Cretaceous Sea

'It's better than eating carrion,' said Rick. He began to butcher it on the spot.

'It tastes like carrion,' replied Joe. 'We are eating car-rion, only secondhand.'

'I was hoping for a change, too,' said Rick. He cut off the lower leg at the knee, then sliced off the meaty upper leg close to the pelvis. It looked like a huge turkey drum-stick. Rick did the same to the other leg, then threw both on his shoulder as he and Joe resumed walking. The rest of the nightstalker lay in the mud to rot.

'I don't understand why there are so damned many of those things,' said Joe. 'They're the only living animals we've seen since the fire.'

'I don't know why either,' said Rick. 'Maybe they lived in burrows and were protected. Maybe they're just tough.'

'They're tough, all right,' said Joe. 'Even Pandit couldn't make one edible.'

'Chewing gives us something to do at night.'

'At least Pandit cooked it,' said Joe.

'We will, too,' said Rick. 'When the rain stops.'

'I'm not holding my breath.'

The rain fell unabated as Rick and Joe continued their melancholy search. They walked another a mile before encountering a swollen stream that barred their way. For the third time since they abandoned the plane, they had to make a lengthy detour into the foothills to find a place to cross. By the time they approached the river again, it was getting dark.

'Better find some high ground,' said Rick.

'Yeah,' said Joe tiredly.

They climbed to the crest of a small hill overlooking the river and dug a circular drainage trench. Rick placed his poncho over the muddy ground inside the circle; then, Joe stepped on it as Rick slipped under Joe's poncho. Rick and Joe sat down and used the shared poncho as a tent. Taking out his knife, Rick peeled away part of the hide on the nightstalker's drumstick. He cut a piece of the muscle and handed it to Joe.

'Thanks,' said Joe as he made a wry face and began to chew. After he swallowed, Joe pulled out a water bot-tie. 'Care for some Chateau de Floodwater? I recommend it with nightstalker.'

'What vintage?'

'I believe it's 65 million B.C.'

Rick sniffed. 'A disappointing year.'

'You can say that again.'

Eating together under the poncho, Rick and Joe shared body heat. The warmth they obtained was the closest thing to comfort they had the entire day. As Rick ate his foul dinner, he felt a deep bond to the man so close to him. Despite their differences, theirs was the special comradeship that soldiers had experienced since the be-ginning of time. It was a kind of love, though Rick would not have used that word. Now, it's only the two of us against the whole world. Their adversary, Rick had little doubt, would win eventually. But not before we bury Con, Rick resolved. After that, I don't care what hap-pens.

27

AFTER DARKNESS FELL, THE PATTER OF THE RAIN LESS-

ened. Huddled in her den, Con could hear soft, squishy foot-steps and occasional hisses from beyond her thin cloth door-way. There seemed to be more than one animal outside. How can they know what they're doing? she wondered. Somehow, they did. Her hearing, made acute by fear, picked up the sounds of teeth scraping bone and of sniffing. Perhaps one is sniffing outside my doorway, tired of rotting meat. The image terrified her, and she clutched her rock and the tooth harder. How can I fight something I can't see? The answer was she couldn't.

Sometime during the long stretch of night, Con's exhaus-tion substituted the terror of dreams for the terror of what roamed outside. She awoke, tired and stiff, to dim light, rain, and fear. She had not dared to drink from the puddle all night, and she was very thirsty. / can't hide here forever, she told herself. Cautiously, she pulled the shirt aside and peered out. The nocturnal visitors were gone. Emboldened, she drank deeply from the puddle, despite the water's unpleasant taste. When her thirst was quenched, she withdrew into her den to eat. The