Dinosaur Thunder (13 page)

“Funny,” Crazy Kramer said.

Then a tyrannosaur hit the trees the strangers had run between, bending but not breaking them. Jacob knew this tyrannosaur and the pack it ran with. It was small by tyrannosaur standards, but particularly tenacious. The tyrannosaur screeched angrily, then backed up, looking for a way around. Now on their feet, the humans were moving again, but more slowly, the small man limping, helped along by the younger man. Exhausted, and too slow to outrun even a small tyrannosaur, they were doomed. Frustrated, the tyrannosaur bulldozed between the trees, getting back on their trail. Now only steps ahead, the strangers had a minute to live.

Jacob stepped out of hiding, lifted the rifle, aimed carefully, and shot the tyrannosaur in the neck. Reflexively, the tyrannosaur jerked its head, snapping in Jacob’s direction, stopping his forward motion. Jacob waved one arm, shouting.

“All right,” Crazy said, stepping from his hiding place. “What’s the plan?”

“Distract him,” Jacob said.

“All right. Bring it on,” Crazy said, shaking his machete.

Momentarily confused with prey in two directions, the tyrannosaur paused, screeching at both. Jacob saw blood streaming from its neck, but doubted it was a killing wound. Stopping a tyrannosaur with a single round from a .30-06 would be like stopping a dump truck with a BB gun. With the tyrannosaur distracted, the strangers crawled into hiding. Jacob continued to shout and wave, Crazy Kramer even louder, and with only one set of prey in sight, the tyrannosaur made its decision. With powerful long strides, the tyrannosaur was nearly on them before Jacob and Crazy could run. Dodging around trees, rocks, and anything that would slow the tyrannosaur, they ran pell-mell through the forest. Persistent, the tyrannosaur continued pursuit, even though the humans would be little more than a snack. Tiring, Jacob was ready to use his last bullet, hoping for a lucky killing shot, but then they broke into a clearing where a small herd of ankylosaurs grazed. Heads up, already alert, they stampeded when the humans and the tyrannosaur burst from the forest. Jacob and Crazy veered back into the forest, leaving the ankylosaurs to deal with the tyrannosaur. As the two men were turning back the way they had come, the sounds of the resulting fight slowly faded until the forest was silent again.

They found the strangers near where they had left them, the old man sitting, leg up, one shoe off, rubbing a swollen ankle. The fat woman knelt next to him, loosening the ties on his shoe. The younger man and the middle-aged man stood, facing them, both watching Crazy warily.

“He’s harmless,” Jacob said, jerking his head toward Crazy. “Who are you?”

“Nick Paulson,” the middle-aged man said.

“Never mind that,” the younger man said. “Who the hell are you, and how do we get out of this nightmare?”

“Get out?” Jacob said. “There is no way out.”

16

John Roberts

I lost a friend to the Time Quilt, and that’s probably why I work for the OSS. My friend Cubby was killed when President McIntyre ordered the nuclear strike on the Portland Time Quilt. McIntyre’s “hair of the dog” treatment did nothing more than cost me a friend.

—John Roberts, OSS, Director of Field Operations, quoted in the
Washington Times
series, “Remember When ‘When’ Meant Something?”

Present Time
Hillsdale, Florida

With Fanny Mills hanging on one arm, and her husband on his other side, John Roberts walked to the barn where Nick Paulson had supposedly disappeared. Marines still guarded the site, not knowing what else to do. John flashed his ID at everyone who gave him a questioning look. Dressed in jeans and a yellow polo shirt, John looked like a civilian who’d wandered in off the street. Instead, he was the director of Field Operations for the Office of Security Science.

John was enjoying Fanny’s attention, glad that Rosa could not see him. John and Rosa had met on a mission for the OSS that nearly killed both of them. Being chased by a tyrannosaur, nearly killed in a nuclear explosion, and escaping from Mayan Indians with human sacrifice on their mind had a way of bringing people together. Rosa and John married two months after helping to stop terrorists bent on ripping the time line to shreds. With Rosa’s first pregnancy, she requested a reassignment from Area 51, where she piloted black bag aircraft like the Aurora spaceplane. At the end of her enlistment period, Rosa resigned, and now flew commercial, with Washington, D.C., as her home base. With two children at home, and parents who both traveled for a living, the Robertses managed to mesh schedules well enough so one parent was home most of the time. While the arrangement did interfere with their love life, it made being together all the sweeter. So, feeling a bit of guilt at Fanny’s touch, John gently disengaged as they approached the marines guarding the barn.

