As Ben marched, he tried to recall any landmarks from his previous time here, but couldn’t. Though he knew the lake and caves were at the interior, the fact was he left this plateau as soon as he was stranded in this time. It was the only place he found that the Titanoboa lived.
He looked up — the sun was just past its zenith. The snakes were more active at night, and they still had a few more daylight hours yet.
His one hope was that they saw the creatures before the creatures saw them — it at least would give them a fighting chance. That was the reason the mercs were with them — more sets of eyes to watch out and bodies trained to react quickly. He looked over his shoulder at the group coming up behind him. Drake nodded to him, and he returned the gesture. Thank God for having a few people here he could trust with his life.
Ben’s objectives were simple: first prize, they found Andy and everyone went home. He doubted they’d win that medal, but there were levels of achievement underneath that. So, second prize was Andy must be brought back or stopped. With rifle or sidearm, Ben was a crack shot, and Drake was even better; one way or the other, Andy must not be allowed to have any more effect on this time zone.
Ben led them through the damp and claustrophobic jungle. The mists that were still curling around the hairy tree trunks and through the broad palm fronds were now beginning to settle and drip like rain, soaking them all in a warm and oily moisture.
Ben was first to break out into the small and unusual clearing, and as the team filed out, Helen came and grabbed at his elbow.
“This isn’t natural,” she whispered.
Ben nodded slowly. “You’re right; been scratched out of the jungle.” He half turned. “Eyes out, everyone.”
The clearing was roughly 50 feet across, and around its edge, plant debris was piled there that had long rotted down. Something had scraped everything away from the center. There were mounds every few feet that were about a foot high and a yard around.
“Snakes?” Ben asked.
“I don’t think so,” Helen still whispered.
“Eggs,” Chess said as he used the toe of his boot to dig into one of the mounds. He succeeded in crushing some of the oval spheres, and the fluid made the spill glisten in the muted light.
Nicolás leaned forward. “I once saw an ostrich egg; they look like this.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Chess crushed another of the eggs with his boot.
“Stop doing that,” Helen hissed.
Something moved within the glutinous fluid, and she moved closer.
“Are they edible?” Buster said, and also began to uncover another mound.
“Gross.” Shawna blew air through her lips and held her gun up. “Looks like an ugly baby bird.”
Helen crouched beside the egg clutch and used her knife to peel open more of the shell fragments. She stared.
“What is it?” Ben asked.
“A bird,” Shawna insisted.
“Bird? I wish it were. This is something far more dangerous.” Helen got to her feet and turned slowly, scanning the surrounding brush. “I think they’re Troodon, otherwise known as wounding tooth theropods. Yeah, Shawna, they’re like birds, but only in that they’re covered in hair-like proto-feathers. But they have jagged teeth, stand about three-to-four feet tall when fully grown and probably weigh in at about 100 pounds apiece. They were one of the few dinosaur species that developed an angled digit like opposable thumbs — only other species to do that were apes and humans.”
“So they’re big turkeys with sharp teeth that can also thumb a ride if they need to,” Shawna sneered, and Buster laughed and bumped fists with her.
“Real funny,” Helen said. “These turkeys eat meat and hunt in packs. They also had the largest brain size per-ratio of any dinosaur. They were damned smart. If they didn’t go extinct, who knows where they might have ended up in the evolutionary pecking order.” She turned to Ben. “We need to get out of here.”
“Let’s go. This way.” Ben began to lead them out.
“Are you brain dead?” Drake seethed.
Ben turned at the sound of Drake’s voice. He saw his friend was glaring at Shawna who was crouching over the nest with one of the eggs in her hand.
“What? Just wanted a souvenir.”
“Well, it isn’t going to be a freaking dinosaur egg, so put it down.” Drake jabbed a finger at her. “Now.”
“Lighten up.” Buster shook his head. “Look around, there’s tons of them here.”
Drake’s jaw jutted. Shawna grinned back at him, but slowly her face began to drop. “Oops, sorry, mama.”
Ben saw that the female merc wasn’t actually looking at Drake, but just over the man’s shoulder. He eased his head around, and then squinted in at the jungle. It was almost invisible in among the foliage, but there was a head sticking from between two fronds. The eyes were large and front facing, and though the face looked heavily boned, he could see black and white down-like feathers covering the crest and neck.
“We got company.”
Ben gripped his weapon, and though the thing was totally motionless, the unblinking gaze was unsettling. Worse was the way the mouth curved at the back and made it look like it was wearing a cruel smile.
Helen spoke with barely any movement of her lips. “It. Won’t. Be. Alone.”
Nicolás nodded to the wall of jungle. “It isn’t; there’s another one in there.”
Ben looked to where he had planned to exit the small clearing and noticed in the dark, green tunnel another set of ruby red eyes peering out. “They’re all around us.”
Chess lifted his gun, racking in standard shells. “Say the word and I’ll make a hole.”
“Let’s try and back out first.” Ben cradled his gun in his hands now, the muzzle pointed at the foliage.
“Like I thought: Troodon. Try and keep facing them,” Helen whispered. “They’ll prefer to attack their prey from behind.”
The group eased backward, one step, two, and then came the wet crunch from behind them.
“Ah, shit.” Buster had planted one of his size 13 boots on an egg mound.
That must have been the last straw, as the herd, pack, or flock of Troodon burst from the foliage with a hiss like airbrakes being engaged. They were fast, and though the gunfire of multiple weapons in the hands of experienced shooters struck home, for every creature they took down, more were disgorged from the jungle.
Ben marveled at their strategy; they usually came in pairs, darting and jinking, and some moved back and forth in front of them, while their pack-mates came at them from the sides. It was a co-ordinated attack, and Ben could see their intelligence at work.
Francis cursed as his shots went wild, and Ben turned to see one of the Troodon hanging onto his already wounded arm. It was bicycling its legs against him, and red stripes appeared on his thigh as long claws on its center toes ripped through his tough jungle clothing.
The huge man then grabbed it by the neck and swung it like a club to the ground twice before flinging its broken body into the jungle.
Shawna changed up her rounds to jam powerful Raufoss into her M82 rifle and the explosive booms were near deafening in the enclosed clearing as she punched big tunnels out into the jungle with each discharge. But for every Troodon she hit, she missed twice.
“Standard rounds,” Ben yelled.
Shawna’s teeth were bared and she aimed again, just as one of the bird-like creatures flew from behind to land on her shoulders. Its backward-curving teeth went for her neck, and its talons stuck like twin daggers into the meat of her back. She screamed her agony, one arm going for the thing and the other waving her gun.