The truck started, lurching forward over the ground to a low, flat clearing that edged on the feeding stegosaurs. One of the beasts glanced up as the truck approached, its huge spiked tail flicking heavily to one side, thumping against a thick cycad. Then it lowered its head and continued to nibble at the low shrubbery.
The truck crept to within fifty feet of the herd, while Arthur cautiously guided the jeep behind it. Still, the stegosaurs paid no attention to the intruders. Their jagged, arching backs jutted up grotesquely over the vegetation like animated stone walls, but they continued to feed calmly.
The truck stopped, and Masterson climbed out of the cab, the thick plants beginning some ten feet from where he stood on the flatland. Chuck heard an ominous click as Masterson shoved a shell into the chamber. There was another click as the safety catch yielded to Masterson’s thumb. Masterson fell to one knee, his head cocked, the gun in firing position.
“He’s going to shoot!” Owen whispered. Then, as if suddenly realizing what was about to happen, he started running forward. “Masterson! Hold your fire. Hold your...”
The shot bellowed into the afternoon silence like the roar of a wounded giant. It echoed from the trees, spread over the rocks, carried its message of lethal doom to anything that heard and anything that would listen.
Chuck felt his fingernails bite into his palms. He didn’t take his gaze from the stegosaurs. He saw one of the animals lift its head and stare around stupidly. Owen was almost upon Masterson now.
“You double-plated idiot!” he shouted.
Masterson didn’t look up. He triggered off another fast shot. This time he hit his target.
A terrifying bellow split the air. It tore at the nerves and splintered the silence. It was the very essence of primitiveness. It was a bellow of sheer, raw pain. It stifled the senses like the cry of a madman in a padded cell. Chuck saw one of the stegosaurs lift its head quickly, the gigantic tail lashing out like a spiked, bloated bull-whip.
“I hit him!” Masterson shouted. “I hit him!”
“Get back to the truck, you fool!” Owen said.
Gardel was leaning out of the cab, his eye pressed to the telescopic sight on his own gun. Pete had climbed into the front of the truck and was sitting behind the wheel. He winced, pulling his head between his shoulders, as Gardel’s gun added its thunder to Masterson’s.
The stegosaurs turned away from their food now, their small heads coming up, their bodies turning ponderously as the shots spattered around them. The ground erupted in showery cascades of mud and vegetation as the heavy slugs ripped into it. Another reptile bellowed in pain, and Gardel shouted exultantly from the cab of the truck.
And then it started.
It was almost imperceptible at first. It was as if all the reptiles had suddenly decided to shift their position at once. They turned slowly like comedians in a dead-pan routine, their powerful tails swinging around, their humped backs bobbing like ships on a sea of vegetation. They began to move forward slowly. They kept their heads low. Their ridiculously short legs stamped on the ferns. They moved like an outlandish football team struggling for a first down or a group of drunken lumberjacks staggering down out of the mountains. But they moved with purpose — a dim, primitive purpose spawned in a group of infinitesimal brains. Something was troubling them. They must defend themselves against this something.
Masterson shrieked in delight as the beasts began moving out of the shrubbery toward the clearing. Owen tugged at his arm, but Masterson shoved him aside angrily. He raised the rifle, fired rapidly, then reloaded and continued to trigger off shot after shot into the herd.
The stegosaurs moved deceptively. What appeared to be a halting, stumbling gait was suddenly a headlong flight. They moved through the ferns like a gigantic Juggernaut, their five-toed forelegs pounding against the earth, their tails thumping behind them. They formed a solid wall of destruction that charged blindly ahead, uprooting cycads, crushing rocks, setting the earth to trembling. The din was ear-shattering. It was like a thousand sledge hammers turned loose at once or a million bowling balls upsetting ten million pins in a million hollow alleys.
The crack of Masterson’s high-powered rifle sounded small and ineffective in the thunderstorm of the huge reptiles’ hoofs.
Suddenly Masterson seemed to come awake to the danger. He got to his feet rapidly and began running for the truck. Gardel kept firing from the cab. Owen sprinted for the jeep as the stegosaurs charged into the clearing, bellowing wildly, blind rage guiding their powerful muscles
“Get this baby started,” Chuck said to Arthur. There was an undertone of anxiety in his voice. He wet his lips as the stegosaurs roared forward, trampling over the spot Owen and Masterson had just left.
Chuck heard the motor whine as Arthur stepped on the starter. Owen reached the jeep and hopped aboard.
“Let’s get out of here,” he panted. “Fast!”
The stegosaurs stopped, raising their heads, seeming to sniff the air for their enemy. Arthur tried the starter again. A complaining moan came from beneath the hood of the jeep.
“What’s the matter?” Owen asked. He watched the stegosaurs as they lowered their heads again.
“I... something’s wrong. She... she...” Arthur swallowed hard, glanced up briefly at the herd of reptiles.
“What is it?” Chuck fairly shouted.
“She won’t start!” Arthur blurted. “Something’s wrong with her.” He looked at Chuck helplessly. When he spoke again, his voice was edged with panic. “She just won’t start!”
Chapter 5
Escape Plans
“Well...” Owen wiped a hand over his face, cutting himself short. He glanced uneasily over the windshield. The truck had already begun to move out of the clearing, and the stegosaurs studied the area with dull, unintelligent eyes, seeking a new prey.
Arthur’s hands were trembling, but he climbed out of the jeep in spite of his fear, walking to the front and lifting the hood quickly. He looked over his shoulder at the mountainous beasts and then ducked his head over the engine.
Chuck was beside him instantly. He’d taken apart his own hot rod so many times that he knew engines the way he knew his own name. He’d never tinkered with a jeep, though, and he’d never had a herd of dinosaurs looking over his shoulder while he worked.
“What is it?” Arthur asked. There was concern in his voice, but the panic was gone now.
“I think the plugs are wet. Driving through all that wet shrubbery probably did it. We’ll need a rag.”
Arthur didn’t hesitate a moment. He seized his shirt at the top and ripped it over his head. He pushed it off his arms and handed it to Chuck. “Hurry,” he said simply.
Chuck glanced at the stegosaurs. They were beginning to move again, slowly, just the way they had before. They moved toward the jeep, their awkward gait looking almost comical.
Chuck took the T-shirt and began drying the plugs. “Get back in the jeep,” he said. “Start her up. We haven’t got time to waste.”
Arthur ran around the side and hopped in behind the wheel. He stepped on the starter.
Nothing.
“Keep trying!” Chuck shouted. He wiped at the spark plugs frantically, drying them carefully, soaking up the water that clung to the engine, too.
Arthur tried again. There was a faint cough, a sputter and the exasperating, wailing whine again.
The stegosaurs were gaining speed. The earth began to shake as they swung around toward the jeep, great clods of mud and greenery bursting into the air beneath their hoofs.
Chuck ran to the other side of the jeep, tossing open the hood and starting on the spark plugs there. Arthur tried the starter again. The sound was lost in the overwhelming thunder of the approaching reptiles. There was another timid cough, a sputter, and Chuck saw the fan belt whirl as the engine caught. He leaped onto the fender, the hood still open, and shouted, “Let ‘er rip!”