The Dinosaur Battle Of New Orleans

by Dane Hatchell

  “It’s a long story,” Ginyard said.

  “I’ve been trying to bust them for over a year now,” the chief said. “There’re enough public safety violations stacked up to put them all away for twenty years.”

  “I hear you, Chief,” Tidwell said. “We had a real bad incident go down in Jackson Square. Fact is, the Sarge and I wouldn’t be here unless those gangbangers had saved us. The Sarge was trapped under a carriage, and I was just about to lose an arm wrestling match with a baby Godzilla when the Boyz showed up and got us out of there.”

  “Don’t matter,” Gregoire said. “We’ll find a closet in the dome to shove them in until we can haul them to jail.”

  “Chief, they risked their lives to save ours,” Ginyard said. “You know the code: If a criminal helps save a policeman’s life, we don’t press charges. If you violate that trust now, no one will ever help an officer again.”

  The chief spat out a few sunflower seed shells and chewed the kernels. “Okay, you win. But when this is over, and they tear up the roads on their off-road vehicles, they’re on their own.”

  “Fair enough,” Ginyard said.

  “Chief—” Tidwell started.

  The chief burst out, “What the hell?” He rushed past Ginyard and Tidwell over to the Bywater Boyz’ Jeeps.

  Tidwell turned and counted nine gang members hanging around their vehicles. Each one had an AK-47 and enough extra magazines to win a war in a small country.

  “Have you guys lost your minds?” the chief said. “You can’t go parading the streets of New Orleans with automatic weapons. That’s stupid!”

  “They’re not automatic weapons,” Ardis said.

  “That don’t matter,” the chief said. “You hand those things over right now.”

  “We will not,” Ardis said. “These guns were bought legally. None of our members have done anything that would prevent us owning these guns.”

  “But—” the chief said.

  “But, nothing,” Ardis said. “What? You see a bunch of black men with guns, and you automatically think we’re a bunch of thugs? We might live life on the edge a little bit, but we’re not criminals. You don’t have to be white to be a patriot.”

  “But—” the chief started again.

  “But nothing, homie,” Ardis said. “New Orleans is my city. I’m fifth generation born from slaves who came from Africa. These are my people here. The dome is my house that I’m going to protect. That badge you wear doesn’t give you the right to stop me from defending what is mine.”

  The chief’s face turned red but receded to normal as Ardis spoke. The brewing inner turmoil contorted his face.

  “Can’t you just deputize them, or something?” Tidwell asked, trying to fill the silence.

  After a deep breath, the chief said, “Okay.” He turned his gaze and locked eyes with Ardis. “If any of you get out of line at any time, you will be shot on sight. The SWAT team is in position around the dome. I’ll contact them and give them the details. If any of you are caught coming out of a business with merchandise, you won’t have to worry about a trial.”

  “No worries here,” Ardis said, obviously offended by the chief’s assumption.

  The chief continued to stare, but it did nothing to rattle Ardis’ stance. Then, Gregoire turned and twisted a knob on his radio. As he walked off, he gave instructions to the SWAT team.

  “That went better than I thought,” Ginyard said.

  “You guys want guns? We have two extras,” Ardis said.

  “Heck yeah!” Tidwell said.

  One of the gang members pulled two AKs out of a Jeep and handed them to the policemen. Another member gave them four thirty-round magazines each.

  “A Tommy Gun is much more my style,” Ginyard said. “Not with those round magazines like the gangsters in the nineteen twenties used. I prefer the World War Two stick magazines.”

  “Ever shot an AK?” Ardis asked.

  “Nope. But I have handled an AR-fifteen.”

  “You won’t have any trouble using an AK,” Ardis said. “See that lever on the side? That’s the safety.” He lifted the lever. “The safety is on. You have to lift it to put in a new magazine. Then, push it back down and cycle the slide.”

  Ginyard did as instructed.

  “You’re ready to go,” Ardis said.

  Tidwell pulled the slide on his gun and snapped a bullet in place. “One of the sweetest sounds you’ll ever hear.”

