Time Crunch Page 3

  Probably not while they’re on duty.

  AS SOON AS the jet was refueled it took off again, thundering down the runway like a conventional aircraft. The pilots took a strange, meandering course over the country, and Chase noticed Jaffa now talking constantly with them, as if giving them directions. The jet alternately lost and gained altitude—

  Like the pilots are searching for smoother air, Chase thought, though he couldn’t feel any turbulence.

  —then finally settled on an altitude of—Chase checked the dial—exactly 21,314 feet.

  Weird number, Chase thought, wondering if the precise number was essential. As if in response, Mr. Jaffa spoke into a mic attached to his headset, his voice filling the cabin.

  “Another four minutes, gentlemen.”

  Chase double-checked his lap belt, thought about it, and then then cinched it down even tighter. He’d been through something like this before and hadn’t liked it. He glanced behind him, but the rescue team—the soldiers or commandos or whatever they were—didn’t seem worried. They continued with their preparations as if the announcement was nothing more ominous than, “We’re now passing over the Grand Canyon.”

  Chase turned back to his window.

  Farmland, he thought. Lots of circular fields, a few roads, coupla houses, a small town in the distance—

  “Almost there, gentlemen,” Jaffa said into his mic.

  Chase became aware of a distant hum. The drone quickly grew in power and intensity, and Chase suddenly felt the hair standing on his arms and head. An uncomfortable tingle rippled over his skin.

  Jaffa: “Entry in three … two … one … mark.”

  Chase closed his eyes and gripped his armrests—

  The jet bumped and rocked as if flying through a small air pocket. Chase felt his ears pop; felt a fleeting sensation of floating. But then—

  Nothing happened.

  He opened his eyes and looked around, but nothing had changed. The men in the back were still working: consulting checklists, organizing their gear and stuffing it into compact backpacks. Even the strange hum was gone, the hair on his arms behaving normally again.

  Did we miss it? Chase wondered.

  He glanced out the window and caught his breath.

  The farmland he’d been watching—the circular fields, and roads, and homes, and even the small town—was gone, replaced by thick, endless forests. There were craggy mountains in the distance, a few small hills, and a couple of blue rivers snaking through the trees. The sky was a deep, sparkling blue, a few cotton-white clouds hanging here and there.

  Looking down, Chase saw a pair of brown ribbons cutting through the trees like long, meandering snakes.

  Must be some sort of trails, he thought, knowing they couldn’t be roads. But if I can see them from here, they must be huge!

  “It’s something, isn’t it?”

  Smith was back, peering through the window over Chase’s shoulder.

  Chase fought the urge to ask something stupid, like, Are we there yet? and simply answered, “Yeah.”

  “Once we land and open the doors, you’ll find breathing a little difficult. Mesozoic air is fifty percent richer in oxygen than you’re used to breathing. That’s not actually good for you, but for a few days it won’t hurt. And you’ll get used to it.”

  “Huh.” And then: “So where’re we going?”

  Smith gestured. “There’s a clearing where the original team landed. We’re hoping Zach will still be close. If we’re lucky, in fact, he’ll be waiting for us and we’ll all be home in time for dinner.”

  That actually doesn’t sound like Zach, Chase thought, though he didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t be like him to just sit around, waiting to be rescued.

  The jet nosed over and the roar of the engines softened as the plane descended. Chase wondered what effects the increased oxygen had on the engines—

  Can’t be good for the mileage!

  —but realized it was probably helpful in keeping the craft in the air. He wondered, too, if the oxygen-rich air had anything to do with the size of prehistoric creatures.

  If nothing else, it probably helps animals like pterosaurs to fly.

  He glanced out the window.

  Oxygen fuels fire, he thought. So if you light a fire out there, it’ll probably burn like crazy!

  THE JET SLOWED and the ride becoming bumpier as the plane caught thermals rising from the forest. There was a hum and a thump as the landing gear dropped into place, and the ride became even bumpier.

  Jets aren’t designed to fly slow, Chase realized, ignoring the bumps.

