Authors: Warren Dalzell
“Like global warming?”
He shrugged, “Yeah, maybe. What I find interestin’ is the big effect on ocean life. You’d ‘a thought that bein’ in the water would ’a protected most of the fish ‘an stuff, but that ‘dint happen.”
There was no moon that night. Even though the Sun never dipped below the horizon this far north in the summer, it did drop below the level of the mountains to the northwest of where they were. That and the heavy cloud layer plunged their world into near total darkness. That’s when the noise began.
“I can’t sleep,” complained Spencer. He rolled to his left, onto Jocelyn, who pushed him back.
“C’mon Spencer, for heaven’s sake try to get some rest; have some sympathy for the rest of us.”
“He’s got a point, Jossy, the darn bugs are making an awful racket,” groaned Jack, “not to mention the creepy crawlies that seem to have come from nowhere.” He brushed one away from his face. “We should be thankful they don’t bite.” No sooner had he spoken than he slapped his arm, “Ow!” His assailant was a nondescript insect that absconded unscathed. “Correction:
most
of them don’t bite.”
Jocelyn attempted to run her fingers like a comb through the tangled mess that was once silky smooth hair. She could feel little visitors moving around on her scalp, occasionally scurrying across her face or getting in her ears and nose. But until Jack had brought up the subject she’d been too exhausted to care.
“They’re roaches,” Spencer noted.
“Eeeew,” Jocelyn sat up straight and began flailing at the little critters. “Roaches…that’s disgusting. I hate those things.”
“Get used to it,” Spencer grinned, “about 90% of all insects in the early Triassic were roach relatives.”
“That’s just great,” Jocelyn’s tone was laden with sarcasm, “90% of the bugs around here are revolting roach kinfolk and the rest are noisemakers. Almost makes me want to throw myself at Mr. Malarkey’s feet, ask him to put me out of my misery.”
“For youah edification, the noisemakehs are probably some type of cricket, which makes ‘em roach ‘kinfolk.’ Most people don’t know that roaches ‘an crickets are distantly related.”
“For heaven’s sake, Spencer, I’ve got to stop talking to you. All your fascinating tidbits are things I’d rather not know about.” She curled up into a ball and did her best to wrap her head and neck in her windbreaker, leaving a hole barely big enough to breathe through. “Good night,” she said with finality.
Morning dawned on the three exhausted travelers. None had gotten more than four hours sleep in the last two nights. They were listless and bleary-eyed, and self-conscious of bad cases of morning breath. Without a word, each consumed his last energy bar. Red, itchy welts had appeared on wrists and ankles, souvenirs from tiny nocturnal blood-sucking guests, all of which required scratching until the skin was raw.
“These are flea bites,” Spencer stated matter-of-factly, “they hadda lotta fleas back in the Triassic—along wit’ the roaches.”
“I’m warning you, Spencer,” Jocelyn growled, “Until I’ve had my morning coffee, I’ve been known to gut and dismember purveyors of unwelcome insect trivia.” She massaged her neck which was stiff and sore from lying in her cramped spot in the tree nest. “Shit,” she moaned, “I’ve got to pee so bad my eyeballs are floatin’, but I don’t want to leave this tree.”
“My bladder’s about to burst too,” Jack confided. “If you’ll turn the other way, I can relieve myself right from here.” Jocelyn gave him a hard stare, which, of course, was just what he wanted. “That reminds me,” he continued, “and I think you’ll have to agree; there’s one thing that men can do far better than women.”
“What’s that?”
“Pee on a campfire.”
She rolled her eyes. His logic was unassailable. “Okay, that may be
the
one thing men can do better, but I can’t list the things at which women excel, it would take too long—and I really do have to pee.”
Jack smiled but again turned serious, “We can’t stay up here much longer; that’s for sure. Let’s cross the river and hike up the east side. For Debbie’s sake we’ve got to find a way out. If we stay close to the water, at least until we get out of the valley, we should be relatively safe from Malarkey and his buddies. Keep your noses on high alert though, just in case.”
