Time Crunch

by Shane Barker

  “Hey,” the man with the stethoscope said. “Is that any way to talk about the guys who just saved your bacon?”

  Smith made a rude noise. “Shoot, me’n the kid had the things all but whipped. You jokers just did a little mopping up.”

  Stethoscope Guy looked down at Chase. “You see what I have to put up with? It’s a wonder they don’t give me a medal just for enduring the abuse.”

  Chase coughed—the effort wracking him with pain—still not understanding what was going on.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Rescue team,” Stethoscope Guy said. “When we heard the shooting and couldn’t get you on the radio, we came running. Got here just in time—”

  STETHOSCOPE GUY WANTED to carry Chase back to the landing area on a stretcher, but Chase shook his head.

  “No chance. I’ve made it this far on my own: I’m going all the way.”

  “Don’t think so,” Stethoscope Guy said. “You’re one banged up little kid—”

  “Son,” Smith said to Stethoscope Guy, “this is not a ‘little kid.’ He’s a full-fledged member of Alpha Team, and right now he’s my right-hand man. So if he wants to get up and hike outta here under his own power, then by … gosh … we’re gonna let him.”

  Smith looked down at Chase.

  “We do have to get a move on, though, bud. We’re not outta the woods yet, and we seem to have stirred up the local wildlife.”

  Even as he spoke, something roared in the trees. There were several terrified shouts—

  “Rickins, look out!”

  Brraaaaaaat!

  “On your six! On your six!”

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  —the sounds of another minor firefight.

  Smith looked down grimly. “Time to make tracks, kiddo. Think you can get up?”

  Chase would have preferred another minute or two to get his bearings, but after Smith’s “Alpha Team” speech, he would have walked barefoot over prickly-pear cactus, broken glass, and red-hot coals before disappointing him.

  Smith and Stethoscope Guy helped him up, and though his knees felt like rubber he forced himself to stay upright. Stethoscope Guy still looked unhappy, but was too afraid of another chewing out to say anything.

  Chase gave Smith a nod of confidence.

  Smith turned and called out, “Brandt!”

  A narrow-eyed commando stepped from the brush and Smith gave him a thumbs-up.

  Brandt whistled shrilly, then made a circling motion with his finger. Form up!

  Three men and a woman instantly materialized from the trees, all of them walking backward, their weapons up and ready, their eyes scouring the forest for threats.

  Chase saw Smith holding his ribcage and realized that he, too, was trying to downplay his injuries. Waiting until Stethoscope Guy was out of earshot, Chase asked, “You okay?”

  “Same as you.”

  Chase nodded, realizing they would be their own best help in getting out of the forest. He couldn’t help remembering an Olympic race in which two competitors fell and then—literally leaning upon one another for support—hobbled to the finish line, knowing the race was over but determined to finish.

  So that’s us, Chase thought, more determined than ever to hike back to the jet.

  “Shoulda seen that guy’s face when he got a look at yours,” Smith whispered.

  “Huh?”

  Smith tapped his cheek. “You know, those blisters of yours.”

  Oh, yeah …

  Chase reached up and touched his cheek: his beet-red skin was not only covered with blisters, but several fresh scrapes and scratches from being dragged through the brush. “Guess I do look kinda funny.”

  “Gonna have to get that cleared up, you know. Before Becca sees you.”

  “Holy crap on a crutch!” Chase exclaimed. “Did your freakin’ file tell you everything about me?”

  “Not everything.” Smith winked. “Just the good stuff.”

  THE SQUAD FORMED up on Brandt—keeping Smith and Chase in the middle—and began hiking for the LZ.

  Chase wasn’t certain what it was—maybe the noise, maybe the smell of fresh blood in the air—but the forest suddenly seemed more alive than usual. There were shrieks and howls and hoots and calls from every direction, some of them from smaller animals, but many from creatures that were clearly larger. A shadow swept past and Chase looked up to see a pterosaur glide by, just over the top of the trees, the closest one he’d seen.

