The Dinosaur Battle Of New Orleans

by Dane Hatchell

  The Cathedral had a towering center spire and two smaller spires on each side. Viewed from Jackson Square, with the statue of Andrew Jackson in the foreground, the two images were the most closely associated with New Orleans.

  With the statue gone, New Orleans would never be the same.

  “Hang in there,” Andrew said as they made it across the street.

  Coming to the double doors, Andrew pushed with no reward for his effort. His heart sank to his stomach. A quick look around provided many options, but he didn’t know what might be open. With Scott’s condition worsening, he couldn’t afford to make wrong decisions.

  “Anybody in there?” Andrew yelled as he pounded on the door.

  Rev. Scott heaved for air. His eyelids hung weakly like half-open shades.

  The door miraculously pulled open. “Quick!” a man at the door said.

  Andrew lowered his head and half-dragged Rev. Scott into the lobby.

  Inside, to the right, a large number of lit candles arranged on votive stands burned as offerings for special blessings. A brightly colored statue of the Blessed Mother cast her watchful gaze over it to welcome Parishioners in need.

  A chandelier hung overhead, casting dim yellow lighting between the front doors and entrance to the nave, where the worshipers would sit.

  A sign pointed to the left showing the way to the gift shop.

  Easing Rev. Scott to the floor, Andrew looked about and counted four men sizing them up.

  Three were members of the Sons of the Confederacy; identified by The Blood-Stained Banner flag of the Confederate States of America on their caps. The white stars and blue crossbars on the red background inspired pride and triggered hatred of millions over the last one hundred and fifty years.

  The other man wore navy colored pants and shirt with a patch on a shoulder sporting the Odal rune. It was obvious he was a card-carrying member of the National Socialist Movement. The scowl on his face let Andrew know he wasn’t impressed with the present company.

  Turning his attention to Rev. Scott, he said, “How bad is your knee?”

  The protest leader looked relieved to be sitting down. He had his legs stretched out in front of him and his palms on the checkered black and white tile just behind his back to help prop himself up. “Something’s torn in my knee, for sure.” He lifted his gaze and smoothed the pain from his face. “I’ll heal,” he said as if his will was stronger than the injury.

  “I’ll try to make you as comfortable as I can until we can get you help,” Andrew said.

  Rev. Scott smirked. “Don’t worry about me. I’m cool.”

  “Why are you guys in the lobby and not inside the church?” Andrew asked the four men.

  “Entrance doors are locked solid. The gift shop too. I guess the priests don’t want any of their stuff destroyed or stolen,” one of the Sons of the Confederacy, the older of the three members there, said.

  “Was that true what you said to that reporter? You’re a descendant of General Jackson?” the man asked.

  Andrew lifted himself off one knee and rose. “Yes, it’s true. I can trace my ancestry back to the General.”

  “That fact won’t get you any special privileges in this town,” Rev. Scott said. “Not anymore.”

  “I don’t recall asking for any special privileges,” Andrew said and wondered why the protest leader bothered to waste the energy to continue the conflict. Nothing would get resolved with more pressing questions like How are we going to get out of here alive? facing them.

  “I do find that fact interesting,” the older man said. “My name’s Randy Guillaume. These are my two nephews, Doug,” he pointed to a thirty-something-year-old man with a red beard, “and Tim,” a skinny younger man who wore braces.

  “Why did you bring that filth in here with you?” the NSM member asked. His hair buzzed so short it looked like someone had outlined it on his head with a brown marker.

  “Yep, just like I thought. Wecolme to the party,” Rev. Scott said. “Why don’t you white boys talk about your four-wheel-drive trucks. I’m going to call my daughter,” Rev. Scott said while digging out his phone from his front pocket.

  Getting lumped in the same category as a white supremacist chapped Andrew’s backside. Now wasn’t the time or place to make a plea for Rev. Scott to differentiate his position from the others. “You know, that was uncalled for,” he said to the NSM member.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” the NSM member said. “It’s people like him that divide the nation—make us weak. The fact that you stand up for him is part of the nation’s problem today. White people like you make us weaker.”

