Dinosaur Thunder (8 page)

“This is interesting,” Dr. Gah said, leaning close, separating chunks from goo. After opening a drawer, Dr. Gah pulled out a pair of large tweezers. He dug into the goo and pulled out a small chunk. “This is a little piece of hollow bone. Do you know what has hollow bones?”

“Birds,” Wynooski said confidently. “Those bastards are fast enough to snatch a hawk right out of the air.”

“This isn’t a bird bone,” Dr. Gah said.

“Pterosaur,” Nick said. “That’s impossible.”

“Can’t be a pterosaur,” Wynooski said. “Must be a bird. The only two pterosaur colonies on this continent are south of the border—way south. You can’t eat something you can’t get to. It has to be a bird bone.”

“Ranger, for the first twenty years of my professional life, all we knew about the Dinosauria came from fossilized bones. Often, chunks this size were all we had to work with. Trust me, this is a pterosaur bone.”

Nick stood close, looking at the bone through his bifocals. Well outside his expertise, all he could tell was that it was hollow.

“Looks like some skin too,” Dr. Gah said. “I’ll send it to Washington to confirm, but eighty will get you only twenty that this membrane covered a wing.”

“Where would these two get a pterosaur wing?” Wynooski asked. “KFC? Someone is playing a joke on you two.”

“Untagged carnivores with pterosaur in their stomachs,” Dr. Gah said, still poking in the intestine goo. “Velociraptors haven’t eaten like that for sixty-five million years.”

“You scientists just have to make everything so damn complicated,” Wynooski complained. “The same yuppies that owned these velociraptors probably owned a pterosaur. When these velocies broke out of their pen, they had a little pterosaur snack before hitting the road. And that’s the name of that tune.”

“Look at this,” Gah said, digging something out of the stomach goo. After picking it up with tweezers, he dropped it in a pan of water, swished it around, and then dried it off with a paper towel. Tossed in an empty stainless-steel bowl, it rattled like a rock. Before Gah could pass it to Dr. Paulson, Wynooski reached in and picked it up.

“Looks like plastic,” Wynooski said. “Funny-looking stuff.”

“It was in the stomach with the pterosaur,” Gah said.

Dr. Paulson stepped over, looking into Wynooski’s palm. “Drop that!” Paulson said, slapping her wrist.

“What the hell?” Wynooski said, the black bit falling to the floor.

Paulson picked the material up with tweezers and dropped it back in the bowl.

“Sorry, Carmen, but if this is what I think it is, you shouldn’t handle it,” Nick said.

Nick looked at the material, finding it hard to focus on. If this was the same material as on the moon, what was it doing in the stomach of a velociraptor with the remains of a pterosaur?

“Here’s another piece,” Gah said, still rooting around in the stomach contents. “That pterosaur might have had it in its gizzard.”

“I want to meet the man who brought these in, and I want to meet him now,” Nick said.

9

Brood

Observation of dinosaurs in the Houston Preserve confirmed that velociraptors lay their eggs in a spiral cluster, in a dug-out nest, and then cover the eggs with vegetation to keep the eggs warm. The velociraptors then guard the nest, night and day.

—
Dinosaur Facts,
Houston Preserve Brochure

Present Time
Near Hillsdale, Florida

“No, no, get back in there,” Jeanette said, catching another chick tumbling down the pile of straw.

The straw pile was alive now with wriggling blue-skinned velociraptor chicks, kicking and flailing, trying to climb up out of the straw. With long whiplike tails, thin legs, and large heads, the chicks had trouble balancing, the straw giving way beneath them, or their heavy heads pulling them nose down. Tails and head high, the chicks kept trying to stand over and over.

Jeanette repeatedly covered them with straw, trying to keep them hidden, but the chicks would not cooperate. Making a hoarse mewing sound, they made so much noise, hiding them did no good anyway. Another chick slipped through the straw, sliding to the wood floor. Sally sniffed it, the chick continuing to mew, its beak open wide. Jeanette cupped it in two hands and put it back in the pile.

“This isn’t working,” Jeanette said.

Sally whined softly.

“Watch them, Sally,” Jeanette said.

Stepping outside, Jeanette saw the sun coming up. It was dawn, and Carson had not returned.

“Carson, you owe me,” Jeanette said.

Jeanette hurried to the house and got an old Mexican blanket: green plaid with fringe. It was Carson’s, brought back from a trip to Matamoros. Jeanette had always hated the blanket. She took two old towels—the only kind Carson had—and returned to the barn. Sally was faithfully standing watch, her nose nearly touching one of the chicks.

