“Maybe you should let me drive,” Chief said.
“I’ve thought about that, Chief. I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I’m still in charge of the mission, and I won’t feel like I have control if I’m riding in the backseat. Not this time. You’ll have to trust me. You all will just have to trust me.”
“It’s not about trust,” Chief said.
“Everything is about trust. But I know where you’re coming from. We’re too much alike, Chief. It’s better all the way around if we stick to our roles. It gives us the best chance of making it out of here alive.”
Chapter 14
“Looks like Santos has got the feel for driving the Warthog. Who’d like to go next?” Ben asked as he sat in the Warthog’s cab.
Santos left the driver’s seat, wearing a proud smile.
Logan sat on one of the two long benches in the troop transport area as Ben gave the Brazilians’ driving lessons. Matt went over details with Diaz and Alvarez on how to load the gun on the roof.
He had been unsettled the whole night long and could barely sleep. Who could blame him? Hell, he, Matt, and Ben had been brutalized mentally and physically by Henry Lear and the very same mercenaries who they now trained to operate the Warthog. Events had moved so fast from the time they had arrived at camp after escaping Patagonia, the last twenty-four hours seemed like a blur.
He couldn’t just flip a switch in his mind and focus on the new mission and forget the turmoil of Lear’s amusement and threats. Hearing the impossible news that Alex and the others killed in Patagonia were somehow alive opened another area of concern. Would Natasha remember him pushing her to her death? If so, how would he handle the situation? Say I didn’t mean to? How fucking lame would that sound? Then what? Tell the others? He’d become a pariah and have to leave school. Matt would lose all respect for him. This was all one big mess.
The Warthog had been cleaned and loaded with a spare amount of supplies. This was a rescue mission, and there was no need for anything other than the basics. As for mechanical inspection of the ATTC, Ben was the most qualified. Ron and Don had trained him on what instruments to watch. There really wasn’t much to do, though, other than drive the thing. The nuclear engine had no serviceable parts and had to be removed from the vehicle for any type of maintenance. There were enough safety trips built in that there was no danger of loss of radioactive containment. Ben had said the rubber treads on the tracks looked in good shape. If any of the treads had been damaged or missing there was a kit and instructions on how to replace them.
For this outing, the rear cabin had been uncoupled. Cramming the others in the troop carry area, if all survived the rescue, would be tight but manageable. Logan remembered Lear’s threat: all the college crew had to return or none of them would be allowed to leave Patagonia alive. Was the man being truthful, or was this one of his eccentric mind games?
“For this trip, we’re leaving the nonlethal projectiles behind. I’ve been told this is fifty caliber armor piercing ammunition. By itself it can punch a large hole. But this ammo has been modified to have explosive tips,” Matt said to the Captain and Alvarez. He focused on Alvarez, and said, “Do you understand?”
Logan knew Matt was being patient with Alvarez. Of the six Brazilians, his English was the worse. Alvarez continued to look wide-eyed, nodding as if he understood.
“Not that I’ve seen the size hole a projectile can punch. We never used the Warthog’s gun while we were out there. Never needed to. I think that won’t be the case this time around,” Matt said.
“The gun can be fired from on top of the roof or from the cab?” Captain Diaz said.
“Yes. Ben was trained by the Redwater team how to sight the gun in, fire manually and by using the remote. Ben showed me how to use it. The remote control is computer assisted, so it’s easy to use. Captain Diaz, I think you should be trained along with one of your men.”
“I will follow your suggestion,” Diaz said. “How much ammunition are we carrying?”
“Nearly one hundred projectiles and around five tranquilizers. The tranquilizers are stored separately and aren’t taking any room away from the lethal ammo, so I didn’t remove it. Are you ready to go up and see how to fire it manually?” Matt asked.
“Yes, now would be a good time. Then you will show us how to use the remote,” Diaz said.
Matt pointed to the four-step folding ladder hanging on a wall, and said to Alvarez, who was closest to it, “Can you go over there and get the ladder for us?”
