Footprints of Thunder (50 page)

“Where’s Chrissy?”

“I dunno. She wanted to play dumb games.”

“You were supposed to watch her,” she scolded, feeling guilty she’d delegated her responsibility to an eight-year-old. She jogged along the edge of the mountain with Matt in tow stopping periodically to look between rocks and up onto ledges, all the while shouting Chrissy’s name. Then she saw Chrissy, in the clearing ahead walking away from the rocks, her head tilted back looking into the sky.

Then the shadow of the bird passed over Rita again. This time she felt the breeze from its wings. To her horror she saw that the shadow was heading directly toward Chrissy. Then the bird swooped down, flexed its huge wingspan slightly, and dropped onto her daughter, knocking her to the ground.

“Chrissy!” she screamed.

Other people were screaming too and bolting across the clearing to reach the bird and the little girl. Then the bird floated, pirouetting around to face the angry crowd and again landing on Chrissy’s back and shoulders. It was a bird like none Rita had ever seen before. It seemed all wing and head, its body no bigger than Chrissy’s. The head was almost all beak, with huge black eyes. It had no feathers, just taut skin. A long rigid crest ran along its head and extended out far behind. From the crest on its head, sinew stretched out to its spine. The underside of its wings were a light gray, and the back so deep green it was nearly black, with tan splotches. Then it opened its mouth, revealing a set of sharp teeth, and screeched, stopping would-be rescuers in their tracks.

“Go hide in the rocks, and don’t come out until I come to get you!” Rita screamed at her son.

Shoving Matt toward the rocks, she ran toward her prostrate daughter. Chrissy moved beneath the bird, which danced to stay on top of her. Then it dug its claws into the child’s shirt and shoulder. Chrissy screamed and wriggled beneath the bird. It floated in the air again and then came down, seizing Chrissy’s arm as well.

Then twenty feet of wing stretched taut, the huge surface area—as big as the sails on a small yacht—trapping every bit of the gentle breeze. The bird flexed its wings, curving them slightly to direct the captured breeze and floated upward—but the bird couldn’t lift Chrissy, who struggled to get free.

Then the wing tips bent and then flapped, and to Rita’s horror, Chrissy was lifted into the sky. In response to Chrissy’s weight the bird’s clawed feet dug deeper into her shoulder and arm, and Chrissy cried out again, breaking Rita’s heart. More of the wing tips bent in another flap, and the bird carried its prey higher into the air.

Rita put every bit of energy she had into a last sprint. But as she approached everything happened in slow motion. Chrissy was dangling beneath the giant bird, screaming and crying, floating higher and higher. Rita approached, raising her arms to grasp her daughter’s legs and rip her away from the bird.

Just then the bird’s full twenty feet of wings pushed down in a slow, powerful motion, and Chrissy and the bird shot beyond Rita’s reach.

Rita watched helplessly as the bird pumped its wings again and Rita felt the rush of air. Above the sound of the breeze she heard her daughter’s voice.

“Help me,
Mommy,
help me!”

The words brought Rita to tears, and she fell to her knees begging God to help her daughter. Still the bird spiraled upward, floating on air currents close to the mountain where it caught the updrafts. It glided out away from the hillside, dropping slightly, and then circled back where it would catch another updraft. It gained altitude on each pass.

Rita had never felt so helpless. Her baby was floating ever farther out of her reach to a horrible fate and there was nothing she could do. In desperation she picked up the nearest stone and threw it into the sky only to watch it fall well short of its target. Once again she dropped to her knees, sobs wracking her body. Then she heard the shot.

Rita turned to see two men wearing jeans and flannel shirts standing with rifles at their shoulders. She watched as one of them fired. She turned to look at the bird, but it continued to climb, seeming oblivious of the rifle fire. Another shot rang out, but the bird still climbed. Rita suddenly felt panic. What if they shot Chrissy by mistake? Then she admitted to herself that it wouldn’t matter, a bullet would be kinder than the bird. Another shot and another miss. The bird was getting too high. Soon there would be no chance for Chrissy to survive the fall, even if Rita could catch her. Rita turned to the men with the rifles and shouted, “Either save her or kill her!”