Working the blanket under the chicks, Jeanette created a high-sided nest; she pulled chicks from the straw and put them in the blanket-lined nest. The blanket made a solid floor, and the chicks stayed put now but made even more noise. Piece by piece, Jeanette pulled the eggshells from the straw. All seven had hatched.

“Now what?” Jeanette said, the jaws of all seven mewing chicks open wide and pointed at her.

Sally whimpered, nuzzling Jeanette’s hand.

Jeanette scratched the dog’s ears. “You want breakfast, don’t you?”

At the word “breakfast,” Sally barked. Instantly, the chicks stopped mewing and all of them lay flat, eyes open, bodies motionless.

“Don’t be scared,” Jeanette said, reassuring the ugly brood. “Sally won’t hurt you.”

Slowly the chicks stirred, looking around.

“It’s okay,” Jeanette said, putting some cheer in her voice.

As if one, the chicks popped up and began mewing again.

“Stand guard,” Jeanette ordered Sally.

Sally whined, as tired of the chicks as Jeanette was. Upon returning to the house, Jeanette went to the back porch, where they kept Sally’s Purina Dog Chow. Built against the back wall of the house were shelves they used as a pantry. There were two cans of Alpo Prime Cuts on the shelf: one beef flavor, one chicken. Jeanette read the label. The first ingredient on the chicken Alpo can was water. There were also “poultry by-products.” Carson was too cheap to buy Alpo for Sally regularly, but treated her to a can now and then. Sally loved it. Would velociraptor chicks?

Taking the two cans, Sally’s bowl, a can opener, and a spoon, Jeanette went back to the barn. Sally was still on guard, but trotted over when she saw the bowl. The chicks erupted in loud mewing when they saw Jeanette. Ignoring them, Jeanette opened the can of beef Alpo and dumped it into Sally’s bowl. Sally’s nose was in the bowl before Jeanette had it on the ground. With Sally gobbling her breakfast, Jeanette opened the can of chicken Alpo.

Sniffing the contents, Jeanette turned up her nose. There was nothing chickenlike in the smell coming from the can. Whatever the smell, the chicks went wild, heads back, jaws open, mewing in their deep coarse way.

“Patience, you little brats,” Jeanette said, scooping out a chunk.

The pieces were slimy and square. After tearing off a small chunk, Jeanette dropped it in an open mouth. With an audible series of snaps, the Alpo disappeared down a gullet, and the jaws came open again. Jeanette worked systematically, feeding small chunks to the chicks, trying to give each an equal amount. The chicks never stopped mewing between mouthfuls, but when the Alpo was gone, they settled down, mewing only occasionally. Finally, two flopped down, one with its head on the neck of the other. Jeanette noticed the chicks were pinkish now.

Her bowl licked clean, Sally sprawled in spilled straw, half asleep.

“You watch them,” Jeanette said. “I have to run to the store.”

Sally whimpered an objection but was too tired to get up.

Taking Carson’s pickup truck, Jeanette drove past the house the police had raided. The front door was open. Jeanette made a mental note to walk over and close the door later. Right now, she had to get to the store and buy a case of Alpo.

10

Feast

When dinosaurs came to the present, we were finally able to answer the question that many of us have been asking since the beginning of recorded history. Dinosaurs taste like a gamey emu.

—Chef/owner, Dinosaur Café

Unknown Time
Neverland

The smell of barbecuing hadrosaur meat was intoxicating, putting the semi-starved Community in a party mood. Skinny children chased one another, roughhousing in ways they could not get away with on any other day. Too busy and too distracted, their parents ignored the misbehavior. Fragrant smoke rose from three pits where enough meat roasted to feed the entire Community. The pits were just outside the former Home Depot that served as the human fort. Pickets watched from the top of the earthen berm bordering the compound. The setting sun silhouetted guards on the berms, rifles on their hips or across shoulders providing a sense of security. On the other side of the berm, one hundred yards of cleared forest served as a killing field. Each day, older children armed with machetes patrolled the field, hacking and chopping the vegetation back, a never-ending war with nature.

Torches were lit as the shadows deepened. Mothers with children slung on their backs prepared bowls of roasted corn, potatoes, and yams taken from dwindling supplies. It was an extravagant meal, but few grumbled and none grumbled out loud. The reverend declared there would be a feast, so there would be a feast. At least in this, Jacob agreed with the reverend. There was little enough to celebrate in the dwindling Community.