  Smith had been given ammunition for his rifle, but someone had taken Chase’s and he suddenly felt vulnerable. He had no doubt that without it, he and Smith would be nothing but chewed-up goo in some dinosaur’s gut by now. On a different trip—an earlier adventure—he’d once seen a man’s shoe in a steaming pile of tyrannosaur dung and knew that—

  He shook his head, clearing the horrible image from his mind.

  No, I don’t wanna end up like that, so gotta focus … gotta concentrate on the here and now—

  There was a sound … a vague shout from the distance. A shout too far away to identify, but there nevertheless.

  Chase froze in his tracks, grabbing Smith by the shirt.

  “Listen!” he ordered.

  Smith had been given a new headset and he whispered something into his mic. The column stopped, everyone looking about, wondering what was happening.

  Chase closed his eyes and cocked his head, straining to hear something. For an instant—

  “There!”

  Chase stabbed a finger toward the forest.

  “There it is again! Listen!”

  The men and woman were all listening as intently as Chase. A second passed, and then a frantic scream drifted faintly from the forest, muffled by the trees.

  “Aaaaaaiighhh!”

  This time there was no mistaking it. And Chase recognized the voice.

  Zach!

  “It’s Zach!” he whispered urgently to Smith.

  Smith nodded, but Brandt was already taking action. With a flurry of quick gestures—a few words into his mic—he had the squad marching toward the screams, no longer single file, but in a line like detectives sweeping for evidence. Smith grabbed Chase by the arm and pulled him close.

  “Stay behind me,” he ordered.

  Chase didn’t argue. He trusted Smith, for one thing. And he’d seen enough to know the safest place to be was as close to the man as possible.

  The squad moved through the forest more rapidly than before, and Chase realized they were sacrificing their own safety to reach Zach as quickly as possible.

  Whump!

  There was an explosion from the direction of the LZ.

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  Whump!

  The squad reacted instantly, everyone dropping to their knees and scanning for threats. Brandt began speaking into his mic, and Smith removed his earpiece and held it out so Chase could hear.

  “Got company,” a tinny voice shouted. “We’re holding ’em off for now, but you might want to expedite your return!”

  The man sounded calm, but Chase understood the message: Need you back here, now!

  Chase felt a chill, remembering what had happened to the last jet. If they lost this one—

  We might be here forever!

  Brandt was obviously thinking the same thing. For a brief, sickening moment Chase thought the man might abandon Zach to defend the aircraft. But the leader was committed to his mission. He set his teeth and gestured emphatically in the direction they’d heard the screams.

  Let’s move it, people!

  The squad picked up speed, but Chase could tell everyone was focused. Eyes darted back and forth, up and down, heads swiveling in all directions, and Chase knew a predator would have to either be invisible or the size of an ant to escape detection.

  There was still sporadic firing from the LZ, along with several deeper, louder whumps that might have been made by flash bangs or some similar commando toy.

  “Aaaaaaiighhh!”

/>   The scream was frantic, desperate, and just ahead. Brandt barked something and the woman—Adams—and the commando nearest her bolted ahead, their muzzles thrust forward, ready for action—

  “Aaaaaaiighhh!”

  A moment later, the rattle of gunfire shattered the forest—

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat! Bra-Brraaaaaaat!

  —along with the shrieks, screeches, and squeals of enraged animals—

  Brandt signaled and the rest of the squad raced forward, Chase hugging Smith’s side like a shadow. They burst into a thinly wooded glade where twenty or more see-lows were scrambling through the brush, hopping like ten-foot birds onto limbs, rocks, and logs, hissing and snarling, their lethal toe-claws clearly visible.

  Brandt’s team instantly began driving them away, firing this way and that as they tracked the quick, nimble dinosaurs. The smell of cordite burned Chase’s nose as gunsmoke filled the air, the gunfire so loud and savage he had to fight the urge to clamp his hands over his ears.

  He looked desperately back and forth, searching for Zach—

  “Aaaaaaiighhh!”