  “Hold on there, young fella,” Randy said. “All lives are sacred in God’s eyes. You can’t choose to let people die because of their race or that they believe something different. That’s not Christian.”

  “I’m an Atheist. I don’t care about God. If this nation is to survive, we need to have a union of white people to form a greater America,” the NSM member said. “So it doesn’t matter if we lose someone not of pure white blood.”

  “Heck, boy, I don’t know how you would go about determining who had pure white blood and who didn’t. Everybody has the same color blood. Red, like the background of this flag,” Randy said and pointed to the Confederate flag on his hat. “The Sons of the Confederacy aren’t trying to take away anyone’s rights. We just want to have equal rights. We’re proud of our heritage, and we want it preserved. That’s the American way.”

  Doug and Tim stood quietly by; turning their attention to each speaker like they were watching a tennis match.

  Scott spoke to someone on his phone; presumably his daughter.

  “Only whites should be members of the nation. Only members of the nation can be citizens of the state. The right to vote belongs to white people. All non-whites are guests in this country and should abide by different laws,” the NSM member said.

  “I’ve heard about enough,” Andrew said. “This isn’t a National Socialist Movement rally. And for the life of me, I don’t understand how anyone can take such an extreme position as you do.”

  “Darn! Lost my connection,” Rev. Scott said in the background.

  “Yeah. The Sons of Confederacy want to stay away as far as possible from a bunch of Nazis. We’re nothing alike,” Randy said.

  “I don’t know, Unc,” Doug said. “I kinda like the idea of an all-white America.”

  “And the truth will set you free,” Rev. Scott interrupted and struggled to rise to his feet. His sentiments about race relations in America just reinforced.

  Chapter 13

  Jacob Poche fled the Southern Queen’s promenade deck like his feet were on fire as the massive squid’s feeding tentacle came back up over the railing. He sailed into Eric Lott, a fellow member of Sigma Nu at UL Lafayette, and both tumbled down into the Creole Room on the middle deck.

  Jacob had so much adrenaline surging through his body he felt as if ants crawled over his skin. Death had never been that close before. And what almost killed him? A giant squid! Really? Jacob had a history of bad luck following him, but this was ridiculous.

  Concerned people in the room helped Jacob and Eric to their feet and asked if they were hurt.

  The two waved them off, and their attention drew to others who stood near the north windows.

  “Oh no! It’s got another one,” a short-haired woman said.

  The giant squid held Jacob’s savior in the air near its mouth. It looked as if it was toying with him.

  “He’s not going down without a fight. Hit him! Hit him with the ax!” Eric said while raising a fist and striking air.

  After a few errant swings, the ax slipped from the man’s grasp and plunged into the water.

  “Oh, he’s toast now,” Eric said.

  Jacob was powerless to do anything but watch. That could be him right now—hanging in the air about to be eaten by a monster from a nightmare.

  More people gasped, and one man whimpered that he couldn’t lo
ok.

  The squid bit off the man’s legs at the knees, and his upper body fell free of the tentacle and splashed in the river.

  Surprisingly, the man had enough life left in him to attempt an escape. He stretched out his arms and swam, slightly pulling away from the squid.

  “Look at ’im! The current’s helping him get away,” Eric said. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Jacob realized Eric had no concept of what the poor man faced. This was no video game or SYFY Channel movie. Although, he was just as guilty as his frat brother in the naïve department in this case. When he spotted the giant squid, if he had gone down to the next deck instead of getting a better view of it, the man probably would be standing right by them rather than seconds away from death.

  “He’s going to get away,” the short-haired woman said with eagerness in her voice.

  The man had made it about twenty feet from the creature when the feeding tentacle rose from under the water and blocked his swim path.

  “Oh no!” a man said.

  “Shoot…it’s pulling him back toward its mouth,” Eric said.

  “Just let the poor man die…” Jacob said to himself. He felt the despair of the soon to be dead hero.

