Crucible of a Species (35 page)

The turbulent pulse
of underground waters rocked Sgt Steve Martel from behind as its raucous passage over his head and ears merged with the mind-numbing roar of falling waters just inches away. The irregular surge threatened to break the death-grip of the marine’s bloodied fingers on the slick rocks. He desperately tried to lock his boot-toes into small crevasses in the streambed as the liquid turbulence slammed his body from side-to-side.

Torrents of water surged over his shoulders inundating his head, choking the breath from his lungs but they couldn’t break his fixed stare focused on the scene before him. Like a heartless entity, the curtain of water briefly parted presenting a vision of a tantalizing blue sky and a promise of freedom that lay less than a yard off. For the first time he understood the tortured fate of the Greek hero Tantalus as the liquid curtain closed, only to part elsewhere and expose another tempting but unreachable avenue of escape.

Beneath this raw yearning for his freedom, Sgt Martel’s logic warned of the unseen dangers that lay hidden by the falls. The warm, beckoning light passing so easily through the clear raging torrent showed the distorted image of a rounded lip of water-worn rock lying just below the liquid surface. Eons of passing waves had smoothed this hard rock to a moss-covered, slippery facade with no purchase for his grip. Beyond this innocent looking edge, just inches beyond his reach, lay a final, uncontrollable slide into the deadly power of the waterfall, quickly leading to the final deadly drop. What lay beyond he didn’t know. Would it be some unknown deep pool providing the slimmest chance of survival or bloody death on unseen jagged boulders?

The sergeant strained to look out and down the thin air-gap separating falling-waters and the rocky cliff. He could climb out onto the rocky cliff face. Then perhaps shimmy across to some unseen area beyond the crashing waters. Of course, he’d have to be able to reach the face without being ripped from it by the power of the waterfall.
Hell, once out there, I may even find a way back up to the top of the plateau. The problem will be getting out onto the rock and hanging on while this underground river does its best to carry me into the waterfall.

There’s nothing I can grab onto at the mouth of the cave. I need a rock with edges that I can grip or a stick to jam across the entrance. The sergeant pushed back to look around the small cave but there were no sticks strong enough to hold his weight. The bottom of the stream contained only smooth stones fixed tightly in the packed sand.

The walls and ceiling were of packed sand and stone. The stream had swept the area clean of larger rocks over the ages. He would have to take his chances by diving out into the unknown while hoping to be able to push himself clear of the cliff-face and pray he survived the final impact.

Martel couldn’t bring himself to do it. Frustrated and shivering, he clamored up the stream’s bank and limped over to the edge of the cavern before sliding down against the wall. There had to be another way. Something to use as a handhold or wedge. Something …

God forbid. How could you even consider such an action, Martel?
The sergeant scolded himself as he looked at his rifle leaning against the wall.
But then, just what option do I have? With any luck it’ll wash down after me and I’ll recover it at the bottom of the falls.

The marine reached over and unloaded the Pulsar. He then took off his shirt and forced stiff, bloody fingers to knot the tail end of it around the stock of the rifle, just behind the finger guard. Removing his belt, he tied it to the other end of the shirt.

One last shivering breath and Martel waded back into the frigid stream. Bracing himself against the swift, deadly flow of the river, he lowered his body and shuffled over to the edge of the opening. The waist-deep pool in front of the cave’s exit grew shallow here along a slope of sand that rose to the lip of the smooth and slippery stone wall. Martel examined the face of the rocks around the exit until he found a tight little cleft and then used the stock of his rifle to push the soft sand away from the lip directly below it. He savagely thrust the barrel of the rifle into the crevice above and rammed it upward.

The feel of the barrel grating against the stone clawed at his spirit. His rifle was a precision instrument and it went against him to mistreat it like this. He regretted every twist and grinding thrust as he forced it into the small space in the stone. Martel then wedged the stock down into the area cleared of sand. The river’s waters carried his belt and shirt out of the cave as the sergeant packed detritus against the stock to hold it in place. Wrapping the shirt once around his wrist, the marine slid headfirst out of the cave.

