moment, Tidwell thought he would spill off the horse’s back and eat cobblestone. By a miracle, he managed to hang on and dug his heels into Lady’s side to calm her down. He dropped the reins and brought the shotgun up to his side. He pumped three more shells through the barrel and into the allosaurus’ chest.
The blasts stopped the dinosaur’s advance but didn’t bring it to its knees. Why should it have? The ammo was designed to stop deer and other wild game, not dinosaurs. Dinosaurs! How in the heck were dinosaurs on the loose in New Orleans? Slugs in his saddlebag might be more effective than the nine pellet double-aught buckshot, but he had no time to reload. In fact, there was only one shell left in his shotgun. If that shell didn’t make the kill, he hoped Lady could get them out of there before he smelled dinosaur breath.
Sergeant Ginyard raced alongside and unloaded a magazine from his .40.
Lady attempted to throw Tidwell again. He couldn’t be of any help if he found himself on his butt, so he quickly dismounted and slapped Lady on the rear. She ran off with her bristles riding high on her back.
Tidwell couldn’t blame her. His lower colon felt like a rag flapping in hurricane winds, but he had to harden the center of his core and keep it together. Dropping the shotgun, he pulled out his pistol and let lead fly while Ginyard reloaded. At least the bullets were hurting or confusing the beast enough to keep it from charging.
Ginyard reloaded and snapped one in the chamber as Tidwell’s slide locked back. The two stepped out from in front of the allosaurus, putting the carriage between it and themselves.
The throaty bark of off-road vehicles encroached the chaos swirling around Jackson Square.
Tidwell immediately recognized the familiar sound as another unlawful visit from the Bywater Boyz to the French Quarter. The gang was infamous for invading the major tourist area during broad daylight. Dirt bikes roared down narrow streets, weaving in and out of traffic, popping wheelies and other stunts. Four wheelers joined in, creating a commuter nightmare.
Law enforcement endangered more people when trying to bring the violators to justice. So, the policy in place let the revelers have the road and hope they would leave before harming anyone. The Bywater Boyz picked a bad day to show their asses.
“How do we kill this thing?” Ginyard shouted and fired.
“I don’t know that we can,” Tidwell said, having no more of an idea how to get out of this mess than how they got into it.
Ginyard’s slide locked open. “I’m out!”
Sensing advantage, the allosaurus lunged forward, pushing the side of the carriage up on its side and turned it over.
The two officers dodged in opposite directions to avoid the carriage. Unfortunately, the rear of the carriage landed on top of Ginyard.
Tidwell stumbled off balance and fell on his right elbow, tearing a nice hole in his shirtsleeve and leaving skin on the sidewalk. While on his back, he took careful aim and tried to make the rest of his bullets count.
The allosaurus saw the trapped human as the weakest of the herd and went in for the kill.
The symphony of un-muffled exhaust from the Bywater Boyz’ off-road vehicles did nothing to distract the dinosaur’s killer instinct.
With no time to spare, Tidwell had one last attempt to save his brother in blue and friend. He sprang to his feet and ran over to the shotgun laying in the street. Pumping the last shell in the chamber, he ran and placed the barrel directly against the allosaurus’ left leg and pulled the trigger.
It truly had sounded as if the theropod screamed.
The next thing Tidwell knew, he was sent flying backward and sliding down the street. He came to a halt, dazed, and tried to focus his eyes.
He had managed to turn the dinosaur’s attention to himself and was completely out of options of what to do next.
Two ATVs with masked riders rolled up next to Ginyard. Both dismounted and lifted the carriage off of the sergeant, who pulled his trapped leg from underneath.
The allosaurus was content to let one victim go. Tidwell had brought it pain and needed to make amends by giving up his life.
Three dirt bikes flying the Bywater Boyz’ colors rumbled up the street and cut between the distance of Tidwell and dinosaur. They started blowing their horns and running circles around the allosaurus.
The dinosaur stopped cold and raised its arms in confusion. Then it bit into empty air as it attempted to grab the evading riders.
Another dirt bike skidded up and turned one hundred eighty degrees, the rear tire coming to a stop right next to Tidwell’s head. “Get up and get on!” the rider commanded.
Tidwell saw Ginyard hop a ride on one of the ATVs and head off away from the allosaurus as he got to his feet. The rider slid forward, and he eagerly jumped on the seat.
The rider goosed the throttle. The front wheel left the road, and the rider yelled out a victory cry.
The other dirt bikes peeled away from the dinosaur and followed.
Tidwell had his arms wrapped around an outlaw that saved his life. One of law enforcements’ greatest nemeses became his savior. The irony of it all.
He glanced to his right just as they passed one of the street artists who had chosen to watch the battle. The artist drew a caricature of the allosaurus tangling with the two officers etched on white paper in charcoal.
