Footprints of Thunder (61 page)

Colter began to worry about the dino’s feet. If it kept coming it might step on him. He quietly got to his knees. He couldn’t get all the way up without noisily pushing branches out of his way. Colter watched the huge legs for movement, but nothing happened. Then he heard the loud sounds of a dinosaur sniffing and saw the giant’s head dropping toward his bush, where it paused and inhaled loudly and deeply. With its head low over the brush it bellowed, blasting Colter with its warm putrid breath. It remembered him.

Colter pushed the rifle up into the bush above him until the barrel pointed up. Then he steadied the gun and pulled the trigger. The dinosaur took the slug in its snout and blood gushed from its left nostril. The dinosaur reared, blinded by its agony, and Colter slithered out from under the bush, then turned just in time to see three huge, clawed toes, swinging toward his head. He rolled out of the way and came up firing wildly, hitting the dinosaur in the side. It didn’t flinch. Instead, it turned toward Colter, a murderous gleam in its eyes.

Colter bolted into the clearing, running past the cringing fifteen-footer, hoping the big monster would pick on something closer to its size. It didn’t work. As the monster followed him, Colter had a terrifying feeling of déjà vu—running from the monster again, toward the trees where Dr. Piltcher had been eaten, and the lake where Petra had been taken.

Hours had passed, and with each one Petra had become more miserable. She was terrified of the fish, she was in throbbing pain, and she had a new fear: She was afraid of falling asleep, of moving and alerting the fish to the life still in her. So Petra spent the hours lying motionless, enduring the pain, and fighting to keep herself conscious. She spent most of the hours grieving for Dr. Coombs and Dr. Piltcher, and fearing for herself. Strangely, she never worried for Colter. The last time she’d seen him he was swimming after her, but somehow she knew he was safe. But was he looking for her? No, he was probably back at the RV with Moose and Sarah. She hoped he was grieving for her. An image of Colter sitting in the RV, knees pulled up to his chest, head down and crying, flashed through her mind. It was too much for her. She began to cry over Colter’s grief, over her own death. In her exhaustion and pain she lost control and one sob wracked her body. It was enough. The fish stirred.

Petra felt the fish rock back and forth against her back as it struggled to its rudimentary feet, Petra lay there too exhausted to be terrified, too exhausted for anything but resignation. She lay there motionless waiting to see what came next. She would fight. But there was little life left in her. Too little to fight long.

The fish’s scales scraped skin off her bare back and tore at her panties, shredding them and the flesh underneath. Then it was up and moving. Petra listened and waited, sure it knew
she
had moved. But it walked deep into the den and began to feed. Petra’s body ached from lying motionless for hours, and her ankle was still throbbing, but her head was clearer. It still ached, but now the blinding pain was reduced to a bad headache.

The walking fish finished its meal and then waddled back toward Petra. It paused by her back and sniffed up and down her body, pausing at her bottom. Petra realized it was smelling the fresh blood. The fish was confused. Probably few of its meals bled. It sniffed higher up onto her back and then pushed her again. This time she resisted slightly, trying to mimic rigor mortis. After one more push, the fish snorted, the warm wet spray from its nostrils coating Petra’s back. As Petra lay there, eyes wide open, the fish padded to the pool and splashed into the water.

Petra counted to five hundred and then moved slowly. Her head throbbed when she rolled over and sat up, but she hung on to consciousness. The pool was glowing much brighter now, making Petra wonder how long she had been in the den. She scooted her bottom across the stone until her feet were dangling in the water, so cold it brought out the ache in her ankle. It also revived her, however. She sat there breathing deeply, trying to oxygenate her blood for what might be a long swim. Her own feeble efforts might nor be enough to reach the surface. Finally she sucked in air, filling her lungs, and let her body slip down into the pool.

As soon as she was below the surface, she pushed off hard from the edge of the pool. Only one leg was working, so she had little speed. She kept her eyes open, focused on the brightest glow ahead of her. Mostly she pulled herself along by grasping on the rocks that lined the entry tunnel. She made slow progress, however, and her air was running out. The glow was brighter, she was sure of that, but a ceiling still hung over her. She kicked and pulled again, desperate to clear the overhang. She had only seconds of air left when she turned, swam out, and kicked upward. Her lungs demanded air and she felt faint— then she broke the surface.

