Time Crunch

by Shane Barker

  The dinosaur bellowed in fury, knowing its prey was close, unable to find it.

  The dinosaur whipped around again—the tail lashing the air—and bit down again. Chase heard a sickening crunch and felt his heart stop, thinking the animal had gotten one of his friends.

  The zachiosaur lifted its head, the tail automatically dropping to the ground, and when it turned the tail caught Chase across the chest. The blow lifted him into the air and hurled him farther into the brush. He cried out, his rifle swinging on its sling: the butt struck his chin like a hammer, flashing a burst of white light behind his eyes.

  He hit the ground hard, the blow knocking the wind from his lungs. He tried to breathe—gasped in pain—and only managed to half-fill his lungs. His head was swimming, his stomach churning, the taste of bile filling his throat like acid.

  The zachiosaur stormed close, bit at a clump of brush, then turned and roared and Chase felt a gob of hot blood or sweat or saliva drop onto his face. The dinosaur snapped around, a sharp claw snagging the sling of Chase’s rifle: the dinosaur lurched away, dragging him across the ground behind the massive foot.

  The dinosaur roared in frustration, and then roared again, the heat of the noise like the scald of a burning stove. It suddenly bolted after something in the darkness, dragging Chase by his rifle strap, hauling him through thorns, branches, and brambles, bouncing him over rocks and logs, the boy’s weight not slowing it a bit. The dinosaur abruptly turned, flinging Chase into a thicket of prickly limbs. A scream rose from his throat, but the dinosaur was suddenly charging away again, lugging Chase behind it.

  The animal seemed to know its foot was tangled with something and after several yards it snapped down, biting at whatever was there, trying to free itself. The enormous jaws were just inches away—Chase felt the hot scaly skin against his own, smelled the sour breath—but the dinosaur kicked—

  The strap broke and Chase flew through the air and into a clump of thick plants. His head was swimming, his injured ribs flaming, his entire body scratched and pounded and hammered.

  Chase didn’t know how long it all lasted. He hadn’t been knocked unconscious—at least, he didn’t think so—but after the horrific pounding his brain only seemed to be half working.

  A faraway part of his brain realized the roaring had stopped. He wasn’t certain if the dinosaurs had charged off into the trees, or if they’d simply gone quiet.

  The shooting had stopped, too. And the yelling: everyone out of bullets or running or … gone.

  Chase coughed and tasted salt in his mouth, as if he’d coughed up blood. His stomach was churning, and he managed to roll onto his side just as he became violently sick. He retched, throwing up again and again until nothing was left. But still he retched, the dry heaves racking his bruised and battered ribs.

  Oh, man …

  He could no longer hear the dinosaurs. The usual sounds of night were slowly returning, but—

  “Hey!”

  The voice was soft, and low. Chase tried to respond but only managed a painful, racking cough that went on and on for several seconds.

  Someone was suddenly kneeling over him; it took Chase several beats to recognize him.

  Smith …

  He coughed again, trying to speak, but couldn’t manage any words.

  Smith quickly had a plastic canteen, was holding it to Chase’s mouth.

  “Take a sip,” he said. “Just an easy one … just enough to moisten your throat.”

  Chase did as he was told, the cold water cleansing the bile from his mouth.

  “Go ahead, take another one … just a little bit now.”

  The water almost stung as it cut through the acid in his throat, but the feeling was wonderful.

  “You hurt?” Smith asked.

  “Don’t think so. Just … beaten up. You?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Where’s Zach? And Treeck?”

  “Don’t know …”

  Smith helped Chase to sit, leaning him against a stump. “Just sit still a minute; catch your breath. I’m gonna take a look around.”

  He left the canteen with Chase, and Chase could hear the man scouting through the brush, occasionally calling out “Zach!” or “Treeck!” He went far enough into the trees that after several minutes Chase could no longer hear him. He was just beginning to worry when there was a soft crunch and Smith was kneeling over him again.

  “Anything?”

  “Nothing. No sign.” Then: “Think you can walk?”

  “Yeah, but … we can’t leave!”

  “We’ll wait another couple of minutes,” Smith assured him. “But they both know which way to go. If they don’t come back, they’ll be heading for the landing site.”

  “What about your radio?”

  Smith touched his head. “Lost it in the fight.”

  “So—”

  “Hey, we’re okay,” Smith said. “If they’re not at the landing site, we’ll regroup and come looking. Trust me, we’re not leaving without them.”

  From anyone else, Chase would have been doubtful. But in the past couple of days he’d come to know Smith a little, like him a lot, and trust him absolutely.

  “Okay.”

  THEY WAITED FOR nearly twenty minutes. Smith made a quick circle through the trees every five minutes or so, whistling softly and calling out.

  But there was no sign of anyone.

  “Look,” Smith finally said. “We don’t know where they are. They don’t know if we’re lost too, or even if we’re still alive. So if they’re out there, they’ll be heading for the LZ.”

  “I know.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “It’s gonna hurt, but yeah.”

  Smith helped him to his feet and he took a couple of steps.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

  “Where’s your weapon?”

  Chase looked, but the machine gun was gone. He remembered the strap being tangled with the dinosaur’s claw.

