Footprints of Thunder (62 page)

Suddenly alert for danger, her head snapped up. She worked the bolt again, still awkward, hoping she wouldn’t have to fire off several rounds in quick succession. Petra held perfectly still, facing the jungle and waiting for the sound again. It came from behind her. She turned, holding her breath to hear better; the noise came from under the dead dinosaur. She ran along the dinosaur’s hack to where she estimated she had last seen Colter, and the sound was louder near the dinosaur’s shoulder.

“Colter, is that you?”

When Colter yelled back it was with a touch of irritation.

“Of course it is, you—”

Petra couldn’t make out the last word but smiled anyway. She didn’t care what he said as long as he was alive.

“Can-you-dig-me-out-of-here?” he screamed one word at a time.

It came out muffled, but Petra understood and shouted back she would. With her hands she made slow progress. She tried Colter’s dog paddle technique, but this wasn’t the soft pile of humus where they found the egg. One by one Petra’s fingernails broke off, two of them leaving bloody tips. When the last one broke Petra paused and found a stick, then alternated with the stick and her hands. Still the progress was slow. Her arms ached and she’d dug only a small depression. Still she avowed she would dig alt night if she had to.

She was digging out cupped handfuls of dirt when something ran by in her peripheral vision. Dropping the dirt, she picked up the rifle, standing slowly. The dead dinosaur was too big to see over, so she began walking along the dinosaur toward the tail, the rifle pointed in front of her.

Suddenly she heard a growling and tearing sound. She froze, trying to locate it, but it came from somewhere near her. Another growl sounded followed by more tearing and chomping sounds. Petra moved forward one step at a time. She heard Colter’s muffled yell behind her, but whatever was making the sounds ahead either couldn’t hear Colter, or didn’t care. Petra took a few more steps and then knelt and crawled along the tail until she was sure she could stand and look over it. Two carnivores were on the other side of the carcass, burying their teeth into the flesh of the monster’s belly. As she watched, a bigger carnivore came out of the forest and snarled at the others. The smaller ones snarled back but moved toward Petra a few steps. Once the big one had the space it demanded, the new dinosaur tore into the belly of the carcass.

Petra squatted back down and continued crawling along the spine. Halfway back to Colter, a three-foot dinosaur with a huge head ran between the trees toward her. Petra pointed the rifle at it, but it ignored her and ran along the length of the tail and to the other side. Petra sighed and continued her crawl, her bare knees scraped and jabbed by rocks buried in the grass and her body scratched by small branches. As soon as she could stand she got up and tiptoed along the dinosaur’s back. When she heard Colter’s muffled call, she wanted to yell for him to be quiet but couldn’t risk it. The sounds on the other side of the dinosaur suggested a gathering horde. Another small dinosaur ran through the woods and to the other side. Petra sighed again, then began to dig. But another movement caught her attention and she turned to see a fifteen-foot dinosaur coming at her through the trees.

Petra lifted the rifle and pointed it at the dinosaur’s chest. Shooting it would only attract the other dinosaurs’ attention. She hated to leave Colter, but didn’t see any options. Keeping the rifle on the carnosaur, she inched along the body toward the head. The creature watched her, but it wasn’t going to trade an appetizer for a meal. Finally, she limped into the trees.

Something moved to her left, so she dodged right. A tree with a low overhanging branch loomed ahead and she pulled herself up on it, balancing the gun on the limb. She kept climbing until she was sure she was out of the reach of most of the predators, then wedged herself between a limb and the trunk with the gun across her lap, and relaxed for the first time in days.

60. Guard Duty

Before long everything will be organized, but not in the evil century of the great year.

—
Nostradamus

Medford, Oregon

PostQuilt: Wednesday, 9:37
A.M.
PST

T
he dispatcher’s call pulled Deputy Kyle away from his post in front of the grocery store. Guard duty was usually easy, but the world had gone mad, and nothing was easy duty now. Food purchases were limited to prevent hoarding, leaving customers frightened and frustrated. Kyle knew it was only a matter of time before a riot broke out.

Karon was vague about his recall, referring to some sort of “special duty.” Kyle didn’t want any more special duty, especially after the cave incident. Kyle’s worst fears were confirmed when he saw Shirley in the parking lot wearing climbing clothes. Kyle tried to slip into the station, but she intercepted him.

“How’s your nose, Deputy?”

“Fine,” Kyle said, his face reddening. “I can’t talk now, I’m needed inside.”

“I’m why you’re here. We need your climbing skills again.”

Shirley smiled when she said it, and Kyle fought to keep from smiling back. Whatever she wanted was going to be hard work and dangerous.

“Shirley, I’m needed here. You’re pulling me out of a potentially volatile situation.”

“Anyone can stand in front of a grocery store and look tough.”

Kyle was embarrassed. Shirley had a way of making him look ridiculous,

“There’s more to it than that,” he said defensively.

“Maybe,” she conceded with a smile, “but I’ve got a job only you can do.”

“It involves climbing, doesn’t it.”

“There’s a little girl trapped up on a ledge. We need to go up and get her.”

Shirley’s smile faded when she mentioned the little girl.

“Is the girl hurt?”

“Maybe, but we won’t know until we get there,”

Kyle felt Shirley was holding something back.