  “I know what that squid is doing,” Eric said. “It’s acting like a cat. You ever see a cat catch a small animal and play with it a while before it kills it?”

  The tentacle had the man up in the air and heading for the squid’s beak. The cruel game was finally coming to an end.

  The beak opened and wolfed down its latest victim.

  “Aw, dude…tough break,” Eric said.

  Jacob’s shoulders sagged. It hurt being alive right now—feeling like it was he who had committed the death. “I…I don’t even know his name.”

  “It’s coming for the boat!” the short-haired woman yelled.

  The squid had its feeding tentacles reaching out for the boat as its mantle traveled smoothly through the water. The one eye grew larger as it approached, reminding Jacob of a new moon on a cloudless night.

  The crowd in the room swayed off balance as the boat succumbed to the sea monster’s clutches.

  “Man, it’s trying to sink the boat. That’s messed up,” Eric said.

  Some of the squid’s eight legs contacted the boat’s bow. The soft roar of the engine grew as the load on the paddlewheel increased.

  “It’s going to sink us!” an old man cried out. “We’re all going to die.”

  “I don’t want to get eaten by the monster,” a little girl told her mother.

  A window shattered on the opposite side of the room. Jacob turned and saw a man-sized, triangular-shaped reptilian head push past the broken glass. The creature opened its mouth, revealing rows of sharp fangs.

  Shrieks and screams from scattering passengers did nothing to frighten the beast away. The head pivoted on a long neck, and its jaws closed on an unfortunate man who had slipped during his haphazard escape.

  The man yelled so intensely that Jacob’s ears rang.

  There was no helping the victim, as the elasmosaur’s head retreated from the window with jaws holding tightly to its squirming prize.

  “What the heck was that?” Eric asked. “Man, things are sure getting weird around here.”

  That was a real understatement, Jacob thought. The boat listed further. He didn’t know if that was because of the squid’s pull or because of the shifting weight of the mass of people in the Creole Room pushing their way to the stairs leading to the first deck.

  Another window shattered, and more screams rose, but it didn’t happen on the second deck.

  Jacob thought a second, and said, “It’s attacking the first deck now. There’s no safe place to hide. We’ve got to do something.”

  “Swim for shore?” Eric said.

  “No, genius. We’ve got to figure a way out of this mess,” Jacob said.

  “What can we do? We’re just a couple of college kids.”

  “Which means we ought to have the brains to do something.”

  “Like what?”

  Jacob looked around the room as frightened people made their way back up to the second deck. The bar had plenty of liquor to make Molotov cocktails, but the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally start a fire aboard the boat. Plus, the creatures were in the water and could easily submerge to extinguish the flame. “We need a gun…or a bomb.”

  “If we had some sparklers, we could wrap them together with tape and make a bomb,” Eric said.

  “Yeah, that’s a great idea. But I don’t think the boat carries any fireworks.” What would they have on the boat regarding emergency equipment? Jacob thought. Then, it hit him, “I’ve got it. Flares! I bet they have flares. We have to go upstairs to the helm and look for flares.”

  Jacob didn’t wait for Eric to respond. He didn’t care if his frat mate was coming along or not, and he certainly wasn’t going to waste any time discussing it with him.

  Still, he felt relieved when he heard the second pair of shoes hit the stairs and he neared the promenade deck.

  Jacob put on the brakes as soon as he reached the third deck. The giant squid was port side. Its eye hovered above the railing looking as big as a freight truck. Its feeding tentacles had a firm hold on the bow.

  Eric stopped right behind him. “Wh—, oh man…look at that.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “What do we do now? Do you want to run past it?”

  Not liking the consequences of guessing wrong, spotting a fire hose on a reel gave Jacob new inspiration. “I’ve got it! We’ll use the high-pressure fire hose to drive it away.”

  “You think that’ll work?”

  Jacob had made the mistake of attending a protest where things got slightly out of hand. He had challenged the full force of a fire nozzle and lost miserably. “Let’s hope so.”