Alvarez eagerly looked at the ladder and turned back to Matt, nodding his head with eyebrows held high.
Matt waited, and when Alvarez made no effort to get the ladder, Matt said, “The ladder, you get.” He held his hands out and gripped open air.
The mercenary continued to smile and nod.
Diaz made no effort to step in and clarify the situation for his subordinate.
“You,” Matt pointed again, “go,” he pointed his index finger and middle finger toward the floor and moved them back and forth to indicate legs walking, “get,” he grabbed empty air again with both hands, “the ladder.” Bringing his thumb and forefinger together forming a circle, he said, “Okay?” Matt flipped his wrist back and forth a few times shaking the okay symbol at Alvarez.
The mercenary’s pleasant, attentive expression melted into a scowl of indignation. He let a series of Portuguese profanities fly and shook his fist in Matt’s face.
“Hey! Wha—” Matt stepped back. “Captain, call him off!”
Diaz bent over with laughter. The other mercenaries curiously looked over.
Matt had his hands by his shoulders with his palms pointing to the roof. “I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.”
The Captain finally composed himself, and said, “Senhor, Matt. You should have listened to Senhor Lear when he told you to learn some of the Brazilian customs. In our country, when you touch your thumb and forefinger together and shake it at another, you are calling that person an asshole.” He turned to Alvarez. “Ele não tinha a intenção de ofendê-lo. Em seu país, os dedos juntos significam bem.”
Alvarez scrunched his forehead and nodded. He then shrugged his shoulders, and his eager smile returned.
“Thank goodness,” Matt said. “We good?” Matt raised his right thumb in the air. As soon as he made the gesture, panic contorted his face, and he jerked both hands behind his back. “Wait! Was that bad? If it was, I didn’t mean it.”
Diaz chuckled. “No, Senhor. The thumb-up is a good sign.”
Alvarez gave Matt a thumb-up in return.
“But I warn you, if you make that gesture in Iran, you might lose your hand,” Diaz said.
“Guys, we really ought to get finished with the training. We’ll be heading off sometime tonight, and we all need to rest before we go,” Ben said.
Logan was glad Ben was there. The man had a sound head on his shoulders. He wished he could talk to Ben about his…predicament. Kind words from a friend, if he got them, would only ease his mind for a bit though. Whatever the future would bring, he would have to face it alone. He’d just have to own up to it and live with the consequences for the rest of his life.
***
The Mule rolled through the jungle, snaking its way between trees, and avoiding dinosaurs in the distance. This was the first time Coop had seen sauropods in the wild. The video the drone took by Lear’s River didn’t do the animals justice. The beasts were huge! They were so slow, at first sighting of a Brachiosaurus, he thought it was a statue. The damn thing looked like a mountain with a long neck and tail. And as far as fear of the Mule passing through its home, no fucks were given. Which was more than fine by Coop. As bad-ass as the Mule’s fifty was, he figured taking one Brachiosaurus down would use most, if not all, of the ammo.
No one shared small talk inside the cab—too busy watching out the windows. Everyone but Susan. She had her cheek implanted to Chief’s left arm and her eyes closed. This was a bad sign. Because if things got hot, a
nd they would have to leave the Mule, she might become a liability. To make matters worse, she’d distract Chief from his duties. Chief was perhaps the most important person on this excursion, having him less than 100% might mean doom for them all.
A hand slapped wildly on the roof.
“Stop the Mule! Stop the Mule!” Gerald cried.
Coop hit the brake, glancing at the rear camera as they came to a stop. Caveman and Alex had jumped off the bumper and had their rifles up at the ready. A medium sized theropod bounded toward them.
“Something’s attacking from the rear,” Suge said. “Get off the roof so I can swing the gun around,” he yelled.
Gerald and Will bailed off onto the ground, and the fifty swung into position.
Alex and Caveman fired their JNY-7s. The suppressed pep-peps made the weapons sound like an air rifle at a carnival, but when the bullets found the target, in this case the chest of a charging theropod, the exploding bullets announced its deadly power.
