Footprints of Thunder (71 page)

“Oh great. Someone dies and you immediately hold a garage sale. What am I supposed to do for clothes?”

“I like you the way you are.”

“1 don’t like being the only one naked.”

“I can fix that,” Colter offered.

“Don’t bother. Neither of us is in any shape for that.”

Petra turned and opened several cabinets until she found one of Colter’s sweatshirts and pulled it over her head. Though it hung down covering her bottom, she still felt exposed and she never wanted to feel that way again. Colter’s pants were way too big, but she put on a pair of his boxer shorts. The flap gaped open when she tried sitting in them, so she found a safety pin and pinned it closed. It would have to do until she could get to a town.

Then Petra opened a can of peaches and mashed them up, pushing spoonfuls into the baby dinosaur’s mouth. It chewed reflexively. When Petra was sure it had swallowed enough, she poured in some of the juice from the can. Most ran down its neck and pooled in the collar. Colter watched the feeding with amusement.

“Moose and Sarah aren’t this sloppy,” Colter said.

“It’s just a widdle thing,” Petra said in baby talk.

“Just what are you gonna call the little orphan?”

Petra set the can of peaches to the side and put the little dinosaur on the floor. The baby got to its feet and wobbled a few steps. Then it stopped and licked at the peach juice on its chin.

“Well, what if we call her Peaches?”

“Her?”

“Her until we know better. We should get a bottle somewhere for this poor thing.”

He rolled his eyes, nodded, and moved to the driver’s seat and started the engine. Petra sat down in the passenger seat gingerly, holding the sleeping baby dinosaur in her lap. Now that she was rested, she was beginning to feel every bruise, cut, and aching muscle. Colter, she knew, was feeling his pain as well.

They were about to leave when they heard the sound of padding feet. Petra flinched when Moose scrambled up the dash and stretched out in the window. Sarah waddled forward and looked perturbed that Petra had taken her place, so instead she curled up on the floor between the seats. Petra and Colter looked at each other and smiled.

“Well, honey,” Colter said. “It’s been quite a vacation.”

“Yes, dear,” Petra replied. “But the kids are exhausted. Let’s go home.”

Then they drove away from the clearing and back up the road.

68. Choices

In the age of no time, what came before will come again, and what is yet to come, will come before. I do not understand it myself, hut I know it will be heralded by a great fire.

—
Zorastrus, Prophet of Babylon

Forest, former site of Portland, Oregon

PostQuilt: Wednesday, 5:05
P.M.
PST

T
hey walked with a new confidence. Someone watching would say it was the rifles that gave them confidence; a store-bought, machine-made and polished confidence. But this was homemade confidence. Everything and nothing in their experience had prepared them for what they had gone through over the last few days, but what they found inside had been enough, even more than enough.

They’d had a happy victory celebration after Ripman left with Ellen. Exchanging insults, they argued over who should get credit for bungling the sabotage on the motorcycle, since that had saved them from One Eye and now was saving John’s Mom. But as they moved toward the rendezvous point, Cubby fell silent.

Cubby and John could hear the helicopter come back, circling, its thumping sounds reverberating down the valley. But the rendezvous point was in a different direction, so the noise grew fainter as they moved away. An occasional lizard skittered across a log or glided from tree to tree above them. Once a crashing and thumping in the distance sent them running for cover, but the sounds finally moved off.

Finally they reached the dry riverbed Ripman had described. It disappeared around a bend to the southwest and then into the forest. The boys surveyed silently from the bank, scouting the forest on either side for animal signs. Then Cubby tugged on John’s arm and pointed.

A movement caught John’s eye. In the shadow on the far bank were several animals, four-legged with long tails, and long necks, resembling brontosauri, but only a fraction of the size. Occasionally a head would appear towering over the bank, look around, and then dip back down. The animals appeared to be grazing. Cubby and John finally stepped out of the shadow onto the bank, fully exposing themselves. A minute later a head came up, spotting them and grunting. Then three more heads popped up. The dinosaurs and the people stared at one another, then one by one the dinosaurs went back to eating.

