How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (26 page)

There was something different in this shot—something in Roosevelt’s eyes. Cherrie had seen hundreds of photographs of Theodore Roosevelt’s trophies over the years, but this seemed odd—Roosevelt appeared detached, almost indifferent to his prey; there was no puffed chest or wry smile.

George Cherrie rubbed his chin and looked up from his desk, catching his own reflection upon the picture window of his modest den. What he saw was a grey-haired old man who was quite humbled by the monumental task before him. Here was a man who is about to change the very course of history by shattering the legacy of one of the most enigmatic and beloved figures of all time, and all at President Roosevelt’s own bequest! And George Cherrie actually had Roosevelt’s explicit permission to do so in writing!

Cherrie stared through the window and into the dark wintry night as the winds whipped the snow into a howling gale against his clattering wooden shutters. Suddenly, he felt chill.

He felt a stirring in the deep recesses of his mind—a memory from half a lifetime ago, in a distant land where the afternoon sun scorched the earth and the humidity crushed men’s lungs and their will to persevere—sitting on a boulder overlooking a peaceful river with his new best friend, before any insurrections, murders, or before encountering any deadly beast. He with his cherubic face and trademark spectacles and toothy grin, raising his canteen in a spontaneous toast:
“George, it has certainly been a glorious life we’ve lived, don’t you think? You know I’ve often been accused of being born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I can hardy disagree with this assessment. And yet most men born with my advantages never strive to make a difference in this world, to make an imprint on society other than to foolishly squander their inheritance. I believe the purpose of life is to somehow make the world better for those that follow—whether that is to become President of the United States and broker peace between two countries and save millions of lives, or teach two young students to read out of a one room shack in western Nairobi.

“George, we are indeed most fortunate, and when that day comes when we stand before the gates of Heaven or Hell, who amongst the sainted or the damned can rightfully say they’ve formed friendships such as ours, breathed the air we have breathed, and have seen the sights we have seen.”

“George!” Stella’s familiar voice from the kitchen drew Cherrie back to the drafty farm house on a cold and blustery January night. “Dinner’s about ready.”

Cherrie thoughts turned to his lovely Stella, his children, and his precious grandchildren, and he smiled with unbounded delight. “I’ll be there in a minute, dear.”

“Don’t be too long or the stew will get cold!”

George Cherrie rose to his feet and gathered up Roosevelt’s letter and manuscript, along with his four photographs and negatives. He ambled over to the fireplace and tossed everything upon the flickering flames.

### END ###

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**********

Mark Paul Jacobs
lives in lovely Dauphin, Pennsylvania. He enjoys fishing the Canadian north, poker, and annoying his wife. He has authored two novels:
How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the last Mighty T-Rex
, a Historical Science Fiction tale set in 1914, and the hard science fiction novel:
The Yaakmen of Tyrie
, a powerful and mysterious tale of bravery, loss, perseverance, betrayal, and redemption
. He is also quite proud of his awe-inspiring short story:
The Day God Winked
and his chilling novelette with the provocative title:
The Watchers from within Moments Revealed,
an almost universally well reviewed work for which he has written a screenplay suitable for an ‘Outer Limits’ episode. These and several other works are available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Sony, and Smashwords.com.
How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the last Mighty T-Rex
and
The Yaakmen of Tyrie
is available in paperback via Createspace.com.
Mark is working on a movie screenplay tentatively called
Stain
which is a gritty murder conspiracy based in Central Pennsylvania
similar to the movie ‘Fargo’ or ‘Reservoir Dogs’
.
Please enjoy his works and don’t be afraid to tell him what you think on his Facebook page, twitter account, or by email. And lastly, please take the time to leave him a review of his work; it doesn’t have to be long or long-winded, but it does make him feel that his hard word has touched someone’s life in some way. You can leave a review wherever his books are available.