  “Must’ve lost it.”

  “Can’t be far.”

  Smith rooted around in the brush, and after a minute found the rifle. He checked it for damage, slapped in a fresh clip, and handed it back.

  “Got one more clip and we’re out. Gonna be all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s make tracks.”

  27 Croc-things

  THE SUN HADN’T yet cleared the mountains, but the sky was becoming lighter, making things easier to see. Smith set a rapid pace through the trees, stopping often to make certain Chase was keeping up. Chase hurt—ached like the football team had used him as a tackling dummy—but he fought through the smarts and the aches, knowing there wasn’t time to waste.

  The forest was quickly coming to life, the drone of crickets replaced by the chirps of birds and the chitters of small animals. They came to another great game trail just as a herd of mighty brachiosaurs lumbered by. Chase recognized them from Zach’s description, instantly amazed by the size and majesty of the enormous animals.

  Chase and Smith waited until the massive sauropods plodded past, then crossed to the other side.

  “Need a drink?” Smith asked, stopping to make a quick survey of the trees.

  “No, I’m good. Let’s keep moving.”

  Chase was trying to calculate how close they were to the LZ, but he’d lost track of time and distance after the zachiosaur attack and couldn’t guess if they were within one mile or ten.

  He worried about Zach. Days earlier he’d had an unexplainable sense that his friend was okay.

  But now …

  He searched his feelings, but there was nothing. Nothing at all. No sense that his friend was still out there, somewhere; but no sense that he wasn’t.

  He wondered about Treeck, too. He wished there was some clue—some sight, some sound, some thing—to give him an idea where he was. To give him some hope that his friends were still alive, still humping through the trees toward the LZ.

  Smith move
d relentlessly, pushing ahead even more quickly now that it was easier to see. Chase was amazed that as quickly as the man was hiking, he nevertheless moved as silently as a whisper, the leaves and twigs and branches barely rustling as he passed.

  Chase was trying to be quiet, too, but still stepped on occasional twigs, sticks, and dry leaves that snapped and crackled beneath his boots. His ribs were bruised and sore and it hurt to breathe, but he didn’t want to rest. Didn’t want to slow their progress.

  They came to a fallen log that blocked the trail. Smith swung one leg over the top, then the other, crossing the log without ever taking his eyes from the trees.

  Chase waited until Smith was clear: he wasn’t tall enough to simply swing his legs over and had to crawl onto the log before hopping down on the other side.

  He readjusted his rifle in its sling and froze.

  He’d heard a snarl from the trees.

  Smith heard it, too. The man stopped and swung his rifle toward the sound just as something else snorted from behind.

  Chase whipped his head back and forth, searching for movement. There came more snarls, and Chase swiveled his head, losing track, unsure if there were three, or four, or even five of the animals hidden in the trees.

  “Whadda we do?” he asked, fighting to keep the shake out of his voice.

  “Stand our ground,” Smith replied calmly. “We run, they’ll take us. Our best chance is to stay put and hold them off.”

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Back up against that log: it’ll protect our six.”

  Chase stepped back until the log was pressed firmly against his back.

  “Weapon still on safe?”

  “Ye-yes, sir.”

  “Take it off.”

  Chase did, but his hands were shaking so hard it took three tries to make the switch move.

  “Scared?”

  Chase didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “I am, too. But we’ll be fine.” And then: “I’m switching to single shot. You’ll hear the difference. I’ll only be firing one shot at a time, just to save ammunition.”

  “You want me to do that, too?”

  “No. You stay on three-shot burst. But remember: stay calm. We don’t have a lot of ammo, so make your shots count. Don’t fire any more than you have to.”

  “Okay.”

  Chase thought Smith was about to say something else, but there was a rustle of leaves and something plodded from the trees.

  Chase sucked in his breath, thinking, Crocodile! though he knew it wasn’t. The animal crept through the brush on all fours, low to the ground like a twelve-foot iguana. Its heavy head swung back and forth as it slogged through the grass.

  As the thing clumped toward them, a second one appeared to its side. And then another, and another, and another like a pack of prehistoric crocodiles. As the croc-things lumbered forward, Chase began thinking he and Smith could probably out-run them, but another one abruptly came crashing in from the right, moving fast.

  The leading creature—the alpha—hissed and snarled and then screeched at the newcomer. The challenger snorted in reply, then turned and rushed straight at Chase and Smith.

  The alpha spit and grunted, then coiled itself like a spring and launched itself at the challenger.

  The two beasts crashed together, instantly transformed into a frenzied mass of twisting, biting, rolling, shrieking, spitting lizards. A third creature crept up, not joining in the fight, but nevertheless swatting a claw every time a head or a leg or a tail came close, once lunging in for a quick snap at an exposed neck.

  Smith hunkered down in front of the fallen log, tracking the fight with his rifle.

  “You still ready?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Weapon off safe?”

  Chase knew it was, but checked anyway. “Yes, sir.”

  “This’ll be it,” Smith said unnecessarily. “Once we’re out of ammo …”

  “I know.”

  “Good luck.”

  “You too, sir. And thanks.”