Ripman was nowhere to be seen, so Cubby and John found a pile of rocks to settle on. They had no food, but large puddles in the riverbed would provide enough water for now. At least, if Ripman came back.

After a long wait the engine of the motorcycle announced Ripman’s return. First the heads of the dinosaurs all popped up again, and they moved up the riverbed out of sight. Finally, John saw Ripman riding around the bed of the riverbed. Cubby and John cheered, then Cubby put his fingers in his mouth and blew several shrill whistles.

Ripman pulled up in front of them revving the engine loudly. His face was still swollen, he was cut and bruised and covered with dirt, yet he was also proud, even arrogant, and Cubby and John loved it. He finally let the engine die and untied a grocery bag from the back of the bike.

“How’s my mom, Ripman?”

“She’s fine. There’s a bunch of houses over that way,” he said, pointing. “The forest goes right up to their front doors. Some of the houses have been smashed up pretty good. It looks like some of the dinosaurs came to visit. The people who live there have blocked the streets with cars. There’s cops there too, keeping people out, and keeping the dinosaurs in. The police took your mom to the hospital.”

Ripman opened the pack and tossed cans of Coke Classic to Cubby and John, John drank a third of his in three gulps. When the carbonation burned his throat and nose he belched, but Cubby soon belched a belch that put John’s to shame. Ripman kept digging, passing out another can of Coke to each, and then threw his friends a package of Twinkies and a Three Musketeers bar. They tore into the junk food till finally their ravenous gobbling turned to slow savoring.

“Where’d you get the goodies, Ripman?” Cubby asked.

“Hey, there’s civilization out there. After I got John’s mom to the cops, they wouldn’t let me come back. They were going to round up some volunteers—mount a rescue mission. Jeez, you’d think it was some big deal. So I had to find a way around. I ran into a 7-Eleven down the road. It was semiopen, so I picked up some supplies.”

“You pay for these?” Cubby asked suspiciously.

“They gave me a bag, didn’t they?”

“You stole the bag too, didn’t you?” John suggested.

“Hey, you don’t want the stuff, give it back.” Ripman said it good-naturedly.

John and Cubby knew he craved to be thought bad, and they were willing to support him. The sugar quickly replenished their strength and they joked and kidded for a few more minutes. Then Cubby began praying in whispers. When done he turned to the others.

“I’m not leaving. I’m going into Portland. My family is in there somewhere … my church.”

John, uncertain how to respond, sat silent, watching a two-foot lizard slither down the bank and into a puddle. Ripman finally spoke, but gently, looking at Cubby with his good eye.

“Cubby, Portland’s not right. I watched it. It seems to come and go … sometimes it’s there, sometimes it isn’t, and it’s going away. Even if we headed to it, we’d probably go right through it. I think it’s just some sort of mirage.”

“Maybe, Ripman, but I’ve got to know. I’ve got to know!”

“It’s not the second coming, Cubby.”

“I know, but God’s hand is in this.”

“Maybe.”

That “maybe,” John realized, was the only concession to the possibility of God’s existence Ripman had ever made. Ripman, the militant atheist, wouldn’t have made this concession a few days ago.

“Let me run John out on the bike, then we’ll go looking for Portland.”

“You don’t need to come, Ripman. Take John out, come back for me, I’ll take you out, then I’ll take the bike in toward Portland.”

As Cubby and Ripman continued to argue, the helicopter sounded in the distance, somewhere out of sight. John, looking for it, ignored the argument. He didn’t like what his friends were saying anyway. Cubby and Ripman were assuming he needed taking care of, and only after that would they see to their own needs. No one realized that he, John, had outwitted the dinosaur that chased them. He had given One Eye its name. He had helped disable the motorcycles, and he even shot— killed—Carl. His heart sank at that thought. After all that, his friends could not think of him as an equal. If the last three days hadn’t changed their thinking, nothing would.

