Footprints of Thunder (29 page)

Her eyes were weak, and she relied on her sensitive olfactory organs for most of her information. She had smelled the mound twice a day since laying the eggs and each time the smells had been the same. Today there was a new smell, one she had never encountered. She pawed the center of the mound, quickly removing enough material so she could check. They were still there. Sweeping with her tail, she refilled the depression and smoothed over the surface. Now she put her head to the ground and began sniffing, spiraling down the mound and toward the periphery. She was working along the outside edge of the clearing when she smelled that one of her eggs had been there. The smell was faint but distinct, and it was mixed with the strange smells of the mound. She discovered her nest had been robbed. Then she followed the smells out of her clearing.

29. Life In The Forest

Oh, that I could live to see the time of two times; to walk with the ancients.

—
Zorastrus, before the King of Babylon

Forest, former site of Portland, Oregon

PostQuilt: Monday, 7:05
A.M.
PST

C
ubby automatically assumed the leader’s role, now that Ripman was gone, and as John trod behind, he regretted his decision to stick with his friend. He thought about the beach cabin. He imagined his parents were probably headed there now and would soon be sitting around the fireplace eating crab or tossing bread crusts off the balcony to the seagulls. Lost in thought, he nearly stumbled into Cubby, who had stopped and crouched down.

“What’s the big—”

“Shhhhh.” Cubby put his ringers to his lips. Then he pointed over the clump of grass in front of him. They were at the top of a long slow grade. John stood up slowly until his eyes cleared the bush. Their hill dropped off sharply into a little valley, with few trees but rich with the same deep green grasses and ferns beneath their feet. Here and there in the valley, boulders stuck above the grass. John didn’t understand Cubby’s caution until one boulder raised its head and looked around.

“They look like rhinos.”

“More like a giant armadillo. See, it’s covered with armor plates and it doesn’t have a horn like a rhino. Look over there.”

One of the animals was moving through the clearing, and they got glimpses of its body and tail. It walked on all fours with its head down, its dragging tail ending in a bony sphere.

“Did you see that tail? It looks like a—a mace, one of those heavy-duty weapons the knights used.”

Cubby shushed him again, and nodded, and whispered softly, “Let’s work our way around the valley.”

“Good idea,” John whispered back. “Let’s head due west and when we get to the Pacific we’ll turn left.”

Ignoring John, Cubby turned and led off through the trees. As John followed, he tried to remember the map Ripman and Cubby had drawn in the dirt. They worked their way around the little valley by going uphill, and John wondered whether this was one of the hills near Cubby’s dad’s church.

The big dinosaurs in the valley were the first they had seen since being chased, although many smaller lizards scuttled out of the way as they passed. John kept thinking of the beach cabin.

The trees thickened, and as the giant redwoods once again dominated the forest the underbrush thinned to soft ferns. As they climbed a steep slope, John decided to conserve his energy, and he lagged behind, hoping Cubby wouldn’t notice. When Cubby disappeared through the trees ahead, John was motivated to pick up his pace. Suddenly he heard Cubby yell,

“John! It’s here. It’s here!”

Pushing his aching legs harder, John pumped up the hill, dodging trees. The ground steepened and then leveled and John burst out of the forest onto a bald peak. Cubby was shouting and pointing. Another valley lay below them, and another hill behind that sloped down to meet the valley. After a gap another hill sloped up out of the valley. John followed Cubby’s finger, pointed between the hills. He had to stare hard, but there in the gap was Portland—a shimmering misty image, but undeniably Portland.

“We found it,” John said out loud, “we made it.”

Cubby picked John up in a bear hug and spun him around. After they danced and whooped, they sat on the rocks and rested, eating more of their trail mix, and drinking from their canteens. Bursting with excitement, they planned delightedly how to get into the Willamette Valley where Portland lay. John was still talking when Cubby fell silent, staring at Portland, Concerned, John followed his friend’s gaze. Portland was there in the gap, shimmering and shifting. Then John saw something else—the hills on the other side of Portland. No—the hills through Portland.

“I can see through it,” he said aloud.

“No you can’t.”

“Cubby, I can see through those buildings.”

“It’s an illusion. You can’t see through a building.”

John didn’t argue with Cubby, but he was sure the image was transparent. How could it be? he asked himself. But then there couldn’t be dinosaurs either.

Cubby led off down the hill without speaking, John following, but his enthusiasm dampened.

The trip downhill was more difficult than it had seemed from the bald peak. The sparse forest suddenly gave way to a section of trees crisscrossed in every direction, and Cubby and John had to climb over and under them.

Suddenly, a high-pitched roar pierced their ears and rattled the trees. They turned in time to see two dinosaurs racing out of the woods. The one in front had a domed head and a short thick neck. Bipedal, pumping hard to get away, it was easily fifteen feet high, and the biggest dinosaur John had seen. Until he saw what was behind it. Towering ten feet above the domed head were massive gaping jaws John recognized as belonging to
Tyrannosaurus rex.
Blood was running down the side of the dome-headed dinosaur, and it ran out of the forest with a limping gait. When it reached the edge of the fallen section it slowed its pace. John could see it was weakening; the tyrannosaurus would have it soon.

