Then a flower blossomed on the belly.
There was the boom of the rifle, and the flower appeared magically — a brilliant red bloom against the snow-white flesh. The bloom spread as the fishlike reptile wrenched violently in midair, great jaws snapping, the blood spreading until it was washed away in the water as the ichthyosaur splashed down beneath the surface.
Then it was all over, Chuck thought. The ichthyosaur was gone, and all he had to do was tow Denise back to the raft and then relax, with the sun warming his bones and his muscles.
“Good gravy! Another one!” a voice shouted.
Another one? Chuck thought. Really another? Not really another one? Please, please not really.
The rifles started firing, all of them this time, their voices ringing with wrathful thunder. A spout of water leaped into the air on the starboard side of the raft and then cascaded down in a silvery shower that revealed a massive brown head. Arthur.
Chuck watched Arthur and then he saw the glint of the ax clutched in his right hand.
“I’m coming,” Arthur shouted. “Hold on, Chuck!”
Chuck took a deep breath and turned his head over his shoulder. Behind him he saw the huge dorsal fin of the ichthyosaur as it sliced through the water, the long jaws snapping in fury, the blood of its slaughtered mate spreading around it in deep red silence.
Chuck pulled Denise closer to him and struck out against the water with his free arm.
Behind him he heard the thrash of the water as the reptile gained on him.
Chapter 12
Earthquake
Chuck felt strange, as if he had no part in it at all.
It was as if the ichthyosaur behind him wasn’t really a threat to his life, as if Arthur swimming toward him awkwardly, with the ax poised in his fist, was really an apparition.
He only wanted to reach the raft. He kept swimming. Denise was a dead weight on the end of his arm; Arthur was a dim blob on the water ahead, and the sound of the reptile’s gnashing teeth behind him merged with the greater sound of the thunder in his ears.
He swam and he saw Arthur pass him. Then the raft suddenly loomed ahead like a square wooden rug. He reached up with one hand and felt the coarse, splintery surface. A stronger hand closed around his own, and he shook his head weakly, dragging Denise up beside him, wanting them to take her aboard first.
When the weight was lifted from his arms, he felt marvelously light, light enough to drift up into the sky, almost weightless. Suddenly he was drifting up to the sky, with strong hands clamped under his armpits. He saw red hairs curling on rounded forearms and he knew that his benefactor was Pete. He was lowered gently to the deck of the raft.
“Artificial... resp...“ he gulped, struggling for breath. “Denise. Artificial respiration.”
He saw boots near him and a pair of bare feet. The lashings of the raft were before his eyes, and beyond those, the water. And in the water he saw a brown man raise a powerful arm to ward off the swipe of swordlike jaws. He saw brown fingers close around the jaws, saw the other arm come back quickly, caught the flick of the ax as it came down against the conical-shaped head of the huge reptile. The arm came back in a blur of brown, and the ax descended again. And again. Arthur clung to the twisting jaws, the water splashing up around him as the reptile twisted furiously. Blood sprayed into the air as the ax glinted murderously in the sunlight.
He’s going to get killed, Chuck thought. Arthur is going to die.
The blackness came in then, as swift and as sudden as Judgment Day, and Chuck drifted off into a welcome oblivion.
“He’s coming around,” the fuzzy voice said.
Chuck kept his eyes closed tightly. There was a warm orange glow on them, capping them shut, obliterating everything but its own brilliance.
The voice receded down the length of a long black tunnel. A faint spot of light glowed there, grew larger, larger, until it filled Chuck’s consciousness.
There was warmth on his face, and the warmth felt good. He didn’t want it to go away. He kept his eyes closed because he thought he was dreaming and he didn’t want the dream to end.
His eyelids flickered.
He felt his fingers move involuntarily, and then he blinked his eyes rapidly, opened them and closed them once more.
“Chuck?” the fuzzy voice asked.
He wanted to answer, but somehow he couldn’t find his voice. He groped for it, reaching into his throat with a swollen, parched tongue. All he could produce was an unintelligible “ugnhhh.”
“Chuck?” the voice repeated. It had lost some of its fur and it sounded a little clearer, a lot closer.
“Yes,” he said, surprised to discover that he had a voice, after all.
“This is Pete, Chuck. Are you all right?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” He opened his eyes, and the sun splashed into them. He closed them quickly, surprised when the smell of growing things invaded his nostrils.
After awhile he opened his eyes again. He was lying on the ground, the ferns spreading around him in green abundance.
“Denise?” he asked, pushing himself to one elbow, his arm sinking into the soft earth.
“She’s all right,” Pete said. “It took awhile, but we got her breathing again. She’s all right.”
Chuck didn’t want to ask the next question. “Arthur? Is he... did he...?”
He heard a hearty laugh echoing in his ears, and then a deep voice boomed, “Chuck, it’ll take more than a little old fish to do me in.”
He didn’t bother telling Arthur that an ichthyosaur was a reptile and not a fish. Instead, he clasped Arthur’s hand firmly, a smile covering his face. “Thanks, Arthur,” he said. “Thanks... a... whole lot”
“Shucks, I enjoyed the swim,” Arthur said.
“We made it, I guess.” Chuck sat up and looked around him. Far in the distance he saw the twin white rocks leaping up at the sky.
“We made it,” Pete repeated. “Once we got rid of those ichthyo-whatever-you-call-’em, the rest was easy.”
Chuck looked again at the white rocks. “There’s our goal,” he said. He paused. “You think we’ll get there in time?”
“Why not?” Arthur asked.
“We’ve only got two days. That’s an awful lot of distance to cover in...”
“We’ll do it,” Pete interrupted. “But first I’m going to make some hot chow for you.”
“Maybe we ought to get started right...”
“Not until you and Denise have eaten,” Pete said firmly. Chuck noticed that the cook still carried his rifle slung over his shoulder. He wondered now why he had ever doubted Pete’s loyalty. He hugged his knees to his chest as Pete started a fire. Masterson was in animated conversation with the doctors. Gardel was standing off by himself, leisurely puffing on a cigarette. Chuck saw Denise lying on a blanket in the center of the camp. He got up, staggering a little when he discovered his legs weren’t as strong as he’d thought, and then walked over to her.
“Hi,” he said, “enjoy your morning swim?”
“Oh, delightful,” she answered. “Nothing like a swim to give you an appetite.”
“Nope, my brother always used to say—” He cut himself short, wondering how he had planned to complete the sentence. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what Owen always used to say. Something about swimming, of course. But what? What?
“Do you feel all right, Chuck?”
He snapped his attention back to Denise. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I hear they really had to tear you away from the gates of heaven, though.”