  Captain King’s voice abruptly filled the cabin. “Landing site’s just ahead, gentlemen. We’ll be setting down in about eight minutes.”

  Chase looked back over his shoulder. The men were now adjusting their packs, though without the jokes and witty banter he often heard in Hollywood movies.

  He turned back to the window as the jet dropped toward the forest.

  Not gonna tell us to fasten our belts, huh? Well, that’s different, anyway.

  He wasn’t sure if the lack of safety precautions was because the passengers—aside from him—were tough military types, or because landing vertically wasn’t dangerous.

  Smith was suddenly back with a bundle of clothes.

  “Why don’t you put these on?” he suggested. “They’re a little more rugged than what you’re wearing, and once we start hiking you’ll appreciate having a good pair of boots.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Chase took the clothes and wondered where he could change. He felt silly walking past everyone toward the lavatory in the back of the plane. But since no one was paying him any attention he simply removed his school clothes and pulled on jungle-camo fatigues that matched everyone else.

  Wow, everything fits, he thought, smoothing the camouflage shirt over a gray T-shirt, then checking the variety of cargo pockets. Even the boots …

  The commandos wore their shirtsleeves rolled to their elbows, so Chase rolled his up the same way. He wondered how they’d known his size, but didn’t worry about it. He quickly laced up the boots, then slipped a webbed belt through loops on his pants.

  In addition to the clothes, there was a sheathed tactical knife and a multitool (containing pliers, screwdriver, saw blade, stuff like that) which he attached to the belt, as well as a Swiss Army knife that he slipped into a pocket.

  These guys think of everything …

  He folded his school clothes neatly and placed them on the seat beside the window just as Smith returned.

  “Here,” the man said, handing him something that looked like a cell phone with a headset. “Put this on.”

  “What is it?”

  “Radio. You’ll be with me or one of the others all the time. But on the chance you get separated—or in case something unexpected happens—you’ll be able to reach everyone else.”

  Without waiting for a response, Smith clipped the radio to Chase’s belt, then slipped the headset over his ears. There was a small insert that slipped into Chase’s left ear, and a boom mic that curved around his cheek.

  “The transmit button is on the face of the radio,” Smith explained, pointing. “Press it to talk; volume’s on the side.”

  “Okay,” Chase said, already feeling like a legitimate part of the team. After all, he figured, they wouldn’t outfit him like this if they were just going to leave him on the plane.

  The jet bumped and Chase realized it was no longer moving forward, but descending vertically. He bent to look out the window. Tall, majestic trees filled the landscape in a thousand varieties of green, forested mountains rising in the distance. There were several dark shapes soaring over the trees, but they were too far away to tell if they were birds, or exotic Callovian flying lizards.

  The engines thundered and Chase stumbled as the plane rocked. The jet turned slightly, then finally settled to the ground. The engines instantly began spooling down: looking forward, Chase could see the pilots throwin
g switches as Mr. Jaffa sat hunched over his keyboard, typing madly.

  Working on his next calculations …

  Chase looked back into the cabin. Without speaking, Mr. Smith and his men were pulling on their camouflaged backpacks. They were all wearing headsets identical to his. For the first time, Chase realized how serious the men looked. Their faces were hard and chiseled as if they’d been chipped from stone.

  No wonder they’re not cracking jokes, Chase thought. Probably eat nails for breakfast …

  He sensed that while none of the men would be much fun at a party, they were exactly the sort of guys he wanted around in a world filled with dinosaurs.

  Finished with their packs, the men began lifting compact, automatic rifles.

  Machine guns!

  “Whoa,” Chase said, his mouth speaking before his brain had time to think. “You’ve got guns?”

  A man who hadn’t shaved for about a week gave him a sour look. “Suppose we find your friend treed by a twenty-ton dinosaur. You think we’re gonna scare it off with a little harsh language?”

  “We don’t plan on shooting anything,” Smith added. “But the first rule in an operation like this is preparation. We’re far more likely to succeed being over-gunned than under-gunned.”

