Chuck turned the wheel of the truck, leaving the herd and cutting across the terrain in a sharp diagonal line that sliced the path of the dinosaurs’ advance. Retribution might have been good in Masterson’s case, Chuck reasoned. But there was something that flickered beneath the dictates of reason-something basic. Masterson was a man. No matter what he’d done, he was a man-and he was at the mercy of beasts, waiting for his death. Something seemed to call out across the lush stretch of ground, something as primitive as the beasts themselves. And without hesitation, Chuck answered the call. Here in the beginnings of time, millions upon millions of years before Man evolved on earth, Chuck sensed the bond that would eventually set Man high above the beasts. He knew what he must do and he did it without further thought, driving the truck at breakneck speed to reach Masterson before the dinosaurs did.
When he reached the jeep, he stopped just short of the deep mud. Masterson was staring at the animals, his face a chalky white. They were no more than a hundred yards away now, their speed never lessening, their hoofs setting up an unholy din.
“Come on, Masterson,” Chuck shouted. “Hop in.”
Masterson didn’t move. He kept sitting in the jeep, his hands frozen to the wheel, his head turned over his shoulder to watch the approaching brontosaurs.
“Masterson!” Owen shouted. “For crying out loud, hurry up.”
Masterson swallowed, but otherwise he didn’t move.
“Masterson!” This time Chuck’s voice was edged with panic. The dinosaurs were getting closer every second. Unless they…
“Ill get him,” Owen said suddenly. He put the rifle down and leaped from the truck, sinking to his knees in mud as he approached the jeep. Masterson sat in a frightened stupor, sweat standing out on his forehead, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
“Snap out of it!” Owen shouted.
The sound of the brontosaurs was loud now. It filled the air and left room for nothing else. There was only the thunderous noise, echoing and re-echoing, hammering on the eardrums.
Owen lashed out with the open palm of his hand. The sound of the slap was lost beneath the greater roar of the animals, but Chuck saw Masterson’s head snap back with the blow.
“Come on!” Owen shouted. “Come on. Masterson, for the love of…”
Chuck was frightened now. Fear leaped inside him like a cold, slimy thing. It clutched at his heart, set the muscles of his back twitching, tore at his mind with unnerving fingers.
“Owen-Owen-”
He didn’t know what he wanted to say. His cry came out of his mouth like a hoarse plea, drowned in the noise around them.
“Owen-”
He saw his brother reach for Masterson’s hands. Slowly, methodically, Owen began prying Masterson’s fingers loose from the wheel. Chuck watched, counting the fingers, listening to the thunder swell, feeling the truck vibrate beneath him as the animals came closer, closer.
“Come on, Masterson,” Owen bellowed. He was breathing hard, the sweat staining the back of his shirt
The engine of the truck stalled.
Panic gripped Chuck as he stepped on the starter. It was all a bad dream now, the worst dream he’d ever had. Everything seemed to blend together into a horrible nightmare of sound and vague impressions. It was like a madman leading a symphony orchestra in his own composition.
Beneath everything was the steady, incessant rumble of the approaching reptiles. In counterpoint to that was the whine of the starter as Chuck pressed on it. And over that was a dim view of Owen prying the remaining fingers loose, one at a time.
Chuck kept his foot pressed on the starter. He could barely hear the whine. He didn’t know the motor had caught until he heard the sullen protest of the starter’s teeth. He shifted his foot to the accelerator, idly wondering what had caused the truck to stall.
“I’ve got him!” Owen shouted.
Chuck glanced over his shoulder at the herd and then his eyes flicked to his brother. Owen was bodily dragging Masterson from the jeep. Masterson was limp, a quivering, frightened hulk of a man. His eyes were blank with fear, and his mouth had come unhinged.
Owen tossed him into the cab of the truck and stooped to pick up his rifle.
“Get going!” he shouted.
“Get in,” Chuck replied anxiously. There wasn’t much time. He could almost hear the breathing of the animals. He heard the rifle go off as Owen triggered a shot at the herd.
“Go on,” Owen shouted, “I’ll hop aboard. Move! Move!”
Chuck started the truck in motion, turning the wheel slowly, treading lightly on the accelerator. He wanted to make sure Owen could hop aboard, and he didn’t want to give him a fast-moving vehicle to reach for. Behind him, he heard the rifle belch again and again. He kept the truck moving in a slow arc, curving away from the path of the herd.
Sudden realization snapped at his senses like a bull-whip!