  The hose reel was a few steps away over by the empty fire ax box. Jacob ran and grabbed the nozzle. Then, ran back, unreeling the hose.

  He stood with the nozzle in his hands and realized the hose needed charging. Looking back at the reel, he saw a couple of unmarked levers near the deck. Jacob hollered to Eric, “We need to charge the pump! Go turn those levers over there.” He pointed quickly with his left hand and then returned it to the nozzle.

  “Which one?” Eric said on arrival.

  “I don’t know. Do both!”

  Eric turned each lever and a pump motor engaged.

  The flat hose swole. All that high-pressure water made the hose weigh down like filling it with concrete. Jacob pulled back on the bale handle. The nozzle burped air and shot out a wide fan of water. The pressure surge knocked Jacob slightly off balance, and he had to shuffle his feet and lean his weight toward the nozzle to stabilize. “Come give me a hand.”

  Eric sidled behind him and grabbed hold of the hose.

  “You’ve got to lean into it. I’m going to narrow the water pattern,” Jacob said.

  Foam rolled out the nozzle, covering the deck. One of those levers must have activated fire foam to the hose.

  “Hey! What are you kids doing down there?” a voice yelled from the observation deck.

  It should have been blatantly obvious what they were doing. Trying to get the ship free of a sea monster!

  Jacob twisted the fire nozzle. The water pattern shifted from a wide fan into a powerful stream.

  The two walked forward, and Jacob aimed the stream right into the giant squid’s eye.

  Immediately, the beast shuddered and let out an otherworldly cry.

  Jacob half expected to feel the blunt trauma from a flying tentacle but was rewarded with the squid’s mantle disappearing under the water, taking its legs and feeding tentacles with it.

  The Southern Queen righted itself, and the paddlewheel churned the mighty Mississippi once again.

  “Great job, fellas!” the voice from the observation deck called down. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

  Jacob pushed the bale handle forward, slowly cutting off the water. He and Eric b
oth stumbled forward and let the hose drop from their hold.

  Looking up, Jacob saw it was one of the sailors who spoke to them. “Do you have any flares aboard?”

  “Yeah, but we don’t need flares. The captain radioed the Coast Guard, and they are on the way. We can probably make it to shore before they get here, thanks to you two.”

  “There’s another monster attacking the passengers on the other side of the boat. There’s no telling how many will die before then,” Jacob said. “I have a plan to use flares to stop it.”

  After a few moments of hesitation, the sailor said, “Come on up.”

  Jacob switched the pump and foam levers back to the off position, as he and Eric passed to go to the door leading up to the helm and observation deck.

  The sailor greeted them when they reached the top. “They’re over here.” He stepped over to a narrow closet and unlocked the door and opened it. “Top shelf.”

  There were six yellow flares about a foot long each. Jacob grabbed three and gave them to Eric, and then he took the other three. “Can you hold all of these together?” he asked Eric.

  “I think so,” Eric said. He took the other three flares and held them in a bundle.

  “What’cha got in mind, boy?” the sailor asked.

  Jacob picked up a roll of black electrical tape off a shelf. “You ever make a sparkler bomb?”

  The sailor said, “No.”

  “If you wrap a box of sparklers with tape and leave one sticking out like a fuse and light it, when that one sparkler reaches the others, they’ll go off like a bomb.” Jacob proceeded to peel up the edge of electrical tape off the roll and wrap it around the flares. “I’ve never tried to do that with flares, but I’m hoping it works the same.”

  Jacob went round and round with the tape, wrapping the bundle as tightly as possible.

  “Uh, Jacob?” Eric said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think this will work.”

  Stopping and directing his gaze from his efforts to Eric, Jacob said, “Why not?”

  “Sparklers are basically wires dipped in a combustible coating made of gunpowder and metals. The outside of the sparkler burns. So, when you wrap them in tape and the fuse sparkler reaches the surrounding sparklers, they ignite. Then those sparklers ignite the ones touching it. It’s that rapid release of energy that turns the sparklers into a bomb.”