One Dinosaur
One Bullet
Dane Hatchell
This story is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 Dane Hatchell
Cover Copyright © Saber Core (Whendy Muchlis Effendy)
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this story may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
Other Creature-Action Novels by Dane Hatchell
The Dinosaur Battle of New Orleans
Prehistoric WWII
Lost World of Patagonia
Lost World II: Savage Patagonia
Bigfoot Abomination
One Dinosaur
One Bullet
Dan Webber smoothed his thick, graying mustache with thumb and index finger down to the corners of his mouth. There was a time his lady tickler felt like a brushed stallion’s mane. Now, the aging hair was coarse enough to scour charred meat off a grill.
He eyed the four members of the next hunt as they filed into the departing station. Each person wore the finest cotton clothing painted in khaki, olive, and tan; shirts and pants freshly pressed and wrinkle-free. Their wardrobe alone, including the designer hats, was sure to cost over five figures.
“Hello, everyone,” Dan said; his eyes wide and inviting. “Please come in, and I’ll begin the pre-instructions.”
Dan’s son, Bo, was the last to enter the station. Bo stood head and shoulders above the group in his care and picked a spot on the floor behind them to perch.
Two men stood at either end of the line, bookmarking the two women in the middle. The adventure’s excitement had them as fidgety as children waiting to see Santa.
“I’m Dan Webber, manager of Prehistoric Safari, Inc. And, as you know, Bo’s father. It’s a pleasure to meet you all in person.”
The hunters reciprocated with nods and verbal pleasantries.
“Warren and Janice Wellington. You two are the only experienced hunters. If I didn’t know that, I could tell by your boots.” Broken in—comfortable boots were a must for a lengthy hunt in places like the wilds of Africa. Today, new footwear on the other two hunters wouldn’t be an issue.
Warren Wellington’s body fit proportionally to his six-foot-tall frame. His graying hair showed above his ears, and the rest hid under his hat. With his thumbs underneath the straps of his backpack, his fingers with manicured nails dangled in front of his chest. “Yes, Janice and I have hunted big game every year for the last twenty years. We have an extensive trophy collection. Our success at Wellington &Wellington Investments affords us many privileges.”
“Warren and I, not only being founders of W&W Investments, have enjoyed a wonderful marriage over the last thirty-five years,” Janice said and gazed lovingly at her husband. She was as tall as Warren but weighed a good thirty pounds less. “We’re practically inseparable.”
“I’ve always said: A family that plays together stays together,” Warren said. “And, I’m always right.”
Dan, and the other man and woman, politely chuckled.
“It’s so refreshing to hear of a successful marriage. Bo’s mother left me when he was a toddler. But that’s a story for another day.”
Dan turned his focus to the woman next to Janice, who was noticeably shorter. Her neatly trimmed black hair hung just above her shoulders. There was no doubt the mocha-skinned beauty spent most of her off time at the gym. “Whitney Johnson. I see you are a vice president at W&W. Your application states you attended the University of Texas, Austin, on a Marksman Scholarship. I must say, it’s not every day I take a competition winning marksman on a hunt. Even though hunting isn’t part of your regular pastimes, I think you’ll do fine.”
“My father was in the military and had me shooting BB rifles at three years old. I haven’t competed since college, and that was over fifteen years ago,” Whitney said. “Oh, and I prefer markswoman to marksman.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Dan said, thinking he was too old to worry about gender-specific speak.
Addressing the man next to Whitney, Dan said, “Hollis Day—also a vice president at W&W. This is your first hunt—of any kind. In fact, you had not handled a rifle until three months ago, when we accepted Mr. Wellington’s application. You’ve passed the required training. But I have to ask you: Do you have any reservations? Any worries you’re not ready for this hunt?”
“The word worry is not in my vocabulary, Dan. Worry connotes fear, and I’m not afraid of anything,” Hollis said, chin raised high to look Dan in the eyes. “This may be my first hunt, but I’ve played enough Call of Duty to have a heightened sense of awareness of my surroundings. I’ll be ready when it’s time.”
