Its head emerged, freeing its bulk from the tight enclosure, its massive fatty body stumbling as its distended stomach was finally pulled through the tunnel and into the cavern. It was Stump, the armless tyrannosaur, or what was left of him. The torturous passage along the rock walls had scraped off layers of his clammy, festering skin. His hide was shredded—an oozing, pus-drenched mess.
Stump staggered farther in, teetering to regain his balance before falling face-first onto the ground. He hit the sand with a titanic whump, his jaw shattering against the rock floor. The hit shook loose any connection between his brain and body, and he stared, milky eyed, at the wall, confused. And then he snorted, sniffing the air, smelling the fresh herbivore just meters away, at once coming back to life. Scrambling to his feet, he burst upright. His mangled jaw dangled limply, jagged teeth dripping blood, his exposed muscles now covered in coarse sand.
And he roared again, this time mightier and hungrier than he had roared before.
Ankylosaurus swung his colossal clublike tail, his body swiveling around on four stubby little legs.
The blow struck Stump square in the chest, the sound of splattering meat and splintering bone like a crack of thunder in the tiny, echoing chamber. Stump reeled from the force of the hit, but was otherwise entirely unfazed. Stump took a single, measured step toward Ankylosaurus, ignoring the dented cavity in his chest pooling with blood.
Then he took another. And another.
Ankylosaurus shuffled backward until he could shuffle no more, the bone spurs of his back pressing up against the cave wall, his tail left with just enough room to take one more shallow stroke.
He looked over at Triceratops, eyes pleading.
Triceratops, frozen in fear, stared agape at the monstrosity before her. There it was, flesh peeled away, chest caved in from a terrible blow, arms gnawed completely off, jaw destroyed, and still it hungered, still it stood, still it moved, refusing to give up, lurching toward Ankylosaurus.
There was only one thing left for her to do.
She charged, head down, muscles pushing harder than they ever had.
She slammed into Stump at full speed, horns goring him in the side, picking him up off his feet, battering him into the wall. The creature shattered and spattered between Triceratops and the solid rock. She flicked her head to the side, her horns tearing their way out through the predator’s stomach.
Stump groaned, trying to work his legs. He flailed, lashing out at Triceratops with his upper jaw, his lower jaw dangling uselessly.
Triceratops bucked away, taking a dozen steps backward all at once in a terrified shuffle. She’d given it everything she had; she felt like she could have knocked a brontosaurus on its side with that hit. And yet Stump still moved, still snapped, still shambled toward her.
Ankylosaurus brought down his tail with a terrible thwack, the bone mallet crushing Stump’s skull into powder, following through, driving the tyrannosaur right into the dirt. Brains and bone splashed, spraying the cave.
Stump lay belly down on the earth, its beaten, ravaged body finally still, a crater of pulpy slop where its head used to be.
Triceratops and Ankylosaurus shared a bewildered look of relief, both leaning in to sniff the crater. This thing was dead. And it wasn’t getting back up. They shared another look.
The head. You had to aim for the head.
Ankylosaurus approached Triceratops slowly, head down, tail dragging. He nuzzled her lightly with his head along her gore-spattered neck frill and under her chin. She knew what he meant and nuzzled back—friendly, but not too friendly. They weren’t out of danger yet.
Stump’s stomach burst, spilling out its half-digested contents—chunks of flesh, bone, teeth, talons, feathers, and the chewed-off heads of smaller dinosaurs—all pasted together in a molten slag oozing out onto the cave floor. The slurry emitted a stench so foul that it blistered the chalk off the cave walls, wilting both Triceratops and Ankylosaurus.
Every instinct told Triceratops that leaving the cave meant certain death, but her eyes watered, her insides heaved, her head swam from the rotten scent. She had to get out. Ankylosaurus had to get out. Together they bolted for the fresh air, no longer caring what waited with it.
Outside, the fresh air was intoxicating. Deliriously fresh. Triceratops and Ankylosaurus cleared their nostrils, breathed in lungsful of clean, clear air. The refreshment was so overwhelming that it took a few seconds for them to register the shuddering earth and the gurgling mess of another monster stampeding straight for them.
