RICK WENT TO Con's quarters to make sure she hadn't returned. They appeared empty. "Miss Greighton?" he called out softly. "Constance?" No answer.
Rick scanned the area with eyes sharpened by years of hunting fossils. One set of footprints diverged from the rest. Rick walked over to examine them more closely. He felt certain they were the girl's. She was barefoot and walked where the ground was soft, making a clear trail. It led toward the shore, but away from the protected beach.
THE MOSASAUR ROSE slowly to the surface of the sea. The thirty-foot-long reptile resembled a massive eel with a huge, pointed head. Breaking surface, it gulped air, then angled its exposed back to catch the first rays of the sun. It held its four flippers motionless and swam by sculling its powerful tail. The mosasaur's blood warmed and, as the night's sluggishness fell away, its hunger returned. The creature knew through age-old instinct that the sea turtles were returning to the island to lay their eggs. Each morning, female turtles could be found near the shore. Exhausted from their nocturnal labors, they were easy prey. The mosasaur's massive jaws and three-inch teeth could easily crush a turtle's shell, exposing the soft meat inside. Egg season was a time of plenty. With a deft movement of its flippers, the mosasaur changed direction and headed for the island to feed.
FROM THE CLIFF, the beach had appeared to be littered with cobblestones, but when Con had reached the sand she discovered the "stones" were actually shells. They were like none she had ever seen. Many were large—the sizes of apples and grapefruit, and some were bigger than dinner plates. There were neat symmetrical coils and wildly twisted tubes. Some were smooth, while others were ruffled like petticoats. Con vaguely remembered a name from her biology book. Ammo-something. She re-called they were somewhat like squids. The fossilized shells pictured in the text were dull gray, but these were vividly colored and patterned.
Con gathered up shells as she walked until there were too many to carry. She deposited her collection on the sand and went off to get more. There was such an abun-dance of choices, it was difficult to make selections. Within a short time, she had gathered a sizable pile of shells. She sat down to examine them. The sand about her was marked by the tracks of sea turtles, but, intent on her treasures, she didn't notice them.
The shells' hues ranged from warm earth tones to stark white and black to iridescent shades of pink and blue. Many of the shells were banded with elaborate, contrast-ing designs. Even worn and broken ones were beautiful, revealing an intricate pattern of inner partitions. Con had decided that the three-inch pink shells were her favorites when she spotted the same shade in the middle of a small wave. She rose for a closer look and saw a small flotilla of pink shells suspended in the clear water. They moved together in a coordinated manner, like a school of fish.
Con waded out for a closer look. The first thing she noticed was the animals' large eyes, which resembled those of cats. In front of the eyes was a mass of short tentacles. Occasionally, a pair of longer tentacles would flash out from this mass to seize some swimming prey. Just as quickly, the long tentacles would contract back to the shorter ones, which would writhe briefly as the animal fed. The ammonites did not scatter at Con's approach, but maintained their distance. Con waded deeper until a wave splashed her shorts and shirt. She looked at her dripping clothes—another civilized convention, like per-fumed soap-—then at the empty beach. "This is ridicu-lous," she said out loud, returning to shore. Impulsively, she shed her wet clothes, then reentered the water.
Con had never been skinny-dipping, and, as she waded toward the shellfish, she felt daring and free. The wind and water caressed her bare body. It was a mildly erotic sensation, yet one that seemed completely appropriate. The last barrier between her and nature was gone. The ammonites retreated toward deeper water in pace with her advance. When the water reached her breasts, Con gently pushed off the sandy bottom and drifted. She floated where the waves pushed her, lifting her head only to gulp air. She watched the ammonites, blurred by her under-water vision into pink planets. They seemed to accept her and swam closer.
I'm being reborn, thought Con. Botticelli's painting, The Birth of Venus, came to mind. Con pictured herself rising, newly made, from the ocean—nude and borne upon a seashell. It was an absurd but compelling idea. Con surrendered to its imagery and let the current carry her farther from shore. RICK TRIED TO stifle his irritation as he rehearsed in his mind what he would say to Greighton's daughter when he found her. "Excuse me, miss, but I was concerned for your safety." Too stuffy. "Hey, Constance, what's up?" Too lame. "Mr. Neville ordered me to check on you." Too blunt, but true. This job was not turning out as he had envisioned. Rick saw a guide as part explorer and part teacher. He wished to share his interest in the Cretaceous, more as an enthu-siast than as an authority. Apparently, Green and James conceived of his position far differently. Green had touted him as an expert. It was a claim that Rick would never have made. As a scientist, he was aware of how little he, or anyone, really knew about this period. At least, James recognized that Rick would have to learn on the job. Yet James, as well as Green, seemed to expect him to be a nursemaid, entertainer, and servant to the guests. Rick felt uncomfortable and ill suited for such a role. He had little idea how to fill it. The path grew stonier, and the footprints became hard-er to spot. Rick thought less about his job and more on tracking the girl. Surely, she's safe somewhere, watching the sunrise, he thought. The sooner I find her, the sooner I'll get my coffee.
Despite his immediate task, Rick had to resist being distracted by his surroundings. After all, this was the Cre-taceous. Everything, from the smallest insects and plants, constituted a new discovery. Objectively, he recognized that he came from a time where human development, in-troduced species, and global warming had impoverished the biosphere. The landscapes Rick was familiar with were depleted and weedy. In comparison, even this tiny island seemed overflowing with abundance. He wondered if a twentieth-century visitor, someone from a world that still contained wild tigers and rain forests, would find this island equally astonishing.
The tracks approached a low cliff overlooking the sea, then ended. Rick walked to the edge and looked down on the beach for signs of the girl. About thirty yards to his left, he spotted her footprints in the sand. They disap-peared at the edge of the surf, then reappeared sporadi-cally farther down the beach. They led to a pile of shells and a wad of clothing before vanishing into the sea. Rick's speculations about biology were instantly for-gotten. He wildly scrambled down the cliff. As soon as he reached the beach, he began to run.
CON DRIFTED, ALMOST in a trance. The sea rocked her and washed her thoughts clean. Last night was forgotten. Daddy and Sara were forgotten. Only calm remained. Then, as she raised her head to breathe, a jarring sound shattered her tranquillity.
"Constance!"
Con turned and saw the guide running down the beach. Embarrassment surged through her. Does he know I'm naked? A worse thought came. He's been watching me! She was about to flee to deeper water when she heard him shout again.