“Hey,” he cut in, “nobody has to take me anywhere. You two take the bike and go find Portland. I’m walking out.”

John swigged down the rest of his Coke, picked up his rifle, and started walking down the riverbed, following the bike’s tire marks.

“Where are you going, man?” Ripman called. “Hey, wait up.”

“Come on back, John, what are you so mad about?” Cubby added.

John stopped and turned back.

“I’m not mad. I’m just trying to save you the trouble of looking out for me. You two head on into Portland, have a good time. If I don’t see you sooner, I’ll see you later … maybe at the beach house.” John turned to walk off and then stopped.

“I hope you find your folks, Cubby. Hey, Ripman, thanks for the food. See ya guys.”

John walked off, deliberately splashing noisily in the puddles to keep him from hearing what they were saying. As soon as he was out of sight around a bend, he gripped the gun tighter, as feelings of loneliness replaced his bravado. The motorcycle came to life behind him, then he heard the put-put of someone riding it. He thought about hiding, making it easy for them to leave him, but that would be cowardly.

To John’s surprise, Cubby was driving, and Ripman was hanging on behind. They rode up next to him, and Ripman climbed off to face John.

“We decided, John. We’re all going home.”

“It was great wasn’t it, Johnny my boy? Let’s do it again sometime,” Cubby said, then released the clutch and rode the bike in a slow circle and disappeared around the bend. “He’s crazy. Ripman, couldn’t you talk him out of it?”

“He’s a fanatic. I never could talk sense to him.” They started walking again, this time side by side.

Terry stood by the helicopter rubbing his eyes. His head ached from the refueling vapors and from staring through the tops of trees trying to spot his wife. He realized finding her that way was unlikely, but he wasn’t ready to give it up—he had no other choice.

Bill returned. Even Bill’s size and official manner had failed to get free fuel from the crusty operator of the airfield. But he’d taken a Visa card—obviously, he didn’t understand what had happened.

When Bill climbed back in and lifted off, Terry tried to find a way to sit comfortably on what was left of his seat. It was late afternoon and there was little daylight left to search with. This would be their last trip. After this, he didn’t know what to do or where to go.

The house was a two-story Colonial, with a bay window and a dinosaur forest for a front yard. The windows were broken, but otherwise the house was intact.

“Through there,” Ripman said pointing, “is another house and on the other side of that a cul-de-sac. Go up the cul-de-sac and over the fence of the blue house at the end. There’s a highway on the other side. Follow it north and you’ll find that roadblock. The cops will take you to your mom.”

“Aren’t you coming too?”

“Like I said, we’re all going home. Your home is with your parents. Me, I don’t have anyone. My dad’s gone wherever Cubby’s folks are, and he never gave a damn anyway,” Ripman said with both sadness and bitterness in his voice. “Besides, I like it here. It’s the best home I had,”

“You can’t stay here! Sooner or later those dinos will have you for lunch. Come with me. My mom asked you. We’d have a great time.”

“Naw, I’m too elemental for you Yuppie types, but I’ll trade you the pistol for the rifle. A bow won’t cut it in here.”

John traded, then handed back the pistol. “You’re gonna need both, Ripman. If you change your mind, man, we’ll be at the beach house.”

“I know.”

John walked through the trees a short distance, then turned and looked back. Ripman was still there watching him. John wanted to tell Ripman he’d miss him, that he would think about him, that he loved him. But none of that was elemental, at least not in Ripman’s way of thinking. So instead John simply nodded his head. Ripman nodded back.

“See ya, Ripman.”

“Later, John.”

Cubby followed the riverbed, the noise of the bike chasing dinosaurs from his path. When the river angled off away from Portland, Cubby cut into the trees. Occasionally he came to clearings, some small, some larger, but as he looked into the distance no skyscrapers appeared.