Owen tossed him into the cab of the truck and stooped to pick up his rifle.
“Get going!” he shouted.
“Get in,” Chuck replied anxiously. There wasn’t much time. He could almost hear the breathing of the animals. He heard the rifle go off as Owen triggered a shot at the herd.
“Go on,” Owen shouted, “I’ll hop aboard. Move! Move!”
Chuck started the truck in motion, turning the wheel slowly, treading lightly on the accelerator. He wanted to make sure Owen could hop aboard, and he didn’t want to give him a fast-moving vehicle to reach for. Behind him, he heard the rifle belch again and again. He kept the truck moving in a slow arc, curving away from the path of the herd.
Sudden realization snapped at his senses like a bull-whip!
Owen had no intention of hopping aboard. He was firing to attack the attention of the brontosaurs, firing so that the truck could make a safe escape.
Chuck acted instantly. He slammed on the brake and Masterson lurched forward drunkenly on the seat, almost smashing his head against the windshield. Chuck threw the gears into reverse, rammed his foot against the gas pedal and started to back up. His head was outside the window. What he saw made him want to die.
The beasts thundered ahead, and Owen stood directly in their path, infinitesimal compared with the monsters that bore down on him. The rifle cracked ineffectually. And then the beasts overran him, crushing him into the earth. His blond head showed for an instant beneath the rolling, trampling dull green hoofs, and then it was gone.
The sight wrenched at Chuck’s eyes and he felt tears spring up instantly. His face crumbled, and there was an ache in the pit of his stomach and a heaviness around his heart. He saw the animals whirl and start forward again. Instinct told him he should start the truck and leave this danger area. He glanced once at the man sitting next to him, a seething hatred boiling up inside him like a dark, evil brew. His hand reached the gear shift, went through the motions. He turned the truck and drove, leaving the spent brontosaurs behind. He found it difficult to see because of the tears that welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks.
Owen, his heart cried. Owen, Owen, Owen.
The party was silent when Chuck pulled the truck up beside the rock barrier. He sat behind the wheel, his eyes dry, emotion drained out of him. There was only an emptiness within him — a lonely bitterness that filled him with a dull, aching pain.
Arthur was the first to come to him.
“We saw,” he said. His voice was strangely gentle. “We saw everything.”
Chuck nodded silently. Gardel had come around to the other side of the truck and was shaking Masterson now. “Are you all right, Mr. Masterson? Mr. Masterson, are you all right?”
Masterson shook his head and sighed deeply, seeming to come out of his stupor all at once. “Those... those...” he stammered.
“We saw it from here,” Gardel soothed him. “It must have been terrible.”
“Charging down,” Masterson said. “All of them. Like... like the end of the world.”
“You shouldn’t have fired at the pterosaur,” Pete said suddenly. His voice was as hard as a chip of granite.
“Wh-what?” Masterson blinked at his cook,
“You caused the stampede. You killed young Owen!”
“Owen?” Masterson asked. “Me? I didn’t...”
“What kind of fool talk is that?” Gardel wanted to know.
“As sure as if you’d used a knife on him, you killed him,” Pete went on. He stood near the truck, his green eyes blazing with anger.
“I did nothing of the sort!” Masterson said firmly. “I had no idea the animals would stampede.”
“Owen warned you,” Arthur put in.
“I certainly didn’t ask Spencer to try any fool heroics on my be—”
“How can you talk like that?” Denise suddenly shouted. “How can you be so pompously self-righteous? Don’t you see what you’ve done? Don’t you see...”
“I’ll thank you to respect your elders,” Masterson said. A deep scowl had begun on his face, and a pout was beginning to form on his thick lips.
“You’re a murderer,” Arthur said clearly.
“I don’t have to take that talk from a lousy...”
“That’s enough of that,” Pete cut in sharply.
Masterson seemed puzzled. He turned to Chuck and his voice got softer. “Chuck,” he said, “you don’t believe that, do you? You don’t believe I murdered your brother.”
It took Chuck a long time to answer. He was remembering Owen. He was remembering the older brother he’d loved and honored. He was remembering the times they’d had together, the fights against the neighborhood bullies, the excited sharing of new toys or games, the hushed talks they had in their room at night when the rest of the house slumbered. He was remembering this. He was also remembering the way Owen had looked just before the dinosaurs had crushed the life out of him.
His voice came at last. It was low, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t think I want to talk to you, Mr. Masterson.”
“Aw now, Chuck, let’s be sensible about this. After all...”
“I said,” Chuck warned, his voice rising, “that I didn’t want to talk to you. Not now, not ever.”
“Look...”
“Shut up!” Chuck shouted hysterically. “Shut up! Leave me alone, can’t you?”
He felt Arthur’s arm around his shoulder, and he saw Masterson shrug and climb out of the truck. He heard Gardel whisper, “Don’t let this upset you, Dirk. It wasn’t your fault.” He closed his eyes tightly and refused to let the tears come.
After a little while he climbed out of the cab and walked to the back of the truck. He didn’t look at Masterson. He took a shovel and rested it on his shoulder.
Then he went out alone to bury his brother.
Chapter 8
Forced March
It wasn’t until later that day that Chuck learned what had caused the truck to stall. He realized then why Masterson hadn’t been able to get the jeep out of the mud, either. Both vehicles were out of gas.
Originally intended for short excursions within the one-mile area surrounded by the force field, the vehicles had come a long way and now were bone-dry.
They made the discovery when they were ready to start back for the rendezvous site.
“You’ll want us to go back at once,” Arthur said. He glanced meaningfully at Masterson. “I don’t think there are any objections now.”
Chuck merely nodded. He still found allusions to his brother extremely painful. It was only with the greatest effort that he could keep the tears from his eyes. But it was impossible to keep the ache from his heart. He and Arthur went to the jeep and tried to start it. Chuck lifted the hood and checked the engine, while Arthur went to the tank, coming back with a stick that was dry.
“Here’s the answer,” he said. “No gas.”
They walked back to the truck and checked the fuel in it. The results were the same.
“We’ll walk,” Chuck said simply.
“What?” Gardel protested. “All the way back...”
“Chuck said we’ll walk,” Pete put in. He was holding a large skillet in his hands. The freckles on his face stood out in angry red blotches.
“This is crazy,” Gardel said. “Just because...”
He saw the look in Chuck’s eyes — a cold, menacing look. He shrugged and sighed deeply.
“We’ll need supplies,” Chuck said. He started for the rear of the truck and was suddenly aware of something that had eluded his grasp up to now. He was leading the group!
At first the thought was overwhelming. He almost turned and said, “Look, fellows, this is all a mistake. I cant...”