Cretaceous Sea

teeth. Con pointed at the sounds and fired. A loud 'crack' resounded. Con moved the gun to the left and fired again. She pointed to the right and fired once more.

Joe called out in the dark, 'What's happening?'

Rick's groping hand touched her shoulder. 'You're shaking,' he said.

'They were here,' said Con.

'Did you get them?' asked Joe.

'I don't know. The flashlight's dead. I had to fire in the dark.'

Rick and Joe hushed and strained their ears for any indication of the nightstalkers. The dark was absolutely silent. Con looked down at the gun. Its indicator lights were dark. She pressed the gun's switch to make sure she hadn't turned it off unaware. She hadn't. The gun had expended the last of its charge. 'Better grab the spears,' she said in a shaken voice. 'The gun's useless now.' Huddled together for warmth, they sat in the tent and waited for the light. Both flashlights were dead, and only dawn could reveal what had happened. Rick held his un-sheathed knife while Con and Joe gripped spears that were next to useless in the confined tent.

'You got 'em, Con,' said Joe, 'I know you did.'

'But I used up the gun,' said Con in despair.

'You did the most sensible thing,' said Rick. 'Joe or I would have done the same.'

'Yeah,' said Joe, 'if we were smart enough.'

'With those bastards gone, we won't need the gun,' added Joe.

Con was cheered until light returned and revealed the story of the night's events. Outside the tent were three large ellipses where the gun's blasts had scoured the ground of snow. Beyond the ellipses, the snow was tinted by pulverized debris. The snow behind the central ellipse was pink. That bloody stain was the only remains of the nightstalker vaporized by the gun's discharge. The tripod was gone also, as was the food and even the pot. Con began to weep uncontrollably.

Rick held Con in an effort to comfort her. 'Everything Joe and I said was true,' he said. 'We would have done the same thing.'

'I've ruined everything,' sobbed Con.

Joe also wrapped his arms around Con. 'Con... Con . . . Con .. .' he murmured. 'We'll be all right. Don't blame yourself.'

'Why not?' she said bitterly.

'We still have each other,' said Joe softly. 'You're what really matters.' Con looked into the eyes of the two men, and saw Joe was telling to truth. She mattered more to them than the food. Con realized her grief distressed them, so she bot-tled it up. Through an effort of will, she stopped crying and forced a wan smile upon her face. 'I'll be okay,' she said. Rick left Con and Joe to investigate the scene more closely. Blood drops on the snow soon caught his eye. They lay on the outer margin of the left ellipse. Rick scrutinized the blood drops and the tracks associated with them. He wandered away from the campsite twice before he read their entire story and returned to tell it Joe and Con.

'One of them was wounded,' said Rick. 'But it got away.' 32

AS RICK PREPARED TO RESUME THE MARCH TO THE SEA,

he knew all their hopes rode on the slim chance that people had returned to the island. Yet, even that desperate gamble required them to reach the shore with enough strength to make a signal. His mind focused on strategies for achieving that goal.

The arithmetic of calories had been dismally simplified. There was no food. Their only nourishment was the previous evening's meal. Thank goodness we ate well, he thought. That was the only plus in his calculations. His thoughts dwelled on reducing the minuses. We must conserve our en- ergy! With that objective in mind, he forbade Joe to track the wounded nightstalker. It was a decision Joe challenged, but he conceded in the end. 'You're the guide,' was all he said. Rick also drastically reduced the loads they were to carry. Everything that wasn't absolutely essential was aban-doned—the flashlights, the cooking and eating utensils, the conifer bough bedding, and their summer clothes. The cook-ing pot was already gone. The hardest thing to leave was the bulk of the firewood, but the loss of the travoises made it necessary. That they burned with the bedding to warm them-selves before they started out. As they stood before the blaze, Joe picked up the gun and threw it in. Rick attempted to pull it out.

'When sunlight returns, the gun will recharge,' he said.

'So?' replied Joe. 'By then, our fates will have been sealed, one way or another.' Joe's