Even in the most tragic of events, New Orleanians’ let the good times roll.
Chapter 6
Dr. Bryan Breaux felt the beaming rays of the sun heat his sweaty forehead as he and Bridget Reed stood on the roof of Pat O’Leary’s. His head buzzed like a hornet’s nest from a combination of cheap rum and the impossible situation he found himself in. A situation he had created when the particle entanglement experiment created a consequence he had never considered.
Pat O’s patio below him was a mass of chaos. Prehistoric dinosaurs ran amuck attacking defenseless patrons. Killing was truly as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.
Partially eaten bodies lay about on the floor. Some with entrails pulled from the bodies and strewn across the dark slate. More than one vict
im showed signs of life; twitching, jerking, and others moaned in great agony.
All the exits must have been blocked. Hopelessness weighed on Breaux’s soul like a thousand pound weight.
“Dr. Breaux?” Bridget said.
He heard his student but couldn’t find the will to answer.
“Dr. Breaux! Coming up the street…it’s another dinosaur.”
The news added more despair. Turning his gaze, he saw a brownish-green triceratops roll up St. Peter Street. People scattered from its path in a frenzied escape.
The triceratops acted as if it felt as out of place as it looked. It roared and turned its head from side to side as if searching for a way out of the concrete jungle.
“That thing is huge,” Bridget said. “Something that size can tear up the whole city.”
People from the bar Johnny Black’s from across the street came outside to get a glimpse. A couple who ran past the bar, protecting their drinks from spilling as if it were equal to saving their lives, epitomized the Big Eazy lifestyle.
The triceratops came to a stop right in front of Bridget and Breaux and roared again.
The professor marveled at the size of the beast. Its beak-like mouth didn’t seem like it belonged on the four-legged body.
What was it going to take to corral this thing and get it out of there? Where would it be brought to or what could contain it? It would take an M1 Abrams tank to take the dinosaur down. What then? Butcher it in place and have a barbeque?
When a bum pulled himself off the sidewalk and staggered toward the triceratops, Breaux was so numb he couldn’t even speak.
“Hey! Get away from that thing. Run!” Bridget yelled down.
It wasn’t a shock when the three-foot brow horn skewered the bum in the chest. In fact, Breaux expected no less.
What he didn’t expect was the T. rex who came down the street to challenge the triceratops.
The ground shook. The two beasts hissed and roared their intentions, bringing on the battle.
Breaux melted to his knees as the clash of the Titans began, and then laid on his side and curled in the fetal position.
Bridget had hit the deck too because the warring giants were right out front of them.
*
Time seemed to stand still during the lashing and thrashing. Breaux felt as if his spirit had left his body and floated in a Sargasso Sea in another dimension. His will to live ebbed. Breathing became more of an effort than he could afford.
*
“Wake up, Doc,” Bridget said while nudging the professor.
The professor’s eyes were wide open as was his mouth, but he was unresponsive.
“Doc, wake up.” She grabbed his shoulder this time and gave it a shake.
Breaux’s head moved about like a noodle connected it to his body.
Is he even breathing? she thought. “Doc!” Bridget said louder than she had intended, bringing an open hand down on his cheek. The ensuing slap sounded louder than when she last called his name.
Breaux’s dilated pupils shrank to normal size. He made a sound just short of a gasp. Closing his mouth, he cleared his throat, and said, “I don’t want to die. I’ve been given a second chance to live. I don’t want to die.”
“Good. I don’t want to die either. We’ve got to survive this thing so you can give me an A for the semester,” Bridget said; her response intended to be more sarcastic than humorous. This was no time for the professor to check out. His ass needed to be on, and she didn’t have time to deal with the threats the new world had to offer and lug him around too.
Bridget and Breaux climbed to their hands and knees and peered over the side of the roof to the street below.
The T. rex had won the battle and took the time to fatten its belly with the spoils of war before leaving down St. Peter toward Jackson Square.
The triceratops was directly below them. A good portion of the neck and shoulder on the exposed side had been eaten. Bridget was a little surprised to see the blood and meat looked so much like the pigs she’d seen slaughtered.
Growing up, her granddaddy used to raise and butcher his own pigs. Her granddaddy used to cook Everything but the squeal, as he would say. Her favorite part of the pig was the fried skin called cracklins. She doubted her teeth could cut through fried triceratops skin.
“We’ve got to get down from here, Doc.”
Breaux looked over to her, his eyelids half-open. “Why? We’re safe up here.”
“I don’t know how much longer that will last,” Bridget said. “Look to your left and up.”
The professor did as he was told, closing one eye and his chin dropping. “A pterosaur of some type. Like the one we saw earlier.”
“Yeah, only about thirty times bigger. If that thing sees us, it will come down here and eat us just as easy as that little one ate that lizard. I don’t know about you, but I’m not willing to become bird food.”