The roar of falling waters outside overwhelmed even the din within the cave. Each turn of his head brought a neck-twisting blunt, painful blow from the tumbling liquid stream. Bands of water gushed over his face so that the rock-hard cliff, only inches away, was a blurry, misshapen image. Desperately he clung to the wet fabric of his shirt, choking in the water’s overwash. The marine’s shoulder screamed in protest as he extended his left hand and ran skin-torn fingertips across the rocky surface of the wall. He had to find something to grip, even a small ledge or protruding rock would do.

Hard, sharp projections of jagged rock met his fingers even though the cliff face was slippery from the backwash but there was nothing large enough to provide a grip. Grim desperation rose within him,
Can’t keep this up forever.

Martel held his breath and lifted his right leg to push his body sideways across the cliff face. The falling waters pummeled him, slamming his body back against the cliff but his left hand managed to latch onto a jagged ledge. Without thinking, he released the cloth and frantically grabbed for the rocky outcrop. His toes skidded across the wet rock face of the cliff and then there was nothing but air at his toes -- his knees painfully struck hard rock.
Overhang…
erupted in his mind.
I’m at the top lip of a damn overhang.

He released his left hand to feel down along the cliff. Another thin ledge was there. He dug his fingers into the rock and released his right hand. The marine’s fingertips scraped across the ragged rock face as his body fell. The pain-filled fingers of his hand skidded across the rough surface, almost missing the ledge but somehow, he managed to catch a sharp edge. Muscles in his arms screamed in pain but his body could feel the edge, it was there, just above his waist.

Now what do I do?
He thought as he tried to kick forward. His foot swung through empty air. Shafts of panic threatened to numb his mind but he replaced them with anger.
There has to be a way. There’s always a way out.

Something hard fell from above to strike his shoulder. In a flash, the waterfall pummeled his body, ripping it from the cliff’s face and carrying it downward. Martel hit the pool below, it knocked the wind from his lungs and thrust him deep under the surface. Stunned with lungs screaming for air, the current drew him back under the falling torrent. He had no idea which way was up or down and when his feet hit a hard surface he instinctively kicked against it. The push threw him up against a rock-filled underwater slope. He tried to stand, only to stumble to the side. It took him a few seconds before he realized his head was out of the water.

Rising to his knees, Martel lifted his head and drew in the damp, cool clean air. Willpower alone carried him up a loose rock-filled slope and onto a pebble beach. The sergeant forced his eyes open, too exhausted to move his head, and wondered why it was still dark before he slid into unconsciousness.

*~~*~~*~~*

The bone-chilling screech
rang out from the woodland then gradually morphed into a head-pounding low rumble. Before it died, a second rose and then several more joined the cry. Those in the field now knew the deadly cry of the albertosaurs moving in the woods so close to the tight ring of human survivors. Their hunting calls mixed with the deadly rolling warble of older predators moving unseen through the high grass opposite the human’s defensive ring.

“I said eye’s front, Slattery.” CPO Meecham’s voice somehow carried through the calls, “Hold your ground; we’ll take care of whatever comes out of those woods, your job lies in front of you.”

A gasp arose from the humans facing the ancient woodland as several fully-grown albertosaurs emerged from the heavy brush at its edge. Bright mid-day sun glistened from iridescent gold feathers as these ancestors of T-Rex paused for a moment. In spite of the chief’s words, many of the humans turned to watch in horror as a dozen more of the incredible beasts emerged from behind trees in an awesome display of primordial power and focused threat. Then, with the smooth grace of an apex predator, the three-ton killers began their deadly swift charge.

