Time Crunch Read online

  “Excellent choice.” The man gave him the MRE, then handed over a bottle of purple Gatorade. “Make sure you stay hydrated, especially after your little experience. And—oh! That reminds me …”

  He rummaged through his pack, found a small plastic bottle, and shook out a couple of pills.

  “Take these with the Gatorade.”

  Chase waved him off.

  “Can’t,” he said. “I’m playing football this fall …”

  The man looked confused, but then caught on. “Oh, these are nothing like that. There’re just ordinary anti-inflammatories. Ibuprofen. Relieves pain and reduces swelling.”

  “That’s it? Ibuprofen?”

  “Just like your mother gives you. And trust me, kiddo … with all the bumps and bruises you’ve got? I promise they’ll help.”

  Chase nodded. “Okay.” And then: “How’s the arm?”

  “It’s good. As long as I don’t get some horrible infection.”

  “Bet’cher glad Mr. Zadina had that bourbon, huh?”

  Bridger laughed. “First time I ever got drunk without having to drink.” And then in a lower, more confidential voice: “Any other time, I think Smith would have ripped him a new one for having that. Strictly against the rules, as you can probably guess. But he didn’t say a word.”

  Chase lowered his own voice. “And the itching?”

  Bridger glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot. “Insect repellent did the trick. Used a whole lot of it, of course. But haven’t scratched since. And neither’s Rivers.”

  Chase smiled, happy he’d been able to help. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Yup. Me’n Rivers definitely owe you big. So enjoy the roast beast. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Chase sat on a rock near his tent to eat, watching as Rivers and Criss walked the perimeter, lighting the fires. Chase wasn’t sure if it was because of the oxygen-rich atmosphere or some quality of dry Callovian wood, but the fires blazed like they’d been soaked in diesel oil.

  Smith was right, Chase thought, chewing on a piece of beast. It does feel better having the fires lit.

  He knew from unfortunate experience that blazing bonfires didn’t necessarily scare away prehistoric animals.

  But he figured it was better than nothing.

  CHASE FINISHED OFF the roast beef—the meat was okay but the au gratin potatoes should have been labeled “all rotten”—then took the wrappers to the nearest bonfire and threw them in.

  Zadina was standing nearby, holding his rifle with both hands as he looked into the forest.

  “You standing guard?” Chase asked, walking up.

  “Me’n Rivers,” Zadina said, using the muzzle of his rifle to point to the other side of camp.

  “How long?”

  “ ’Til 2400.”

  “Midnight?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is it hard? Staying awake and standing guard?”

  Zadina shook his head. “Not really. And I’ve got two good reasons for staying awake.”

  “Which are?”

  “The first is a desire not to have some bug-eyed fire-breather eat me for breakfast.”

  Chase laughed. “And the other?”

  “If Smith ever caught me dozing off he’d kick my … butt.” Zadina checked to be sure Smith wasn’t listening. “And believe me, that’d be worse than some hungry flesh-ripper biting my face off.”

  Chase grinned. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, but thanks. You ready to turn in?”

  “I think so. I don’t need the beauty sleep, obviously. But”—he patted his ribs—“after nearly being trampled flat this afternoon, I could use the rest.”

  “Well, you sleep easy, my friend.” Zadina patted his rifle. “With Betsy and me watching out, you don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  “You call it Betsy?”

  “Absolutely.” He patted the rifle again. “Just like any woman, gotta treat her with respect.”

  Chase smiled and nodded. “Take care. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Thanks, bud. You have a good night.”

  8 Night Terror

  SNUGGLED DEEP INSIDE his sleeping bag, Chase lay back and listened to the sounds of the night. He could hear the gentle crackling of the bonfires above the steady drone of crickets. Closing his eyes, it was easy to imagine he was home again, on a Scout campout maybe, camping in ordinary woods in ordinary mountains.

