… It is likely that tyrannosaurus hid among the trees, to ambush its prey. It would have leapt out on a passing victim in a short burst of speed. Charging with mouth open wide, the force of the impact would have been absorbed by its strong teeth, sturdy skull and powerful neck.
—Dougal Dixon, Barry Cox, R. J. G. Savage, Brian Gardiner, Macmillan Illustrated Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs and Prehistoric Animals
YUCATAN PENINSULA
Suddenly conscious, Carrollee was moving, grabbing for her rifle. Whether it was the sound of the tyrannosaur tearing off tree limbs in its rush, or the warning bellows of the monoclonius that woke her, she never remembered. She came up on her knees with her rifle ready, seeing the monoclonius stampeding toward her. Someone yelled “run” and
she ran, grabbing her pack. Then it was a headlong rush down the hill toward the stream below. Right behind, the monoclonius herd thundered over the ridge. Over the noise of the herd was the screech of an attacking predator.
With the sun just breaking, there was barely enough light to avoid crashing into trees. Carrollee stumbled, but kept her feet. The forest slowed the herd as they threaded their massive bodies through the trees. Smaller trees were run over, uprooted, and trampled.
The ground leveled as Carrollee approached the stream. Carrollee had seen other human silhouettes angling left and she mimicked the move, trying to get out of the path of the stampeding herd. Then the trap was sprung. Two more tyrannosaurs charged from the far side of the stream.
Carrollee pulled up, trying to stop. One of the tyrannosaurs rushed right at her. She slipped, hit the ground, landing on her hip, and slid right toward the tyrannosaur. The tyrannosaur lowered its head, jaws gaping. Now in an uncontrollable slide, she fumbled with her rifle. Then the jaws were right above her and with a lunge the tyrannosaur reached over her, clamping down on a monoclonius calf. Instantly, Carrollee picked up her feet, completing her slide through the legs of the tyrannosaur. She cleared the back foot just as it changed position to support its grip on its struggling prey. The feeding tyrannosaur created a breakwater, and like a river around a boulder, the panicked monoclonius streamed to either side. Carrollee got up, running full speed into the stream. It was soon chest high, slowing her nearly to a stop. Monoclonius hit the water on either side of her, the waves knocking her back and forth. Rifle held high, pulling her pack behind her, she fell, got her footing, slipped again and was washed toward the monoclonius churning the stream. She slammed up against a monoclonius whose pumping legs created so much suction it threatened to pull her under.
Forced to choose, she threw the pack toward the shore, hearing it splash. Pushing against the monoclonius, she got her footing, and managed to move far enough away to clear
the suction. Then she angled toward clear water, the feeding tyrannosaur still creating a gap. She dragged herself ashore, exhausted. The monoclonius were slowing, still moving fast, but the panic was subsiding. The tyrannosaurs were feeding now, not hunting. Crawling away from the stream, she hid behind a tree, letting the herd move into the forest. Panting, half from exertion, half from fear, she cowered, watching. The monoclonius were calming, but they butted and swatted each other when touched.
As the last of the stragglers moved past, Carrollee heard the sounds of the tyrannosaurs feeding. She leaned around the tree, looking back up the hill. The T-rex that had passed her up for a bigger helping was on the hillside, ripping out entrails. With a great mouthful, it leaned its head back, snapping its jaws and jerking its head, the intestines sliding down its throat. To its left was another feeding T-rex, its prey still twitching as chunks of flesh were torn from massive haunches. Then just over the hill, another raised its head, a silhouette against the rising sun.
Fearing scavengers, Carollee took the rifle, and moved, scampering from tree to tree. She found her pack a hundred yards downstream. It had been partially unzipped when she had used it for a pillow, and some of the contents were gone. The pack was waterproof, but the interior had filled, sinking it in mud, making it as heavy as if it were full. With difficulty she pulled it out, and then retreated to the trees, dumping out the water.
Now she looked for the others, risking a shout.
“Anyone there,” she called, just above a whisper.
No answer.
“Anyone out there!” she tried louder.
“Over here,” came a reply.