  “Okay, men. Let’s get out there and protect the citizens,” Sargeant Ginyard said and led the way.

  Just as Tidwell turned to follow, Ardis grabbed him by the shoulder.

  “Uh…I may have stretched the truth a little. A few of the guys might be in trouble if caught with a gun,” Ardis said in a low voice.

  “They’re good guys, right?” Tidwell asked.

  “The best. They just made a few mistakes as kids.”

  “We can stretch the truth for the greater good, then. Remember, I’m a cop. I’ve stretched the truth for the greater good all of my career,” Tidwell said and winked.

  *

  Tidwell patrolled in front of the dome’s entrance ramps. A police van arrived with handguns and ammo. It felt natural having a weapon back on his side.

  People still wandered from the interstate and over from the side streets. So far he hadn’t seen any dinosaurs, but SWAT team members randomly fired at unknown dangers. He hoped one of Ardis’ buddies didn’t stray from the mission and the chief’s warning come true.

  If luck were on their side, the majority of the dinosaurs would be concentrated in the French Quarter and not the greater New Orleans area. He didn’t have a radio, and none of the other officers on patrol he spoke to had any more understanding of the situation than he. Although, one officer said MSY had shut down to all incoming and outgoing traffic.

  “What’s up, Charlie?” a gruff voice said.

  Tidwell looked up and saw Duane Mitchell and John Achord, two of his podnuh’s from his hunting camp. They were dressed in camo and carrying high-power hunting rifles.

  “What are you two doing here?” Tidwell asked and gave each one a quick handshake.

  “Oh, we was at the huntin’ camp and on the way back home,” Duane said.

  “Hunting camp? With those rifles? It’s not deer season. You can only hunt squirrels this time of year, and you’d turn them to dust if you shot them with those guns.”

  Where John was from, there were two branches of Achord families in Livingston Parish. One branch was the lying Achords, and the other the outlaw Achords. “Charlie, you know where I come from the only seasons we have are salt and pepper,” John said, identifying his heritage.

  Officer Tidwell could only shake his head. “Boy, y’all are going to get the hunting camp lease revoked one day.”

  Duane smiled, his bottom lip swollen three times its normal size with Skoal. He picked a target on the street and spat. “After the traffic stopped on the interstate, we heard on the radio somethin’ about pterodactyls at the airport, allosauruses at Antoine’s, and brontosauruses on Bourbon Street. I thought that the radio DJ was pullin’ our legs until I heard the same news on another station. They said we should find shelter and that the dome was takin’ in refugees. Heck, we were less than a half a mile from here and hoofed it on over.”

  “Guys, you two have guns. Right now, the brass is looking the other way. You can keep yours, but be careful as all-get-out not to hurt or kill someone accidentally. Don’t shoot at anything where you can’t take a clear shot. I’ve seen dinosaurs. Some are as big as a turkey. Some are two stories tall,” Tidwell said.

  “I wonder what they taste like,” John said. “If we kill a few, are they gonna let us take them home and eat them?” John may have been a poacher, but he always ate whatever he killed. He wasn’t too proud to eat roadkill as long as it was still warm.

  “John, that’s not up to me,” Tidwell said.

  “Well if we kill something I might sneak a piece off and put it in th
e bucket,” John said, bringing forward the red Arctic Swinger cooler in his left hand. “You want a ham sammich? I got a couple left.”

  “No, John. Thanks, but I’m good,” Tidwell said. There was a chance those sandwiches were freshly made a few days ago and had been in the Swinger ever since. He never understood how John hadn’t died from food poisoning by now.

  “I think I see one!” Duane said. “Look!” He pointed to the sky.

  A bat-like, flying reptile circled the Superdome.

  “That thing’s uglier than a turkey vulture,” Duane said.

  Tidwell agreed. The triangular shaped head of the pterodactyl looked devilish, and the wings made it look like a demon from out of Hell.

  An AK-47 barked in the distance. One of the Bywater Boyz had an ostrich-like dinosaur in his sights and was shooting to bring it down.

  Another gang member nearby him started shooting too.