“Forget them. Eyes front on your kill zones. Hold your fire. Wait for it …”

Dr. Shieve stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the ragged line of marines, naval personnel and civilian specialists facing the high grass, bathed in the unmerciful rays of a mid-day tropical sun. Behind them thundered the attack of the adult predators and the ground shook under her feet with the approach of their charge. Flies and gnats swirled around her head, flinging themselves into ears and eyes as though they were part of the confrontation.

Rapid lines of movement in the high grass before her revealed the hidden onslaught of the even faster juveniles now almost upon them. A sporadic burst of wasted fire erupted from one of the defenders in spite of the sergeant’s threats. This time it would not be the measured strike of individuals as dozens of reed-parted trails darted and weaved towards the defenders under the concealment of the tall grass.

The young albertosaurs emerged from
the edge of the trampled-grass line. Their cries transformed to a blood-curdling howl of anticipation and bloodlust mixed with the strange, low booming calls emitted below the range of human hearing.

Rifle fire erupted. The din of this small segment of the defense joined the screams, cries and rifle bursts of the defenders behind them. The wave of fierce predators descended and the humans knew their end was near.

Chaos itself erupted upon the grassland in front of Dr. Shieve. The grounds rose up throwing juvenile albertosaurs across the field like rag dolls. Sandra’s body quaked under the hammer-blows of nearby explosions. A second blow pounded her to the ground with a blast of heated air slamming her from behind. Sandra lunged to her feet in time to jump out of the path of a charging albertosaur. Its tail struck a glancing blow across her chest, flinging her across the field and onto her back as the angry supersonic crack of a rifle discharge passing by her head.

Once again, the physicist tried to stand only to be thrown from her feet under the assault of multiple explosions. Something grabbed her arm; she twisted, swinging her rifle around in reaction only to find her blow blocked. Recognition came and she realized it was the helping hand of a human. She didn’t know the woman but Sandra welcomed the grimace on the dirt-covered face before her.

Then silence.

Confused, Sandra gazed over
the field and turned to look across the open camp to the other side of the field. Dead and dying dinosaurs and humans littered the grounds around them; many of the predators lay inside their camp. Off in the distance the trees of the forest swayed with the passage of others still alive but their path miraculously lead away from the campsite.

The physicist’s heart leaped as she saw a group of humans emerge majestically from the high grass and cross the open clearing. A marine sergeant motioned the newcomers onward with a few hand-signals before turning to the cluster of dazed and confused defenders. The sergeant came over to them and had to shout so that the defenders could hear him over the ringing in their noise-deafened ears.

“You people did an outstanding job but now you must lay your weapons down on the ground right where you stand. That’s it. We’ll take over from here. The threat is done for now.”

Sandra suddenly recognized the sergeant and cried out, “Sergeant Marshall. Thank God. I thought we weren’t going to make it.”

“Dr. Shieve? Sorry, I didn’t recognize you, one moment.” Frank Marshall turned, “Chief Meecham, glad to see you’re still alive. We knocked them back a bit but something else took the fight out of them. The survivors just turned and cleared the field. I don’t know what the hell is going on.

“Chief, stay here and keep your perimeter up. I suggest you move as many of the civilians as possible back into the Argos. We’re going to follow up their retreat. Please make sure none of your people get trigger-happy in case any of my marines return to the campsite. I’ll send a runner back to keep you informed. We have to find out where they are heading.”

*~~*~~*~~*

Corporal Ryan Tyree
stood motionless on the top of the ten-foot high berm, a stream of sweat working its way down his neck but he didn’t move. The corporal stood frozen in fear and amazement as he stared directly into the eyes of a magnificent albertosaur. The monster had magically appeared at the edge of the wide clearing that the marines carved from the jungle as a kill-zone buffer against the mainland. Irrationally, his mind could only repeat the thought that they hadn’t made the clearing wide enough.

The animal wasn’t dumb and it certainly wasn’t slow. Had it entered a few feet in either direction the robotic sentinels would have fired. Somehow, it knew exactly how to move between the sensor zones of the AutoSentinels on both sides of the squad of marines. The beast was huge, fast and would be on him in a second.