Dinosaur Thunder (9 page)

Taking a seat as far from the reverend as possible, Jacob waved at his girls, who beamed with pride that their daddy was sitting at the head table. Rising to his feet, the reverend did not need to ask for quiet. As though of one mind, the crowd quieted, only the few infants gurgling or whimpering. Church-trained, even the preschool children knew to be silent.

“God has blessed us,” Reverend said.

“Amen,” responded the crowd.

Jacob knew what was coming. Reverend was nothing if not predictable.

“I said, God has blessed us!” Reverend repeated.

“Amen,” the crowd said with more enthusiasm.

“We can do better than that,” Reverend said.
“God has blessed us!”
Reverend thundered.

“Amen!”
the crowd shouted, some jumping to their feet.

“Wow!” Reverend said, patting his chest. “That nearly knocked me off my feet.”

A few people chuckled.

“We are a thankful people, aren’t we?” Reverend roared.

“Amen!” people shouted in affirmation.

“But we are a forgetful people,” Reverend came back. “We are thankful now because we have plenty, but just yesterday some of you were doubting God. Weren’t you? Don’t deny it, you know who you are!”

Reverend slowly looked over the Community, most people avoiding eye contact. Reverend was all-powerful in the Community, doling out rations and supplies, deciding disputes, even approving or disapproving marriages. With a core of fanatic supporters, the reverend exercised total control.

“But that’s okay,” Reverend continued. “God forgives your doubt. God expects your doubt. God tolerates your doubt, but don’t think for a second that God is happy with a bunch of backsliding doubters that forget about God’s many mercies the first time they have an empty belly.”

Jacob squirmed, knowing it had been weeks of empty bellies. Jacob also knew what the reverend would spew next.

“But I did not doubt. Did I?”

“No, Reverend,” a few mumbled.

“I said, I did not doubt, did I?” the reverend thundered.

“No, Reverend,” came the loud response.

“That’s right. I am steadfast in my trust of God the almighty. God the father. God the creator. God our protector.”

Now he paused, letting the guilt settle in.

“Because of that steadfastness, God has blessed us with this feast. So let us eat from the table that God has set, and tomorrow we will renew our commitment through a day of prayer.”

Jacob moaned silently, making a note to bribe Larry Memphis to get assigned to guard duty. It would get him out of hours of sitting in silence. Now the reverend prayed a long flowery prayer composed of 50 percent praise of God and 50 percent self-aggrandizement. Then it was time to eat.

Joyous noise filled the clearing, plates passed, dishes clanking, friends and family talking and laughing. Plates were filled for the guards on the berm, older children running the plates across the clearing and up the berm to the guards and then racing back to their places. Jacob waved at his children again, happy to see them too busy eating to wave back. After cutting off a chunk of meat, Jacob forked it in his mouth, savoring the smoky crust, and then chewed, releasing the gamey taste. It was delicious. Two more bites and Jacob saw one of the guards waving both arms frantically. He was shouting, but nothing could be heard over the din. Another guard sprinted from his position on the berm toward the bell. Jacob stood, those on either side noticing, looking at him, and then at where he pointed. The din died quickly, the bell beginning to ring. A few seconds of frozen confusion, and then rifle fire from the berm. Then panic.

Men, women, and children collided as they rushed to find one another. Reverend shouted orders, but no one could hear him over the din. Then the ground shook, as if from an earthquake. Jacob knew what was coming, and now he rushed to Leah, who already had the children by the hand.

“Get them inside,” Jacob said unnecessarily.

His rifle over his shoulder, Jacob surveyed the berm where the guards had gathered together, concentrating their fire. Suddenly, the guards broke, running down the berm pell-mell. Jacob ran to a point between the fort and the berm, families flowing past. Other riflemen came: one, two, four, six. Pitiful few for what was coming. Then Crazy Kramer joined them, holding a machete in one hand and a spear in the other.

“Bring it on!” Kramer shouted.

As if in response to Kramer, over the berm charged a triceratops. Jacob raised his rifle, but with the animal coming head-on, there was no target. A bullet could not pierce the huge bony collar, and with the massive head bobbing, hitting the snout or an eye was impossible. A rifleman next to Jacob fired, wasting a precious round.

