Dinosaur Summer (27 page)

He passed the machete to Peter, and two yuca roots. Peter did not know what to say. Billie smiled and they shook hands. Billie ran away from the stream, back into the forest. In a few minutes, Peter could hear nothing but the forest sounds and his own breathing.

For the moment, he felt a crushing unwillingness to move. The forest seemed to float around him, filled with strange life, thick and suffocating. Thousands of insects hovered above the stream. Ants swarmed up a nearby tree trunk, hanging from leaves and vines. Unknown animals near and far made their cryptic squawks, screeches, chitterings, even a new sound, a musical brassy series of notes, like the practice of an expert trumpeter.

Peter closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, smelled rotting vegetation, water, greenery, hints of lemony sweetness. He had never felt so out of place and alien; he could hardly believe he was in the forest at all. Part of him felt as if he were back in New York, and he would wake up at any moment, Doyle's book cradled in his lap, Anthony coming through the kitchen door with an onion and noodle casserole . . .

He opened his eyes to see a butterfly with a body as big as his thumb, broad wings striped blue and white, pumping and soaring over the stream's glittering surface. An ant carrying a lump of mold crawled up the toe of his boot, hesitated, crawled off again.

He took another breath. The lassitude passed. The forest was not going to go away. If anything, the forest was dreaminghim, and not the other way around. Even if he was going to die, which seemed likely, he could explore and discover a few things before the end.

He wondered about the man whose jaw and belt they had found. What was the last thing he saw? Was it worth dying for?

Peter felt calmer than he had in days. Whether that was resignation, courage, or simple exhaustion, he could not say--but he decided to follow the stream, search for the others, and stay alive as long as he could.

He saw no more bootprints as he walked along the stream bank, now confined in a channel of stones and pebbles. Using Billie's machete, he cut his way through thick vines and branches, then jumped on several rocks to the other side of the stream, where the path appeared easier. After walking beside the flow for several dozen yards, he found another tree crawling with ants. He stopped for a moment to watch the glistening blanket of small brown insects.

"Myrmecology," he muttered. "The study of ants." It was one thing to know the words from a dictionary--quite another to understand what they represented. He had seen so many different kinds of insects since the journey began, and at least two dozen varieties of ants, enough for a whole university full of professors to study--yet to him, and the people who wrote about the plateau, El Grande had always been a land of dinosaurs and other big, ancient creatures suitable for newsreels and circuses. Trophies. How narrow a view! The little things were important, too--and perhaps just as strange and isolated as the dinosaurs.

He thought he saw a banana tree peeking out a few yards from the stream. He was about to cut through to see if it bore fruit when he heard a distinct cow-like bellow and the sound of brush being trampled. He froze. It was on the other side of the stream, whateverit was. A log had fallen across the stream and knocked down small trees and brush, affording a better and higher view. He climbed onto the log and craned his neck to see a lumbering green and brown shape some yards west in the forest. The shape raised its large head, showing a parrot-like beak munching on leaves, a forward-curved nose horn, and a broad crest.

"Sammy!" Peter called. He crossed the log quickly and hacked and snapped away a few black creepers, then plunged through a glade covered with thick green grass. In the middle of the glade, chewing at the leaves on a tree, a centrosaur stood with its left side turned toward Peter. Its jaws worked for a second, then stopped. The huge head turned slowly.

Peter wanted only to touch the animal, to reacquaint himself with an old friend. He smiled broadly and held out his hands. From behind the animal, two smaller centrosaurs emerged, also chewing leaves.

"Sammy!" Peter exclaimed. "Where did you find babies?"

The realization came almost too late. Peter examined the shield and the eyes and the shape of the nose horn, saw that this animal was several feet longer than Sammy, and realized this was a female,not Sammy. With a snort, the mother centrosaur swung around to face him. She thrust her horn into the air.

"Babies," Peter said under his breath. He walked backward. "Sorry." His foot fell into a hole and he stumbled.

With an angrysnark, the mother centrosaur took a run at him, head twisted to one side and nose horn pointing straight at him. Peter picked himself up and stumbled toward the forest. "I'm sorry!" he shouted. "I'm sorry!"

