by Greig Beck
Starting from scratch, he took lessons and learned how, bought a boat, and then let himself loose on the water. Out here, it was just him, the waves, the wind, and the blue sky. In a good breeze, it made him feel like he was flying in his 25-foot Catalina Capri 22, with its flared hull, fiberglass and wood-trim design, all finished with a full racing kit.
The beautiful little boat he had named the Nellie, after his mother, also had a small cabin, and many a warm night he had pulled into a cove and slept there, with just the lapping of the water and gentle lifting of the current to rock him to sleep. Sailing was his calm after so many of life’s storms.
It allowed him one other thing as well—time to think. It had been nine years since he, Helen Martin, Emma Wilson, and Ben Cartwright had walked out of the Amazon Jungle. They’d been torn up pretty bad, but they were alive. Many who went in with them hadn’t been so lucky.
The more time passed, the more Drake felt like it never really happened. It was just all so…unreal. Down in the deep, dark heart of the Amazon, there was a tabletop mountain, a tepui, where once every 10 years it became some sort of portal back to a time of 100 million years ago.
You had to get in and out in just over 24 hours. If not, the portal closed, and you stayed. He scoffed; they’d lost five good people in the few hours they were there. Six if you counted the kid who decided to stay behind. But Ben Cartwright had survived 10 damned long years there. And they would have been 10 of the most hellish years any human being could imagine.
Drake found that anything and everything he had faced in this life, and that was a life lived fighting in Special Forces with Ben Cartwright against ruthless and bloodthirsty foes, was shaded by the creatures they encountered from that primordial time.
He laughed out loud. One thing was for sure: he gave thanks every day he was home, alive, safe, and in one piece.
Drake whooped loudly and pulled on the rope, forcing the main sail in tighter and lifting Nellie’s hull a fraction more to squeeze a few extra knots from the sleek boat.
His gut tingled from the thrill, but then the boat slowed so suddenly he lurched forward, nearly slipping to the deck.
“What the hell?”
The boat gradually continued on and there hadn’t been any loud or ominous sounds from below as if he’d hit some sort of submerged object like a log or crate or even sandbar. But he did feel like he had hit something. The only thing was, it felt more like he had hit a pillow.
Maybe it was weed, he thought, and looked over the side, and then saw half of a massive jellyfish go past.
“Je-zus,” he whispered. The thing must have been 10 feet across. He continued looking out the back and saw another half appear—his boat had cleaved the gigantic thing in two.
“A monster.”
Drake had heard there were large jellyfish in the freezing waters to the north that could grow to three feet across and weigh 100 pounds. But this thing would have been five times that.
“Weird.” He sailed on, spending another hour tacking back and forth before heading back into the sailing club.
He kept the Nellie in the small club boatshed most days, but today with the weather good, he’d leave it tied up on the water so he could get back out first thing tomorrow morning.
He quickly grabbed his gear, tidied up, flushed down the sails, ropes, and deck with fresh water, and then climbed out to stand on the sun-warmed wooden pier to tilt his face into the sunshine and just absorb its warmth.
Life was good right now, and he wondered how his best friend, Ben, was getting on. He hoped he and Emma had found their little piece of paradise as he had found his.
He had everything he wanted. Nah, almost everything; he lost Helen, and now and then he missed her terribly. He wished she were here now so he could tell her about the jellyfish. He sighed, feeling the sun warm his cheeks. Time moves on, he thought, and sometimes things, get left behind.
Drake finally opened his eyes and turned to the clubhouse that had a bar and restaurant, and then faced the long stretch of beach to the south. The sun was just starting to sink, making the tide line glow orange. A few sand pipers on long legs waited for waves to draw back so they could race down to peck at small crustaceans that became momentarily exposed, and then striding back up as another waved lapped in at them.
While he watched, a large wave came in and the few pipers went to turn to outrun it when a section of the wave lifted and threw itself forward, like a watery hand.
It completely covered one of the birds, slapping down on it, and Drake then saw that the watery hand was actually one edge of a huge jellyfish like he had seen out on the water. The thing had trapped one of the birds and was slowly pulling it back into the surf-line. Revoltingly, he could still see the bird through the jelly body as it vainly struggled.
Drake turned about, hoping to see someone else to point the weird occurrence out to, but no one was there.
“That is fucked up.” He quickly pulled out his phone to try and get a picture, but in the next few seconds, the massive jellyfish and the trapped bird were gone.
Weirdest thing, he thought. He’d ask someone about it at the club tonight.
CHAPTER 07
Southeastern tip of North America—100 Million Years Ago
Andy stopped paddling and let the rustic boat glide forward as their estuary stream opened out to a larger body of water. At the narrow mouth, the water surged a little as if the pond was a tad higher, and to enter, Andy would have had to either paddle hard or get out and drag his boat up into the bigger body of water.
If he did have to get out, he’d do it on the bank rather than wade in the water. Mainly because a while back the water had lost its clarity, and where he was now it was tepid, brown, and like weak coffee. It wasn’t stagnant and the discoloration was more likely from the amount of rotting vegetation and tannins in the pond, and also the fact that it probably only got fully flushed out after a heavy rain.