Despite the rambunctious children, sprinkling of babies, and pregnant women, the Community was dying. Child mortality was high, one out of six women died in childbirth, and the hard work of farming and hunting made the men old beyond their years. The few humans who had lived to be old women and men helped as best they could, setting up tables, benches, and chairs, some too infirm even to do this much. Still, there were smiles all around this day, because today there was plenty.

The successful hunters would sit with Reverend at a special table facing the rest of the Community. Normally, the places on his left and right were reserved for his four wives, but today the wives shifted along the side tables to make room for the hunters. Despite having four wives, Reverend had no children of his own, but his wives, all widows, had ten children that he called his own.

Jacob carried chairs to the front, taking them from inside the former Home Depot, his wife, Leah, carrying another. Their two girls tagged along, one hanging on to Leah’s apron, the other skipping ahead. Beatrice was six, and Bonnie three. Bea had her mother’s curly brown hair, Bonnie taking after her father with straight hair so dark brown, it was almost black. Bea had her mother’s delicate features, with a petite nose and a small mouth. It was early for Bonnie, but she might have been unlucky enough to get Jacob’s large nose. Both girls wore their best clothes; sky blue dresses that hung below their knees. Leah fashioned the dresses from cloth she found in the ruins of the city. With the help of Grandma Reilly, Leah sewed her first dresses, giving them to the girls for Christmas. Few in the Community knew anything about sewing, so Grandma Reilly was passing the skill down so that it would not be lost when she died. Leah was her best student and had also crafted the loose dress that she wore under her apron. Made from kitchen curtains that Jacob found in a collapsed house, the light yellow dress with blue cornflowers was the envy of the other women in the sewing classes.

“What’s wrong?” Leah asked as they put the chairs down and turned to go back for another load.

“What?” Jacob asked, pretending to look cheerful.

“I can tell something’s not right,” Leah said.

Husbands could seldom hide things from wives, and Leah was especially sensitive to guilty indicators—averted gazes, forced smiles, avoidance of topics.

“No one was hurt or killed, and you came back with enough meat to stretch our supplies until the herds come back,” Leah said.

Six inches shorter than Jacob, Leah looked up at him, concern in her piercing blue eyes. Naturally curly brown hair hung to her shoulders, tied in back to keep it out of her eyes. Hard work countered some of the effects of childbirth on her body, so she was lean, having only a modicum of the middle age spread that came to women nearing forty. Tropical sun and heat leathered everyone despite wearing broad-brimmed hats. Deeply tanned, her face creased with smile lines, Leah studied him with genuine concern.

“Do you know what kind of meat that is?” Jacob asked.

“I didn’t get a good look,” Leah said.

“It’s hadrosaur,” Jacob said.

“Hadrosaur? Duck-bills?”

Saying nothing, Jacob let Leah work it out.

“Oh, no!” Leah said. “You stole meat from the Inhumans?”

“Rustled it right out of their canyon,” Jacob said. “I couldn’t talk Willy and Mel out of it. Believe me, I tried. The rest went along with the Williams brothers just like they do the reverend.”

Glancing sideways, Leah checked to see if anyone was close enough to hear. Then she looked at Bonnie, who still clung to her apron. Two boys crawling on all fours under a table, knocking over chairs, absorbed her. Bea skipped ahead, almost back to the entrance to their fort.

“But everyone came back,” Leah said, confused.

“We got away before they knew we were there, but I’m pretty sure one of them spotted us. Not that it matters. As far as they know, we’re the only ones on the whole damn planet besides them.”

“They’ll do something,” Leah said, biting her lower lip.

“Yeah,” Jacob said, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

Leah slipped an arm around his waist, leaning into him.

“Keep the girls close for the next few days,” Jacob said. “Stay in the fort as much as you can.”

“It’s too hot,” Leah said.

It was a complaint, not disagreement.

Reverend called everyone to dinner using the bell. Rescued from the ruins of a Catholic church, the bell had been scorched by one of the many fires that destroyed the city, but the brass bell polished up well. Mounted with a yoke and pillars, the bell could be turned with a big wheel mounted on one side. The bell rang for Sunday and Wednesday services, special events, and for emergencies. Generally, Jacob hated the sound of the bell, since the most common purpose was summoning the Community to church. A lifelong agnostic, Jacob participated in church for two reasons. First, because it was the only way to stay in the Community, and second because Leah was a true believer and Jacob loved Leah. Sitting in church, looking around during Reverend’s long-winded prayers, Jacob caught the eye of many other skeptics, all just as cowed by the reverend as Jacob. If the Community were a democracy, the reverend might get voted out of office, but no one even dared hint of dissatisfaction. Banishment was the reverend’s favorite punishment, and once cut off from the Community, there was no chance of surviving.