But the mother was having none of that. He was back in the forest and tangled in vines before he realized he had dropped the machete. The mother was ten yards behind, trotting steadily, when one of her babies emitted a high, pig-parrot squeal. With amazing adroitness, she stopped dead and reversed course.

Peter found himself halfway up a large tree trunk, grabbing at creepers and branches for support. The centrosaur babies had moved away from the center of the glade. On three sides they were being stalked by what Peter at first mistook for bald bears. They were the size of grizzlies and dark, but they had scaly wolf snouts and tiny ears. Peter had seen their pictures in books: these wereLycognathus, wolf-jaws, fast, strong carnivores, much larger cousins of the dog-lizards. Though a ruff of red-tipped black fur covered their shoulders, and patches of smooth short pelt mottled their flanks, on their heads and forelimbs they had no fur at all.

At the mother's charge, two lycos scattered, leaving one immediately behind the bigger of the two babies. The motherCentrosaurus could not attack this animal without running over her baby, so she stopped and swung her head and tail, complaining in a braying, bawling succession of honks.

Peter heard something below and felt a breath on his ankle. He looked down and saw the onyx-black eyes of a fourth lyco directly beneath him. The animal's jaws opened and it sniffed audibly at this strange prey, broad forked tongue lolling. Peter scrambled higher into the tree just as the beast decided to lunge. The lyco's teeth sank into a branch inches below his foot and it shook its head and backed away with a sneeze.

"Good of you to visit," said a voice above him. As Peter climbed up a few more branches, he looked up and saw Ray three yards above him. The cameraman squatted casually on a thick limb. Below, the lyco leaned its foreclaws against the trunk and fixed its eyes on Peter.

Peter was too scared and out of breath to say anything immediately. The first words he managed were, "Where's my father? Where's OBie?"

"I wish I knew. We're in the wolf's wood now. The lycos are thick around here. They surprised us and we took off in three different directions."

The three big hunters had reestablished their posts around the centrosaur family. One lyco rushed in sideways, jaws wide, and snapped at the rear of the smaller baby. The baby gave a high squall and wheeled, shoving its nose and smaller shield instinctively, though it lacked any nose horn for defense.

The lycos sat on their haunches, mouths open, and serenely surveyed the glade. One idly snapped at a dragonfly buzzing through the bright sunlight. The mother centrosaur kept close to her babies but could not surround them. A fifth lyco rose from hiding in the high grass suddenly and lunged, taking another chunk from the baby's hide. The baby writhed and screamed. The mother bounded out and swiped her horn at this latest attacker, but the lyco scuttled out of the way and again its opposites attacked the babies, bringing the mother back.

Peter wiped sweat from his forehead and eyes with a sleeve.

"We've been trying to get back to the maze for a day and a half now," Ray said. "We thought we'd lost you for good."

"The lizard-dogs, dog-lizards, whatever . . ."

"Therapsids," Ray said. "Like these guys."

"They chased me until I scared them away. I found Billie," Peter continued. "Or rather, he found me. He's on a spirit quest. He found some food and gave me a machete."

"Good of him," Ray said. "Where's the machete?"

"Out there, somewhere," Peter said, pointing to where the natural drama was unfolding.

The lyco below them maintained its station but seemed more interested in the action in the glade than in the two humans.

"How long have you been in the forest?" Peter asked.

"Since yesterday afternoon. We found some bananas and I snared a fish with a basket of twigs. Savage little thing, tried to nip my finger off, but it tasted good."

"We saw snake monkeys," Peter said. They watched the drama in the glade for a few moments. Peter pointed to the centrosaur. "I thought she was Sammy."

"Easy mistake," Ray said. He seemed relaxed and amiable on his high perch. Peter decided the limb was strong enough for both of them and climbed to sit beside him.

"I've drawn fighting dinosaurs since I was a boy," Ray said. "But I've never actually seen it before. It's brutal."

"They don't just attack, do they?"

"Nope." Ray shook his head, watching the mother centrosaur run a quick circle around her babies. "They're waiting for her to tire. They don't like her horn or her feet. She could inflict real damage, and a predator is dead if it can't run fast or bite hard."

"How long will they wait?"

