Dinosaur Summer (19 page)

By noon all the cages had been loaded--even the venator's. The big carnivore endured the transfer stoically, crouched on his stomach, eyes half closed like a cat trying to nap.

Peter let out a big sigh when the cages were all locked down and the trucks were ready to roll. He walked past the caged animals and talked to them soothingly. Even the venator received a visit. "That was pretty brave," Peter said, unsure how to speak to this monster. Dagger stared at him with both eyes forward, unblinking, then lifted his upper lip in a fair imitation of a sneer and stretched wide his mouth, as if yawning. His teeth gleamed like old ivory and his breath smelled of rotten meat.

Peter's stomach twitched. He backed away and fetched up against his father. Anthony took his shoulders and gripped them. That grip felt familiar, as if his father were going to lecture him about something. Instead, Anthony looked down at his son with a peculiar, tight expression, nostrils flared, and lifted his eyes to the beast.

"He should never have been brought down," Anthony said.

Wetherford, a few yards away, said, "Amen to that."

Anthony and Peter rode in the cab of the first truck with the driver, a large, solemn Carib named Julio, from the Karina tribe in the north. The other Indians held Julio in great regard. They claimed his forefathers had eaten their forefathers, or so Billie said. "Many of our fathers ate each other, once," he added. "Some still eat men of other tribes, deep in the forest." To Peter, the Carib seemed nice enough, though quiet. Julio waited for instructions from Shellabarger, who rode with Sammy on the back of the first truck.

"It is tough road," Julio said. "But we do it."

Shellabarger swung his arm and the big diesels roared to life, coughing black smoke from vertical exhaust pipes. "Just a few more hours," Anthony said.

Peter's heart felt like a nervous pigeon. The trucks lurched up the rugged machete-cut path, their fat, alligator-tread tires digging into the loose branches, stumps and roots, rocks and gravel.

***

The old road up Pico Poco followed green-walled ridges or cut-in switchbacks. It rose on a steep but constant grade, one mile up in eight miles of driving. At first they managed about a mile and a half each hour, stopping twice to water the animals and once to remove a fallen tree. The heat for most of the journey was still tropically intense. Only in the last couple of miles did they come under the cooling umbrella of clouds embracing the shoulders of El Grande.

By the time they reached an ant-chewed wooden marker that read 11KM , dusk was falling rapidly. Shellabarger walked along the convoy, spoke with the drivers using Billie as interpreter, and returned to the first truck, face grim. "Push on," he ordered.

The trucks switched on their lights in the gloom. Rain began to fall and they rode the last half mile over rivulets that gathered to form creeks, and past mossy falls of water that spilled on the road and cut muddy ruts. Their truck got stuck in mud in the last quarter mile and had to be pulled out using its winch to reel in a steel cable attached to the truck ahead. Julio arranged the cables and switched on the winch from within the cab, leaning out of the door in the pouring rain to judge the progress. The windshield wipers cleared small arcs and only intermittently at that. They could barely see. The winch snarled and the cable twanged taut like a giant's guitar string. The truck rolled forward a foot. Peter wiped fog from inside the window. The truck rolled back, pulling the truck ahead with it, slamming him against the hard rear of the seat.

Julio grimly released the winch clutch and glanced at Peter, then let it out again. The winch motor groaned under the load and their truck rolled forward a foot, then another foot. Without warning, the truck fishtailed, its end swerving down a muddy incline toward the edge of the road. Peter grabbed the door handle, ready to jump if Julio did, but the Carib stared fixedly ahead, tongue poked between tense lips, nursing the winch clutch, pulling them steadily forward. Still, the truck continued to slide sideways, and from the rear, Peter heard Sammy honking and bawling. He opened the door and jumped out, almost over the edge. Shellabarger caught his arm and they trudged through the hacked brush and mud to examine the right rear tires, now just inches from the steep slide to complete destruction. They shinnied around the truck bed and stood behind.

"What can we do?" Peter shouted over the rain's hiss.

"His cage has too much weight on the wood blocks this side," Shellabarger said. Keller and Kasem joined them behind the truck. "If that Carib--"

"Julio!" Peter said.

"If Julio doesn't pull 'er out soon, we'll have to rig more rope on the opposite side."