  Chase just nodded: Stubble Face had turned back to his rifle, mumbling beneath his breath.

  Probably thinks I’m an idiot, Chase thought, convinced he’d just made a major mistake. Hope we don’t get paired up as hiking buddies …

  He turned back to the window. The jet had settled near the edge of a large meadow filled with high grass. Beyond was an incredible forest filled with tall, sweeping pines, ferns, and shoulder-high shrubs.

  Wow, Chase thought. It’s incredible.

  He looked around, half expecting Zach to come bounding from the trees.

  But … nothing.

  Yeah, that’d be too easy, he thought. And he didn’t really expect it to happen. There’s no way Zach would just stick around, hoping for the best.

  Mr. Smith had come forward again. He passed Chase and stuck his head into the flight deck. “We’re on our way. We’ll take a quick look around before deciding what’s next. You guys good?”

  “No worries,” Captain King replied.

  I doubt they’ll even leave the jet, Chase thought. Not after what happened the last time we were in a place like this …

  Mr. Smith touched a pad on the wall and the clamshell door opened: a rich aroma like expensive fertilizer filled the cabin. Breathing in, Chase was reminded of freshly dug earth, potting soil, and newly cut grass. The smells were pleasant but distinctly … alien. And—

  Chase was suddenly dizzy: his head swam and he nearly stumbled, just able to grab hold of the nearest seat before he collapsed. Stubble Face caught him by the arm.

  “You okay, kid?”

  “Yeah, just—”

  “It’s the atmosphere,” Smith said, looking back. “The oxygen, remember? Take a couple of slow breaths and it’ll pass.”

  Without waiting to see if Chase recovered, Smith peered out the door, then stepped to the ground. His men followed like camouflaged lemmings. Chase took a few more easy breaths before following.

  Wow, Chase thought, not for the first time. The sun was warm on his face, sparkling as it reflected off the jet’s sleek, white skin. Chase squinted into the light, and Smith handed him a pair of sunglasses—which fit perfectly—along with a paper bag.

  “Thanks,” Chase said. He held out the bag. “What’s this for?”

  “Stuff it in your pocket. If you get feeling dizzy again, breathe into it. It’ll—”

  “Add CO2 to my lungs.” He looked around. “You want me to try yelling for Zach?”

  Smith looked surprised. “Why would you do that?”

  “In case Zach’s close—”

  “If Zach’s anywhere within a couple of miles, he’ll have heard the jet. He’ll already be on his way.”

  He’s right, Chase thought, suddenly feeling stupid again. He mentally slapped himself. He hesitated, wanting to ask what the men intended to do first, but Smith beat him to the punch, speaking to his men.

  “We’ll start with a soft reconnoiter. Check for tracks or other signs of the boy.” He gestured. “Bravo Team, go south. We’ll head north. Everyone stick together. Keep in touch.”

  Without a word, four men headed off across the meadow. Smith nodded at Chase. “You stick with us.”

  Chase nodded.

  Smith struck off in the direction opposite Bravo Team, Chase close behind.

  Can’t believe how calm these guys are, he thought as Smith took a narrow animal trail into the trees. They know this is dinosaur country. And they know many of those dinosaurs are nasty.

  He glanced at the men’s weapons, which they had strapped across their chests.

  Things must pack some serious punch, he thought.

  The air cooled as they entered the forest, the immense trees blocking much of the light. Chase could hear the hoots, cackles, shrieks, chitters, and cries of hundreds of small forest animals. The air was moist and humid, the aroma of rich fertilizer strong. Chase looked back and forth, spotting several small lizard-like creatures darting through the brush and knowing their larger cousins with the big teeth were certain to be close.

  And they’re not all dinosaurs, he reminded himself. In addition to dinosaurs, the Mesozoic was home to strange and exciting varieties of birds (which had only existed a few million years), mammals, lizards, rodents, and insects. There were many large animals that resembled dinosaurs, but were actually more closely related to crocodiles (though Chase wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell the difference).