Dan thought a moment to choose his words, then said, “Well, at least you have that going for you. But I must warn you: When hunting big game, there are no extra lives.”
“I won’t need any,” Hollis said. The diminutive man reminded Dan of a Chihuahua who thought it was bigger than a Great Dane.
With basic introductions aside, it was time to board the time departure platform. “Folks, all we have to do now is grab our weapons and get on the platform. This is the last call for anyone who wants to change their mind,” Dan said.
No one spoke a word. No one had before on any of the hunts that Dan had led over the last few years either.
“If you will, please step over to your left, and Bo will distribute your rifles,” Dan said.
Bo waited by the gun rack on the wall. His 6’5” frame wore his 325 lbs like a healthy professional football player. The trimmed reddish beard on his face helped hide his age.
Selecting one of the three Winchester Model 70 bolt action rifles, .375 H&H caliber, Bo handed it to Warren and told him to board the platform.
Next, he handed Janice another Winchester Model 70, who followed her husband.
Whitney had picked a Winchester Model 270. She didn’t weigh as much as Janice and had selected a smaller caliber weapon.
Hollis received the Barrett XM500 in his open hands as if it were a newborn baby.
Ridiculous, Dan thought. He told himself to keep his mouth shut—keep a positive rapport with his paying customers, but he couldn’t hold back. “Hollis, wouldn’t you prefer a rifle like Warren and Janice are carrying?”
“He knows how to use the XM-Five Hundred,” Bo shot back.
Holding the rifle at a forty-five-degree angle across his chest, Hollis said, “I like my choice. When you go to war, you need a BFG. This baby here is a BFG.”
“I’ll say. It weighs twenty-six pounds. My Winchester Seventy weighs eight pounds. It can drop bull elephants, charging rhinos, and T. rex,” Dan said. “Your gun is almost as long as you are tall.”
“I’ve learned how to compensate its weight and my body size. Isn’t that right, Bo?” Hollis said.
“Yep, put ten holes in a ten-inch target two hundred yards away. The man’s a natural.”
Hollis’ smug smile said he didn’t want to discuss the matter any further.
After a deep breath, Dan walked over to the gun rack as Bo removed his Holland & Holland Royal double rifle; chambered for the .600 Nitro Express.
Cracking the barrel open, Bo confirmed it was loaded with two 900-grain bullets. He then approached the platform with the rifle in one hand and his backpack in the other.
After sliding his arms through his backpack straps, Dan picked up his rifle and joined the others on the platform.
“Excuse me, please,” Dan said as he made his way to the control console.
�
�This doesn’t look like a time machine,” Hollis said as he looked over the 12’x12’ obsidian platform. The outer rim stood only a foot in height. There were no seats, and other than the control console, only a long storage box on the floor. “What’s this thing made of?”
“Proprietary compounds using synthesized dark matter. We refer to it as exotic material. When the quantum entanglement transportation begins, the exotic material creates a field that protects us while it carries us through time,” Dan said. “Everyone get ready. The trip back in time is the most boring part.”
With no further delay, Dan engaged the permissive start instruments and set the machine in motion.
The platform hummed to life, and the room outside faded into a void so black it felt as if it would steal Dan’s eyesight. “You’ll be more comfortable if you’ll look at each other and not at the void.”
“Whoa, you’re right. Man, that was a weird feeling,” Hollis said, squinching his eyes shut and then blinking. “How long before we get there?”
“About ninety-three million years—give-or-take a few million,” Dan said and then chuckled.
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant, Hollis. It was a joke. Fact is, it doesn’t take any time to get there. We are outside of time as we know it. Look at your watch.”
Bringing up his left wrist, Hollis did as instructed and pursed his lips.
“If we stayed in a state of quantum time transportation, we would never age. We would live forever,” Dan said.