A few notes about my novel: The Yaakmen of Tyrie:
currently offered at Amazon (Kindle) and Smashwords.com. An epic adventure of monumental proportions; A heroic tale of perseverance, bravery, loss, betrayal, and redemption; A deep, jaw-dropping mystery that will keep you guessing until the very last pages. The Yaakmen of Tyrie is set on an alien world with a double moon, and where men’s lives span only ten or eleven long years. Quintar is a Yaakman— one in the latest generation of men and women who partner with the giant, hairy bipeds to connect remote settlements nestled in the mountainous regions surrounding the Great Confluence of Tyrie. But Quintar realizes his destiny only after he stumbles upon an odd object high in the mountains, and he dreams of the mythical Thrimara. Thrust suddenly into politics by the Supreme Yaakleader Carathis, a man whose stare could melt any man’s arrogance; and accompanied by the brooding Lenna, the proud fisherman Barrazan, the young apprentice Kristren and Kristren’s mentor Entya, the secretive trapper Ruppon, and the diminutive scholar Porrias, Quintar embarks on a harrowing journey into the unknown wilderness on a quest to unravel Tyrie’s greatest mystery.
Enjoy!
Download: The Yaakmen of Tyrie, Now!
Amazon (Kindle)
or at
Smashwords (all formats)

Following is an excerpt (Chapters 1-9, complete Part 1) from my 5 part novel
The Yaakmen of Tyrie
. Enjoy!

THE YAAKMEN OF TYRIE: PART 1: CONFLUENCE

CHAPTER
 
1 (The Yaakmen of Tyrie)

“
W
inter arrives early in the high regions,”
thought Quintar, recalling one of his mentor Carathis’s stern lectures, offered so many cycles ago during his youthful training, far away to the southeast below the Great River’s confluence.
“Many good Yaakriders have been lost venturing into the high mountains after the leaves of Payet lose their summer hues. Most are lured by plentiful game— fattened by winter’s approach— and quick profit.”

Quintar rubbed his eyes, ever haunted by the Supreme Yaakleader’s fierce glare and waving finger.
“But the experienced amongst our guild understand the danger of late season hunts; they know well that paths amid the peaks can narrow to little more than a Yaak’s breast, and howling blizzards can sweep from deceivingly peaceful skies.”

Beneath Quintar, the huge Yaak-beast shuddered.
“You must never forget, young Yaakrider, carelessness can bring swift death.”

Carathis’s image, swirling through Quintar’s weary mind, dissolved like a lake-fog struck by the rising sun’s warming rays. The Yaakman opened his eyelids slowly. Vast, snow-swept peaks towered before him, bathed in pale-red beneath Ellini’s crescent.

Quintar stroked his sweat-gnarled beard and brushed unkempt brown hair from broad shoulders. He inhaled deeply while searching the deepening sky for bright-yellow Alberon, and he shivered anticipating winter’s approach— lonely Thermegan skimming the western horizon following cycles of bitter cold and snow piled higher than a man’s shoulder or a Yaak’s knees. He pulled his battered overcoat close and his longbow tight.

Quintar felt the beast quake again. “Steady Shila,” he whispered soothingly, stretching his own cramped legs bound to a harness fastened to the Yaak’s hip. Beneath him, the Yaak-beast distributed her shaggy bulk over two powerful legs.

Without warning and to Quintar’s bewilderment, the great beast turned her hunched neck from the clearing, raising her over-sized head and aiming saucer eyes toward the distant slopes. Quintar huddled close to the Yaak’s mass. He could feel her drawing deep breaths into her massive lungs.

The Yaakmen studied the endless peaks upon which the Yaakbeast gazed— the great northern mountains disappeared beyond the clouds and Quintar’s familiarity. Shila thrust forth two strong arms— each the length of a man— flexing spindly fingers as if clawing some nameless and unseen foe.

Moments later, the huge biped turned leisurely back to the clearing. Quintar shook his head.
No man could ever understand a Yaak's thoughts
, he mused.