“A little girl, huh? All right, I’ll get my climbing gear out of the station.”

“It’s already in my car,” Shirley said.

“Okay, then. Let me get something to eat—”

“Got something already,” Shirley said, reaching into the car and holding up a McDonald’s bag.

“I thought they were closed.”

“I’ve got connections.” She looked proud and mischievous.

“Get me something to drink?”

Shirley smiled and reached in the window and came out with a large soft drink. She seemed a little too efficient for Kyle, but he liked the way she thought of his needs. He lowered his eyes, taking in Shirley’s figure. Yes, there
was
a lot to like about her.

“I hope that’s a Big Mac in there.”

“Large fries too.”

Kyle was into the fries before they were out of the parking lot. Compared to what was going on in town, rescuing an injured little girl didn’t sound too bad. In fact, Kyle thought as he stuffed another fry into his mouth, this might be the closest thing to easy duty left in the world. Kyle was just starting on the Big Mac when they turned onto I-5 and headed north.

61. Helicopter

The railroad workmen were cutting the way with dynamite and a steam shovel when they discovered the cavern. It was filled with a strange assemblage of animal remains. Animals from cool northern climates, wolverine, lemming, long-tailed shrew, mink, red squirrel, muskrat, porcupine, hare and elk, were mingled with animals from warmer climates, peccary, crocodilid, and tapir. How species of such diverse climates all came to be in the enclosed cavern is a mystery.

—
J. W. Gridley, Cumberland, Maryland, 1912

Forest, former site of Portland, Oregon

PostQuilt: Wednesday, 10:00
A.M.
PST

T
he demarcation between the time-quilted area and Portland was not as sharp as in New York. Portland was a small town busting out of its britches, but from the air the city looked like an octopus sending tentacles of development up over the hills and down into valleys. Because the urban area intermixed with rural and forested land, the contrast between city and the time-quilted area was harder to spot. At first the quilted forest looked like any to Terry, but then he began to get a sense of scale. The smallest of the trees was easily the match of the largest PreQuilt Douglas fir. Terry and Bill hadn’t seen any dinosaurs, but Terry was already a believer. He had seen the I-5 mountain, and if a city could disappear, couldn’t dinosaurs appear?

Bill’s connections seemed as important as his rank, and he’d gotten them a military jet out to Nevada. Then one “buddy” shuttled them to Hillsboro, where another buddy arranged a helicopter. On the way, Bill exchanged unclassified information with them on what was happening in the civilian sector. Power outages were keeping about a third of the country in the dark, literally, but the rest of the country was getting news, unbelievable news, and was near panic. Food hoarding had begun, and frenzied shoppers had caused riots in Los Angeles, Chicago, and Seattle. A third of the state governors had declared martial law and were begging for federal help. Massive flooding, tidal waves, and landslides had devastated the country. Hospitals near the disasters were jammed, and rescue workers and relief agencies found themselves overwhelmed by requests and stymied by missing bridges and roads.

Yet while chaos reigned in and near affected areas, major portions of the country stayed at home, watched reports on the television, went to work, and sent their kids to school. The disasters were tremendous but highly specific in nature. Los Angeles, for example, was largely intact, but just south of the city there had been a massive flood. After the water found its way out to sea, rescue workers found precious little to search. San Juan Capistrano and San Clemente were gone. Not demolished, but completely gone, leaving no wrecked homes, cars, or bodies.

Terry arid Bill tried to contact Ellen and Angie by phone, to tell them they were off to look for John, but long-distance phone calling was impossible. AT&T had been hurt by losses in Atlanta and New York. MCI and Sprint, devastated by satellite ground station losses, had good service only between the Midwest and Southeast. Coast-to-coast calls could not be made. And concerned parents and children overwhelmed the remaining phone capacity.

During the stopover in Nevada, Terry worked the civilian phone circuits while Bill tried the military. He returned with bad news.

“Angie and Ellen checked out. They left a message saying they were going to find your son.”

“What? But he may not be there to find.” Terry had never admitted that, and saying it now the words gave it a grim finality. “He may be somewhere else,” he added, convincing neither Bill nor himself.

“Ellen and Angie don’t know what’s happened. They could be in dinosaur country already. But that’s not all. Something’s going on. A friend of mine says they’ve ordered the Portland area target mapped—bit mapped for a terrain guidance system.”

“They use those to guide bombers, right?”

“Mmmm—yes, bombers and cruise missiles. The system allows them to fly at treetop level. That kind of guidance system is very reliable, and very accurate.”

“You don’t think they’re going to bomb those dinosaurs, do you?”

“I can’t believe you would need a bomb to keep them at bay. Remember what caused this in the first place?”

Terry tried to recall Dr. Paulson’s explanation of the computer models and their relation to patterns of explosions. Large nuclear detonations had caused this; detonations in the megaton, not kiloton range. Then Terry made the connection.

“You don’t think they’re going to—” Terry stammered.

“Hair of the dog—”

That realization sent a shiver through Terry. He was going to be flying into the land of dinosaurs, not knowing whether his wife made it to Portland, or what had happened to his son, and wondering whether a Stealth bomber would suddenly unleash nuclear hell on them. He wanted to say it couldn’t get any worse than this, but every time he thought that, he was wrong.