  The dinosaur stood almost ten feet tall and had a horny beak on a small head attached to a long neck. The long legs and tail made it look huge.

  Seeing the ornithomimus reminded Tidwell of an encounter he had with an ostrich when he was just a small boy. He was at the zoo near a fence housing the big birds. His finger was inches away from the fence when he pointed for his mother to look. The ostrich stuck its beak through the diamond-patterned wire fence and bit his fingertip. Tidwell hated ostriches ever since that day. His anger stirred, he wished he could take a shot at the dinosaur but was afraid he’d hit innocent people.

  The Bywater Boyz rattled off many shots, but the dinosaur kept its pace until its beak got within striking distance. The ornithomimus dropped its head like a battering ram.

  Tidwell heard what sounded like a baseball hit out of the park.

  The unfortunate gang member dropped to the ground as hard as a bag of rocks. A large gash in his skull spilled a river of blood.

  By now the accumulation of hot lead in the ornithomimus took its toll. The dinosaur struggled to stand.

  Taking advantage of the lull, the gang member stepped close enough to put the barrel of his rifle against the head of the ornithomimus and pulled the trigger.

  It was the dinosaur’s turn to die.

  Before Tidwell could go to the fallen warrior’s aid, members of the SWAT team began a barrage of fire.

  Coming up Poydras Street, a mass of creatures rushed toward them. It reminded Tidwell of a herd of sheep. But these creatures were nothing like sheep.

  What made matters worse, three people ran for their lives in front of the herd.

  The approaching terror didn’t go unnoticed by other officers or Bywater Boyz. They migrated to meet the oncoming threat.

  SKEER-AK!

  The pterodactyl took everyone unaware as it swooped down and caught a small woman heading up the entrance ramp to the dome. Its foot claws dug into her shoulders and gained altitude with each flap of its leathery wings.

  The woman screamed, but everyone was helpless to save her. If anyone had shot, there was a chance she would get hit. And if they did shoot the flying reptile, then she would perish from the long fall to earth. The hopeless situation burned a hole in Tidwell’s gut.

  John had his elbow on a concrete rail and his eye on the scope of his Remington 7mm mag rifle. He squeezed off a round and giggled. “Got ’im.” He giggled again and slid the bolt back to load the next bullet.

  By this time Tidwell’s strained eyes allowed him to see the oncoming dinosaurs’ features. They also showed him that the three people in front were losing the race.

  The slowest man smashed face-first onto the asphalt. Hungry two-legged dinosaurs as tall as calfs flocked to feed on his flesh. These dinosaurs resembled common green lizards except with their back legs and neck stretched. Of course, the mouths were large enough to fit around a human’s head.

  “Get out of the way! Get out of the way!” an officer cried and waved his arms, warning the two runners to move and clear a path for shooting.

  One runner veered to the right, and the other slipped and fell.

  Police and armed citizens unloaded their weapons on the approaching coelophyses.

  Some dinosaurs stopped and fed on the second runner, but the others showed no fear—even as their members succumbed to flying lead.

  Any gun discharge scared animals in the wild. Tidwell expected the noise alone would have been enough to send these dinosaurs scurrying. No such luck.

  The rifles did a good job mowing down coelophyses, but as the herd thinned and the survivors neared, the battle became all too real.

  The first coelophysis to reach an officer bit his arm as he struggled with the slide on his pistol. The poor man pummeled the dinosaur on its head with the handgun trying to get it to release its grinding jaws.

  Tidwell rushed to his aid but had to deal with two coelophyses seeking to cut him off.

  He brought the AK to his side and fired from the hip.

  One dinosaur dropped, but the other was on top of him. All he had time to do was bring the rifle up with his two hands and use it to keep the creature at bay.

  When the coelophysis reared back on its legs, its head came just above Tidwell’s chin. It hissed, and vile breath assaulted his nostrils.

  He managed to swing the stock and pound the beast on its left side—hoping to crack a few ribs.

  It backed off a step and then lunged its head forward for the kill.

  Bringing up the rifle, Tidwell caught it under the jaw, knocking spit from its mouth.

  But the coelophysis was undeterred, lowering its head, and knocking the officer to the ground.