The main blocks on the right ground against the truck bed. Sammy's cage was slipping sideways, only a few inches, but the blocks were under tremendous pressure. Peter turned and saw Ray and OBie, hats pulled low against the downpour. "Anything we can do?" Ray asked.

Shellabarger shook his head helplessly. "We're losing him!" Peter ran around to the driver's side. Anthony was already there, holding the door open as Julio craned to look around the fogged and useless windshield.

"We have to hurry!" Peter shouted. Julio grinned and shook his head, but caught Peter's tone. Working both the winch and the main motor alternately, he stopped the slide and pulled them forward another foot.

The roustabouts cut long, woody branches on the left side of the road and Ray, Obie, and Shellabarger slipped them under the rear tires.

"Go!" Peter yelled, wiping his eyes. "Go!"

Julio fed power to the truck's rear wheels. The branches were pulled into the mud by the tread. Several pulverized sticks shot out behind the truck, one taking OBie across the face, knocking him backward and bloodying his chin. Ray helped him to his feet.

The truck shuddered and began to slip again. "Go!" Peter and Anthony yelled together. Julio hunkered down behind the windshield and let the winch clutch out completely. The rear bed of the truck ahead jerked under the sudden strain and the struthio cage rattled and banged. Sammy's truck began to move, however, and Julio applied power to the rear tires once more. The truck leaped ahead, the winch screamed as it reeled in cable, and suddenly the cable parted with a sound like a small cannon. Peter and Anthony jumped aside. The cable lashed back and shattered the truck's windshield. Glass sprayed down on Julio in tiny shards.

The rear wheels continued to turn and grab, pushing the truck up the road until Julio kicked in the clutch and applied the brakes. The truck rocked slowly back and forth and Sammy bawled hoarsely.

Peter got up from the mud and reached the truck cab in time to see Julio calmly brush glass out of his hair. Anthony stepped forward to help him. Peter ran to the back. Ray and OBie and Shellabarger inspected the cage. The roustabouts and camera crew stood ready with more branches and rocks.

"All right," Shellabarger said. "Give that driver a medal."

"Julio," Peter said.

"Give Julio a medal and let's get some more rocks in that muddy area. We have to keep moving."

In the last hundred yards, with visibility down to zero, Anthony, OBie, Ray, and Peter walked with the trainer ahead of the trucks, swinging flashlights to make sure the way was clear of thick limbs and boulders. Yard by yard, the trucks advanced in pitch darkness, headlights flaring, flashlight beams fishing at the dark, and brilliant sheets of lightning painting everything icy white.

Peter pulled his hat down tight as a gust of wind tried to lift it from his head. The rain pounded. He could hear the animals complaining--all but the venator, who kept his grim silence, beyond all outrage.

The rain stopped abruptly, as if someone had cranked a tap shut. The trucks roared their way onto a grassy clearing with flat stretches of rock beyond. They covered the distance to the edge of Pico Poco in a few minutes. The trucks formed a line and Shellabarger called for them to cut their engines.

After so many hours of the belching roar of the diesels and the hiss of rain and the crack-rumble of thunder, Peter felt stunned by the sudden quiet. The animals had fallen silent, all but the avisaurs, who made small whistling sounds as they flapped their wings in their cage. A waning quarter moon cast a mottled glow through parting clouds in the west. Everyone swung down from the cabs or leaped from the backs of the trucks. They followed OBie and Shellabarger across the flat, weathered sandstone to the ghostly outline of the old steel swinging bridge. Years before, this had been the outside world's gateway to El Tepui Grande.

Beside the bridge, five large tents had been pitched. Near the tents squatted two jeeps, one Army green, the other white. Beyond the jeeps lurked the shadows of several canvas-backed Army trucks.

Three men strolled out of the darkness beyond the tents, two soldiers in steel helmets and a broad-shouldered, heavy-bellied man with a thick black mustache. From other tents came dozens more soldiers, all armed with holstered pistols and slung rifles.

The mustachioed man's tailored khaki uniform strained over his shoulders and paunch. He wore a stiff-brimmed, high-peaked officer's hat and carried a small, thin-barreled pistol in one beefy hand. This, Peter thought, must beel Colonel.

