Footprints of Thunder (68 page)

In sudden pain, Kyle realized the creature had small clawed feet attached to its wing. Wincing, Kyle maneuvered himself to his left and away from the good wing, in a frantic dance with the pteranodon, keeping it at arm’s length. Around and around they went until the partners collapsed in exhaustion.

Still, Kyle held on, feeling the deep, rapid breaths coming out of its nostrils.

He was still considering the options when he heard a voice.

“I want my mommy.”

Kyle looked around but couldn’t see where the voice was coming from.

“Chrissy? Where are you, honey?”

“I’m here. I hurt.”

Kyle could hear the voice, but the wing was blocking his view. Desperately, he searched vainly for an option. Then Shirley’s head appeared.

She pulled herself up over the ledge, flopped onto her stomach and then rolled to her back, smiling.

“I saw you dancing with that thing, Officer Kyle. And while on duty too. You two made such a lovely couple,” she drawled sarcastically.

Kyle felt foolish but spoke authoritatively. “The little girl’s here somewhere, I heard her voice. See if you can find her.”

Shirley nodded and crawled to look under the massive wings, then poked her head up and looked at Kyle mischievously. “Hey, Kyle, give me a hand, will you?”

When she picked up the wing, the pteranodon began twisting sideways.

“Mommy?”

At the sound, Shirley abruptly turned around and crawled to the cliff wall, reaching for the broken wing.

Kyle tightened his grip. When Shirley lifted the bird’s injured wing, Kyle could feel the bird’s whole body shudder. Now Shirley lay on her stomach looking down into a crack between the ledge and the cliff wall.

“Hello, Chrissy,” she said. “Your mommy sent us to get you.”

“I hurt.”

“Where, Chrissy? Where do you hurt?”

“Here. And here.”

In the dim light, Shirley could see the child’s gestures.

“I’ll be right back, Chrissy,” Shirley said soothingly. “She’s in pretty good shape,” she announced. She rolled to face Kyle. “Some cuts and abrasions. Her shoulder looks the worst, but her arm’s hurt too.” Looking at Kyle and the pteranodon, she frowned.

“Since you’ve got your hands full, I guess I’ll take care of her.”

“Shirley, get my gun and shoot it. Then I can help.”

Shirley thought it over for a second, and then shook her head.

“I don’t know how to use it. Besides, you’ve got it under control. Why kill it?”

Shirley grinned. Then she rolled over, reached down into the hole and began checking Chrissy’s injuries while Kyle watched helplessly. After a few minutes she slowly pulled the child out of the crack, pausing to reassure Chrissy when she began to cry.

Chrissy started to sit up, but Shirley restrained the child, talking soothingly as she splinted the right arm, put it in a sling, and tied it across Chrissy’s chest. Next she bandaged a wound on Chrissy’s head, then cut away at her shirt, exposing the injured shoulder. It was caked in dried blood and Shirley shook her head. She was still looking at the injury when a shadow passed over the ledge.

Kyle looked up to see another pteranodon. The newcomer looked like a 727 orbiting above them.

“We’ve got company, Shirley.”

Shirley didn’t pause. Instead she quickly bandaged the shoulder and then got Chrissy to the edge and propped her up.

“Kyle, we don’t need a backboard, so I’m going to take her down myself.” Then Shirley looked up at the circling pteranodon. “Maybe you could hold one in each hand.”

A shot rang out, followed by a ricochet. The captive pteranodon began twisting and turning and Kyle tightened his grip until it settled down. Waving her hands, Shirley stood up slowly, leaning out over the ledge to shout. “No firing! We’re coming down! We’ve got the little girl.”

Kyle knew the last sentence would mean new hope to a mother down in the clearing. Shirley pulled Chrissy to her chest and began crisscrossing kermantle to secure her. Kyle watched helplessly, his frustration growing with each second. Another shadow passed over them. Kyle looked up to see the pteranodon closer than before. The shadow passed twice more, growing bigger each time. “It’s coming,” Kyle warned.