With Jack’s words of advice lingering in their minds, they cautiously descended from their perch. All was quiet save for a few residual insect troubadours plaintively trolling for mates. Fog had rolled in during the early morning, but was beginning to lift as the Sun’s influence intensified. The first few steps toward the river were psychologically difficult. Each remembered the speed which the archosaur had mustered in its attack upon Spencer, and every meter of distance from the safety of the tall trees represented a potential life-or-death defining interval.
At the water’s edge, just above the lake, they stopped. They were at the head of the delta where the first of three significant streams flowed past. The first was the largest of the three and presented the greatest obstacle. Upstream from where they stood, the stream was rocky and the current dangerously strong. Right where the lake began, however, it fanned out to about forty feet in width, and the water was slow-moving and deep. Jocelyn looked at the other two. “If we’re going to cross, this is the spot,” she said definitively. There was no doubt in the minds of everyone that she was the expert when it came to such matters. Having grown up on the coast, Jocelyn had spent the better part of her life either in or on the water. Whether it was swimming with friends in a river or sailing in Corpus Christi Bay, she had developed an uncanny ability to analyze surface flow patterns, wave chop, ripples, underwater obstacles—anything that might pose a hazard to the activity involved. “See where the water gets deep about ten feet out?” She pointed to where the water was calm, “we’ll probably have to swim for about twenty feet until it’s shallow enough to stand. Those reeds near the other side are the same as those on shore, off to the left. When we get to them the water can’t be more than a few feet deep—piece of cake.”
“I don’t know, Jossy.” It was Jack who spoke. “Heck, you’re the expert here, don’t get me wrong, but wouldn’t it be best to pick a spot to just wade across?”
“Like where?”
He nodded to a point upstream.
“Jack, the current is way too strong there; don’t underestimate its power. If you try to cross up there, you’ll be knocked off your feet and swimming in this hole before you can count to three.”
“Well, what about that hippo we saw yesterday? Something like that may be lurking here. You never know.”
“That dicynodont is a herbivore,” said Spencer. “He made no aggressive move toward us. Remembeh? My vote’s wit' Jocelyn. Let’s swim across heah.”
Jocelyn knew something was wrong. The apprehension in Jack’s demeanor was obvious. “What’s the matter, Jack? Is it that you can’t swim?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?” He sounded exasperated. “It just pays to examine all the possibilities, that’s all.” He stared at the others for a few moments. Finally his shoulders slumped in defeat. “But, yeah, I can’t swim.” He looked away, embarrassed. “I had a bad experience at a lake when I was a kid; I almost drowned. Ever since then, well…” his voice trailed off.
“But what about our trip out here in the zodiac?” Jocelyn asked in wonder. “You didn’t seem scared then.”
“I wasn’t scared, okay. Maybe I was a bit nervous, but I had a life jacket on and another one at my feet. I figured the risk was minimal.”
After a brief silence, she said, “Give me your pack.” She took off her own and held both over her head as she waded into the lake and then swam, uneventfully, to the other side. She deposited their gear on the bank and made her way back easily. The entire trip took her less than two minutes. “I only had to swim about fifteen feet,” she reported. “I was a lifeguard for several summers. If you relax and trust me, I can swim across with you, Jack. No problem.”
Jack was frightened. He felt helpless, trapped by his inadequacy to perform such a simple task and worried that his friends would lose respect for him, believe him to be a coward. Jocelyn had made it look so easy. Maybe he could do what she did; the distance was minimal. “Sounds like a plan.” He smiled disarmingly, doing his best to adopt a brave, carefree façade.
She gave him a confident look in the eye. Inwardly she knew that this might be difficult, but there was little choice. “Remember,” she said soberly, “you have to trust me. Let’s wade out a bit.” She led him out to where the water was chest deep. “Now, turn around and face me. You’re going to float backwards with your head tilted back, your arms extended, and with your hands on my shoulders. It’s called the ‘tired swimmer’s carry.’ You float, I swim, and we reach the other side in no time. Okay?”
