At last, like the star of the show putting in a late appearance. This was the fierce carnivore; this was one of the master beasts. Tall as a monarch he stood, thirteen feet high, thirty-four feet from the gaping, open jaws to the end of his tail.
He bellowed to the sky and bellowed to the land, bellowed his superiority to the puny man who crouched behind the boulders with a rifle in his hands.
“No! No!” Masterson screamed.
The claws on the beast’s hind legs scraped on the rocky ground as he came forward hungrily. His flat eyes gleamed malevolently. Saliva dripped from his jaws, and a deep rumbling came from within his enormous body. Those claws and jaws could tear and rip. They could penetrate the armor-like hides of his contemporaries, slashing them to bits, cleaning their carcasses to the bone. This was no minor beast. This was one of the kings, one of the fiercest, flesh-eating land animals ever known to Man.
He dwarfed Masterson. He came closer to the boulders. His scream chilled the blood, quickened the heart. It was impossible not to know fear. There was something about the monster that brought fear immediately. Not his size alone, and not the knowledge that he was extremely dangerous. It was something else. A fear that sprang up full-grown. A fear that made Chuck want to run, but that made him incapable of running. A fear that froze muscles, mind, heart, body. A fear that chilled him, yet covered him with sweat. A fear that was a living thing inside. Fear! Real fear. Fear that crackled along Chuck’s skin like a blazing thunderbolt. Fear that crawled in his belly and turned his knees to mud. Fear such as Chuck had never experienced before.
Chuck knew that fear and he knew that Masterson was experiencing it, too. The horrible cry ripped at the sky again, provoking insanity, gripping the skin in a shivering, clammy grasp.
“No!” Masterson shouted again. Suddenly he was firing the rifle. The beast opened its jaws wide, the loose skin around its throat tightening with the motion. Masterson fired until the gun was empty and then he loaded it with trembling fingers. Dr. Dumar and Denise were far to Masterson’s right. Chuck saw them edging their way toward the clearing, ready to make a break for it.
Masterson’s bullets seemed to do no good at all. If anything, they simply infuriated the beast more. Chuck knew, then, that Masterson was firing at the dinosaur’s tough hide, where he could hope to do no damage. A bullet between the eyes might stop the beast-but his eyes were in his head, and his head towered far above Masterson.
It did not tower above Chuck.
From his position on the ledge, he could get a clear shot at
He caught his breath, feeling a hot lump in his throat. What if his fire drew the beast to him?
Slowly, fear making his hand tremble, Chuck raised the .45.
“Owen.”
He took aim, looking down the length of his shaking arm.
“Owen.”
The voice whispered across his memory, gently, gently, like a mild breeze soughing over a cold mountaintop. “Owen,” it called. “Owen.”
His finger hesitated on the trigger. His brow curled, and his memory struggled with the name, pondered it, frantically wrestled with it until he was almost on the verge of tears. He looked at Masterson, and the name whispered across his mind again. He did not pull the trigger.
Then the voice was gone, his mind was clear and the name was forgotten. There was left only a great awareness of the sharp outline of figures against a background of gray sky.