Cavity. His festering innards dangled from the gnawed hole in his abdomen, one end of his intestines dragged on the ground behind him. He thundered across the top of the hill, pin-wheeling arms clawing at them.
Ankylosaurus reacted without thinking, swinging his mighty tail. But his body skidded in the mud and he missed Cavity’s head entirely, instead sweeping his legs right out from under him. The bones in Cavity’s legs shattered, and he dropped with a tremendous slap to the fresh wet earth.
Now Triceratops’s instincts kicked in. She pounced, throwing all of her body weight into a single head butt. Her horn struck true, sinking right through Cavity’s eye socket on into the brain, its force so great that it pierced through the skull on the other side. Cavity seized up, every muscle spasming at once. Then the beast went limp, its struggling limbs flopping to its sides.
Triceratops backed away, easing her horn out of the skull, thick, viscous, gore dripping off it. She’d never killed before. She’d charged; she’d hit things; she’d wounded a handful of predators, convincing them to seek dinner elsewhere. But she’d never killed anything. Never delivered a blow from which a thing couldn’t stand back up.
It felt good. Powerful. A great sense of relief overtook her.
This could work. She and Ankylosaurus didn’t have to hide from these things or run from them on sight. Sure, that might still be the best idea. But they didn’t have to be afraid. Not of the dead. The dead they could kill again; they just had to be careful about it.
Ankylosaurus looked at her proudly. They’d brought it down together. He felt safer now as well. He took a few steps boldly forward, following the trail down into the forest.
Triceratops chuffed, stamping her feet.
Ankylosaurus looked back, his whole body turning to see past his bulky dome of a back.
She stamped her feet again and shook her head back and forth. Then she squatted, creeping low, making her way slowly toward the edge of the slope.
Ankylosaurus squawked, deferring to her. He crept as low as he could as well, sensing her caution, following behind, wondering what she knew was down there.
Triceratops peeked over the hilltop.
Below, still writhing in the mud, was most of a tyrannosaur. Ankylosaurus’s eyes went wide, his tiny brain trying to work out a way past this mud-covered heap. He’d seen tyrannosaurs before, but he’d never seen so many in one day. As bad as things were, they were steadily getting worse.
The one-legged tyrannosaur flopped back and forth like a beached fish. Occasionally it would work its one leg into position and would slide up the hill a few feet, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make any headway up the mud-slicked path.
But Triceratops knew there was one remaining standing tyrannosaur out there in the woods—One Eye—and that the light would not be with them much longer. She also knew that there was no way off this hill other than past the mangled wreckage below. For despite its injuries, the one-legged tyrannosaur could still destroy them, given the chance. There was no other choice. It was time to be daring.
Ankylosaurus eyed her curiously, wondering what was on her mind.
She padded back as quietly as she could, stood up, steadying herself, then took a running charge down the trail.
Ankylosaurus scurried out of the way, whimpering, eyes wide, wondering if she’d gone sick or crazy.
Triceratops launched herself into the air over the side of the hill. Pulled her legs in close. Belly-f
lopped onto the slick downhill slope. Then she roared down the hill at an incredible speed, shifting her mass as she went, horns pointed directly toward the head of the tyrannosaur.
The tyrannosaur looked up, for a moment giving up on its struggle, cocking its head, confused to see a meal running right toward its mouth. It opened wide, hunger getting the best of it.
The horn tore through its skull, popping it like an exploding dandelion, the shower of goo spraying Triceratops head to toe. Her momentum carried her forward, pushing the horn deeper, tearing what remained of the head off the neck, plunging her farther into its rotting chest. The beast’s torso erupted, spraying rancid guts down the hillside
Triceratops broke free of the shredded corpse, and came to a rest a few yards away. Stench covered every inch of Triceratops’s body. Her nostrils burned, tears flooded her eyes.
Water. She needed water.