Shirley ignored him and finished strapping the little girl firmly to her chest, the injured arm safely tucked between her own and Chrissy’s body.

“Gotta go now. Hang in there, I’ll be back.”

Kyle was about to answer when the second pteranodon swooped low over the edge, knocking Shirley backward onto a loose pile of rocks. Shirley gasped with pain. The fall set off spasms of pain in Chrissy, who began sobbing wildly. Desperate, Kyle got to his feet and began dragging the pteranodon toward the edge. If he couldn’t shoot it, and if he couldn’t let go of it, he was going to throw it over the ledge. Sensing the danger, the pteranodon renewed its struggle. For Kyle, this wasn’t a dance, it was a tug of war. The pteranodon used its good wing to push back and beat at Kyle, but it was losing the fight, and Kyle pulled it closer to the ledge. As he struggled, Shirley slid over the side and disappeared. Kyle took another step and stumbled over a rock, falling to his knees but holding on to the bird. He was ready to stand when a rush of wind behind him announced the other pteranodon. Then he felt a jab of pain.

The second one had stabbed him in the butt with its beak. Kyle flinched and screamed, letting go of the first to protect himself from the attacker. When he released its bill the dinosaur tumbled backward, finally winning the tug of war. Kyle turned in time to dodge another jab, stumbling backward and falling onto his wounded behind. Both birds now screamed simultaneously, deafeningly, but he picked up a rock and hit the pteranodon who had stabbed him. Spreading its mammoth wings, it launched itself off the edge, only to float back up and hover, looking down. Kyle remembered his pistol and fired, punching an insignificant hole in the webbing. The sound drove the pteranodon off, and it floated out of sight.

Kyle turned to race the injured pteranodon, his pistol still in his hand. But when he swung around, the pteranodon was thrusting at him with its beak. As Kyle brought his arms up to deflect the jab, the dinosaur’s mouth opened revealing rows of needlelike teeth, and then closed them over his gun arm just above the wrist. Then the dinosaur jerked its head back. When it did Kyle pulled his arm out, the rows of teeth shredding three inches of skin. Overwhelmed by pain, Kyle dropped his gun—just as the pteranodon jabbed into Kyle’s sternum, knocking the wind out of him. The beak stabbed once more, jamming between two ribs. Kyle grabbed the beak and pushed it back. His bottom, chest, and wrist were throbbing, and he was in a fight for his life. The adrenalin poured into his system. Then he stood and dragged the pteranodon toward the edge again.

Twisting savagely, Kyle pulled the beak close to his chest, flexing his arms, and threw the dinosaur away from him. Only the good wing held it to the ledge, its body suspended in air. Kyle walked to the edge, ready to break the wing with his boot and send it over, but he paused. It was truly helpless now and no threat to him, except that it was hanging over his rope. He was considering a different way down when he heard Chrissy scream.

Kyle raised his boot and broke the wing with a quick stomp. Shrieking, the dinosaur dropped over the edge, fluttering and twisting in the air until it hit the rocks; then it lay silent and motionless.

Kyle leaned out looking for Shirley and Chrissy but couldn’t see them. The ledge must still be obscuring his view, he hoped fervently. But now the other pteranodon floated by below him, circled, and headed back toward the cliff. He heard another scream when it disappeared, but then it floated below him again. Kyle looked back for his gun. When he started away from the edge to find it, another scream spun him in his tracks.

Picking up the rope, he wrapped it around his good wrist and arm, and when the pteranodon appeared below him a second later, he jumped, pushing out with his legs, to avoid the rocks. Kyle yelled, “Falling,” and prayed Jay was awake on the belay. Kyle fell toward the pteranodon, angling head down, his rope trailing out behind him like a bungee cord—but kermantie rope has very little give. His stomach elevatored as he dropped and the cliff flashed by. The pteranodon was rushing up toward him, but laterally away from him. He hoped it was far enough.

As he fell below the ledge, he could see Shirley and Chrissy dangling on the other side, being lowered down by Kimberly on the ground. The pteranodon continued to rush toward him. Stretching out his arms, he angled down, trying to close the distance with a glide, though he realized he wouldn’t get enough glide to close the gap. Then the pteranodon pivoted on its right wing, slowing its forward motion. As Kyle reached out to hit the wing he reached the end of the rope.

