(Larry)
So, I crapped my pants, but even I’m not sure if that was literally or figuratively, as I’d been mucking about in a sewer all day, so it was pretty hard to tell where things began or ended. The one thing that was for sure was that there were more damned talking dinosaurs in my life.
We were pretty much surrounded by these demented turkey looking things that, I guess, are what velociraptors actually look like. Feathers on them, too. And they were giggling like a chorus of kindergartners juiced up on pixie sticks on Halloween.
In the end, it’s the sounds the dinosaurs make that really gets me. And the fact that they talk. And that the big one, way bigger than the velociraptors, but not as big as the allosaur that wasted Agent Hastings back in San Diego. Anyway, this big one was wearing a red and white striped sweater and aviator glasses like he was trying to pull of his best Tom Cruise dressed as Where’s Waldo impression. I mean, I might as well be looking at one of those Cthulhus that the weird kid in my high school English class was always talking about. I mean, screw that kid. This right here, a 9 foot utahsaurus in a Hannah Anderson sweater, that is the most unspeakable of unspeakable horrors I could imagine.
Which is why my pants were thoroughly greased inside and out.
Apparently Queequeg owed this dinosaur’s boss some money, which was a whole other level of mind-eff for me. Are these, like, mobster dinosaurs or something?
I was out of my depth and pretty sure I was going to die. I mean, I’d seen a lot of crazy stuff since I’d started time traveling with Ishmael. But, I always had Ishmael there to watch my back. Plus, at the beginning, I was pretty wasted and didn’t really know what was going on.
But now, at this point, befouled and cowering in the snow with a crotchety old fart who, let’s face it, probably could give a shit and a half about my sorry ass, I was pretty sure I was going to be eaten by several dinosaurs.
And then the big one started talking again, in a voice that sounded like some kind of industrial machinery trying to make love to a school bus:
“What makes you think your privileged timeline has any bearing on me whatsoever?” it said.
“Well,” said Queequeg. “You’re welcome to try your worst. I’m just not very confident it will turn out the way you’re planning.”
The old mad was bluffing. I’m pretty sure. I have no idea what this ‘privileged timeline’ b.s. is, but I’m pretty sure it’s b.s.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the dinosaur. “Horkachorge wants you alive. He’s just not particular on whether you still have all your limbs attached when I deliver you.”
“And what about the kid?” Queequeg asked.
“We could eat him,” said the utahsaurus. Then the dinosaur turned his creepy, Tom Cruise aviator shades toward me and asked, “but have you smelled yourself, lately? What you’ve been marinating in is not very appetizing, to say the least.”
“Um, thanks,” I said.
The little, creepy velociraptors started laughing again, and a bunch of them pelted me with snowballs. Not only are they creepy as all hell, they’re total a-holes.
“So,” said Queequeg, “what say you turn the little stinkpot loose, and I’ll go with you quietly.”
Even I wasn’t buying that line. All the dinosaurs started laughing, and I kind of joined them.
Then there was this other noise, kind of like a kid pretending to be a racecar. It’s not the kind of noise I should have been able to hear, but it was really loud, like the kid was really, really into pretending to be a racecar. And then I saw what was making it.
It was that Cooper guy, running hell for leather away from the main part of the ruins of the K-Mart the town was built in. He was headed straight for us in this loping, wild man gait that somehow kept him from getting bogged down in the snow. I think we were all kind of like, ‘what the eff is this guy doing?’
It was almost like he was running as though he couldn’t see us, because, there he was, making his rrrreeeeeeeoowwwwnnn racecar noise and making straight for the bulk of the dinosaurs, straight for the big guy. Obviously the guy had no idea what he was looking at. Or maybe he just didn’t care.
“What the eff is this guy doing?” I said, because somebody had to.
And what Cooper did was, in three strides, he hopped up, on top of, and over the utahsaurus with the sweater. And then he bolted into the woods behind it.
And that was the moment. The heads of every one of those mother flipping dinosaurs, even the big one, turned to watch him in a kind of stunned surprise.
That’s when grampy Queequeg dislocated my shoulder as he dragged me out of the snow. Yeah, it hurt, but I knew it was our only moment and we had only one possible plan: run like hell for Hannie’s Hostel.
Running like hell was easier said than done, as we had to aim our feet for the tracks in the snow we’d made earlier. Those were walking strides, not running strides. Now it was like running for your life through one of those stupid obstacle courses with all the tires laid out on the ground. Only the tires are made of ice.
Luckily, the big dinosaur had a worse time of it than we did. His body was even less adapted for a cold weather climate. He stepped gingerly through the snow as every forward movement brought his abdomen right up against the wet, cold, unpleasantness. It explained the sweater, though.
The little velociraptors, on the other hand, were light enough to stay on top of the snow. They skittered across the post-apocalyptic frozen parking lot like turkeys from hell.
I could see Hannie’s. We were getting closer, but I was seriously doubting whether I’d be able to get in the door before those laughing little bastards took me down like a diseased caribou.
Then I heard the racecar noise again. And the barking of dogs.
Coming along side us were Cooper and a pack of the rangiest looking mutts I’d ever seen. Not an AKC pedigree worth noting in the bunch. If anything, they looked like light-weight hyenas, but they weren’t laughing.
The little velociraptors weren’t laughing either.
The dogs started tearing into those creepy effing dinosaurs like I was having a Jack London induced fever dream. The snow was covered in barking, blood, and feathers. My ears were ringing with Cooper’s racecar rrrreeeeeeeoowwwwnnn. And the tide was definitely turning.
The weird thing was I don’t think the dogs were even there to help us out. When we got to the door of Hannie’s, I turned around to see that Cooper and his pack of wild hounds were heading toward the main building of Wal, leaving the twitching, crumpled bodies of the velociraptors where they’d fallen.
“How the hell did that work out?” I asked.
“Privileged timeline,” said Queequeg as he pushed open the door.
“You Fugits and your privileged timeline,” said a voice from inside. A familiar voice. A voice that I had only ever heard in a sort of superior and annoyed tone. Pretty much the same tone it had right now. But I was surprised to hear it.
“Hastings,” I said. “I thought you were dinosaur chow.”
“And I thought you were being babysat by the other Fugit,” said Hastings.
“Ishmael? Where is he, anyway?” I said.
“Not in the same room with Queequeg,” said Hastings. “In fact, he’s not even supposed to be in the same chronopoint. We’re looking at a serious paradox potential here.”
“Cool your shorts, Hastings,” said Queequeg. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think you do,” said Hastings.
About this point, I noticed there was something else in the room lurking behind Hastings, blending into the shadows. It was person shaped, but smaller, kind of monkey sized. Before I got a really good look, it jumped up into the rafters.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll admit there’s a lot of shit I don’t understand, but what the eff is that thing?”
Everyone turned around and looked, but none of them had an answer. Whatever the little guy was, it seemed to be pointing a ninja sword at me. What a day.