  Smith sounded surprised. “For what?”

  “For everything.”

  Smith nodded his understanding. “Thank you, kid.”

  The monsters were still fighting savagely, lunging and whipping and twisting and rolling, trying to gain an advantage. But the other creatures weren’t waiting. There were two on Smith’s side—one on Chase’s—still clambering forward, anticipating an easy meal.

  “Noise might be enough to discourage ’em,” Smith said unnecessarily. “But if not, give ’em … heck.”

  “Count on it.”

  “Okay, then. Count of three: three—”

  Chase tucked his weapon a little more tightly against his side.

  “—two—”

  Chase breathed deeply, focusing on the nearest creature’s chest.

  “—one … fire!”

  Chase pressed the trigger—

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  The plodding croc-thing stopped and jerked, shaking and twisting its head. It roared with rage, ducking away from the onslaught.

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  The croc-thing pawed at the air like a bear swatting bees.

  Chase could hear Smith firing behind him, a single shot at a time.

  Crack! Crack! Cra-crack!

  An animal came crashing through the brush like a cat—

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraa—

  The clip ran dry. Chase stabbed at the handle, ejected the empty clip, grabbed his only spare, rammed it home, and cycled the action.

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  The croc-thing rose up on two legs, pawing at the air and roaring defiantly.

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat! Bra—brraaaaaaaaaaaaat!

  The thing abruptly flopped over and thrashed in the grass, but there was another right behind it, hissing darkly.

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat! Brraa—

  The final clip ran dry. Chase quickly pulled the trigger, tried again, willing the gun to fire again.

  Nothing!

  He quickly slapped at his pockets, searching desperately for another clip.

  Nothing!

  He turned his head, realizing that Smith wasn’t firing either.

  “I’m out!” Chase shouted.

  “Me, too.”

  There were four of the twelve-foot croc-things still advancing on them, one of them now upright like a theropod, the others still down on all fours. Smith pulled the gun strap over his head and set his rifle atop the log, then reached for a stick about the size and length of a baseball bat. He held it over his shoulder like a major-leaguer waiting for a pitch.

  His lip trembling, heart pounding, Chase quickly shed his rifle and snatched up a stout stick, one he thought he could swing.

  Go for the eyes, he thought as the upright croc-thing came closer. Or hit it across the nose … hit it as hard as you can …

  The croc-thing’s eyes were locked on Chase. It spit and snarled, then extended its head and roared as if trying to frighten Chase into giving up.

  Just wants me to run, he thought, his brain still analytical despite the terror. So it can catch me from behind … so it won’t have to fight.

  The beast roared again, pawing at the air, then dropped to all fours and attacked.

  Chase tightened his grip on his stick, his knees knocking and his teeth clamped—

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  The croc-thing bellowed in pain and fury. It whipped around, searching for its assailant.

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  Then a loud voice: “Smith! Hit the deck!”

  Before Chase had time to react, Smith grabbed him from behind, slammed him to the ground, and dropped on top of him.

  “Oof!”

  The impact drove the air from Chase’s lungs; he struggled for breath, but Smith held him pinned to the ground.

  The forest was suddenly howling with noise: guns were cracking, animals bellowing, men shouting—th
e gunfire, explosions, yells, and roars more frightening than anything Chase had ever heard.

  His chest began to ache from lack of oxygen; he tried to wiggle free, but Smith just held on even tighter.

  There was an ear-splitting roar—it sounded like it was right there, right on top of top of him—and then Chase was crushed into the dirt, as if a hundred men had suddenly dropped on top of him, mashing him with such weight he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t gasp, couldn’t fill his lungs. His chest burned from lack of air. He tried desperately to suck in a breath, but his chest couldn’t expand, couldn’t move.

  So much weight!

  He struggled, tried to move, couldn’t … budge …

  His chest felt ready to explode with pain. His head swam, desperate for a breath of air.

  Just a … single … breath …

  He thought his eyes were closed—too dark to be sure—but he nevertheless saw spots of light: tiny twinkles dancing around like sparks from a fire.

  So pretty—

  And he was gone.

  28 Stethoscope Guy

  “CHASE?”

  Chase heard the voice; thought, I’ve had this dream before.

  “C’mon, Chase: time to wake up.”

  I’m asleep … so it must be a dream.

  He felt someone rubbing his arms, patting his cheeks.

  “C’mon, talk to me, kid.”

  Chase opened a single eye.

  Smith was looking down at him—

  The face of granite …

  —no expression on his face. But—

  His eyes are green like the forest, but filled with yellow flashes, Chase thought, amazed that he’d never noticed before.

  “Ah, you’re back.”

  Chase opened the other eye. He was flat on his back, Smith and a man Chase didn’t know kneeling over him. The unknown man was wearing a stethoscope, holding Chase’s wrist to monitor his pulse.

  “Am I alive?”

  “Just barely. Another couple seconds and we both would have been singing ‘Happy Trails.’ ”

  “What happened?”

  “Dinosaur fell on top of us. Crushed us like a coupla ripe tomatoes. Under all that weight you couldn’t breathe, and these clowns pulled us free just in the nick of time.”