Five more triceratops came over the berm at various spots, the ground shaking as the five-ton animals came on like living tanks. Tables and chairs were overturned, the precious foods trampled. The remains of a collapsed table fell into a cooking pit, flames erupting, a shower of sparks lighting the flow of panicked humans toward the fort. Charging triceratops closed from different angles, cutting off retreat. It was a coordinated attack by the triceratops, but how? Looking through the chaos, Jacob realized there was an Inhuman mounted on the back of the nearest triceratops. From his angle, Jacob could see the hairless head of another Inhuman mounted on a second. The Inhumans had not stampeded the triceratops through camp; they were riding them in.

“Come with me!” Jacob shouted in the middle of the maelstrom.

Pulling the other riflemen with him, Jacob angled them away from the triceratops now charging toward the entrance to the fort. Even with families still outside the building, the steel door was coming down. Jacob saw Reverend inside directing the closing.

“That one!” Jacob ordered. “Take out the rider. On my command!”

Rifles to their shoulders, the frightened men aimed as best they could. One man would have little chance of hitting the bouncing target, but concentrated, they might get lucky.

“Fire!” Jacob shouted.

It was a rippling broadside, but the rider toppled, the triceratops turning as the rider slid down its side. Confused, enraged, and wounded, the triceratops ran wild, sweeping its head, knocking everyone and everything from its path.

“All right!” Crazy Kramer bellowed, shaking his spear high above his head.

“Now that one!” Jacob said, pointing out another.

This triceratops Jacob saw was also bearing down on the steel door that was now nearly closed.

“Looky there!” Crazy Kramer shrieked. “Bring it on!”

Flickering light from the burning wreckage revealed Inhumans on top of the berm. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the Inhumans dotted the crest in a continuous line. More Inhumans crowded up behind those in the front row. This was not a simple punitive raid. The Inhumans had come in force.

The deafening crash of the triceratops hitting the door of the fort stunned everyone into silence. In the dim light, Jacob could see the door ajar. The triceratops was wedged between the frame and the twisted metal. The longest horn of the triceratops had actually pierced the steel.

The clicks, clucks, and guttural sounds of the Inhumans came from the top of the berm, and then as one the Inhumans charged.

“Fire at will!” Jacob yelled, as he shoved men into a line.

The riflemen aimed carefully, picking off Inhuman after Inhuman, but there were too many. The Inhumans were coming in overwhelming force and the riflemen could not do enough damage.

“Retreat!” Jacob ordered reluctantly.

Falling back, Jacob fired precious round after precious round. Crazy Kramer backed up next to him, yelling, “Bring it on!” over and over. Suddenly, Crazy Kramer brushed Jacob back with a meaty arm and then threw his spear past Jacob’s face. Looking left, Jacob saw an Inhuman pierced through the chest, its large eyes wide in shock. Bleeding red, it collapsed, clutching at the shaft.

Looking to the fort, Jacob saw Inhumans at the door, urging the triceratops to back up. Torn metal cut into its side, and it shrieked and writhed its two tons. The Inhumans were gathering by the entrance to the fort, ready to rush inside. Crazy Kramer stepped forward, meeting an onrushing Inhuman, and with a mighty blow cut through the spear the Inhuman held up in a defensive move, burying his machete in the side of the Inhuman’s head.

“Keep them off of me!” Jacob shouted.

“Bring it on!” Crazy Kramer said, shaking his bloody machete.

Taking aim, Jacob shot the triceratops still jammed in the door. The triceratops continued to struggle to get free, seemingly unaware that it was wounded. Jacob shot it again, and again, his third round killing an Inhuman. After his fourth shot, the triceratops dropped to its knees, its massive head sagging to the ground. Then it was still. Feeling he had done his best to protect his family, Jacob backed away, fishing for his remaining ammunition. He found two shells. He put one in the chamber. As he backed up, Jacob stumbled over a body. Looking around, Jacob saw a circle of Inhuman bodies around Crazy Kramer. Bleeding from a dozen wounds, Crazy swiped at another Inhuman, wobbling as he did.

“Let’s go!” Jacob said to Crazy Kramer, pulling his arm.

“Bring it on,” Crazy Kramer said, gasping for breath.