Carrollee found Nikki crawling out from under a log. She had her pack, but not her rifle. Three bleeding scratches marked the left side of her face. Carrollee dug in her pack—she had one water bottle left. She used it to wash the dirt from Nikki’s wounds.
“I ran into a tree,” Nikki explained. “I just about knocked myself out. That’s why I hid under there.”
“Where’s your gun?”
“Where we camped, I guess. It happened so fast.”
Carrollee looked back to the hill and the feeding tyrannosaurs. There was no thought of retrieving the rifle.
“Where did the boys go?” Nikki asked.
“They outran us,” Carrollee said. “Damn that women’s liberation stuff.”
Nikki laughed, then the sound of monoclonius bones breaking got them up and moving. The ground was churned to muck by the stampede, so they walked the rocky stream bank. Soon they heard the sound of digging.
“Is there someone there?” Carrollee called softly.
“Yeah,” came the reply.
Jose was in the trees, digging a hole. There was a body on the ground opposite the growing pile of soil.
“Oh, no,” Nikki gasped.
The body had been trampled, arms and legs broken, chest caved in, skull crushed.
“Who?” Carrollee asked softly.
“It’s Mitch,” he said, tears dribbling down his cheeks.
Jose went back to digging, talking while he shoveled.
“We were running together and he tripped. I reached out to catch him. I missed. There was nothing I could do. They were right behind us.”
“You would have helped him if you could,” Nikki said.
They let Jose dig, not offering to help. It was more than a burial, it was penance.
Jose had his rifle but not his pack. Mitch’s rifle and pack had been trampled with him, destroying the weapon and most of the pack’s contents. Carrollee retrieved the pack, salvaging dried soup, a dozen energy bars, and a half-filled water bottle. Carrollee knocked the mud off of the bag, finding one strap had been torn loose. She transferred some of her food and set the pack aside for Jose.
It took Jose another hour to get the hole deep enough for
his satisfaction. Then Carrollee and Nikki helped him gently lower the crumpled body into the hole. Now Jose hesitated.
“Can I pray for him, Jose?” Nikki offered.
“Please,” Jose said gratefully, reaching into his shirt and pulling out a cross hanging on a gold chain.
“Heavenly father, please accept the soul of this good man. He was a gentle man, kind to his friends and to strangers. I only knew him for a short time, but I never heard him take your name in vain, lie, or say an unkind word about his colleagues or friends or anyone. He loved your creation and especially animals, and he dedicated his life to protecting them. Please, Lord, open the gates of heaven for this man. Amen.”
Jose crossed himself and then kissed the crucifix.
“That was nice, Nikki,” Jose said, then he scooped up a shovelful of dirt.
“Wait,” Carrollee said.
Carrollee stripped leaves from trees, and uprooted ferns and other vegetation. Then she carefully covered the body with the leaves. Nikki worked with her until Mitch was covered from head to toe. Now the soil would not touch Mitch’s body directly.
“I should have thought of that. Thanks,” Jose said, and began filling the hole.
Carrollee and Nikki gathered the biggest rocks they could carry, stacking them next to the grave. The hole was nearly filled when John and Ripman came through the trees. John had his rifle, but not his pack. Ripman had his pack and his rifle.
“Mitch or Marion?” John asked.
“Mitch,” Jose said, without pausing.
“I’m sorry, Jose,” John said.
Ripman and John helped gather rocks. Once Jose finished covering his friend, they built a small cairn.
“That will keep the scavengers out,” Nikki said.
Carrollee saw Ripman’s eyes flick toward Nikki but he said nothing.
“Anyone seen Marion?” John asked.
No one had.
“Any idea of which way he ran?”
No one knew.
John sent them out in pairs to search; Ripman and Nikki, John and Carrollee. Jose was left by the grave. John set up a search pattern in the shape of half of a spoked wheel. John reasoned that if Marion had not made it to the stream he was dead, since every square inch of the hillside had been churned to muck. They started by going in opposite directions along the stream, walking out a kilometer, and then arcing back to the grave. They repeated the pattern, gradually working around the wheel until the two search parties met. In that terrain, and with dense vegetation, no search could be “thorough,” but they covered enough territory to be sure Marion wasn’t lying in the open.
