"It won't live much longer," said Rick.
"It's strange," said Con, "but I feel sorry for it."
"So do I," said Joe, "but if I had my gun, I would have shot it in a heartbeat."
"The guns!" cried Rick in panic.
The tree where they had hung the guns and their duffel bags had been trampled, and only a few of its branches were visible above the mud. Con, Rick and Joe ran over to the spot and began to search for their belongings. The bags had floated downstream only a short distance before getting snagged. They were soaked and muddy, but only slightly singed. The guns were nowhere to be seen. Carefully, but anxiously, they groped in the churned-up river bottom for them. After several minutes, Joe let out a triumphant yell. It died in this throat when the gun emerged from the water bent into the shape of a "V." Joe removed the cylinder filled with the silvery ammunition, then angrily flung the ruined gun into the river. Rick found the second gun close to where Joe found the first. He rinsed the mud off as best he could. The weapon appeared intact. Rick turned it on and rows of red, yellow, and blue lights glowed on its side. "Don't try to fire it," said Joe, "until we can tlean it."
"Can we move upstream and get out of this mud?" said Con.
Without another word, they began to walk upstream, carry-ing their sodden duffel bags. The plants had burned down to the waterline and, although their charred remains blackened the stream, it looked more like a normal river. They came to a spot where the water was almost a foot deep. The current had cleared the vegetation and even some of the mud. With an exhausted sigh, Con sat down. Rick followed suit.
The water reached up to Con's waist. It was marginally cleaner, and she used it to wash the mud from her face and hair. An updraft carried the smoke away, and the fire, now contained by the river, no longer seemed threatening. After the terror of the Tyrannosaur and the burning river, this felt safe. It was even relatively cool. Tired as she was, Con felt a little of the exultation she had felt when she successfully descended the cliff.
Joe remained standing. He opened his duffel bag and pulled out the driest shirt he could find. He asked Con to hold his bag and proceeded to clean the gun with the shirt. When he was satisfied, he returned the shirt to his bag.
"Con, would you watch my stuff for me?" asked Joe. "I'm going to get you dinner." Con nodded, and Joe started to head upstream.
Rick called after him. "Won't you get me some, too?"
"You can have Con's leftovers," Joe called back. "Provid-ing she leaves any." Rick smiled at Joe's crack about Con's appetite, yet it reminded him of a serious concern. Her souped metabolism was an advantage in a world of plenty, but they were no longer living in that world. He worried how she would fare in the time of want that lay ahead. Rick gazed at her in the firelight. She was slumped forward on the two duffel bags, watching the fire's reflection on the river. Her face was drawn and dirty, yet bore a hint of a smile. Rick found that smile utterly endearing. He reached out and tenderly rubbed her wet, muddy back. Con's only reaction was that her smile became slightly more pronounced. Rick spoke to her, more from hope than conviction. "Everything will be fine." 23
CON WAS ASLEEP WHEN RICK HEARD THE CRACK OF JOE'S
gun from far up the river. Although Rick would have liked to see Joe's kill, he knew he should stay with Con. The valley's scrubby vegetation had not provided the fuel for a sustained blaze, and it was getting dark again. The trees at the former riverbank still burned, as did shattered patches throughout the valley, but the main fires had moved to the far foothills. The flames that were so recently menacing, now seemed like homey campfires. Rick would miss them when they burned out.
Before Joe returned, Rick found it necessary to take out a flashlight to guide him. He set the output on low to conserve the battery and listened for footsteps. It seemed like a long time, before he heard any. Eventually, he heard Joe coming. He shined the beam upstream and caught sight of Joe. He had a broad smile and was carrying a five-foot-long object on his shoulder. It was the severed limb of a bipedal dino-saur. It looked to Rick like it came from a Hypsilophodontid.
"Got one of those little guys," said Joe. "It was like shoot-ing a fish in a barrel."
"That's great, Joe!" said Rick. "But how did you butcher it?"
"Sliced it with the gun."
Rick pointed to the still-burning trees. "We can cook it over there." Joe looked at Con slumped over the duffel bags. "How long has she been asleep?"
"She nodded off right after you left. She's exhausted."
Joe shook his head. "This is because she's souped, isn't it?"
"Most likely," said Rick.
"All she's had was a muffin and a half," said Joe. "That was stupid on our part. We've got to keep her fed."
"Well, let's get this cooked," said Rick. He walked over to Con and gently shook her. "Joe's brought some dinner."
Con looked sleepy at first, but the idea of food soon had her wide-awake. She and Joe waded to the shore. There Con put her shoes back on to protect her feet from smoldering embers. Meanwhile, Rick searched the river for a branch to use as a poker. When he found one, he joined Joe and Con by a still-burning tree. Joe used the gun to cut the tree into logs that Rick then pushed together. Soon they had a healthy blaze going. Rick took out his knife and cut the leg at the knee joint, then skinned the two pieces.
"Garcon," said Con, "may I see ze menu?"
"Ah, Mademoiselle," replied Rick, "perhaps you would care to hear ze specials first."
"But of course," replied Con.
"Tonight we feature ze Hypsilophodontid ala carboniza-tion."
"Stop there. That's my favorite."
"And how do you prefer your Hypsilophodontid? Medium, rare, or well-done?" Con looked at the two bloody chunks of flesh, and quickly said, "Well-done. Very well done." Joe dug a flashlight out of his duffel bag. "While you two yack, I'm going to check on the plane." He switched on the light and headed into the darkness.
As soon as Joe mentioned the plane, a pall came over Con and Rick's banter. Escaping the fire and finding food would mean little without the plane. It seemed impossible it could have survived the fire. They feared Joe's investigation was merely a formality, and he would soon be back to confirm the worst. Rick tried to concentrate on cooking. He poked the fire until he had a pile of glowing embers, then placed the meat upon them. It hissed, and the smell of burnt flesh rose into the air. This will be well-done, all right. Using his poker, he turned the meat to try to cook it evenly. Soon both joints were thoroughly black. Though this kept him busy, his main attention was always on Joe. The movements of Joe's flashlight marked his search for the plane. Rick and Con watched them silently, neither wish-ing to give voice to their dread. Apparently Joe was lost, for the light zigzagged over the landscape. Then it went out, leaving Con and Rick staring into darkness. A light, brilliant to their eyes, appeared. The transparent portion of the plane glowed, and they could see Joe in its interior, sitting in the pilot's seat. The light disappeared, and shortly after, they heard a shout of joy. Joe's light came straight toward them, bobbing as Joe ran.
Joe rushed into the light of the fire shouting, "The plane's fine! The plane's fine!" He gave Rick a bear hug, then lifted Con up and whirled her around. Every aspect of his grimy face was a picture of absolute bliss.
"It's more than fine. It looks untouched, like it's brand-new! Thank God for such a plane!" Rick tested the roasting meat and declared it ready for a celebration. Joe and Rick found a large, flat stone in the dry riverbed to serve both as dining table and serving plate. They carried it over to the fire; then Rick placed the two pieces of blackened limb upon it. Rick passed his knife around and each cut away strips of meat. The meal that followed was more festive than any served at the dining pavilion. The charred dinosaur meat, tough and unseasoned, seemed like a feast to all. The warm bottled water was appreciated more than Peter Green's chilled champagne.