  Chase looked up, spotting Zach halfway up a tree. His friend was facing away, holding onto a branch and kicking violently at something hidden by the trunk. Zach kicked out just as one of the striped dinosaurs lunged into view, leaping like a cat and snapping at Zach’s leg. The razor-sharp teeth missed, but clawed forearms raked the air, snagging the leg of Zach’s pants and digging in. The see-low swung in the air, tried climbing Zach’s leg.

  Zach screamed in agony—

  “Aaaaaaiighhh!”

  —as the weight of the animal stretched him like a rubber band and began pulling him from the tree.

  Chase smacked Smith hard on the back—the man was tracking a see-low that had its forearms out, racing at Adams from behind—and his muzzle jerked, his shots going wide.

  Smith shouted something intelligible, then dropped to one knee, leveled his weapon, and fired—

  Brraaaaaaat!

  —just as the see-low leaped. The animal seemed to explode in midair, but the body was still moving fast, and hard, and what was left of it crashed into Adams from behind, knocking her flat. The woman screamed in surprise, but was instantly up again, whirling around, her weapon sweeping back and forth in search of a target. She spotted the animal at her feet—looked ready to blow it to shreds—but realized the threat was gone.

  She looked around with wide eyes, caught Smith’s eye, nodded once, then snapped around to rejoin the fight.

  Chase smacked Smith again and pointed, yelling: “Over there!”

  Smith instantly spotted Zach and the see-low dangling beneath him, shouted something Chase didn’t catch, and leaned into his rifle.

  Chase didn’t know what he expected the man to do. But when he realized he was going to shoot with Zach just over his target, he nearly yelled at the man to stop: missing by a fraction would tear Zach to shreds.

  But Smith knew what he was doing. With his weapon pulled tight into his shoulder, he stared down the sights and—

  Brraaaaaaat!

  —the see-low fell motionless.

  Zach was dangling by his hands and Chase knew he couldn’t hold on. Another see-low came racing through the brush, its eyes locked on the dangling boy, and leaped—

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  —and fell in a clump.

  But Zach was losing his grip. Chase saw him reach for another branch, but his hand slipped and he fell.

  “Aaaaaaiighhh!”

  The boy dropped, landing on the two creatures that had come within a whisker of getting him, but Smith was already on his feet, running hard. He reached Zach, pushed him hard to the ground like a playground bully, then planted a boot on the boy’s butt to keep him there. He swung his rifle back and forth, searching for threats as Adams and her partner ran up, shooting—

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  —driving the nearest see-lows back into the trees.

  Smith looked around for another second, then finally moved his boot and helped Zach to his feet just as Chase ran up.

  His eyes wide with fear and surprise, Zach spotted Chase. He didn’t waste time asking what was going on or where everyone had come from. He grabbed his friend and hugged him like he was trying to squeeze the air out of him. Chase held on tight, too, overwhelmed with relief that his friend was still alive.

  But—

  “Treeck!” Zach suddenly sputtered. He took a step and collapsed as his injured leg buckled beneath him. He pointed urgently into the trees. “He’s over there, in the rocks! His leg’s broken!”

  Stethoscope Guy ran over and—despite Zach’s protests—ripped open the boy’s pants for a look. Chase caught a glimpse of his friend’s mangled leg before running off—

  Holy crap! Looks like hamburger!

  —with Smith just behind. There were still several see-lows sprinting through the brush, and it took a steady barrage of rifle fire to keep them at a distance. Chase spotted a jumble of rocks where a knot of see-lows were racing around like ants on a kicked-over hill. A stick appeared from the rocks and smacked one of the animals on the nose.

  “There!” Chase shouted. He was about to sprint ahead, but Smith grabbed him by the collar and jerked him to a stop.

  “Stay back!”

  Before Chase could respond, Smith took another step and began firing at the frenzied animals. It took nearly an entire clip of ammunition, but then the animals were gone and Chase raced ahead to the rocks.

  Treeck was wedged between a pair of mossy boulders, a bloody stick in hand. Beads of sweat rolled down the man’s face, though he feigned indifference.

  “Wondered who was making all the noise,” he said through clenched teeth.