“This is as far as you can go,” John said, pulling free.

“It’s our barn,” Fanny said, pouting a little.

“I know,” John said. “But until we find out what happened to our missing people, we need to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

“We understand,” Marty said, putting his arm around his wife. “Fanny just isn’t used to having this many people around without a party erupting.”

“When we get this settled, I’ll bring my wife over to meet you,” John said.

“Just tell me how you like your steaks,” Marty said, smiling.

“Wine or margaritas?” Fanny asked.

“Margaritas,” Marty said. “My wife’s name is Rosa.”

“Excellent,” Marty said.

Marty and Fanny seemed so genuine that John made a mental note to talk to Rosa about meeting the Millses. She would like them.

“This way, sir,” Lieutenant Weller said.

Weller walked John to a dilapidated barn, bent, and entered through a hole in the wall. Inside, work lights had been strung, extension cords running everywhere. The lieutenant walked to two powerful work lights on stands, and turned them on. The lights illuminated a portion of the collapsed wall.

“They crawled in there,” Lieutenant Weller said, squatting and pointing.

John squatted too, seeing nothing but collapsed boards and a dark crevice. “There’s no place to go,” John said.

“Yes, sir, but that’s where they went,” Lieutenant Weller said. “There is one strange thing. Notice the light?”

John looked again, slowly realizing that work lights should penetrate farther than they did. Without speaking, Lieutenant Weller passed John a flashlight. John pointed it in the opening, but the dark crevice did not get any brighter.

“Weird,” John said.

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said.

John got up, searching the barn until he found a loose board. Using it as a probe, he poked in the opening. The farther he pushed, the more resistance he felt, but he never hit anything solid.

“Anything on the outside?” John asked.

“Nothing,” the lieutenant said. “We even dug down six feet.”

Other marines drifted closer, listening.

“Ever seen anything like this?” the marine asked.

“Not exactly,” John said evasively.

John wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but he had once entered a pyramid in the Yucatán and popped out on the moon. After that, nothing would surprise him.

“Have you got a rope?” John asked.

“You gonna try crawling in?” Lieutenant Weller asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s been done. I tried it myself.”

“I still have to try,” John said.

A marine brought a coil of nylon rope and a climbing harness, helping John in and cinching it tight. Then a marine attached the rope with a carabiner to a ring on the back of the harness.

“You’re good to go,” the marine said, slapping him on the shoulder.

With two marines feeding the rope, John got down on all fours and crawled into the opening. Moving slowly, John paused every few inches, looking and listening. He heard nothing and saw nothing except a fuzzy darkness. A few more inches, and he felt resistance. Reaching out, John found he could barely extend his arm in front of him. It was like pushing his arm through Jell-O. Pushing hard now, John found he could not move even though he had not reached anything solid. Feeling a slight fluttering sensation in his stomach, John recognized it from his previous time-traveling experiences. Suddenly, he was jerked backwards and dragged out by his harness.

“Sir, sir? Are you all right? Can you hear me?” Lieutenant Weller was shouting at John.

“What?” John said stupidly. “Yes, of course I am all right. Why did you pull me out?”

“You weren’t responding. We left you in as long as we dared.”

“How long was I in there?”

“Thirty minutes,” Lieutenant Weller said.

“What time is it?” John asked.

“Four twenty-five,” Lieutenant Weller said.

John looked at his watch. By his watch, it wasn’t even four yet.

“What’s going on?” Lieutenant Weller asked.

“I don’t know,” John said honestly.

Looking at the faces of the marines, John knew they needed more from him than an “I don’t know.”

“There’s a tunnel there, but for some reason, only some people can pass through it. Until I can figure out how to get through the tunnel, we can’t go after Dr. Paulson and the others.”

Appreciating the honesty, the marines nodded with respect. Taking off the harness, John looked back at the opening. Four people made it through that tunnel. Why could they, but not John? Like John, Nick Paulson had been through time to the past and the future, but the other three people with Dr. Paulson had not, thus eliminating one possibility. However, all four of them had examined a potential Visitor. John decided it was time to look at the Visitors since they were the only common denominator. Then the ground began to shake.