Jack nodded bravely, and Jocelyn pushed off the bottom, propelling them both forward with a powerful breaststroke. At first Jack floated comfortably, but within seconds his feet began to drop, rotating his body until his chin fell below the surface. Instantly panic overcame him. A gut-wrenching fear displaced all reason as the deeply buried memory of the awful experience of his youth consumed him. He began thrashing violently, grabbing Jocelyn in a desperate attempt to keep his head above water.
“Jack! Jack, stay calm!” she shouted to no avail. He was much stronger and heavier than she, and was carrying her down with him. Jocelyn fought to stay focused. Her lifeguard training kicked in. She grabbed a quick breath and did what all panicked drowning victims fear most—she submerged. Jack immediately let go of her and began churning the water with his arms, trying to stay afloat. Jocelyn deftly swam around and approached him from behind. Throwing one arm across his chest, she put him in a ‘fireman’s carry’ and resumed her swim to shore.
At first he tried to grab her again by reaching behind his back, but failed in his efforts. He quickly realized, though, that they were moving and that he was out of danger. Forcing himself to relax, he made it easy for Jocelyn to complete the rescue, and within a few seconds they were standing on soft gravel, wading the last few meters to shore. Jocelyn was exhausted. Dealing with Jack’s weight, superior strength and panic had almost been too much to handle. As she slogged toward where she’d left the packs, she slipped and did a ‘face plant’ in the soft mud. Jack rushed to her aid. Lifting her to her feet, he tenderly worked at removing clods of gunk from around her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over. There was hurt and sympathy evident in every word. “I don’t understand what happened. I thought I was in control…” He quieted as Spencer came up beside them.
The younger boy looked like a drowned rat. His clothes were plastered against his thin frame and his backpack, which he’d failed to remove prior to his swim, had filled with dirty water which was now dripping as though from a fire hose. A wisecrack pertaining to Jack’s crossing formed on his lips, but never made it out when he noticed the embarrassment in his companion’s countenance. The episode was best forgotten.
* * *
Two more stream crossings lay before them, neither of which required the need to swim. Jack again took the lead. The first segment presented little difficulty, although the slippery rocks caused Spencer some pain in his foot. The last stream was wide, rocky and very shallow. Looking across they could see the terrain rise, transitioning quickly from a broad beach into a ‘bamboo’ grove and finally to an expanse of larger trees where the slope increased toward the hills. What lay beyond the trees was of particular interest because that was where they had wanted to go all along. If there were an accessible eastern route to the sea, above and beyond the mist and cloud that enclosed the valley, it might prove to be Debbie’s salvation. Alas, only after hours of hiking over difficult and potentially dangerous countryside would they learn whether or not their trek was successful.
Jack began to pick his way across the final stream while the others held back. If an archosaur or some other danger were lurking nearby, the shallow water would pose no impediment to it. There was no use endangering the entire party by crossing simultaneously.
Halfway across, Jack stopped. In front and slightly to his left there was a commotion in the ‘bamboo.’ Something, some animal of significant size, was making its way towards the beach. Jack slowly started to back up, preparing to run at the first hint of danger.
The beast that emerged from the foliage was a quadruped. It was stocky, but leaner than the dicynodont they’d seen the previous day, and it was quite a bit smaller. The way it moved suggested that it spent considerable time on land vs. water. Roughly the size of a dog or a small goat, it was built low to the ground, its reptilian lineage in evidence. It weighed about forty pounds, sported a short tail, and its snout was round and whiskered. Perhaps its most striking feature was its coloration. The larger animals they’d seen the day before were both a dull greyish-brown, with a skin or covering that was tough and scaly, like those of snakes or armadillos. This creature had smooth, leathery brown hide covered with irregular dark patches—reminiscent of the camouflage clothing worn by hunters.
It paused at the edge of the clearing, appearing to sniff the air prior to leaving the safety of the forest and heading to the river. One could immediately tell that it was hurt. It limped badly from a wound to its left shoulder; blood stained the rocks as it slowly moved to the water’s edge. There it stopped and lowered its head to drink. Jack crouched to lower his profile and remained motionless. He blended well with many of the rocks that dotted the stream. All three students watched in rapt fascination this wounded animal from a past epoch.