John and Cubby ran for a pile of fallen trees and crawled underneath. The ground began to shake, and the smaller dinosaur began to scream. Cubby, peeking between the logs, jerked on John’s sleeve. Scared to look, but too scared not to, he pushed himself up into a squat and peeked out. The dinosaurs were fighting seventy-five yards away, the tyrannosaurus crunching the neck of the dome head. The dome head was screaming in pain and struggled violently to break the grip of the tyrannosaur, swinging wildly with its tail. The tyrannosaur rotated away from the blows and repeatedly slammed its own tail to counterbalance its victim’s moves. Chunks of turf and debris were kicked up and rained down on the boys as the dinosaurs struggled.

Blood streamed down the neck of the dome head, across its chest and legs, making its skin a slick red. The tyrannosaur kept its lock on the dome head’s neck as dome head’s struggles weakened and its screams softened. The dome head collapsed to its knees and then to the ground. The painful screams of the dome head became a mournful whine, and then the whine died with its last breath. The tyrannosaur kept its jaws tightly clamped on the still form for another minute and then shook the body several times. Only then did it release the still form. John expected the tyrannosaur to raise its head and bellow in triumph, but instead the tyrannosaur took a long lingering lick across the neck of the dead dinosaur, soaking its tongue in blood. Then it slurped in its tongue and smacked its jaws loud enough to echo through the forest. When Cubby whispered “God protect us,” the dinosaur’s head snapped around and it stared at their hideaway, as if it heard.

“Don’t move,” Cubby whispered.

John wanted to shout at Cubby to shut up but instead he froze. After a long hard stare the tyrannosaur turned back to its meal. John slipped silently to the floor, Cubby next to him. John watched his hand shake, thinking he couldn’t get any more afraid. Then the sounds of eating echoed through their hiding place. The tyrannosaur made great smacking and slobbering sounds, but the worst sounds of all were of flesh ripping and bones crushed in massive jaws.

30. Debris

Towns will be turned upside down and the below ground will become the above ground.

—
Zorastrus, Prophet of Babylon

Off Naples, Florida

PostQuilt: Monday, 10:15
A.M.
EST

S
altwater, thick with sticks and leaves, washed over the family, shocking them awake. It was late morning but the dense cloud cover and fog made it as dark as night.

“Put down the sides to keep the waves out,” Carmen said. “Rosa? Can you sit up?”

Ron looked at Chris. His eyes were open, but he looked groggy. The gash on his forehead was surrounded by a large swelling. “Chris, are you okay? Can you move down, opposite Rosa?”

Chris didn’t speak, but he nodded and scooted. Ron worked opposite Carmen to drop the sides of the raft, which were tied up at the top of the canopy. It wouldn’t keep out an entire wave, but it would cut down on the sea spray. When Ron stretched up to unite the top he spotted another large wave coming toward them.

“Everyone hang on!” he yelled.

They all grabbed for the cords strung around the inside of the raft. Carmen wrapped an arm around Chris and Ron hooked Rosa’s arm with his. They all hunkered down, and the wave broke over them—another muddy one, and full of debris. Leaves and twigs slapped them on their heads and arms. The raft tossed and rocked violently. After the wave had passed, Ron broke out a bailing cup and went to work while Carmen and the others lifted out the branches and the other debris.

Rosa was having trouble lifting her left arm over her head, and finally gave up and used only her right one. Ron suspected cracked or broken ribs. Chris was helping too, scooping up handfuls of leaves and twigs and dropping them over the side, when he stopped, staring into the gloom.

“Hey, there’s a lot of smoke out there.”

Ron turned to see a cloud bank broiling toward them. “Everyone hang on again.”

The family ducked down as the raft rocked violently, hot moist steam enveloping them. The steam was sulfurous and they coughed, their noses and throats burning. The pitching slowed and the air cleared slightly. Ron looked over the side but could see nothing in the dense fog.

“It’s just steam,” he said reassuringly. “Nothing to worry about.” He didn’t add that they had enough to worry about already,

Ron helped clear debris and bail out the raft. Then he checked the supplies. There were cans of water, food, a pocket knife, four flares, fishing tackle, and a paddle. He was repacking the supplies when something rammed the raft.

“It’s a log,” Carmen yelled. “Help me push it away.”

Ron used the paddle. The branches were thick and Ron had trouble getting a solid push. Finally, the raft drifted off only to spin around and butt up against the bare trunk. Ron wedged the paddle again and pushed. Suddenly, something came running the length of the trunk. Green, lithe, and frantic, it was a foot-tall lizard. Ron instinctively swung with the paddle, knocking it off its feet. The lizard hung over the side of the log briefly, its tail in the water, then it launched itself again. Ron was ready and hit it with a full swing, knocking it into the water. The lizard churned the water, trying to reach safety. Ron pushed off from the log, and then paddled furiously, leaving the log in the haze.

“What was that?” Carmen asked.

“I’d never seen one before. Its head was huge.” Ron didn’t add it had a wicked set of teeth. “It’s gone now. We’re fine.”

The kids settled back but Carmen and Ron exchanged worried looks.

Exhausted from the night before, the family rested silently, worrying privately. Chris soon leaned over the edge, watching the waves.

“He looks better,” Carmen said.

“His color’s good. I wish we could get him to a doctor.”

Helpless, the parents fretted.

“There’s another lizard out there!” Chris suddenly shouted.