Quintar noticed three pig-creatures meandering near the forest’s edge. Glancing to Shila’s right, he located massive Anderro squatting several meters into the woods. Upon Anderro’s hip, Lenna pulled two arrows from his quiver. Quintar turned his eyes to Thimbar, crouching motionless near the forest’s opening below. Thimbar’s rider Enro returned Quintar’s glance with a fleeting nod.

Quintar drew his bow and released his arrow, striking a pig’s breast. Lenna’s arrow thumped the same yelping animal a heartbeat later. A net jumped from the meadow’s floor near Thimbar.

Shila and Anderro lumbered forward, flanking the zigzagging pigs. With surprising speed and agility, the Yaak herded the prey toward stationary Thimbar. Two pigs ran directly into the net— ensnared and thrashing— while the wounded creature skipped wide and raced from the clearing.

Quintar caught Lenna’s eye. With a sharp tug on Shila’s hair, Quintar urged the beast past Thimbar and into the woods.

Quintar held tight as Shila ambled through the forest drawing pig’s scent through flared nostrils. The ground sloped downward and the trees gave way to squat bushes. Shila plodded down a steep bank, slowed, and then finally halted.

Quintar took a deep breath and pushed aside the Yaak’s mane. He peered out over a mountain stream ravine, strewn with huge boulders and uprooted trunks. Quintar’s prey lay convulsing beneath Shila’s three-pronged toes.

Quintar pulled himself from his harness and hurriedly gutted the pig-creature. He tossed the entrails to gathering scavengers and secured the carcass to Shila’s side. He staggered to the stream’s edge, dipped his knife into the frigid water, and then glanced downstream.

A dull metallic surface caught the Yaakman’s eye.

He paused.
Is my mind playing tricks on me?

Quintar tossed icy water across his brow and brushed away the drops. He scanned the rocky riverbank again, spotting instantly the peculiar object buried amid roots at the stream’s edge. Instinctively, Quintar gazed upward and upon the barren cliffs overlooking the vale. The Yaakman pondered for a moment before shaking his head.

Quintar trudged downward along the stream’s edge, ducking beneath tangled branches and pushing aside thick grassy reeds. Eventually, he stood before the clump. He reached out and guardedly stroked the object’s smooth surface, marveling at its flawless texture and wondering of its makers and its purpose. Quintar clutched some roots and pulled himself atop the knotted mess.

He froze— a mesh of smashed compartments and jagged metal beams lay before him.

Quintar lowered himself into the root-clogged jumble. He noticed a single undamaged compartment, about man-height, with dirt-caked walls and what appeared to be a circular entryway at waist level. He ran his hands across the entrance and then brushed green moss from a latch at the gateway’s center. Quintar rubbed his hairy chin. He grasped the handle firmly and turned. The door popped open, filling the Yaakman’s nostrils with a moldy stench. He crawled inside.

Quintar’s eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. In the shadows, he saw two unclothed human skeletons strapped to cushioned seats by the neck and waist. Metallic bracelets bound the skeleton's ankles and hands.

He paused.

Quintar pulled himself from the chamber and back atop the root-clump. He noticed Shila wandering along the rocky shallows. He leaped from the clump and hurriedly climbed into her harness. Without urging, Shila set off trampling through the reeds and up the riverbank. Quintar never looked back.

Shila plodded back to the meadow where they’d begun their chase. Quintar noticed small, green furry rodents scurrying over the entrails of Lenna and Enro’s prey and winged scavengers lurking in the shadowy trees above Anderro and Thimbar. Below the stoic beasts, Enro and Lenna gathered their weapons.

Lenna grinned broadly. “Quintar, have you ever seen such Chakra? Just another quarter cycle and—”

“Daylight burns quickly,” Quintar interrupted. “And Alberon rises late tonight.” Quintar caught Enro’s steely gaze. “At sunrise, we return to Tyrie.”