  But every once in a while he heard something else over the crickets. The cry of a bird or the call of an animal that hadn’t existed in his world for a hundred million years. Sounds that no human had ever heard, and that gave the night an eerie, alien feel.

  Chase pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated on the crickets. The melodic chirping filled the night, soothing and relaxing.

  Like listening to a bubbling mountain stream.

  Chase listened to the crickets, the events of the day melting away.

  And was almost instantly asleep.

  RAPTORS.

  Chase was dreaming of velociraptors, of being surrounded by dozens of deadly, snarling animals. But he felt like he was standing in glue—couldn’t move—couldn’t get away as the raptors swarmed him—

  “Look out!”

  Crack! Crack-ack! Brraaaaaaat!

  Chase jerked awake as men began yelling, and shooting.

  “There! In the trees!”

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  There was a blood-curdling scream, followed by a horrifying bellow that sounded like a high-speed drill chewing through gravel. More shouts, yells, roars, gunfire—

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat!

  Chase ripped open his sleeping bag, grabbed for his pants and hauled them on in a single motion. He pulled on his shirt—not bothering with the buttons—and jerked on his boots—not bothering with the laces. He scrambled for the door, searching frantically for the zipper, but something abruptly crashed into the tent, rolling it over. A heavy body slammed Chase through the fabric, bowling him over backward. He landed hard on his back—

  “Oof!”

  —but was instantly tumbling again as the tent flipped up and over, again and again. He landed on his injured ribs—

  “Aaah!”

  —and then crumpled as the tent slammed into a tree or a rock. He pushed himself to his knees—pack, sleeping bag, flashlight, water bottle, and other supplies scattered about—and searched for the door, but the tent was no longer right-side up. He looked frantically about in the darkness—

  A razor-sharp claw ripped through the top of the tent and a terrible head pushed inside, the silhouette clear and terrifying in the starlight. Gaping jaws snapped together, snatching the sleeping bag and pulling it out through the torn fabric. Chase could see the bag whipping violently back and forth as something tore it apart.

  Chase scrambled through the slashed nylon, then dropped to the ground and skittering away on all fours.

  All around him, men were running, screaming, shouting, large dark shapes darting in from the trees with amazing speed and power, the howls and roars almost indistinguishable from the shouts and yells. The bonfires were still blazing, but the bright light didn’t make things any easier to see. There was a constant barrage of gunfire—

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaa—brraaaaaaat! Crack! Crack! Brraaaaaaat!

  Chase couldn’t tell exactly what was happening, knew only that the camp was under attack, everything confused and chaotic and out of control. He scrambled to the side of a supply box and crouched beside it, ducking as something huge and terrifying rushed past.

  His heart was pounding hard and fast, his lungs wheezing as he fought for breath.

  The trees! Gotta get to the trees!

  Someone ran by shouting—

  “On your six! On your six!”

  —something else darting past an instant later in a different direction.

  Chase looked directly at one of the blazing fires, the firelight instantly de
stroying his night vision. He couldn’t see anything more than a couple of feet away.

  Still on all fours, he scrambled for the trees, dropping flat when he saw something running at him. He screwed his eyes shut, steeling himself to be snapped up by sharp yellow teeth, but the thing rushed over the top of him, a heavy foot stepping right on his butt and grinding him into the ground.

  Chase couldn’t help crying out—

  “Aaaiigh!”

  —but then the thing was gone. Chase didn’t hesitate, began army-crawling through the ruined, mangled campsite. He put his hand into something wet and slimy—he recoiled in horror—but shook it off and continued crawling.

  “Behind you—”

  Crack-ack! Brraaaaaaat!

  “Look out!”

  “Aaaiigh!”

  Chase could hear the voices, but couldn’t tell one from another, didn’t know who was doing the yelling or the screaming.

  He scrambled between two fires and reached the first tree. He skittered around, getting behind it, keeping it between him and the raging fight, then heard a horrible shriek. He looked up just as a screeching nightmare raced toward him on two legs, forearms outstretched, ready to tear him to pieces. The thing leaped—

  Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaat! Brraaaaaaaaaaat!