He made the treeline a few steps ahead of the monster and darted around the trunks. Still the beast came on, shearing off limbs and bulldozing smaller trees. This time it wasn’t going to let the forest keep him from his prey. Colter knew he was little more than snack-size for this beast, but this wasn’t about hunger; his tormentor had a personal mission. That was fine with Colter; his was personal too.

At the lake shore, the enraged monster was still forcing itself through the trees. It was perfect. The beast had little maneuvering room and Colter could hide behind a tree and take his time pumping out lead, one well-placed shot at a time. A large limb lay at the edge of the little wood, and Colter turned toward it. The monster was still coming, still angry; the snapping of big and small limbs filled the air.

Petra gasped and sucked in fresh, oxygen-rich air. Her starved brain cleared itself and her headache faded slightly. Now she found herself too weak to tread water and kicking with only one leg was nearly useless. Petra turned in the water, scanning for the fish, and saw the shore was close. She stretched out in the water and began swimming, one weak stroke at a time.

The shore, with its grove of trees, inched closer. Petra thought it might be the grove where Dr. Piltcher had died. She knew there was a tree there she could climb. It wouldn’t save her from that big monster, Dr. Piltcher had proved that, but it would keep her safe long enough to rest and get some strength back. Suddenly something moved in the woods ahead. A figure jumped over a large fallen branch and then turned its back to the lake. She recognized it: Colter.

Colter was exhilarated as he planned the perfect shot. He decided to aim about where a lung should be. That should slow it down in case he had to run again. A lungful of blood should cut you down to size, he silently told his enemy.

Colter smiled and began to squeeze the trigger, but then he heard something new. It was coming from behind him, the sound of splashing and dripping water. Something was coming out of the lake.

He turned at the sounds behind him to see a ghostly stick figure emerging from the water. It was a human figure, pale, white, and deathly, and looked zombielike as it walked through the shallows. Most horrifying of all, though, was its resemblance to Petra. Colter knew he was losing his mind. Petra was dead. She had been at the bottom of the lake since yesterday. She couldn’t be alive. Yet here was her body returning from its watery grave. Unnerved, he slumped to the ground with his back to the fallen limb and stared at the phantom, forgetting about the dinosaur behind him.

* * *

Petra staggered along the bottom toward Colter, wading through the water and pushing herself along with her hands. She’d just about made it to shore when Colter suddenly turned and pointed a rifle at her. Petra froze when she saw the look on Colter’s face; he meant to kill her. Then she saw the monster behind him, and it was coming.

Now the dead body limped through knee-high water, favoring its left leg. Colter remembered the fish chomping down on that leg. It must still hurt Petra, Colter thought. But why would a corpse limp? No, death was a painless state. That’s the only way it made sense. That realization snapped him up short and he stood and stepped toward Petra.

“Petra? Petra? Is that you?” Colter shouted.

It was. And she was alive. As he watched, Petra pointed a finger at something behind him, but before she could speak there was movement in the water behind her, the walking fish was racing toward Petra.

“Run, Petra!” Colter shouted. “It’s behind you!”

Petra’s eyes were still fixed beyond Colter, but at his warning she glanced behind. She broke into a run—but the pitiful run of an exhausted, lame person. The walking fish was in the shallows now, and using its flipper legs to splash after Petra, its powerful tail helped to propel it forward. Colter took two steps to the right to make sure his shot would be well clear of Petra and raised his rifle and fired, the shot sailing over, the fish’s body and into the water. He jacked another round into the chamber and raised the rifle again, but the fish had come close to Petra. Colter hesitated, but fired a slug into the fish’s back, near the tail. The fish flinched, slowed for a second, and then lunged for Petra’s flailing legs, tripping her, and she belly flopped into the shallow water. When the fish lunged again, Petra’s left foot disappeared between its powerful jaws.

Her head vanished in the water but she came up screaming. Now she was again too close to the fish but Colter once more raised the rifle, aimed at Petra, moved the sight slightly to the right, and fired. This time the slug hit the fish’s body dead center, and it began to thrash, still holding on to Petra’s leg. Colter fired again, hitting the fish just behind its jaw. The violent thrashing continued, whipping Petra’s legs back and forth. She kicked at the fish, trying to dislodge her foot, and suddenly she was free, and pushing herself away with her good leg. Colter opened fire again, putting three more slugs into the fish, and finally it lay still.