The men looked at her in surprise, but then their faces turned grim. They both raised their rifles again and took aim, but they didn’t shoot. What were they waiting for? The bird was on the outward swing of its spiral and turned to float back toward the mountain. Still they did not shoot. “Shoot!” she said out loud. The bird drifted toward the rocky mountain, then turned to catch the updraft, its wing tip barely scraping the edge of the nearest rock. Then two shots rang out.

There was the slightest pause when nothing happened—a tiny piece of time just big enough for hope to die, only to be reborn an instant later when one wing buckled and the bird collapsed against the mountain, sliding down the smooth rock face and disappearing behind an outcropping.

Pandemonium broke out. The people in the clearing cheered and shouted their approval and Rita felt waves of relief sweep over her. But where was her daughter now? Rita looked to see if the bird or Chrissy appeared anywhere below, but nothing but a trickle of gravel came tumbling down the mountain. Rita ran back and forth under the mountain looking for any sign of Chrissy, but found none. Other bystanders helped her in her search, and others appeared with binoculars, but no sign of Chrissy or the giant bird was found.

Then, when the noise of the crowd died down, Rita heard something else. She shouted for quiet, others taking up her cry, and soon she could hear her daughter’s distinct crying. It was the happiest sound Rita had ever heard, and she laughed out loud with the hope. Others came to her, reassuring her, telling her that her daughter would be okay, and she believed them. She needed to believe them.

She believed them right up until she heard the shriek. All heads in the clearing snapped up. There, just above where the bird and Chrissy had disappeared, was movement. The people in the clearing all pointed and gasped at once when the head of the bird appeared briefly above the rocks and screamed at them. The men with rifles raised them again, but the head bobbed back and forth behind the rock, preventing a clear shot.

The bird’s screeching drowned out Chrissy’s crying. At least that’s what Rita hoped, because they could hear nothing of Chrissy now. The screeching continued and then suddenly sounded weaker. The louder screech sounded again, quickly followed by a softer one. The pattern repeated, the second screech growing louder and louder. Then above the mountain-top appeared the silhouette of a second giant bird-thing.

49. Prehistoric Shore

After a hundred years of collecting specimens, we have but a small record of the vast dinosauria. How many thousands of other forms might have existed, we will never know.

—
K. Carmen Sontog,
Nature’s Lost Species

Warm Springs Indian Reservation, Oregon

PostQuilt: Tuesday, 4:25
P.M.
PST

P
etra stood on the limb and leaned out, one hand firmly grasping the overhanging branch. She could see through the leafy overhang, but couldn’t see why the dinosaurs were reacting. In the herd, the pickets were moving. The large males on the forest side of the herd were pawing the earth, while those along the lake side were trotting to take position next to their brothers. Finally, the large males were spaced evenly along the side of the herd facing the jungle. The females formed a ring within that, encircling the calves. Petra was impressed with their instinctive wagon-train behavior. The males made a formidable barrier with their long snouts and collar horns, and their huge bony collars. The females made an equally impressive wall, standing shoulder to shoulder to protect the young. Petra couldn’t imagine a dinosaur that would dare attack such a defense.

A crashing sound drew her attention to the brush. Something was moving through the brush recklessly, heading straight toward the herd. Petra held her breath, waiting to see the source of the ruckus. Suddenly it broke into the clearing at a dead run. It was Colter.

Petra laughed out loud. She shouted his name, happy and relieved at the same time. Colter was only a short distance across the clearing when he saw the dinosaur wall ahead of him and he turned, angling toward the clump of trees. Petra shouted to him again and waved her free arm. Colter seemed oblivious though, and kept looking back over his shoulder. Petra followed his glance back to the brush.