  —and exploded in midair, hot blood and foul dino juice spraying Chase like a fire hose.

  Someone was yelling—

  “Run for it, kid! Get out of—aaaiigh!”

  Chase panicked and ran, bolting mindlessly through the woods. His boots were still untied, his shirt still open, flapping behind him as he tore through the brush and trees. He could still hear the fight raging behind him. The shouts were incomprehensible now, though the yells and roars and gunfire crackled furiously in the air.

  He tripped on a bootlace, fell flat on his face, but was up and running again without remembering getting back to his feet.

  He ran into a thicket too dense to get through and turned, running now in a different direction. He wasn’t sure, but the sounds of the fight seemed to be dying away. Whether because the terrifying dinosaurs had been driven off or the camp completely over-run, he didn’t know. But he kept running. Unlike the others, he didn’t have a weapon, nothing to fight with, no way to help.

  He kept running.

  After several minutes he realized he could no longer hear the sound of gunfire. He wasn’t sure if the team had stopped shooting or if he’d just run too far to hear it. But he didn’t waste time trying to figure it out. His legs were in full-flight mode and he was still running as hard as he could. He splashed through a small stream, then turned and ran along what seemed to be a trail, just visible in the starlight. He was slowly regaining his night vision, the stars providing just enough light to pick out trees and rocks and stumps blocking his way.

  He came to a fallen log, the remains of an enormous pine, the rotting branches rising into the air like the ribs of an ancient monster. He turned away, running slower now but still as fast as he was able. He was chuffing for breath, wheezing like a kid with asthma, and could feel the blood pounding in his hands, and ears, and feet.

  After several more minutes he stopped. He looked around, spotted a tall, sweeping pine, and dove beneath the branches. The springy boughs were bent under their own weight, providing a small hollow near the trunk. He curled up against the scaly bark, breathing hard. Something snapped in the trees and he jerked his head in that direction, but … nothing seemed to be there.

  He stayed alert, looking back and forth, searching for threats, but nothing seemed to be moving. The forest was still, and quiet, as if the very bugs were worried about making noise. A soft breeze rustled the leaves and—farther away—a bird mourned in the darkness. Chase heard a distant hoot—

  Sounds like an owl …

  —and then a cricket or two opened up. And then a few more. And more. And it wasn’t long before the forest was again ringing with the soothing, comforting chirrups of cricket song.

  Like absolutely nothing’s wrong in the world and never will be.

  Chase pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He was breathing easier now, and he even felt his heartbeat begin to slow a little.

  His mouth began to tremble, first just a little and then more sharply. Hot tears scalded his eyes. He fought them off for a moment, but then the horror, and fear, and terror of the night overcame him.

  He lowered his face to his knees and bawled like a baby.

  9 Lost and Found

  BY THE TIME Chase lifted his face from his knees, the sun was up. Thousands of tiny dust motes danced and swirled in thin shafts of light streaming through the pine needles.

  His jaw still trembled and his eyes were thick with dried tears. But he’d long since cried himself out, knowing he had nothing left. His joints and muscles had stiffened overnight, leaving him sore, achy, and creaky.

  He rubbed his nose on his sleeve. He saw that sometime during the night he’d buttoned his shirt, but couldn’t remember doing it. He wiped away another sniffle, then reached out with his senses, trying to grasp his surroundings.

  The forest was fairly quiet, but coming quickly awake. He could hear the call of birds, the stir of animals scurrying in the underbrush, the honk of an agitated dinosaur in the distance.

  He rubbed his eyes, then noticed that his boots were still untied. He reached down to tie them, then peered through the pine branches. There wasn’t much to see, nothing but leafy ferns, towering pines, and thick underbrush. He looked hard—remembering the camouflaged dinosaurs—but there didn’t seem to be anything to worry about.