Ankylosaurus bounded down the hill as carefully as he could, excited. He’d never seen anything like Triceratops before. She was amazing. Indestructible. A tyrannosaur-killing machine. He’d been very lucky to happen upon her and wasn’t letting her go anytime soon. He nuzzled her again with his snout, thanking her.
Triceratops nuzzled back, carefully trying not to smear tyrannosaur goo on him.
She pulled away, sniffing the air, searching for water but smelling nothing but fetid fluids. Casting an inquiring eye at her companion, she bowed her head, as if she were drinking, then sniffed the air again. Ankylosaurus thought for a moment, then turned, walking into the charred woods.
He turned back around to see if she would follow. She hesitated a moment, wondering if he really knew where he was going, then relented, plodding behind him, eyes cautiously scanning for any signs of life. There was nothing. The forest was as dead and quiet as it had been before. No footsteps, no insect hum, no birdsong, no rustle of leaves. Nothing that sounded like the world they had once known.
By the time they reached the lake, the sun had long set and the stars had wheeled out from the darkness. The sky was at war with itself, stars continuing to streak down, some flaring as bright as daylight as they fell. Sometimes as many as half a dozen would fall at the same time. Meanwhile, the long tails of the brontosaurus spirits still hung in the sky—though they were smaller now, dwindling as they wandered away, having lost a handful on their way past.
Across the crystal sheen of the still lake, the mirrored display was twice as amazing. The water was fresh here, though the surrounding forest had been burned away, leaving a charred hellscape peppered with soot, the lake a yawning jaw with smoldering, splintered timber for teeth.
Triceratops dunked her head beneath the surface, but only for a second. She couldn’t hold her breath and had to time her dives with each exhale. The water grew pink around her, ichor sliding off her skin. Ankylosaurus drank deep, standing away to avoid the runoff from Triceratops.
They hadn’t seen anything else on their way here save for the charred husks of those caught in the fires. Blackened, crisp, they hadn’t budged at all. Only the freshly dead, the still corpulent, seemed able to rise and walk. But the two kept their distance anyway.
Ankylosaurus brayed, calling to his herd. He’d lost them as the flaming forest exploded around them. He’d been stranded with his mate on the other side of a raging wall of fire, but she’d been crushed beneath the weight of a falling tree soon after. He hadn’t had time to mourn, only to run. Now he needed to find his herd again. So he called. But there was no answer.
He brayed again.
No answer.
He brayed once more.
And the smoldering forest began to chitter.
And it began to rustle. And scuffle. And patter.
Ankylosaurus and Triceratops looked at each other, frightened. What had he done? But as they traded glances, Ankylosaurus began to shuffle and stamp, eyes wide, waving his tail defensively in the air. He splashed through the water, running to shore, braying.
Triceratops turned to see ripples of water headed right toward her—something submerged in the shallows, the black eyes and head ridges of an alligatoroid skimming the surface. She jumped with a start, bolting for shore. Behind her the wide jaw of a brachychampsa opened, its razor-sharp teeth glistening, its tail thrashing.
The smoldering forest grew louder with chitters and trills, Ankylosaurus now backing away up the shoreline, terrified of the things coming from both directions. Triceratops made it to shore, tearing after Ankylosaurus in full gallop just as the brachychampsa made landfall, its jaws snapping shut.
Triceratops spun, pressing her mass against Ankylosaurus, standing side by side, her head down, his tail up.
The brachychampsa stopped, staring at them, wondering if they were worth the fight. He stamped a little, flicking his tail menacingly, sizing up their moxie. Alone, it was an even fight; maybe he would eat, maybe he would have his skull crushed. Against them together he wouldn’t make it. And these two were standing together.
Ankylosaurus smashed his giant bone club of a tail into the sand twice, positioning himself a bit closer to the brachychampsa, nudging Triceratops slightly behind him. The message was clear. He was not going to let anything near Triceratops.
Best to find a meal elsewhere, thought the brachychampsa.