The kermantle snapped his wrist up, the rope burning and removing skin. He snatched it with the other hand and managed to stop his slide down the rope. As his arms pulled his shoulders and head up, his legs snapped low beneath him and he kicked out with them, bringing his feet under the pteranodon’s wing, and up into the membrane. Kyle could see the impression of his climbing boots in the tautly stretched skin, and he pushed up with his entire body. The pteranodon rolled left away from the kick, emitting a shocked screech, and continued toward the cliff. Kyle lost sight of it then, because his rope finished snapping him away from the fleeing dinosaur. Now he was swinging by his arms, toward the mountainside.

He took the crushing collision full on his right knee and leg, then hung semiconscious. Slowly he realized the rock in front of him was moving. Panicky, he looked to his wrist—the rope was blood soaked but secure. Then Kyle realized he was being lowered by Jay.

He blanked out briefly. When he opened his eyes, people were laying him flat, stretching out his injured leg and sending more spasms of pain through his body. Discovering the wound on his backside, they rolled him over and cut away the seat of his trousers. Kyle was just aware enough to be embarrassed as they worked on his bottom for a while and then applied a compress. Then they lifted him and laid him on a stretcher facedown, his bare buttocks sticking up for the crowd to see. Mortified, Kyle closed his eyes, but he felt a touch on his face. He looked to see Shirley’s brown eyes staring into his own.

“Chrissy’s going to be okay. They’ve already transported her.”

Kyle flashed a smile to acknowledge he’d heard. Then Shirley looked over at his exposed bottom, and shook her head in disbelief.

“My hero,” she said, and then kissed him on the cheek.

66. Noah’s Raven

Civilization comes in long waves. Whether Babylon, Ur, or ancient Guatemala, the mystics of those civilizations understood this, and used mathematics to try to understand why theirs and other civilizations come and go. Ours may be the only wave of civilization that has not made such an effort.

—
Dr. Carrie Simpkins,
Mathematics and Prophecy

Forest, former site of Portland, Oregon

PostQuilt: Wednesday, 12:30
P.M.
PST

T
he sound of the motorcycle put them on the move again. Cubby led the way with Ellen and John taking turns jogging with Ripman, who let slip occasional groans. The motorcycle sounds continued in the distance, but did not approach. Then three gunshots echoed from the distance—followed by more motorcycle sounds and two more gunshots.

“Think a dino got him, Cubby?” John asked,

“I don’t know,” Cubby responded softly, and then with a touch of anger added, “How should I know?” To Ellen, Cubby seemed uncomfortable with the role of leader. His irritability was one symptom. The other more serious one was his unwillingness to consider any plan of action except heading to his house. For now they were moving away from the sounds of the motorcycle, but tbey’d need to settle the question of direction soon. As if in response to Ellen’s thoughts, Cubby slowed to a walk, and the rest dropped abreast.

“Did you guys sabotage their bikes?” Ripman asked without looking up.

“Yeah, we did,” Cubby said with pride. “We saw them go after John’s mom and that other lady, and you take Mrs. Roberts off into the woods, so me and John waited until dark and then snuck into their camp and cut up their wiring so they couldn’t follow you.”

“All of the bikes except one.”

“That was one John was supposed to do,” Cubby snapped.

“Up yours, Cubby. You don’t know which bike that was.”

“Yeah, maybe. Hey, where is that other lady?”

Ripman finally looked up and caught Ellen’s eye. When he didn’t say anything, Ellen just shook her head. She couldn’t bear discussing the details. Cubby and John sensed her pain so Cubby quickly changed the subject.

“We also got this gun off a dead guy,” Cubby said, holding it up.

Other visions immediately filled Ellen’s head—terrible visions. Ellen wondered if they’d found the gun on Coop, or Bobby, but didn’t bother to ask. Someday she would have to cleanse herself of these memories by talking them out, but this day called for repression and denial.