Arthur backed the jeep in a wide, screaming curve as the stegosaurs closed the distance. He turned the wheel sharply and jammed his foot against the accelerator. The jeep jerked forward like a bullet from a pistol, narrowly missing a cycad, almost knocking Chuck loose from his precarious perch on the fender.
The stegosaurs trampled past in a cloud of mud, ferns and flying leaves. The jeep bounced as the armored tons of flesh shook the ground. There was a whirl of gray and green and agitated brown. Suddenly the stegosaurs were gone and the jeep was scrambling across the clearing like a frightened rabbit, Chuck clinging to the fender for dear life.
Arthur stopped the jeep for a moment while Chuck leaped to the ground and onto the seat in one quick motion. The jeep lurched forward again. Behind them, the stegosaurs wheeled for another charge. The truck had stopped at the edge of the clearing, and Chuck could see Masterson and Gardel leaning over the tailgate, firing at the animals behind the jeep.
When the jeep got closer, the truck started moving again, with rifle fire erupting in sharp, even cracks from the tailgate and small blossoms of yellow sprouting from the hot barrels.
Arthur kept his big, brown hands firmly on the wheel as he followed the truck around the clearing and through the ferns. The noise of the stegosaurs was growing fainter, and Chuck knew they would soon outdistance the lumbering beasts.
Arthur turned to him then and said softly, “Sometimes, life gets mighty hard to live. Sometimes. But it’s good to be alive anyway.” There was gratitude in his deep brown eyes and a serious expression on his strong features.
Chuck didn’t say anything. He was remembering how Arthur had unhesitatingly jumped out of the jeep and thrown open the hood. He was remembering, too, the way the stegosaurs had looked as they massed for a charge. A shudder worked its way through his body.
“It’s all over,” Owen said quietly. “For now, anyway.”
Chuck looked back over his shoulder. Far in the distance, beyond the herd of stegosaurs, he saw two sharply pointed white rocks jutting up against the sky. The rocks were large, like two oversized mounds of vanilla custard plopped down on a green plate. They sat there majestically, placid against the mild blue sky. Chuck looked at them hard, remembering every detail of them. He knew that the rendezvous site was near those towering rocks and he didn’t want to forget that.
The stegosaurs had stopped running and were already intent on nibbling at the foliage again. It was almost as if their small brains could cope with only one problem at a time. The only problem that confronted them at the moment was their hunger. They looked almost docile as they stood with their heads bent, plucking at the leaves.
They’re real, Chuck thought. Really real.
Up to this point, they had been creatures of the imagination. They weren’t any longer. They were as real as cats or dogs, as real as anything Chuck had ever known. The pictures in the books had come alive for him at last. The word “stegosaur” would never again be simply a word. Whenever he saw it, he would remember the herd in flight, remember the sound of their hoofs, remember with horror the first terrifying scream when one of Masterson’s bullets had found a mark.
And there were others, wallowing in the inland lakes, feeding on the plants, chewing the smaller animals to shreds. Everywhere around them, a universe of reptiles, a society of lumbering beasts.
Where, he wondered.
And when?
Would Allosaurus suddenly rush from the forest, his giant jaws snapping, his claws bared?
How many reptiles watched from the depths of their primitive shelters, their flat eyes following the slow progress of the two vehicles?
The thought was a little frightening. Chuck suddenly wished he were back home, in his own time, in his own room, with only his books to remind him of Jurassic times.
One week. If everything went well, they’d be home in one week. If everything went well. But if Masterson insisted on his foolish plans, if he continued to shoot at every reptile he saw... Chuck didn’t want to think about it.
The land was sparsely vegetated now, leveling off into beds of limestone and shale. Several ferns dotted the rocks, but these were few and far between. It was like leaving a thick living-room rug and walking out to the sidewalk. The going was easier, and the truck picked up speed, its tires rolling easily over the rock beds. Arthur kept the jeep about fifty feet behind the truck. He hadn’t said anything for a long time. He kept his eyes on the truck’s tailgate, watching Masterson and Gardel. Both men spoke animatedly, pointing to animals that appeared briefly in the distance.
The truck swung around in a wide arc, and a large lake came into view, shimmering blue in the bright light of the afternoon sun. The truck stopped, and Masterson dropped to the ground and waved at the jeep. Arthur stepped on the gas pedal, bringing the jeep up alongside the truck.
Masterson was smiling. “Quite a tussle back there, eh, Spencer?”
Owen didn’t answer.
“What’s the matter, Spencer? Angry about something?”
“You almost got us all killed,” Chuck blurted.
“We’re still alive, aren’t we?”
“Through no fault of yours,” Owen spoke up.
“Come on,” Masterson said cheerfully. “Forget about it, will you? This can be fun for all of us.”
“Sure,” Owen said dully. “Loads of good, clean fun.”
Masterson waved his arm at the lake. “How’s this for a camp site, Spencer?”
“Are you really asking my advice or just telling me you plan to camp here?”
“Come on, Spencer,” Masterson said again. “No need to be surly about this. I really want your advice.”
“My advice is to turn the truck around and head back for the rendezvous site. Once we get there, my advice is to stick close to the vehicles for the next week. That’s my advice.”
“Your advice isn’t very good,” Masterson said dryly. “Forgive me for asking.” He turned on his heel and shouted, “Brock, break out the supplies. We’re camping here for the night!”
They watched Pete climb out of the truck and walk around to the tailgate. Together with Gardel, he began unloading tents, cooking utensils, cartons of food. Gardel moved quickly, like a dark shadow that flitted in the afternoon sun.
“I’d better go help,” Arthur said. He was sliding off the seat of the jeep when Masterson turned and began walking toward them. He stopped alongside the jeep as Arthur swung out from behind the wheel.
“Arthur,” he said softly.
“Yes, Mr. Masterson?”
Chuck felt every muscle in his body tense. There was a strange look on Masterson’s face, a tight smile accompanied by a glitter in his brown eyes.
“How about getting over to the truck and lending a hand?” he asked.
“I was just headed...”
“Never mind what you were just about to do. Get over to the truck.” Masterson’s voice was ugly.
“Sure,” Arthur said dully. He dropped to the ground and began walking toward the truck. He had draped his soiled shirt over his shoulders, and his muscles rippled in the sunlight as he walked, his shoulders broad under the thin material.
Masterson watched him go, and then turned to Owen and Chuck. There was a smile on his face.
“There was no need for that,” Owen said.
“I pay a man to work,” Masterson answered, “and I expect work.”
“We disagree about a lot of things, Mr. Masterson,” Chuck said.