Bridget didn’t mention she also wanted to get away from the ongoing carnage behind them at Pat O’s. She didn’t think a dinosaur below could figure out a way to climb on the roof like they had, but she didn’t want to stick around and find out. “We’re going to have to jump.”
“But it’s almost twenty feet down to hard concrete. We’re likely to break a bone and then we won’t be able to run anymore. Something will get us…” the professor’s words drifted, and he turned his gaze back to the blood feast on the patio.
“That overgrown, horned pig is right underneath. I don’t think it’s as soft as a pillow, but it’s made of meat. I think it’ll absorb enough impact that we’ll be okay. Plus, that lump is probably eight feet high. The fall won’t be as far.”
The professor stared blankly over at the triceratops. “I don’t know…”
Oh hell, no. This was no time for Doc Breaux to become a liability. “Well, I do know. Get that skinny white ass up, and get over here,” Bridget said, not waiting for a response as she rose. It wasn’t a question she asked; it was a demand she made.
Stepping a few feet over to target her landing site, she said, “Get up. NOW!”
The professor picked one leg up and put his foot on the roof and then slowly followed with the other.
“I’ll go first,” Bridget said. Gazing down, she hoped there was a good layer of meat and fat on the triceratops’ ribs. Plus, she wanted to avoid the bloody exposed meat from where the rex ate its lunch.
It had been a while since she’d jumped from something that high. As kids, she and her cousins would get on her granddaddy’s barn and jump onto stacks of hay.
Her feet solidly landed on the fallen dinosaur, and she reached out her hands and dropped to her knees to stabilize herself. That wasn’t too bad.
Flipping around, with her bottom resting on the beast, she slid to the sidewalk. The impact from that drop was a bit more jarring than when she had jumped from the roof, but she was okay. Yuk. Except that her left hand had come in contact with blood. She almost wiped her hand on her pants but then looked around for something else to clean it on.
“Are you okay?” the professor asked.
“I’m fine. Just do like I did. Don’t think about it too much. Just do it and get it over with.”
Dr. Breaux closed his eyes, but before he jumped, he opened them again.
He landed with the grace of a rag-doll but at least appeared unhurt. Not bothering to turn, he let his feet dangle and slowly slid down the side and stomach of the beast until dropping to the sidewalk.
“You’re okay, right?” Bridget asked while holding her left hand out away from her side.
“I am uninjured,” Breaux said and adjusted his shirt collar. He looked up and down the street. “Where to now?”
Bridget checked the sky again and saw a few more pterosaurs had come over uninvited. They were far away enough not to be a current threat. “We need to find someplace safe—where we can hide out for a while. It’d be nice to have some water and food too.”
“Johnny Black’s is right across the str
eet. They’ll at least have water.”
No sooner had the professor spoken, than two men and a woman bolted from Johnny Black’s.
The woman turned her gaze toward her, and then shouted, “Run!”
*
Kathy Stevens and Dave Einstein stared daggers at Stinky (Melvin Posey) as he shook the last few drops out of a liquor bottle into a forty-eight-ounce plastic cup.
A triceratops had just battled it out with a T. rex right outside of Johnny Black’s and came up short in the fight. The other patrons fled out the back in fear of losing their lives.
Dave and Kathy had stayed and watched in fascination at the unique event.
Stinky was the only one who was more concerned with helping himself to a free drink than the threat of danger. This in no way was a gauge of his bravery. Instead, it was a badge of his self-absorbed gluttony.
Stinky’s raised eyebrows and mischievous smirk let the onlookers know he was quite proud of himself. He stirred his concoction with a straw and licked it clean. He turned his gaze to the ceiling and pursed his lips, and then said, “Hmm, needs a squeeze of lemon.” After mashing a wedge of lemon with his fingers above his drink, he said, “And cherries. I like cherries.” Plucking a few of the bright red fruits from the drink station tray, he placed them on top and stirred again with the straw.
“If you drink that you won’t be able to walk out of here,” Kathy said.
Stinky’s cheeks collapsed as he sucked deeply from the straw. After a few gulps, he stuck his tongue out and smiled big enough to show gritted teeth. “That’s strong,” he said as if to himself. He turned his gaze to Kathy. “I’m not going to drink all of this here. It’s a to-go cup.”
Kathy looked over at Dave. “Everyone else left out the back door. I wonder where they all went.”
“The back leads to a street called Pirate Alley,” Dave said.
“Why is it called Pirate Alley?” Stinky asked.
“A few reasons, as the legends go. There used to be a jail that housed pirates on that street. The most interesting story was that the pirate Jean Lafitte and Andrew Jackson met there where they formed the unlikely alliance that led to the defeat of the British at the Battle of New Orleans. Pirates had become patriots after the war, and the name Pirate Alley stuck,” Dave said.
The Dinosaur Battle Of New Orleans Page 7