Hacking Inhumans to death was heavy work, and Crazy Kramer was exhausted. Backing up with Jacob, they moved toward the forest. Bodies littered the clearing; Inhuman and human. Triceratops rampaged up and down, destroying wells, gardens, sheds, tools, shelters, and stores. At the door to the fort, the Inhumans had created an opening large enough to crawl through, and now like a line of ants, were systematically squeezing past the dead triceratops and into the fort. Nearly running now, Jacob saw a triceratops turn their way.

“Run!” Jacob yelled.

With one last “Bring it on!” Crazy Kramer ran after Jacob.

11

Time Tunnel

Kenny Randall’s original model predicting the intermix of the Cretaceous age and the modern age was a remarkable achievement. I regret that we have not been able to refine the model well enough to predict subsequent time disruptions.

—Dr. Emmett Puglisi, Office of Security Science

Present Time
Ocala, Florida

“Carson, where are you?” Jeanette demanded into her phone.

“In a Super Eight. The stingy bastards aren’t too eager to cough up the reward.”

“Tell them to send you a check and get back here,” Jeanette said.

“I have to meet with the head guy or they won’t give me the money. They’re on their way over right now.”

“You need to get back here!” Jeanette said. “You know that … that … stuff you left with me?”

“Not on the phone,” Carson said quickly. “No one needs to know about my … my stuff but me and you.”

“You need to get back here,” Jeanette said. “Now.”

“As soon as I get the reward, I’ll hit the road.”

There was a long silence.

“Just get back here before I max out your credit card on Alpo.”

Jeanette hung up, leaving Carson puzzled.
Why the hell is Jeanette feeding Sally Alpo?
Carson thought.
It’s not Christmas.

A distant thumping developed into a roar. Carson pulled the curtains back, looking right and left. The roar nearly unbearable now, Carson went out onto the balcony. A helicopter cruised overhead, crossing the highway and hovering over the empty lot next to the Waffle House. The helicopter settled, kicking up dust and litter that blew across the highway toward the Super 8. An American flag was painted just behind the cockpit and another on the nose. Near the tail was
USMC
. The door opened, half folding up, and half folding down to make stairs. A marine in casual greens stepped out, followed by a man dressed in slacks and short-sleeved dress shirt. The civilian was tall, middle-aged, and lean. Two more stepped out, a beefy female ranger with hair shorter than Carson’s, and a gnome with wild black hair, wearing long black pants and a white long-sleeve shirt. His armpits were wet.

Carson went down the stairs and out to the highway, waiting for the helicopter passengers to cross the road. Seeing the marines, Carson felt underdressed in his cargo shorts and short-sleeve khaki shirt. The name of his company was embroidered on front left, and the back was stenciled with the company’s logo, a cowboy lassoing a
T. rex
.

“Carson Wills?” the lead man said, hand out.

“Yeah,” Carson said, staring past him at the marine helicopter, two armed marine guards now posted on either side of the hatch. People streamed out of the Waffle House, carrying napkins and cups of coffee, staring. “When you said you were going to pick me up, I thought you meant with a car.”

“I’m Nick Paulson. I need to know where you found those velociraptors.”

“Nick Paulson?” Carson repeated, recognizing the name. “I told the rangers where I found them,” Carson said, feeling in over his head.

“You weren’t all that specific,” the female ranger said, coming up next to Paulson. Over the ranger’s ample left breast was a name tag that read
C. WYNOOSKI
. “Downright evasive is the way I heard it,” Wynooski said.

“As I told your rangers, Ms. Wynooski, I killed them on the outskirts of Hillsdale,” Carson said. “They were running loose on a farm.”

“You caught and killed two velociraptors by yourself?” Wynooski asked.

“Yes, I did,” Carson said.

“By yourself?” Wynooski repeated.

“By myself,” Carson said emphatically. “I’m a professional.”

“I’m a professional,” Wynooski said. “You’re a lucky amateur.”

“Take us there,” Paulson said, taking Carson by the arm and guiding him toward the helicopter.

“Pretty much killed them by myself,” Carson said, wishing he had settled for selling the eggs.

“I need to see where you found them,” Paulson said.

“I’ve got my van,” Carson said.

“Leave the van,” Nick said. “We’ll bring you back here.”

“I’ve got to check out by eleven or they’ll charge me thirty-eight dollars for another day,” Carson said, now across the road.