  With Chase’s help, Smith eased the man from his hiding spot, every bump and jolt obviously shooting bolts of pain through the injured leg. The instant Treeck was free, Chase grabbed his hand. He tried to grin, but the relief of finding his friend alive overpowered him.

  His jaw quivered and his eyes filled with tears.

  “Man,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his fist. “I thought you were dino dinner!”

  “Not me, kid,” the man quipped. “Too much gristle.”

  Stethoscope Guy ran up and tore open Treeck’s pant leg. He took one look at the bloody, twisted leg and sucked in his breath—

  Brandt jogged over and rapped Stethoscope Guy on the shoulder. “Don’t have time to do this nicely. We don’t get back to the jet, we’re not gettin’ out of here.”

  Stethoscope Guy opened his mouth to protest, but caught the look in Brandt’s eye and nodded. “Copy that. Give me three minutes.”

  The medic broke out a syringe, told Treeck, “This is gonna hurt,” and jabbed it into his leg. Then, with the speed of a man on a mission, he pulled what looked like a small rubber sheet from his pack, wrapped it around the injured leg, and pressed a button. Compressed air inflated the sheet like a balloon, forming a rigid splint around the broken bones.

  Treeck winced—

  “You’ll feel better in a minute,” the medic said.

  —but then watched with detached interest.

  Stethoscope Guy pulled a strange contraption from his pack, fumbled with it, and quickly had a light, webbed stretcher to carry the injured man through the forest.

  He was ready to move with twenty seconds to spare.

  Adams came over to help with the litter and Smith said: “You’re gonna have your hands full with that. Give your weapon to Chase.”

  Adams drew back and Smith said quietly, “That’s not a request.” And then, as if to reassure her: “Trust me: he can handle it.”

  Adams handed over the rifle, along with a pair of fresh clips; Chase quickly checked the safety, then looked at Stethoscope Guy.

  “Where’s Zach?”

  “He’s okay. Guys are carrying him back to the jet.”

  Chase nodded, then took up position on Treeck’s side.

  The squad
moved out briskly. The battle in the LZ seemed to have waned, but there were still intermittent rifle cracks, and even a few louder whumps as the crew held off pesky visitors.

  As soon as the squad reached the meadow, Brandt sent half the team to help clear away a pack of hungry spike lizards while the others carried Treeck into the jet.

  Chase was about to climb inside when he had a thought. He dug up a scrap of paper and wrote a quick note, addressing it to:

  Chase McCord

  Houston, Texas

  21st Century

  He stuffed the note into a spent rifle casing—there were dozens of them lying in the grass—then jammed another one over the top, forming a brass capsule. He dropped the capsule into a discarded aluminum water bottle, then threw it into the brush.

  “What was that about?” Zach asked when he finally climbed into the jet. He was holding a bag of ice over his leg, which was wrapped with gauze.

  “Probably nothing,” Chase said. “But it might rock the socks off some kid 165 million years from now.”

  There was a whine as the engines began spooling up, and Chase looked out the window. The commandos holding the perimeter were easing back toward the plane; it looked like they wanted to wait until the last second before boarding, just to make certain nothing interfered with the takeoff.

  Brandt was still outside, speaking into his mic. Seconds later, he followed the last of the team inside and stuck his head into the flight deck.

  “Go!”

  The high-pitched whine became a deep-throated roar and flurries of dust, leaves, and bits of grass began whirling past the windows. Treeck was resting in an isle seat, his fractured leg propped on a stool. Chase took the window seat beside him as Smith and Zach strapped into the seats facing them.

  The jet shook and shuddered—the roar of the engines becoming deafening—then dipped at the nose and rose into the air. A moment later it began accelerating, moving forward, and upward, quickly gaining altitude. Chase pressed his nose against the window, watching as the ground dropped away and the world became a smooth carpet of green.

  He couldn’t believe it, but he already knew he was going to miss the place.

  Yeah, can’t even remember how many times I was nearly trampled, clawed, beaten, or eaten. But still …