Everyone froze, ready to run if the earthquake threatened to bring the old barn down. The structure creaked, and dust and hay fell from the ceiling and the loft. Then the earthquake was over. Others relaxed, but John stood still, his mind racing. As one of the few people on the planet who had experienced the full ramifications of the Time Quilt, he suspected the earthquakes, the mysterious time-bending tunnel, and Dr. Paulson’s disappearance were connected. But how?

Leaving the barn, John took out his cell phone and started to call Elizabeth Hawthorne, but then stopped. What would he tell her that she did not already know? Nick had crawled into a passage that was now gone, or impassable, and might never be passable again. Until it was, Nick could not get back, and John could not go after him. Eventually, John called Elizabeth, even though he had no understanding of what was going on or how to stop it.

17

Patrol

The horse must rank high as one of man’s best friends. They provided transport for us for hundreds of years. They are also rather beautiful animals with a sense of humor. Fortunes have been made and lost on horses and some have become legends, such as that earthy little fighter Seabiscuit. In times of war, a man and horse together became the cavalry.

—Animal Kingdom

Present Time
Orlando, Florida

As a girl, Kris Conyers had been a tomboy, hunting and fishing with her father and brothers, the dresses that her mother insisted on buying gathering dust in her closet. Kris could tie a fly but not braid her own hair. She could adjust the air–fuel mixture on an outboard by ear, but could not remember if it was baking soda or baking powder that went into cookie dough—not that she made cookies. Now grown up, Kris was still a tomboy, with her hair cut short so she did not have to worry about braiding it or fixing it in any way except brushing it. More important, short hair fit better into her helmet. Kris Conyers was a member of the Orlando Mounted Patrol.

Kris had followed her father into the Orlando Police force, making a slight detour. Six months ago, Kris earned one of the rare openings on the Mounted Patrol. One of only eight mounted officers, Kris loved the duty, quickly bonding with her mount, a Thoroughbred bay named Torino. A former racehorse, Torino had been donated to the unit when the owners could not find a buyer. Too slow to earn his keep on the track, and a gelding so he was useless as a stud, Torino got his second chance with the Mounted Patrol. Torino’s personality made him a natural for police work. In simulations, Torino quickly learned to stay calm when guns were fired, when he was hit with objects, and when sprayed with liquid. Most important, when faced with screaming, angry people, Torino kept his head, taking guidance from his rider.

Today, Kris and Torino were working a rock concert. The Orlando police were present in a show of force to head off potential problems. Orlando was the fifth tour stop for Bust-a-Cap, Twisted Gerbil, and Poppa’s Kum. Hundreds of groupies followed the bands on the tour, cleaning out local food banks like locusts do a cornfield, camping under overpasses, and urinating and defecating where convenient. Worse, these particular groups attracted gangs, and Kris had already seen tats for the Jamaican Posse, MS-13, and most worrisome, Jacksonville City Boys. Not that the Jacksonville City Boys were any worse than local gangs, but gangs were as territorial as alligators. You could not encroach on a gang’s territory and not expect to get bit.

For the concert duty, Morgan Nara partnered with Kris, riding a big filly named Tess. A hand taller than Torino, Tess was tall, thick-chested, and kid-tested. The only filly in the police stable, Tess nevertheless ruled, using her size to intimidate the geldings. Like his mount, Nara was big. A result of his Samoan, Japanese, and Irish mix, Nara’s size was half the battle with most pimps, dealers, abusers, thieves, drunks, and thugs. Only gangbangers took Nara’s size as a challenge. The Asian and Hispanic gangbangers were generally smaller men, and always had more to prove, seeing Nara much the same way Sir Edmund Hillary looked at Everest—he just had to take it on. Kris had more luck confronting gangbangers, but often ran into machismo issues, the fragile egos of the males easily pricked. However, Kris was getting good at male ego management, and mothered them, taking the “bitch,” “cunt,” and “dyke” references without reaction, all the while giving them firm, clear direction with just enough wiggle room for face saving. If Kris had a dollar for every middle finger she had seen, she could retire, buy Torino and a ranch, and ride off into the sunset.