"As long as it takes, I suppose," Ray said. "Want to lay bets?"

Peter settled on the branch and offered Ray a chunk of sweet yuca from his shirt. Ray bit into it, made a surprised face, and ate it quickly. "Not bad," he said.

"Where did you last see my father and OBie?"

"I didn't. One minute we were together, walking along a nice stream trying to find some high ground to see where we were . . ."

He paused as a lyco made another attack on the larger baby. The noise drowned out everything for a few minutes as the mother stamped around her young, trying to gore the carnivores, who always managed to bound out of reach.

"And then the lycos attacked us, and we fled our separate ways."

"You don't know if they're alive or dead, then," Peter said, a lump rising in his throat.

"No, but we're alive, and that's a small miracle."

"What are we going to do?" Peter asked.

Ray shook his head and took another bite of root. "I feel like a spectator in a bullring," he said. "But I'm getting damned tired of these seats." He peered down at the lyco guarding them. It was still paying more attention to the action in the glade.

"Do you see that branch?" Ray pointed to a slender offshoot from a main branch near the one on which they perched, and a couple of yards higher up the tree. "I've been looking at that branch for almost a day now. See how it gets real close to that next tree?"

Peter examined the branches. "We could climb over."

"You might. I don't think it would hold my weight."

"What will you do, then?"

Ray shrugged. "If we're in two trees, our wolf-jaw friend here might drop his guard long enough to let one of us get away."

Peter looked dubious. "I don't know," he said.

"My butt is getting very, very tired," Ray said with a pained expression. "What little I can feel of it."

"We should try something," Peter agreed. He stood on their branch, reached up to the higher branch, and swung out onto it. Then he crawled carefully to the offshoot, tested it with half his weight, and looked back at Ray.

Ray nodded.

The lycos in the glade had finally worn the mother centrosaur to a frazzle. She seemed to make some instinctive strategic choice, and nuzzled in close to the larger baby. In a flash, a lyco savaged the flank of the smaller and now more vulnerable baby, bringing it to its knees. The mother nudged the larger baby and they pushed through the perimeter paced by the lycos, toward the forest, away from the tree in which Peter and Ray were perched.

The lyco guarding them suddenly became restive, harrumphing and swinging its head at the smell of blood from the glade. It glanced up at Ray and let out a frustrated bellow.

Peter was halfway out along the thinner limb when it snapped. He reached out with his sore arm to grab another branch, caught a handful of leaves, and fell.

Ray shouted. Peter heard the shout, and then landed on something moving, knocking the wind out of himself. He tumbled to one side into grass, on the edge of the glade.

He couldn't move. Something nearby groaned. Peter turned his head, managed to catch his own breath, and saw the lyco barely five feet away, leaning to one side with its right leg splayed. Peter could smell its rank breath and see the insects buzzing around its big shoulders and neck pelt. He also heard somebody making a great commotion up in the tree.

The lyco righted itself, swung its head, and glared in stupid surprise at what had hit it. It lifted its heavy-jawed head. The oddly shaped pupils in its eyes flexed, and the eyes grew even blacker, with tiny glints of blue.

Peter pushed to his feet.

Ray was still trying to distract the lyco by whooping and screaming.

"Damn," Peter said.

The lyco took a step forward. Peter raised his arms and shouted, "You're nothing but a big old horny toad!" Then he stamped his foot and waved his arms.

The lyco took a step backward, clearly unsure what to do with this strange bipedal animal now that it was within reach.

Peter jumped and the lyco scuttled a couple of yards to the rear again, growling and whining. It lifted its head and opened its jaws to their fullest extent, and very impressive they were, boasting long rows of sharp teeth culminating in huge canines. The forked tongue dangled.

Ray landed beside Peter with a thump. Peter did not expect this and jumped away, startled, and the lyco also jumped. It seemed for a moment as if all three were waiting for the others to be spooked and run. Instead, Ray waved his arms and shouted, "We're tough and stringy! Get out of here!"

The lyco circled around them and the trunks of the two trees, then looked longingly at the glade. The other lycos had brought the baby centrosaur down on its side and were ripping at its abdomen. The baby's screams had stopped and the forest and the glade seemed very quiet.