None of this concerned him. But what did was he had seen the water lump at the far end when the body of something large came to the surface. It could have been a freshwater mosasaur, one of the many primitive crocodile species, or even a turtle the size of a small car.
If he tried to drag the boat from the water, the turtle he might be able to out run. But anything else and he’d be fish food.
Shit, he whispered.
“Gluck.”
Andy looked down at the small flying reptile.
“Somebody home?” Gluck had its head tilted to have one ruby red eye fixed on him.
He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, there is somebody home, and somebody that’s big.” Andy lent his forearms on the gunwale. “We can’t go in there. They’re home, and believe me, I’m betting they would love to meet us.”
He continued to watch for many more minutes before coming to a decision. He cursed again, knowing it was going to cost him time and ramp up the risk. He began to paddle in to the closest bank.
Andy nosed into the reeds, making something slither away and vanish into the murky depths, and then the boat grounded and held.
He set about dragging it up higher to beach it, and then climbed back in to gather his things together into a satchel he’d made from woven fibers like the primitive tribes in Papua New Guinea. He’d drawn on his knowledge of ancient tribal craft, and had also managed to self-learn how to make a form of animal hide rustic boots, trousers, and vest. He had gourds for fresh water, now empty, and lastly, into the bag went Gluck who immediately settled down.
He knelt in the boat and took one last look toward where he had seen the large shape. His eyes narrowed as he scanned along the water’s now-still surface. There was no breeze, and just the zumm of insects from the reed beds. The sun warmed the water and the bank, and he smelled the fresh silt, plants, and a dozen other odors. If he hadn’t seen the thing come to the surface briefly, he would never know it was there.
He knew that big crocs like the Deinosuchus or Mourasuchus lived around this area at this time an
d could potentially follow him out of the water. But they were big, up to 40 feet, weighed many tons, and would be slow. And as the jungle looked dense here, they’d give up quickly.
He grimaced. There was one thing that could follow and catch him, probably before he even went a dozen feet, and didn’t mind hunting in water.
“Please don’t be a Titanoboa.”
He continued to watch for a few more minutes, wishing his sister, Helen, was here to ask. She was the real expert on the giant snake’s behavior.
There was something else he wanted to ask her: why did the snakes only seem to inhabit the plateau top? In all the time he’d been here, he’d never seen one away from the tabletop mountain. What was it about that site that they preferred? A mystery for another day, he thought.
Andy turned back to the jungle. There were trees that might have been mighty banyan with massive roots interspaced with ferns, bracken, palms, and all manner of weird tongue-like plants. Fungi grew from the bark in shelf-like plates of orange, brown, or brick red. And everything glistened like it was damp.
The deep jungle always worried him, and he much preferred the water where he could see what was coming—at least above the surface. Just looking at the tangle of green madness made him feel claustrophobic and nervous as hell.
One upside is at least I’ll be able to forage on the way, he thought. He knew he wasn’t eating enough plant material, and it didn’t take long on a meat diet to develop things like scurvy and rickets, with the associated bleeding gums and then tooth drop.
Down beside the boat, some sort of mollusk was gliding along the bottom, and he reached over to grab it. It was the size of his fist, and immediately the foot extended from the shell like a long blue tongue. He leaned out again to rip up some leaves and rolled the large aquatic snail inside to keep it fresh, and then added it to his bag for a later meal.
He peeked in. “No fighting, you two.”
“Gluck.” Gluck glared.
“I know it smells funny; and you don’t?” He grinned and closed the bag.
Andy often wondered about whether anything he was doing now would make a difference in the future. Before he came, he had done some homework on the subject, and he’d read many theoreticians who said, yes it would, and many more who disagreed and stated that the future was immutable, and anything he did was destined to have happened anyway.
Perhaps without him, the future wouldn’t have been as he remembered it. The bottom line was, the time paradox was unknowable.
Andy took one last look back toward the body of water, and then stepped out of his boat. He stood for a moment, turning slowly until a broad smile split his face.
“I christen thee, America.”
He entered the jungle.
CHAPTER 08
Elmo, Utah—the bone beds
Re-Evolution: 006
Helen Martin carefully dusted the nub of long mineralized bones. Though there was only an outline of the skull showing, her experienced paleontological eye had already guessed it was going to be significant, and her excitement grew with every wipe of her brush.
It was from the Triceratops species and it was different—it had front-facing horns, unlike anything else they’d discovered here. And the head was big—six feet long and abnormally crested.
She paused to look at her surroundings: sand, clay, dunes, shelves of hard rock, and a few hardy plants.
The Elmo site was a veritable gold mine for dinosaur fossils, and especially Allosaurus skeletons. They were big theropods, with massive, boxy heads filled with tusk-like teeth. Finding a new Allosaurus skeleton was cool, but finding something even more rare was 100 times cooler.
She turned her head to sneeze, the dryness and dust tickling her nose, but in a good way. Though the area she and her team worked was dry now, in the late Cretaceous period, it was a lush swamp bordering an inland sea, filled with a variety of huge plant-eaters, and hunting them, the carnivores.