Halfway back on their last search spoke, they were surprised by a dozen small bipeds running across their path, heading in the direction of the feeding tyrannosaurs. They were two feet high, green, with storklike snouts, lined with rows of needle teeth.
“Uninvited dinner guests,” John said. “We have to move.”
Without proof of death, it was hard to leave a comrade who might be injured, needing help. Although no one would speak it, they all believed that Marion was dead. At the very least they would never know what had happened to him.
Despite the stampede, John still believed in the protection of the herd and they fast-walked, trying to catch it, mindful that they were now trailing it, just as the tyrannosaurs had. They caught the monoclonius late in the afternoon, working their way inside the pickets just as before. Now they slowed, sharing the remaining water bottles and food. Running low on water, and dehydrating fast, Ripman took a pack full of empty bottles and angled into the jungle alone. The herd had started its dusk routine of settling down before Ripman returned, passing out the bottles, everyone refreshing themselves.
“That’s two good days for you in a row,” Ripman said, passing Carrollee a water bottle.
“What do you mean?”
“You and I were the only ones who kept both their pack and gun,” he said, smiling.
“This isn’t a contest,” Carrollee said irritably. “No one is keeping score.”
“Yes it is, and God is keeping score. So far it’s humans three, dinosaurs two. The problem is that they have more players than we do.”
Ripman walked away, leaving Carrollee angry and disgusted. That man didn’t think like any human being she had ever known.
“Hey, look!” Jose shouted. The nearest monoclonius snorted, and then lowered their heads, presenting the bony neck collar. “It’s Marion.”
He was coming out of the jungle, walking slowly, clothes filthy. Jose ran to greet him, falling in, telling him about Mitch. Marion nodded sadly, and nothing more was said. When he reached the others, Carrollee could see his hair was caked with blood. He was also carrying his rifle and his pack.
“What happened to you?” John asked.
“I tried to get out of the path of the herd and pretty well made it. I was still ahead of the leaders when I hit the stream bank and turned, letting them charge across. There were still stragglers but I dodged all of them—except one. It clipped me from behind. When I woke up I was face down in the mud.”
“But you kept your pack and gun!” Carrollee said, looking at Ripman.
“Of course,” Marion said. “There’s a ruin a half kilometer over there we might be able to shelter in,” he suggested.
Everyone liked the idea better than sleeping in the open again, and they followed Marion. The ruin turned out to be so overgrown it was nearly unrecognizable. The ancient structure was up against a hill, swallowed by an ancient landslide. Ripman still had his machete, and hacked away at vines, small trees, and overhanging limbs, exposing a few
standing walls. Finally, he found an opening, exploring it with a flashlight. Then he was back, carrying the body of a snake he had beheaded.
“What do you think?” John asked.
“We’re safer in there than near the herd—unless there’s an earthquake.”
They decided to risk the earthquake. They set up camp, which amounted to finding a comfortable place to lie down. The room they were in went back thirty feet, but they stayed near the opening. Ripman skinned and filleted the snake, and then created a half dozen shish kebobs, minus the vegetables. Ripman sprinkled them with something from a small plastic container he carried and then built a fire and roasted them. Carrollee was trying to force herself to eat another energy bar when Ripman offered her a stick with a half dozen pieces of skewered snake meat. Hating herself, she accepted.
The snake was spicy, with a slightly gamey taste, but palatable. Sliding off a second piece, she realized she was enjoying the fresh meat. Only Marion refused the snake. Jose took a loaded skewer but looked guilty. Now there was an extra skewer of meat, so Ripman offered it around and everyone took another piece. Full of warm, fresh meat, feeling safe in their human-made cave, and happy to be alive, they settled into a general sense of well-being. Only Jose was sad, grieving his friend’s death.
“Hey, Ripman,” Marion said. “Have you ever seen tyrannosaurs hunt like they did today?”