  He hesitated, not wanting to leave the safety of the tree, but finally crawled from his hiding place, springy pine boughs brushing his back as he crept away. The ground was soft, covered with spongy moss, and smelled like freshly cut grass.

  Finally free of the tree, he stood and looked carefully around. He peered through the timber, glanced into the tree tops, and looked beneath the brush. Some animal resembling a rock chuck scurried through the grass, but that was it. He spotted what he thought was a hummingbird, but realized it was covered with thin, scaly skin in place of feathers.

  Like a tiny pterosaur …

  He studied the ground, looking for tracks, then made a quick sweep of the area, searching for anything that hinted of passing dinosaurs. He spotted a few tracks, but nothing that was fresh, and nothing very big.

  Certainly nothing made by anything large and scary.

  He relaxed a little.

  Not a lot of prey here, so there’s no reason for any predators to be close, either.

  He wandered about, and after a moment caught what he thought was the faint smell of sulfur.

  Like rotten eggs, but worse.

  He turned slowly around, trying to decide what direction the foul stench was coming from.

  Maybe there’s hot springs nearby, he thought. And maybe the animals don’t like the smell. Might be why there’s not a lot of wildlife around.

  He listened carefully, hoping to hear a shout, a whistle, perhaps even a gunshot … some clue that the others were looking for him. Trying to find him. Or signal him.

  But there was nothing. Nothing but the normal sounds of the Mesozoic forest.

  Chase blew out his breath, looking back and forth. He had an idea of the direction he’d come during the night and which way he’d need to go to get back.

  But—

  Through a break in the trees he spotted a distinct mountain peak in the distance.

  Wait … shouldn’t that be behind me?

  And just that fast, he was lost. The direction he felt he should go was completely at odds with the landscape.

  He thought hard.

  He remembered changing directions several times during his wild dash from the campsite. And realized he now had no idea which direction he should go to get back.

  He began breathing harder, but forced himself to relax.

  It’s okay, he thought. Just relax!

/>   Stay calm.

  Breathe …

  He sucked in a deep lungful of air—his ribs still hurt, but at least the oxygen didn’t make him dizzy anymore—and felt a little better.

  He thought for another minute and realized he didn’t really want to go back to camp anyway. The forest there was filled with terrifying animals.

  Every bad thing that’s happened so far has happened near the landing site, he realized.

  But here—

  Well, at least here there didn’t seem to be any sign of large animals.

  He remembered the head-crested dilophosaurs that ambushed the commandos, hiding close to the ground and waiting ’til the last second before pouncing. And the huge, terrifying monsters that destroyed the camp during the night.

  He shivered.

  No, there’s no way I want to go back!

  He spotted a dead pine tree rising into the sky.

  I bet I could climb it, he thought, squinting at the bare branches. Maybe see where I’m at …

  He hiked over, tested his weight on a stout limb, and began climbing. The trunk was too wide to wrap his arms around, but there were plenty of branches to grab and stand upon. He climbed quickly, and soon had his first real look at the landscape.

  Wow, it’s incredible!

  He seemed to be in an enormous lowland surrounded by mountains. There was no snow on any of them—

  Way too warm for that!

  —but he could see dart-shaped animals gliding near the peaks.

  Pterosaurs?

  He shuddered. He’d once had a close encounter with pterodactyl-like things and never wanted another.

  A few hundred yards away was an open field where a herd of those leathery giraffe-like things ambled around. And there was a pack of strange animals that resembled stegosaurs, though the plates on their backs were sharper and more triangular than those he’d seen in illustrations.

  Maybe the same ones that demolished the jet.

  There were also several two-legged creatures running through the grass like a pack of velociraptors. Chase didn’t think they were raptors: they seemed too slight and skinny.

  But then, nothing I’ve seen has looked the way they do in books and movies.

  Either way, he guessed the bipeds were carnivorous, but obviously not apex predators like allosaurs, or whatever-the-freakin’-things-were that attacked the campsite.