“Yes! I got you, you sonovabitch!” Colter rejoiced. He was still celebrating when he heard Petra yelling, and he remembered the other dinosaur.

He spun to see a huge three-toed clawed foot swinging to-ward his head and started to raise his rifle, but there wasn’t nearly enough time. Instead; he dropped the rifle and dove forward. He hit the ground and rolled toward the limb he’d been hiding behind, clear of the foot but not the huge tail, which swung to the left as the dinosaur turned. Colter crouched low beneath the limb, hoping it would protect him, but the tail knocked it sideways. He covered his head with his hands while the branches tore at his shirt and skin. Colter felt the limb break and its weight and the beast’s tail pounding him.

Petra watched in horror. She couldn’t see Colter, but the frantic turn of the dinosaur told her he was still alive. She ran to the side, then, above the din, she heard Colter’s shout.

“Get the rifle, Petra! Get the rifle!”

Petra could just make out Colter’s body beneath a huge fallen tree limb. Then he threw something at Petra. It landed just clear of the dinosaur and Petra approached warily. But the dinosaur was single-minded in its attack, so Petra retrieved the object—a loaded clip for the rifle—and then retreated.

She spotted the rifle under the dinosaur. There was no way to get to it except by running in the shadow of the towering behemoth.

When Colter hollered for help again, Petra trembled in indecision.

Now the dinosaur decided to get at Colter with its feet, stepping up close. With its huge three-toed foot, it clawed away turf. Its digging grew frenzied, throwing huge hunks of dirt toward Petra.

Petra was trying to time a run for the gun when the dinosaur clawed up the gun in a clod of dirt. Dodging the flying earth, she retrieved the gun—scratched and filthy. She hoped it would still work.

Suddenly Colter screamed as if he were being killed. Petra raised the gun, aimed it dead center at the dinosaur’s back, and pulled the trigger. As it fired it knocked her to the ground, and she saw the dinosaur’s head turning toward her.

Petra pulled on the bolt but it wouldn’t move. She looked at the mechanism, then lifting it, she pulled and to her relief she saw one bullet pop out of the clip, but there wasn’t another one behind it.

Petra closed the chamber. The dinosaur was turning toward her, and she knew she’d be easy prey, with no strength and little fight left. She lifted the rifle, her weak arms swaying under the weight, and aimed at the dinosaur’s left leg, waiting for it to turn and expose its chest. She had to get the heart, but where was the heart? In the center? The left side? Would a single bullet do enough damage to such a huge animal? As the dinosaur turned, Petra saw its head hung low. Suddenly she changed her mind, pointed between the beast’s eyes, and pulled the trigger.

The slug hit the dinosaur above the left eye, smashing through the thick skull. As bullet and bone fragments shredded the brain tissue, the dinosaur lost consciousness, closed its eyes, and then collapsed to the ground. A wave of hope and relief swept Petra until she saw the dinosaur was falling on Colter’s hiding place. The few branches still on the trees snapped off as the limp monster crashed to the floor of the little wood, and then lay still.

Petra stood stunned. She had killed the dinosaur, but she had crushed Colter beneath its mass. She ran around the dinosaur shouting Colter’s name, looking for some way to get under him, for some depression or crawl space. The ground was uneven because of the dinosaur’s digging, but there was no space big enough for a body. Finally she sat down. She had no tears left, and no energy to mourn. Instead, she just let creeping blackness fill her.

There was no point in staying. They were all gone now. First Mrs. Wayne and Ernie Powell, and then Dr. Piltcher and Dr. Coombs. And now Colter. She couldn’t bring them back. Maybe she could find Phat, or perhaps she should go back to Ashland and see if any of her friends were still alive. She knew she should go see if the RV was still there. If it was, she could get out of here, away from this nightmare. She didn’t know what kind of world it would be now, with dinosaurs running around, but whatever was out there wouldn’t carry these kinds of memories.

Still, she sat motionless. Depression weighed her to the ground. She sat and riddled with the gun listlessly. One part of her mind was working on how to reload it while the rest of her mind flowed from one unhappy pool of memories to the next. Finally, she found the clip release and replaced the expended clip with the one Colter had thrown her. She was about to leave when she heard a muffled sound.