Then she nearly lost her grip. Coming through the brush was the biggest dinosaur they had seen yet. It towered above the vegetation, walking on two huge back legs, and had a massive head with immense gaping jaws. Loud enough for Dr. Piltcher to hear, she said, “I don’t think we climbed high enough.”

Petra was afraid to shout now and instead prayed silently that Colter would make it to the trees. She watched the race in silent horror, images of Dr. Coombs’s ravaged body drifting through her mind. The monster was in single-minded pursuit of Colter and seemed oblivious to the monoclonius in their defensive position. Colter was losing the race and Petra knew it would happen soon. The dinosaur would lean down and snap Colter up, swallowing him down in two bone-crushing bites. Petra couldn’t watch, and she started to look away, unprepared to lose two friends in one day. Then Colter bolted left.

Colter ran right toward the circled monoclonius. The pursuing dinosaur heeled over and followed, its tail swinging through the clearing, throwing up turf and dust. Petra screamed at him.

“No, Colter, no! They’ll kill you!”

Petra could see no hope for Colter now, but she was riveted to the scene. The monoclonius pickets were closing ranks, the males coming shoulder to shoulder, their heads down, ready to impale the threat. Colter raced on, the pursuing dinosaur gaining. He was trapped between a wall of horns and a set of jaws well practiced in bone crushing.

But Colter didn’t slow. Instead he hit the wall full speed, squeezing between two of the large males and out behind them. Then he turned, avoiding the wall of females, and raced between the males and females, curving around to the end of the picket line, and then out toward the clump of trees holding Petra and Dr. Piltcher.

The pursuing monster pulled up just before the horns of the males, who stood their ground, prepared to take the full charge of a carnivore with twice their mass. The monster screamed in frustration, blasting its breath at the monoclonius, who stood silently but defiantly. Suddenly, one lowered its head and then charged forward, thrusting its horns up at the monster’s side. The newcomer turned left to avoid the charge, screaming in rage, but another monoclonius charged forward, jabbing it on the right. The monster trumpeted in pain this time, but backed up and then began walking along the defense line, looking for an opening.

Petra watched Colter run into her clump of trees but lost sight of him when the leaves obscured her view. She yelled to him again, but the roars of the dinosaurs drowned out her voice. Turning back to the standoff, she saw the monster walking along the defensive line toward her tree. Suddenly she felt naked.

“Dr. Piltcher, we’ve got to climb higher. Now!”

Dr. Piltcher struggled to his feet, and reached for another limb. Even though the limbs were smaller and closer together at this height, Dr. Piltcher had only half of his normal strength. The dense foliage made it hard for Petra to help him. The best she could do was lean into the trunk from her side and steady him with one hand while he tried to pull himself up.

The monster was continuing along the picket line, which moved in front of it to keep the largest males in front of the enraged carnivore. It paused to roar at the monoclonius occasionally but made no attacks. It was close to their tree now, and Petra signaled Dr. Piltcher to freeze while it passed. Its head moved along the treeline at eye level, and Petra found herself mesmerized by one huge eye. How could something that big be alive? But it passed and Petra watched its back move toward the lake and to where Colter had disappeared. Whispering a prayer for him, she signaled Dr. Piltcher to try again.

When the giant carnivore reached the lake its frustration boiled over. Obviously, there was no opening in the line of monoclonius, only a solid line of horns and armor. From experience, it knew the three horns could be killed, but only if caught alone. In a pack they worked together, jabbing over and over, and exposing nothing to the carnivore’s jaws except horn and bony collar. But the giant’s hunger was great today, almost as great as its frustration, so it screamed again and then charged.

The carnivore’s scream nearly shook Petra from her limb. She could hear its rage. Petra turned to see the carnivore thrust down, clamping its jaws on the collar of one of the monoclonius, its teeth squalling on the bone like fingernails on a black board, and Petra flinched. The monoclonius roared back defiantly, trying to shake the carnivore from its collar, but the massive jaws kept their grip and the carnivore jerked the monoclonius briefly off its feet. .