At that time period, there was an elevated sea level that split North America in two. The western landmass was called Laramidia and included what is now the west coast of Canada and the United States. To the east was the equally large Appalachia, the mountainous island landmass.
Helen wiped her brow and rested on her haunches. Her specialty had been prehistoric snakes, especially the Titanoboa, but for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to even look at that species anymore.
Maybe it was the fact that she had nearly been killed by one herself, and also had seen people crushed and eaten alive by the creatures. It had taken her years to get over the physical and psychological trauma she had suffered. Adding to her pain was the knowledge that her little brother, Andy, was still back there.
Her eyes glistened as she stared down at the nubs of bone showing. Maybe one day I’ll dig him up, she thought, and then laughed. But there was little humor in it. Her nose tickled again, but this time it was from melancholy memories.
She hated that she was alone now. After they survived their ordeal, she and Drake had dated for a few years, but then drifted apart. She guessed they both reminded each other of a horrible experience, and distance from anything that reminded them of those terrible events was the only way to truly heal the psychological wounds.
“Ooh.” Helen felt the tingle ripple through her belly and placed a hand on her stomach, just as the sunshine flicked off and then a few seconds later, back on. She blinked, wondering whether she had only imagined it.
She looked around, finding her two students helping on the dig and earning bonus credits for their final. Edward Ramirez and Elizabeth Shelley were both competent, fun, and she could count on them to be meticulous in everything they did. Neither of them looked up or seemed confused about what just happened, so it must have been her imagination, or maybe even dehydration.
Helen uncapped her water bottle and sipped, letting her eyes travel over the dig site. There seemed more greenery now, or maybe she just hadn’t noticed it before.
To her far left, Edward worked on a wall of shale-like material with an overhang of some sort of bush dangling over him. It was a great spot he’d found, as he had access to the fossil layers and a natural canopy against the harsh sunshine.
She watched him for a moment more and saw that the bush over him had what looked like large cherries in amongst its foliage—strange, as out here, most things struggled to survive in the dryness and nutrient-poor soil, so fruit was a luxury most plants couldn’t afford to produce.
She was about to turn away, but then noticed one of the cherries, a particularly large and red one, seemed to be lowered down closer to the young man. In a few seconds, it was mere inches above him, and then to her amazement, it exploded in a puff of what looked like powder or gas.
Edward eased to the ground as though resting.
What the hell? She straightened, a frown creasing her forehead.
“Edward,” she said loudly enough for the young man to hear. One side of her mouth quirked up in bewilderment, but in the next second, her confused smile fell away when she saw the tendrils drop from the bush above him.
“Hey!” Helen got to her feet.
Her other student, Elizabeth, turned.
“Hey!” Helen shouted again and quickly looked down at her tools, snatching up a small and sharp metal shovel. She saw the tendrils begin to gently wrap around the young man, and then once coiled, horrifyingly, his body began to be lifted from the ground.
Shit. She ran at him.
Edward was out cold, and Helen raised the shovel above her head, and then swung it forward like a machete, severing some of the thinner vines. But the thicker ones were elastic enough to resist her blows.
She went to snatch at the vine-tendrils but saw that they were covered in small, serrated thorns and these had already hooked themselves into Edward’s clothing and exposed flesh.
Elizabeth joined her with a small pick, and together they bashed, hacked, and chopped at the vines and bush until the combined attack proved too much for th
e plant and the young man rolled free. Elizabeth dropped her pick, grabbed the young man by the shoulders, and dragged him away.
Helen stood, staring in disbelief as her chest heaved. She saw that where the spots of Edward’s blood had dropped to the ground, tips of vines gently tapped on it as though like a cat lapping at a plate of cream.
She took a few cautious steps closer and then could just make out in amongst the plant roots there nestled bones—lizards, some birds, and even what might have been a coyote skull.
“What the hell is going on?” She turned about.
Elizabeth was gently wiping Edward’s wounds with a damp handkerchief. “Vampire Dodder,” she said. “We should have known they’d grow in this area.”
“What?” Helen’s mouth hung open, and she turned to stare for a moment. “What is that thing?”
Elizabeth tilted her head, confusion crossing her youthful features. “I only just remembered—the Vampire Dodder. It’s a parasitic vine that can be a real problem. Pretty common in these parts; you know that.”
Helen shook her head and felt slightly nauseous as another tickling ripple ran through her body. “I’ve never seen, or even heard of that thing before in my life.” She turned back to the plant that had now reset its thorny tendrils, waiting patiently for something to blunder too close again.
Somehow something had changed, and the more she thought about it, the more she got a sinking sensation in her stomach. She rubbed her forehead, wondering why she seemed to be out of sync with everyone else. Why did the plant seem so alien to her, but normal to everyone else?
But then she did sort of remember. Not this type of plant, and not here and now. But when they were hacking through the jungle of the Late Cretaceous, there had been something similar. So what was it doing here, in this place, and in this time?
A worm of worry coiled inside her. She needed to talk to someone, urgently, and there was one someone she could trust who had experienced everything she had.