Gaping holes appeared on its pale white chest between and below the theropod’s short arms. Its cry contained pain and surprise, surely to inspire primordial rage. Flesh and blood fireworks erupted from its chest. In no time it reached its two attackers, forcing Alex and Caveman to roll to the side on the ground.
“Do you want me to take the shot?” Suge cried out.
“Hold it!” Chief said.
The theropod stumbled as it ran past its two intended prey and fell flat to the earth, landing a few yards from the Mule’s rear. Will and Gerald stood their positions by the side of the vehicle—their 9mm pistols aimed at the head.
Caveman was first off the ground and approached the dinosaur. Alex followed closely behind. Everyone in the Mule spilled out with weapons at the ready. Meat hopped off the blade.
“I think it’s dead,” Will said. He stepped cautiously toward it and gave it a quick kick to the head.
This was another dinosaur Coop hadn’t seen before. This theropod was of a plainer variety, with brownish skin without any distinguishing marking. The color reminded him of an ordinary deer. It looked to be around twelve feet in length and upright might have been as tall as a man. Coop thought some theropods—like this one—looked off balanced. It surprised him how fast they could run. The legs seemed too far back as they leaned chest forward with their short arms hanging down. The head on this thing was round at the top and looked like a dome skullcap. It had large round eyes and rows of short spikes on the bridge of its snout. More spikes jutted from the back of its head. In a strange way, its face looked armadillo-ish, although he knew the two creatures weren’t alike in any way.
“Good shooting, guys,” Chief said.
“Weren’t nothin’,” Caveman said.
“It’s a Pachycephalosaurus, I think,” Alex said.
“I’m not even going to try to pronounce that,” Meat said.
“I wonder what made it chase us? Why wasn’t it scared like most of the other dinosaurs?” Natasha said.
“Because it’s an animal,” Caveman said. “Animals know fight or flight. We pissed this boy off for some reason, and he wanted a piece of that ass.”
“We know nothing about dinosaurs. This species may be more aggressive than most. Size doesn’t matter. I’m sure all of you have seen small dogs act as big as Great Danes,” Alex said.
“I’m glad that was over quickly. We need to get out of here in case this guy has any friends,” Coop said.
“Okay, everyone. Load up, and let’s head out,” Chief said.
*
Fate, fortune, whatever, had kept the eleven survivors alive in the wilds of savage Patagonia for the past nine hours. There was still more than an hour of light left. On one hand, Coop wanted to travel as much distance as he could before night. On the other hand, he knew dinosaur activity increased by the river. The smart thing might be to find a suitable spot for the night to make camp now. If they went too deep and found themselves in a den of dinosaurs while under darkness, there might be no chance of escape.
The odometer told him that they had traveled one hundred and ten miles for the day—a distance far greater than he had hoped to achieve. He was able to accomplish this by maximizing speed in the open, flat areas. Traveling 20 mph for fifteen minutes chewed up as much distance as 5 mph did in sixty minutes. They were traveling in an open area now, but the GPS imposed over the satellite map showed the area would soon turn to jungle and stay that way for the twenty-five miles or so journey to Lear’s River. Coops eyes confirmed they’d be at the jungle line in a few minutes.
“We’re making good time. I want to set up camp while it’s still daylight. No need to push our luck,” Coop said.
“Luck…” Susan said. “I’ve been thinking about our situation the whole day. On one hand we do seem incredibly lucky.”
“Ron and Don don’t feel so lucky,” Bats said.
Susan turned with a narrow gaze Bats’ way. “I’m making a point. I know the brothers were killed. We all know that. But I can’t believe we haven’t faced any more danger than what we have so far. Are we just lucky? Something returned us to life two different times. Maybe the same people responsible are watching out for us now.”
“What did they have against Ron and Don?” Bats said sarcastically.
“I don’t know. I would gladly trade you in for them,” Susan’s words seethed with contempt.
“Maybe it’s true the good die first,” Natasha said. “Maybe they’re the lucky ones. They died in an instant…we might not be so…lucky.”
