Danger Dinosaurs! полностью

The huge dinosaurs kept coming. They had a new quarry now; a dull brown truck that moved across the ground and somehow resembled one of the smaller lizards. The brontosaurs knew how to dispose of other annoying reptiles. It was simple. Step on them. Step on them until they were broken and crushed and unable to move. This was the law of the times, survival of the fittest, the weak against the strong. They had felt the terrible teeth of the carnivores, had learned to seek refuge in the deeper water when Allosaurus showed on the horizon, his claws bared, his jaws snapping. But when they fought, they fought with their bodies, using their enormous bulk to stamp out resistance. This thing that rolled across the ground was the thing that had spoken with a booming voice. It should be crushed and therefore eliminated. It was as simple as that.

From behind the wheel of the truck, it didn’t look quite as simple. Chuck saw only the massive wall of green flesh as it rumbled forward, long necks bobbing, tails thumping. He thought of how easily that wall could crush the truck, and the thought sent an ache to his throat. He swung the truck in a wide circle and then headed back for the herd.

“Here goes nothing!” he shouted.

Owen was smiling as he leaned out of the cab, the rifle ready for firing. “It’s been nice knowing you, world,” he said.

Chuck kept his foot pressed tight on the accelerator. Like long-lost relatives rushing to greet each other, the truck and the herd hurried across the ground. Owen’s rifle spoke once, twice. There was a short pause and then the rifle bellowed into voice again. Chuck turned the wheel sharply, driving for the edges of the herd, picking one brontosaur and aiming the front of the truck right at its middle. Owen was out of the cab now, one foot braced on the fender, his arm looped through the open window of the door. He kept firing, the ejected shells streaming over his shoulder like a brass pennant.

“They’re turning!” Chuck shouted.

“Force them over,” Owen replied. “Crowd them.”

Chuck turned the wheel again, and the herd began to swerve toward the right, fleeing from the pugnacious brown thing that kept barking at them. They stumbled over each other, their huge hulks crowded together as they made a complete turn and started running away from the wall of rocks.

Owen kept the rifle going. He didn’t bother aiming now. Chuck knew he didn’t really hope to do any damage with the gun. Instead, he was using sound as a weapon-and an effective one, it seemed to Chuck. The brontosaurs were now in a frenzied flight. They seemed to have forgotten just why they left the sanctity of the lake. Their only concern was to escape the sounds that came from everywhere around them, sharp staccato bursts that whistled past their bobbing heads.

Chuck’s hands were sweating on the wheel and he could feel perspiration soaking his shirt, trickling down his face. His heart was thumping against his ribs, threatening to drown out the thunder of the dinosaurs as they fled before the truck. His foot was clamped on the accelerator, almost as if it were an extension of the truck. He wasn’t aware that he had clenched his lower lip between his teeth until he tasted the salty flow of blood in his mouth.

“That’s it,” Owen shouted above the din. “We’ve got them running now, boy.”

“I think we can turn back…” Chuck started.

The scream knifed the sky, terror and helplessness sending it into the upper register.

“What the…”

Chuck stared through the windshield, his eyes scanning the ground ahead. The dust rose in billowing clouds as the brontosaurs trod the earth in headlong flight.

The scream came again, a piercing, peace-shattering scream that sliced its way up Chuck’s spine.

“Owen, what…”

Owen’s eyes opened wide. “Good gravy! Masterson!”

Chuck saw it then. Masterson was sitting at the wheel of the jeep, anxiously looking over his shoulder at the advancing herd. His eyes were wide. Stark terror was etched on his face. The jeep, sunk to the hub caps in mud, was directly in the new path of the herd.

The dinosaurs were still a good two hundred yards away, but at the speed they were traveling, Masterson was as good as dead unless something was done quickly.

Chuck didn’t stop to think. By all rights, Masterson was to blame for everything that had happened. If he hadn’t shot at the pterosaur, he wouldn’t have attracted the brontosaurs. They would not have had an angry herd of moving mountains to contend with, and he wouldn’t be sitting in a useless jeep now watching death bear down on him with amazing rapidity. It would be a sort of ironic justice if Masterson…

No!