“That makes little sense,” Whitney said. “Our hearts are still pumping blood. Like any muscle, it would eventually wear out.”
“Any muscle inside the ravages of time,” Dan said. “You’ll have to trust me on this.”
“That is a fascinating and depressing thought,” Warren said. “Too high of a price for immortality. I can’t imagine spending eternity on this desolate raft.”
“I’ll second that,” Whitney said. Her left eyebrow sank low, and she turned her head toward Dan. “Wait a minute. There’s no chance of something like that happening to us, right? This machine can’t break down and strand us outside of time, can it?”
“No chance of the machine breaking down. Once the transportation starts, it can’t be stopped. We’re in no danger of being stuck outside of time,” Dan said.
“I grew up reading science fiction stories about time travel. There was so much worry back then that you could do something millions of years in the past, something as small as stepping on a butterfly, and drastically alter the future.”
“Yeah, but we now know that chances of making any changes of consequence to the modern timeline are practically zero. For sure, we won’t kill a creature that would lead to the spawning of man,” Dan said. “We’re in North America, and man evolved on another continent.”
“But we can still die in the past, and there’s no chance of going back in time on another trip to prevent it,” Hollis said.
“Correct. We’ve learned when a person from the future dies in the past, it creates a time paradox. The paradox, in this case, prevents anyone from coming to the exact point in time of that person’s death by a thousand years prior. We don’t understand why,” Dan said. “I believe the Universe has a series of checks and balances to prevent any time-loops from occurring.”
“Right now, the shortest amount of time we can go back is roughly ten million years. Do you think there will come a day when we can travel to the recent past? I’ve always dreamed of touring Rome at the pinnacle of its ancient excellence,” Warren said.
“I guess one should never say never. But I’m from the school that believes the answer is no,” Dan said. “Again, I believe the Universe is keeping us in check. The timeline must be preserved uninterrupted.”
“You make it sound as if you are making a case for a creator. Are you a religious man, Mr. Webber?” Warren asked.
“Please, call me Dan. To answer your question, I am not a religious man. Does God exist? I will simply say: I don’t know. It appears preserving the timeline is a function of quantum physics and not faith.
“I’m no physicist, but here is my basic understanding: Light has the nature of being both a particle and a wave. As to which state it exists, it all depends on how it is measured, or observed if you will, at the end of its journey. Thus proving, that an observer can affect the outcome of reality.
“We’ve learned that an observer, who travels to the past and dies, creates a reality that can’t be reversed—their death can’t be undone. Somehow the laws of physics then sets up a barrier on the timeline that prevents us from going back and preventing the death.”
The silhouette of darkness gave way to soft light which grew into the bright of day. The platform rested upon clumps of thick grasses in an open area surrounded by clusters of trees.
“Folks, it looks like we’re here,” Dan said. Good, he hoped there wouldn’t be any further questions about time travel. Talking about time paradoxes too long gave him a headache.
He looked up at the sky, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. “Smell that? That’s real air!”
Hollis spun around and scanned the area; his gun cocked in his arms ready to load on his shoulder at the first sign of danger.
Warren and Janice both lifted their noses, and after a few breaths, smiles curled on their lips.
“Why, the air is delightful,” Janice said.
“I feel,” Warren said and hesitated. “I feel as if I’m growing stronger with each breath. This is amazing!”
“It’s the extra oxygen in the atmosphere. The O-two level here is around thirty-two percent, compared to our time where it’s twenty-one percent,” Dan said.
“I’m not noticing the difference, except for a strange, earthy scent,” Whitney said.
“You’re young and fit, Mrs. Johnson. Not to be insulting, but the Wellingtons are older, and their arteries are more than likely clogged with plaque and calcium. Their bodies will respond better to the extra O-two.”
“Makes it easier to start fires,” Bo said.
