“No,” she said. “It’s fine.” She quickly clicked on the header, and got back to the previous screen. This time she tried one of the triangular-shaped icons.
The screen changed again:
That’s it, she thought. Immediately the image popped off, and the actual video images began to flash up on the screen. On this little cash-register monitor, the pictures were tiny, but now she was in familiar territory, and she moved around quickly, moving the cursor, manipulating the images.
“What are you looking for?” she said.
“The Explorer,” Thorne said.
She clicked the screen. The image zoomed up. “Got it,” she said.
Levine said, “You do?” He sounded surprised.
Kelly looked at him and said, “Yeah, I do.”
The two men came and stared at the screen over her shoulder. They could see the Explorer, on a shaded road. They could see the pachycephalosaurs, lots of them, milling around the car. The animals were poking at the tires and the front fender.
But they didn’t see Sarah anywhere.
“Where is she?” Thorne said.
Sarah Harding was underneath the car, lying on her face in the mud. She had crawled there after she fell—it was the only place to go—and now she was staring out at the animals’ feet milling all around her. She said, “Doc. Are you there? Doc? Doc.” But the damned radio wasn’t working again. The pachys were stamping and snorting, trying to get at her under the car.
Then she remembered that Thorne had said something about screwing down the battery pack. She reached behind her back, and found the pack, and twisted the cover shut tight.
Immediately, her earpiece began to crackle with static.
“Doc,” she said.
“Where are you?” Thorne said.
“I’m under the car.”
“Why? Did you already try it?”
“Try what?”
“Try to start it. To start the car.”
“No,” she said, “I didn’t try to start it, I fell.”
“Well, as long as you’re under there, you can check the breakers,” Thorne said.
“The breakers are under the car?”
“Some of them. Look up by the front wheels.”
She twisted her body, sliding in the mud. “Okay. I’m looking.”
“There’s a box right behind the front bumper. Over on the left.”
“I see it.”
“Can you open it?”
“I think so.” She crawled forward, and pulled at the latch. The lid came down. She was staring at three black switches. “I see three switches and they are all pointing up.”
“Up?”
“Toward the front of the car.”
“Hmmm,” Thorne said. “That doesn’t make sense. Can you read the writing?”
“Yes. It says ‘15 VV’ and then ‘02 R.’”
“Okay,” he said. “That explains it.”
“What?”
“The box is in backward. Flip all the switches the other way. Are you dry?”
“No, Doc. I’m soaking wet, lying in the damn mud.”
“Well then, use your shirtsleeve or something.”
Harding pulled herself forward, approaching the bumper. The nearest pachys snorted and banged on the bumper. They leaned down and twisted their heads, trying to get to her. “They have very bad breath,” she said.
“Say again?”
“Never mind.” She flipped the switches, one after another. She heard a hum, from the car above her. “Okay. I did it. The car is making a noise.”
“That’s fine,” Thorne said.
“What do I do now?”
“Nothing. You better wait.”
She lay back in the mud, looking at the feet of the pachys. They were moving, tramping all around her.
“How much time left?” she said.
“About ten minutes.”
She said, “Well, I’m stuck under here, Doc.”
“I know.”
She looked at the animals. They were on all sides of the car. If anything, they seemed to be growing more active and excited. They stamped their feet and snuffled impatiently. Why were they so worked up? she wondered. And then, suddenly, they all thundered off. They ran toward the front of the car, and away, up the road. She twisted her body and watched them go.
There was silence.
“Doc?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Why’d they leave?”
“Stay under the car,” Thorne said.
“Doc?”
“Don’t talk.” The radio clicked off.
She waited, not sure what was happening. She had heard the tension in Thorne’s voice. She didn’t know why. But now she heard a soft scuffling sound, and looking over, saw two feet standing by the driver’s side of the car.
Two feet in muddy boots.
Men’s boots.
Harding frowned. She recognized the boots. She recognized the khaki trousers, even though they were now caked with mud.
It was Dodgson.
The man’s boots turned to face the door. She heard the door latch click.
Dodgson was getting in the car.
Harding acted so swiftly, she was not aware of thinking. Grunting, she swung her body around sideways, reached out with her arms, grabbed both ankles, and pulled hard. Dodgson fell, giving a yell of surprise. He landed on his back, and turned, his face dark and angry.
He saw her and scowled. “No shit,” he said. “I thought I finished you off on the boat.”
Harding went red with rage, and started to crawl out from under the car. Dodgson scrambled to his knees as she was halfway out, but then she felt the ground begin to shake. And she immediately knew why. She saw Dodgson look over his shoulder, and flatten himself on the ground. Hurriedly, he started to crawl under the car beside her.
She turned in the mud, looking down along the length of the car. And she saw a tyrannosaurus coming up the road toward them. The ground vibrated with each step. Now Dodgson was crawling toward the center of the car, pushing himself close to her, but she ignored him. She watched the big feet with the splayed claws as they came alongside the car, and stopped. Each foot was three feet long. She heard the tyrannosaur growling.
r /> She looked at Dodgson. His eyes were wide with terror. The tyrannosaur paused beside the car. The big feet shifted. She heard the animal somewhere above, sniffing. Then, growling again, the head came down. The lower jaw touched the ground. She could not see the eye, just the lower jaw. The tyrannosaur sniffed again, long and slow.
It could smell them.
Beside her, Dodgson was trembling uncontrollably. But Harding was strangely calm. She knew what she had to do. Quickly, she shifted her body, twisting around, moving so her head and shoulders were braced against the rear wheel of the car. Dodgson turned to look at her just as her boots began to push against his lower legs. Pushing them out from beneath the car.
Terrified, Dodgson struggled, trying to push back, but her position was much stronger. Inch by inch, his boots moved out into the cold morning light. Then his calves. She grunted as she pushed, concentrating every ounce of her energy. In a high-pitched voice, Dodgson said, “What the hell are you doing?”
She heard the tyrannosaur growling. She saw the big feet move.
Dodgson said, “Stop it! Are you crazy? Stop it!”
But Harding didn’t stop. She got her boot on his shoulder, and pushed once more. For a while Dodgson struggled against her, and then suddenly his body moved easily, and she saw that the tyrannosaur had his legs in its jaws and was pulling Dodgson out from under the car.
Dodgson wrapped his hands around her boot, trying to hold on, trying to drag her with him. She put her other boot on his face and kicked hard. He let go. He slid away from her.
She saw his terrified face, ashen, mouth open. No words came out. She saw his fingers, digging into the mud, leaving deep gouges as he was pulled away. And then his body was dragged out. Everything was strangely quiet. She saw Dodgson spin around onto his back, and look upward. She saw the shadow of the tyrannosaur fall across him. She saw the big head come down, the jaws wide. And she heard Dodgson begin to scream as the jaws closed around his body, and he was lifted up.
Dodgson felt himself rise high into the air, twenty feet above the ground, and all the time he continued to scream. He knew at any moment the animal would snap its great jaws shut, and he would die. But the jaws never closed. Dodgson felt stabbing pain in his sides, but the jaws never closed.