  One of the men looked into the brush, looked away, and then did a quick double-take. He chuckled, then turned to the man behind him and gestured.

  “Check it out.”

  Chase looked. It took a moment to spot what the men were looking at, but then—

  “Holy crap!” The words were out before Chase realized he was speaking. “It’s a devil frog!”

  Stubble Face—Chase heard one of the others call him “Treeck”—came back to look. “Good lord … what in the world is that?”

  “I think it’s a devil frog,” Chase repeated. “It’s called Beelzebufo or something; I’ve seen pictures.”

  The “frog” was plump and round and actually looked more like a toad than a frog. It was nearly eighteen inches long and twelve inches tall, green as the lime-colored fern it was hiding beneath. Alternating blue and red stripes helped it blend with the forest floor.

  The frog’s throat was pulsing rapidly, but Chase had seen modern amphibians do the same thing and figured it was probably normal behavior.

  Just something frogs do.

  “That is the fattest frog I’ve ever seen,” Stubble Face/Treeck said. “I can’t believe it can hop fast enough to catch anything.”

  “It probably doesn’t move a lot,” Chase said. “It’s too heavy. Probably just sits there and waits for something tasty to come by.”

  “And what would a thing like that eat?”

  “Stuff bigger than mosquitoes and flies, that’s for sure. It probably eats lizards, and mice, and even small dinosaurs.” He looked up at the commando. “You know, the itty-bitty ones.”

  Treeck blew out his breath. He looked like he was about to reply when everyone’s headsets buzzed to life.

  “Smith, Bridger.”

  Smith reached down and touched his radio. “Yeah?”

  “Found some tracks. Boot prints, size eight or so.”

  Chase looked up sharply.

  Zach!

  “How old?”

  “Two, three days, maybe.”

  “Going anywhere in particular?”

  “Just here and there. But we’re looking, trying to figure a direction.”

  “Copy that. Keep at it.”

  Chase looked up at Treeck. “Does that mean he’s still alive?”

  “Unknown,” the man said. There was n
o feeling in the man’s voice. No excitement. For all the emotion he showed, he could have been discussing the weather, rather than the life of a lost, frightened, fourteen-year-old kid. “Tracks are a couple days old. And a lot could have happened since he was here.”

  Chase nevertheless looked back over his shoulder, wishing he’d gone with the other team.

  Closer to Zach.

  Smith whistled and gestured, and the men began hiking again. Chase took a final look at the enormous frog—

  Man, he’s got a face like Jabba the Hut!

  —then followed.

  4 Callovian World

  THE FOREST WAS strangely alien, but there were still things Chase was familiar with. The pine trees were recognizable, though larger and more majestic than any Chase had ever seen. And there were flies, bees, and butterflies that didn’t look much different than those in his own backyard.

  But there were many strange, wonderful, more exotic things, too. As the men passed a huge pile of decaying spoor, Chase saw it was full of fist-sized bugs and beetles—some with ferocious pincers—busily breaking down the muck. Two-legged lizards the size of geese poked their heads above the brush from time to time, watching the passersby. And from the brush came an unending chorus of cackles and hoots and calls from animals that didn’t sound like anything Chase was remotely familiar with.

  He couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder, thinking that something might be creeping up on him. He was wondering—

  An unearthly roar abruptly rose from the distance, loud and angry and terrifying. There was no question it came from something big—big as a tyrannosaur.

  But not a tyrannosaur, Chase thought, looking toward the sound. He’d once heard a tyrannosaur roar—heard it at close range—and it was a sound he’d never forget.

  Smith’s men stopped and stared hard into the trees. The unknown creature roared again, and then came a high-pitched squeal filled with fear, and pain, and terror. The sound was pitiful and frightening.

  Chase felt chills as he listened to the drama playing out in the distance. From somewhere else a frightened creature trumpeted—a warning to others in some unseen herd—followed by a cacophony of cracks and crashes as large startled animals fled through the brush.