  He barely had time to bring the rifle in position as the open jaws went for his throat. Instead of soft flesh that would fold like a toilet paper tube, the rows of nail-like teeth bit down on steel barrel and wood front stock.

  Tidwell tried pushing the head back, but the dinosaur was too strong. His muscles tensed and burned. There was no way for him to overpower this prehistoric creature.

  Then Tidwell saw John behind the dinosaur. Wearing a big grin on his face, the man shoved the rifle’s barrel right under the coelophysis’ tail.

  The beast unlatched its jaws and spun around, standing high on its legs. It hissed and raised its arms at John.

  John shook the rifle at the dinosaur. “You want some more of this?” He giggled, and said to Tidwell, “Shoot ’im—”

  A quick double tap from his handgun put two bullets where Tidwell thought its heart should be. Not taking any chances, he then unloaded his pistol into its torso.

  The coelophysis keeled over and died.

  Lowering a hand, John helped the officer to his feet. “The head on that thing would look good mounted and hanging on your living room wall.”

  “Ah, I don’t know. The girlfriend gets freaked out by animal trophies,” Tidwell said.

  “Get a new girlfriend,” John said. The man always had a simple solution to the most difficult of problems.

  The shooting stopped. Tidwell turned his gaze and saw all the dinosaurs were dead and counted four men, two of the Bywater Boyz and two police officers, who would not see the sunset in the afternoon.

  BAM!

  Duane had his rifle pointed to the sky and then lowered the barrel toward the ground. “WOO-WE! I shot that pterodactyl in the EYYYE…BALL.”

  The winged reptile fell from the air and crashed onto the second level open parking lot on the east side of the Superdome.

  The SWAT team fired again before Tidwell had a chance to catch his breath. When he looked down Poydras Street, he realized something for the first time.

  Tyrannosauruses hunted in herds too.

  The tyrant lizards were a few blocks away, and they made the coelophyses look like lap dogs.

  “Boys, we are in a pile of trouble,” Tidwell said.

  A low hum sounded in the distance. At first, the officer wondered if the T. rex entourage made the earth shake. But, the noise grew louder, and in no time Tidwell knew exactly what it was.

  “Gunshi
p!” Tidwell said as the Apache helicopter flew overhead, straight toward the dinosaurs.

  The helicopter unleashed a Hellfire rocket, and it hit its target in the blink of an eye. A dome of orange grew like the inside of the sun before black smoke rose into the sky.

  One tyrannosaurus had escaped harm and ran for safety.

  The Apache pursued and made hamburger of it with its 30mm cannon.

  “There won’t be anything left worth eating on the critter,” John said. “That helicopter might be fun to hunt hogs out of.”

  Four Chinook helicopters flew in across the horizon and proceeded to hover above the Superdome.

  Incoming people and those making their way up the ramp cheered and clapped.

  Someone chanted, “USA! USA!” ; uniting the people as one.

  Charles Tidwell felt a lump in his throat and tears swell in his eyes. The good guys had finally arrived.

  The military would put a boot up those dinosaurs’ asses. It was the American way.

  Chapter 15

  “What do you mean you like the idea of an all-white America?” Randy Guillaume asked of Doug, his nephew. “The Sons of the Confederacy recognize the rights of every race. We’re not white supremacists. We may like keeping to our own kind, but blacks prefer their kind too.”

  “You crackers want to keep us boys in our place. The fact is, is that you will never treat us as equals until all symbols of racism are wiped away from every book, every street, and every name on every public building. The playing field must be equal. And outfits like your Sons of the Confederacy and National Socialist need to be eradicated too,” Rev. Scott said, stepping into Randy’s personal space.

  “See, Uncle Randy. He wants to wipe us out. I say we get them before they get us. It just makes sense,” Doug said.

  Andrew Jackson watched the smoldering embers on each side catch fire. Rev. Scott wasn’t going to give an inch.

  The NSM member smirked watching Randy and Doug at odds, knowing he had just scored a convert.

  Tim, Randy’s other nephew, migrated from the storm and perched by a window.