And then, just as he was turning to return to the water, the forest erupted with a pack of a dozen leptoceratops screaming wild, hungry caws as they charged the brachychampsa. The alligatoroid thrashed, snapping his powerful jaws at the easy meal. Leptoceratops were, after all, herbivores; small enough that he could swallow one whole without terrible effort. But when a dozen beaks meant for tearing plants set upon snapping at his flesh, he recoiled, immediately overtaken, the pain of each bite surprisingly awful.
The beaks dug into his flesh, tearing off small chunks. He snapped his jaw, cleaving one in half, its rancid, sunbaked innards slopping out. These things weren’t alive; they tasted dead. He thrashed, casting as many off of him as he could, charging immediately back into the lake, a trail of blood spilling out into the water from his wounds.
But the eleven remaining leptoceratops kept on after him, chasing him into the water, refusing to let up, swarming him from all sides. The fight was a violent, thrashing dance; the brachychampsa clearly losing on all counts.
Triceratops and Ankylosaurus exchanged looks and simultaneously bolted off along the shoreline, headed for the nearest green they could see. They stamped in the damp sand, kicking up a trail as they went. And then behind them the thrashing stopped, and they heard only the rending of flesh and the shrill chitters of the leptoceratops.
Leptoceratops didn’t eat meat. And they were small compared to Triceratops and Ankylosaurus. They were essentially giant hundred-pound lizards with parrot heads—they weren’t bold enough to attack something their own size, let alone have any reason to. Something had driven them to it.
The whole forest had gone mad, and everything in it. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. Before the firestorm, there were very specific threats. Once you knew what they were, you and your herd would work together, watch and listen for the signs, and you would be safe. But not now—now it seemed everything was lethal, everything wanted to eat you.
The pair made their way into the green on the farthest edge of the lake, digging themselves deep into the brush, hiding as much of themselves as they could. Together they watched the crimson pool spread across the lake around the leptoceratops. The things ate, well past what could possibly be their fill, then, without warning, stopped all at once. The brachychampsa thrashed to life in the water, tail twitching.
Triceratops and Ankylosaurus watched as the thing that was dead came back again.
And all of a sudden, everything became much, much scarier.
Triceratops and Ankylosaurus stared at each other, jaws unhinged in surprise. If they died, they too would continue to walk; they too might hunger for flesh; they too would be predators.
The spirits that had come from the sky hadn
’t brought only death with them; they had brought the end of all things.
The two turned together and pawed as silently as they could through the brush, hoping that the brachychampsa and the leptoceratops pack had forgotten about them. Deadly though these things might be, they didn’t seem exceptionally bright. Perhaps they only reacted to stimuli and didn’t otherwise think at all.
Triceratops was frightened, but felt safer with Ankylosaurus by her side. She had never spent time around one before, but found their behavior, particularly the behavior of this ankylosaurus, to be remarkably familiar. He felt like a member of her own herd; like they’d been keeping each other safe for years rather than hours.
They trudged through the forest together, looking for food, looking for a place to hole up for the night. Occasionally, Ankylosaurus would bray, calling out to his herd, each time Triceratops giving him a pained keep quiet look. She was terrified of the things lurking out there, and he clearly hadn’t yet learned his lesson. That time they had been lucky; the next time maybe not so much.
Twigs snapped in the distance and both stopped.
There was a patter of feet padding through the muddy woods, stepping on branches, rustling through greenery.
This day, it seemed, was not going to let up, was not going to let them have a moment of rest.
It came from all sides. Whatever this was, it was coordinated. They were being surrounded.
Triceratops peered deep into the forest, trying to make out what was lurking just out of sight. She listened close for the sounds. Whatever they were, they were running, the patter of their feet much faster than the larger, cyclopean beasts. But they weren’t small. No, these were decent-sized hunters.
Dakotaraptors.
Pack hunters. On their own a manageable threat; together, murderous devils with hooks for feet that could strip a large sauroid in an hour. They were smaller than Triceratops and had less mass than Ankylosaurus, but that could be made up in numbers of three or four. Triceratops knew this could get really, really bad, really, really quick.
We Are Where the Nightmares Go and Other Stories Page 9