“Not with an ambush,” Ripman said, both arms behind his head, watching the sky. “I once saw four of them rip into a herd of zebrasaurs—those striped dinos with the crests.”
“Paralophosaurus,” Marion said.
“Yeah, that’s them. They angled in from opposite sides driving the zebrasaurs toward each other. Two zebrasaurs ran head on into each other. Knocked themselves out cold! The tyrannosaurs just snapped their necks and started eating. Yeah, coordinated hunting, but never an ambush.”
“I haven’t seen it either but ceratopsians are tough to hunt
in a herd. They like to circle up and put those big heads down. Even king rex can’t get past those horns and collars.”
“I’ve seen them do that,” Ripman said. “Getting them moving was a good way to get around that armored head problem. Hey, Marion, you ever see a T-rex take on a shunosaurus?”
“Never.”
“I did once and it was the funniest thing I ever saw. I don’t think this T-rex had ever seen one before and didn’t know what was coming.”
Ripman paused, realizing the others might not know the species.
“Shunosaurus is a four-legged herbivore. Looks something like an apatosaurus but a little smaller and with a thicker neck and a long tail. Apatosaurs use that tail like a whip but with a lot more stopping power. Shunosaurs have a whip tail but it has a club on the end.”
“Shunosaurs and tyrannosaurs didn’t range together before the time quilt,” Marion said. “That tyrannosaur had probably never hunted one before.”
Now Ripman was smiling, enjoying his story.
“Old Mr. T comes charging into the herd, which stampedes every which way. Mr. T is still coming when one of those shunosaurs does a pivot turn and whips that tail around. Mr. T is expecting it and angles his head around opening his jaws. I think he was going to try and clamp down on it like it’s an apatosaur tail. Well, the tail comes snapping around and that shunosaur conks Mr. T on the side of the head with that club.”
Ripman chuckled at the memory.
“Mr. T doesn’t go down, he just stops in his tracks, standing there with this surprised look on his face. His mouth hung open, his tongue was drooping out one side. He was so stunned it wouldn’t have surprised me if tweety birds started flying around his head.”
Everyone was smiling or laughing now.
“Then … then … I swear this is true … Mr. T shook his head making a noise like Curly from the Three Stooges and
then smacked himself on the side of his head with one of his tiny arms.”
“I’ve heard that sound!” Marion said excitedly. “It’s that nyuck, nyuck, nyuck sound.”
“Exactly,” Ripman said, and then mimicked it, sending everyone into convulsions. “The funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Carrollee, John, and Nikki exchanged surprised looks. The bulls had temporarily unlocked horns. Even Jose had enjoyed the story, briefly forgetting that morning’s tragedy.
The sun went down and still they sat at the mouth of the cave. They kept the fire going to discourage local and imported fauna, but sat outside, leaning against the ancient wall, waiting for the stars to come out—they never came. As the sun set, the moon rose, its face a smear of rainbow colors. As dark finished filling the forest, the sky shimmered with waves of red and green. The only stars were just above the skyline.
“What’s happening?” Nikki asked. “It wasn’t like this when we were here before.”
“It wasn’t like this yesterday,” Jose said.
“The radiation is ionizing the gas in the atmosphere,” Carrollee said. “But I’ve never seen it this intense. Maybe we better move inside.”
“Is it dangerous?” John asked.
“Probably not,” Carrollee said. “Probably.”
As of one mind, they retreated under cover, peeking out at the beautiful but disquieting sky. Suddenly there was a flash as bright as lightning and the sky cleared, the stars came back, the moon returned to the accustomed white.
“Any theories, Carrollee?” John asked.
Carrollee trained as a botanist, but had picked up significant knowledge of dinosauria, and even some understanding of basic astrophysics through her work with Emmett and the other physicists in the OSS. When Nick Paulson picked her for the expedition, it had been considered strictly a “look-see-report” mission. She was to photograph, observe, record, not explain electromagnetic phenomena.
“No, except that energy had to be discharged somewhere or in some time.”
“A lot of energy went somewhere,” John said. “I just hope no one was in its path.”