“Of which we won’t be doing on our two-hour stay here,” Dan said. “Bo, stop the chit-chat, and let’s take them to the valley before the hunt.”
“I know what to do. You don’t have to tell me what to do,” Bo said, his eyes half-shut as he shook his head. He stepped off the platform and walked east. Without bothering to turn, he called out, “Follow me.”
The tension between father and son was becoming a problem. Bo grew weary of playing second banana to Dan and was ready to take over the business; especially since Dan had planned to retire a year ago. When that day came, he just wasn’t as ready to stop working. Giving up on his business was like giving up on life. Bo had to learn to suck it up until Dan was good and ready to leave.
Warren had stepped over the platform’s edge and helped Janice as she brought her first boot over.
Hollis was out and on Bo’s heels.
Whitney waited for Janice to clear the platform before she placed a foot on the ground. Her hesitation caught Dan’s attention.
“Everything okay, Mrs. Johnson? Second thoughts?” he asked.
She jerked her head back and froze for a moment, and then said, “Everything’s fine. I…I was just lost in my thoughts.” Relaxing her shoulders, she said, “Please, call me Whitney.”
“Mighty fine,” Dan said and stepped next to her. “We should catch-up with the others.”
Clumps of grass-like foliage covered the open area but didn’t impede travel. The ground was firm but not rock-hard. Trees and the valley were a good ten-minute hike away.
The four quickened the pace until they were closer to Bo and Hollis.
“The landscape has quite a different character than the wilds of Africa,” Warren said. “Certainly nothing like the jungles we’ve hunted in either.”
Hollis’ head had been on a swivel the whole time. Stress squeezed a scowl on his face.
“Hollis, you can relax and enjoy the scenery. I’ve m
ade this trip many times. There’s nothing out there that will surprise us,” Dan said. “We are essentially living through a written script. The timeline has been mapped out, and all we have to do is follow the map.”
“I feel like we’re sitting ducks,” Hollis said. “I don’t like being this out in the open.”
“Look at all the palm trees,” Whitney said. “I’m used to seeing oaks, maples, and pines in the forest.”
“The trees up ahead are mostly cycads—very distant relatives of palms. Mixed in you will find a variety of conifers—trees with needle-like leaves like pines. The closest thing you will find with broad leaves like oaks or maples is the ginkgo tree,” Dan said and looked at his watch.
“Ginkgo? Any relationship to the modern ginkgo?” Warren asked.
“One hundred percent,” Dan said. “The modern ginkgo is a living fossil. There are hardly any differences between a ginkgo tree you would buy at a nursery and one a hundred million years old.”
The line of trees was only a few steps away when Bo came to an abrupt stop; halting everyone in their tracks.
“Please look up and to the left,” Dan said.
Above, a pterosaur soared into view. The tan-colored creature stuck out in the clear, blue sky. The large, crested head looked bigger than its body, but it was the wide wingspan that stood out the most.
“Wow! Unbelievable!” Hollis said.
“It’s beautiful…so majestic,” Janice said.
Whitney giggled. “That’s the strangest looking animal I’ve ever seen.”
Hollis raised his rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope.
“Hollis! Put your rifle down. There will be no unauthorized shooting on this trip!” Dan said with urgency in his voice. “Bo! Stop him!”
The rifle remained tight on Hollis’ shoulder. “Keep your pants on. I’m not going to shoot it. I wanted to get a close-up look-see through the scope.”
“He knows better,” Bo said. “Dad, stop worrying. I’m in charge of the crew.”
Realizing he flew off the handle too quickly, Dan’s face flushed with embarrassment and rising anger at Bo’s sassy tone. He cleared his throat, and said, “Yes, well, what you folks are looking at, is a Pteranodon. This one has a wingspan of twenty-three feet. Despite its overall size, the creature weighs no more than twenty-five pounds. Pterosaurs were the only flying reptiles to exist. Hollow bones contributed to their light weight.”
One Dinosaur One Bullet Page 1