The end result was the same. All, or apparently nearly all, had been wiped out.
Hugh tapped his wristphone to life and pulled up the camera, wishing he had the pocketphone with the better camera, but he hadn’t carried it, or needed it, for two years. He held the lens up to the eyepiece of the binocular and started recording, watching the screen and trying to keep the beast in frame. There was a good chance he could make some money off the video, or maybe even selling information on where a hunter could find the tyrannosaur. He’d once read about a man who’d made over a billion dollars on one by selling parts on the black market in China. Information on where to find another one had to be worth something.
Intently watching the tiny screen, pointing the binoculars at the distant creature, Hugh did something he hadn’t done on top of the car piles since he was a drunken teenager, thirty years ago: he lost his footing.
His boot slid forward on the slick, curved body of the convertible, and he windmilled his arms, leaning himself backward over the car, trying not to fall twenty feet onto the fence below. The binoculars flew from his hand, out somewhere into the junkyard behind him. Feeling his footing going out from underneath him, he lifted his knees to his chest, forcing himself to fall ass-first into the open well of the convertible, landing in the remains of the mangled seat, his shoulder slamming against the steering wheel.
The sound of the car horn blared out as pain shot through him, startling him, and it took Hugh a moment to overcome the shock enough to differentiate the two. He gasped, twisting to get himself off the steering wheel, and the noise finally stopped. His ears rang as he straightened out and tried to assess the damage to himself. He had a couple of sore spots, and a cut on his palm was bleeding pretty good for how small it was. It was probably from the rusty wireframe of the seat. At least it wasn’t a puncture wound. He’d have to make sure he cleaned it out well. The last thing he needed out here was to get Tetanus.
As he wiped his bloody hand on the leg of his jeans and caught his breath, his eyes fell upon the newest part of the old car, a fifteen-year-old cigarette lighter sticking out of the dashboard plug, and he started laughing. It was a novelty item that had no real reason for existing. His father had installed the silly solar-powered accessory years ago, and it had never occurred to Hugh that the tiny trickle charge it made could have possibly kept a car battery alive for all these years.
He pushed the lighter into the socket and fished in his shirt pocket for the old cigarettes. He pulled one out and sniffed it. It was too dried out to smell, but the thought of tobacco was there, and it made his mouth water. He licked the seam as though he’d rolled a fresh one and then stuck it between his lips. When the lighter popped, he took it from the dash and held the glowing end to the cigarette and puffed, making the desiccated tobacco crackle as it caught and burned.
The pungent smoke filled his mouth before he inhaled it. It was harsh and burned his throat and he nearly choked on it, but the memories of what once had been flowed through him and he smiled. He took another puff and raised the cigarette to the morning sky. “Here’s to you, Papi.” Hugh took a long drag and laid his head back, blowing the smoke up in a white column and, despite the pain, feeling…okay…for the first time in a long time.
A strange snuffling sound broke his reverie.
Hugh sat up and leaned over the side of the convertible to see two large golden eyes, set deep under thick and menacing brow ridges, not more than a foot down from his own face. They looked back, laser-focused upon him. The rex—and Hugh was sure that’s what it was now—was standing nearly straight up, easily towering over the twelve-foot fence and most of the lower stacks of cars.
Hugh swallowed, hard, but held still, his heart fluttering against his ribs like a moth trying to escape a screen door.
The monster inhaled deeply, nostrils opening wide, pulling in Hugh’s scent. It lifted its head farther back, giving him too good of a view of its wicked teeth, and Hugh tensed for it to roar and attack, slamming against his tower of cars to knock them, and him, over.
Instead, it sneezed.
Hugh jumped—throwing himself back—and watched in slow motion as blood and the cigarette flew from his hand and spattered across the rex’s snout, leaving dark, wet spots and sending up a shower of glowing sparks, making the monster blink in surprise.
Panic and thoughts of the creature having his scent literally in its nose spurred Hugh into movement, and he hopped out from the well of the car and raced back the way he’d come—the only way down the stacks of cars without jumping twenty feet.
Hugh could feel the rex pacing him, snorting and running right beside him at the fence line, and he feared being snatched out of the air with every stair-stepped block he dropped down. He flew past the plastic bucket and jumped wooden ramps, not daring to look back. When his boots hit the dirt, he found himself instinctively running for the trailer home, but some part of him realized it wouldn’t stop that beast. The thin metal sides would tear like paper under that thing’s massive jaws.
Changing direction, Hugh raced for the garage, wondering if dowsing himself in oil or gasoline would hide his scent. He knew his machete would be worthless, and the .357, even if the first three rounds hadn’t been loaded with varmint shots for the little nippers, would just piss that thing off.
The garage door, sensing his approach, opened just in time for him to duck and roll in under the big door. Spotting that the tractor still had the forklift attachment on, Hugh suddenly had the mad idea of impaling the creature upon the forks before it could get to him, and he swung himself up into the cab and started the motor in one smooth motion.
A black cloud of exhaust floated down in front of the cab, billowing through the morning sunlight streaming in through the garage door. Hugh drove the tractor forward, hoping to take the tyrannosaur on before it got clever and circled around him or something. He broke out into the yard at full speed, wishing the tractor moved faster, and squaring up toward the way he’d come while raising the forks to what he guessed would be chest high. He slammed the brakes and waited, listening for the monster to come plowing through the rows of scrap metal after him.
The tractor’s air conditioning kicked on and the motor dropped and then revved back up to compensate, vibrating the whole cab.
Hugh twisted his sweaty palms against the dirty rough spots of the otherwise smooth steering wheel. When he realized the radio was on, he jabbed a finger at the knob and turned it off, so he could listen for anything crashing around outside.
Though the motor rumbled, Hugh felt he was sitting in a dead silence. There was nothing moving outside the tractor. There was no sign the giant dinosaur was pursuing him.
He rolled the tractor forward, trying to get a better look through the rows of stacked cars. One of the little nippers, squawking like a scared blue jay, came running around the corner, looking more like a roadrunner than ever, and raced off toward the main gate.
Hugh tensed, waiting for the pursuer.
After a moment, when it didn’t show, he pushed the accelerator and crept forward more, turning the wheels slightly so he could see farther down the rows. At the end, just beyond the fence, the tyrannosaur was nosing at the rancid pile Hugh had dumped there.