“And maybe God’s and Auburn Tigers football fan and was tired of hearing Roll Tide,” Bats said.
Coop saw Chief’s face redden as Bats instigated conflict. Before Chief upped the ante, he said, “Bats! Enough. Conflict is a distraction. We can’t let our guard down now.”
Fortunately, if anyone else had anything to add they kept it to themselves. The silence between them grew into a barrier pushing them farther apart. A situation just as harmful as out and out bickering.
“Everyone,” Coop said. “We’re tired, and the tension in this situation is eating us up from the inside. I’m sure Susan just wanted to talk some things out, and I know some of you probably would be better off if you didn’t have to hear it. People are all different. We deal with things in our own way. Please try to be more understanding.” Coop stopped as he felt a lump start to grow in his throat. It was happening again. This emotion welling inside threatening to boil out and turn him into a blubbering idiot. That’s the last thing that needed to happen right now. He needed to lead, and he could only do that by sound, confident words. “So look, let’s all take a deep breath, and make a special effort to be tolerant of one another. Let’s not take out our frustrations on each other. We’ll be setting up camp soon. We’ll get something to eat and get some rest. With any,” he hesitated, and said, “luck, we’ll meet up with the Warthog some time tomorrow.”
“Seems like our fate is always decided by luck. We’re lucky if we live, but if we’re killed quickly, we’re lucky that we died. Luck brings both good and bad, and sometimes when luck is bad, it’s good. I guess luck is the real God that controls our future,” Bats said.
Coop thought it was funny how at times it seemed random events controlled the future, and at other times it seemed an omnipotent being moved the pieces. But then the arguments could be made from hindsight that the random events were specific moves by God, and that the miracles that seemed to come by the hand of God, could be attributed to random events. Fate? Who or what was fate? Random acts or intentional moves? Why were Coop and his companions still alive? Why were Ron and Don returned to life only to die again a final time?
“What the…Coop!” Suge said in surprise.
Less than a hundred yards away a herd of Triceratops poured from the thick of the jungle.
“They’re heading right for us!” Natasha cried.
Even from that distance, the ceratopsids looked as big as school buses. They ran with incredible speed and agility for so
mething that large. The bulls were pale green in color and the cows a dull brown—the same variety as they encountered on the way to the cave to find the diamonds. Coop wasn’t sure of the number, but the line stretched out heading his way was so wide that he couldn’t turn right or left and hope to outrun them. They’d be trampled before reaching safety.
Hoping that luck was still his co-pilot, he hit the Mule’s horn, and pressed the accelerator.
Riding the blade, Meat popped his head up and looked at Coop, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Hey! Hey! Turnaround!”
“Coop…” Chief said, sounding like it was a threat.
“This is the best chance we have of all making it out,” Coop said, sitting higher in his seat.
“Or all fucking dying!” Bats yelled.
This was it. Coop had committed his life and the others, and there was no turning back. Unfortunately, so far the Triceratops heading straight for them remained undeterred from their path. He let off of the horn and then pumped it, sending out pulses of warning. He had a burning urge to shout Yah mule!, but this wasn’t a Western movie, and he wasn’t a cowboy.
“Motherfucker! They’re going to hit!” Meat yelled and disappeared from sight, flatting himself against the blade.
Susan gasped, and Coop felt everyone brace for impact.
At the last possible second two bulls in front of the blade parted, narrowly missing contact, and charged past the Mule on either side. Up ahead, the rest of the herd followed the lead and split, opening a clear space for them to drive through.
“Son-of-a-bitch…would you look at that,” Suge said.
The back of Meat’s head rose above the side of the convex-shaped blade. The Samoan turned around, wearing a large smile across his face, and pumped a fist in victory.
Chief breathed out a sigh of relief.
Coop loosened the muscles in his back and lowered his shoulders. He had been holding his breath, and he had just now realized it. His mouth fell open, and he breathed slowly in and out. They were entering the jungle, so he slowed the Mule to a safer speed.
Lost World II: Savage Patagonia Page 17