Two almost identical men and a woman emerged from the closest tent, all dressed in tough hiking pants and wearing leather jackets. The woman was tall, with long black hair and a face more severe than Peter liked, young but with the air of a stern teacher. The men were short and balding. Peter wondered if they were twins.

"Welcome,Se�Shellabarger, and congratulations," the woman said, walking ahead of the colonel. She obviously wanted to stake a claim to the visitors. "I am Catalina Mendez. I represent the Office of Natural Resources in Ciudad Bol�r. May I present Colonel Juan de Badajoz, commander of the security of this region?"

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Shellabarger said. He shook the colonel's hand firmly, then turned and shook hers.

The colonel's two adjutants also wore khakis, with a yellow handkerchief pushed beneath one epaulet. The taller of the two advanced and offered his hand. "On behalf of the Army of Venezuela,Colonel de Badajoz welcomes all to the region of El Tepui Grande." The colonel smiled briefly and gave them a curt nod. Soon there was a flurry of hand-shaking and congratulations.

Catalina Mendez was a naturalist assigned by the Betancourt government to oversee the return of the animals. Peter quickly realized that she was the only representative of the government; she and her two brothers, the bald-headed men. They were construction engineers and as Peter had surmised, they were identical twins. There seemed no love lost between them andel Colonel.

Tin cups were brought out, and OBie rummaged through the camera supplies to find two bottles of red wine. Everyone drank a toast. The colonel stood to one side and downed his wine quickly, then tossed the cup to the taller adjutant. The colonel still clutched his pistol and stared off into the night as if nervous about what might be lurking out there.

Peter sipped his cup. It tasted like medicine, but not unpleasantly so.

The shorter adjutant, young-faced and beardless, with a shiny nose and forehead, approached Anthony. Peter's father was the darkest, most Hispanic-looking of their party. "The Venezuelan Army is proud to be of assistance," he said. "As you can see, there have been efforts made to bring the bridge back into repair. Colonel de Badajoz has brought Army engineers with him to make sure all is well." Catalina Mendez

The colonel holstered his pistol and shook hands formally with Anthony, but still said not a word. He snapped to attention, saluted, and gestured to the shorter soldier.

"The colonel apologizes for not speaking English. I will translate for him."

After Colonel de Badajoz returned to his tent, Catalina Mendez took Shellabarger aside and whispered to him for several minutes. The trainer listened with a deepening frown, then shook his head vigorously. "We'll talk about it in the morning," Peter heard him say, and he stalked away from her. She stared after him, arms folded and fingers clutching her forearms.

Peter was very tired and the wine made him ache for sleep, but he followed the others as dry wood was pulled from beneath a tarp and a large fire was kindled to warm them all. Peter looked at his watch with the aid of a flashlight: ten o'clock.

OBie found a third bottle and offered a toast to their hosts and to Vince Shellabarger. "We made it," Peter said to his father and to Ray as they gathered around the fire. Everyone lifted their glasses. Peter glanced over his shoulder at the animals, still in their cages on the backs of the trucks.

Shellabarger took Anthony and OBie aside for a conference. Peter and Ray followed.

"The Mendez woman says things are getting dicey. The colonel is here to monitor some sort of native uprising. The Betancourt government supports the local tribal alliance, but the Army apparently doesn't agree.Se� Mendez represents the government, such as it is; but she's not sure who's going to be in charge in the next few days or weeks. They can't reach anybody with their radio--must be a hell of a lot of interference. Sounds like the Army junta is pulling back from Betancourt and Gallegos and they're going to install their own new man, someone by the name of P�z Jim�z.

"They've flown engineers from the airport at Uruyen and landed them here on Pico Poco. They looked over the bridge and flew back. The Army engineers think the bridge won't hold more than a few hundred pounds--that it might collapse any minute of its own weight. The Mendez brothers think the bridge is sound enough to hold about four tons, and they've been working to get the motor running, but they haven't got many resources. The Army wouldn't let them bring more than their jeep up here. Besides that, everybody's in complete agreement."

"That's the way things are in this part of the world," OBie said. "So, do we go or not?"

The trainer shrugged. "I'll look at the bridgeworks tomorrow--Anthony, you've had some engineering training, haven't you?"

Anthony nodded.

"We'll see what's what in the morning."