Danger Dinosaurs! полностью

The sun, a fiery ball that knew no time, poked at the night sky with a probing, red finger. The stars fled, trailing the blackness behind them, seeking safety from the blazing invader. The moon faded like a half-forgotten portrait of a loved one, and the sim rustled its tresses, sent dazzling locks of orange, yellow, red streaking across the sky. It lifted its head, and the land came alive with its brilliance. The leaves spread wide with glistening dewdrops. The animal sounds began. The mist rose, hung over the plants like a gray shroud and crumbled beneath the penetrating glare of the orange ball that hung in the sky. And the beasts lumbered from the caves and the lakes, stretched their muscles, blinked their eyes and went forth to greet the new day.

There was the smell of coffee brewing and the low crackle of a wood fire. The ground was damp, but the inside of the sleeping bag was warm and comfortable. The coffee smell invaded Chuck’s nostrils, clung to his senses with delicious warmth. He stirred, blinked his eyes, rolled over.

The sizzle of frying bacon reached his ears, followed immediately by the tangy, succulent aroma of the meat as it turned brown in the pan. Chuck’s eyes opened wide and, for a moment, he thought he was back in his own room, with Mom preparing breakfast in the kitchen, and the house warm and secure with the smells of early morning baking.

He closed his eyes and thought of home, and he allowed the dream to fill his mind and his body.

The voice was loud, but it was also mellow. Chuck kept his eyes closed and he listened to it, pretending it was the radio resting on the kitchen cabinet. He didn’t want to stir. He knew where he was now, but he didn’t want to shatter the dream.

He knew it was Pete singing to the early morning air as he prepared breakfast for the party. There was an innocent exuberance in Pete’s voice, a complete detachment from all problems, large or small. Chuck yanked down the zipper on the front of his sleeping bag and propped himself on his elbows. He listened to Pete and a smile broke out on his face.

As Chuck squirmed his way out of the sleeping bag, Pete looked up, cutting his song short.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Chuck said quickly.

Pete chuckled softly, his green eyes crinkling at the edges. He ran one stubby hand through his bright red hair and said, “I was about running out of choruses, anyway.”

Chuck walked over to the fire and held out his hands to it. “How many choruses are there?”

“I don’t suppose anyone has ever counted them,” Pete said. “I know at least thirty myself.”

“Really?”

“And I’ve only been cooking a short time. Why, there are cooks who could prepare a banquet and never run out of choruses the whole while.”

Chuck shook his head in appreciation of the feat and looked around the camp. “Are we the only two up?”

“No,” Pete said. “Mr. Masterson left with Arthur a little while ago. Said he wanted to look over the countryside. Brock’s in the back of the truck with a rifle across his knees.” Pete chuckled again and shook his head. “Don’t know what he expects to shoot.”

“Is my brother up?” Chuck asked.

“Oh, yes, almost forgot. Masterson woke him and asked him to go along, too.”