Michael Swanwick - Bones of the Earth

Hell Creek was a steely glint visible only intermittently through the rain as it flowed down to the River Styx. The bottom lands to this side of the river, which had been browsed flat by the titanosaurs, were already lush with ferns and flowering plants. In this heat, things came up overnight. You could push a stone into the soil, and come morning you’d find a pebble bush.

Even in the rain, and partially obscured by mists, the valley was beautiful. Even with the sky low and gray, something in him thrilled to it.

Leyster didn’t need a lot of company. It occurred to him that if it weren’t for the others, he could be perfectly happy here. Or, rather, if he weren’t responsible for their well-being, he could be happy.

He rued the argument he’d had with Jamal three days ago.

Jamal had taken it upon himself to start building a log-frame house, as they’d been taught in survival training. Without consulting anybody, he’d begun chopping down trees for its frame.

“Those are a little large for firewood,” Leyster had said to him.

Jamal looked impatient. “They’re for a long house. We’re going to be here for a while. We need it.”

“Yes, but we don’t need it right away. What we need now are a better latrine, some storage baskets, a little investigation into plants that might be spun into cloth. I really think you ought to—”

Jamal flung down his axe in exasperation.

“What gives you the right to order us around?” he said. “This isn’t an expedition anymore, this is about survival. Why the fuck should we take orders from you? Just because you’re a couple of years older?”

“It’s not a matter of giving orders. It’s a matter of common sense.”

“Whose sense? Huh? Your sense? Well, it’s not my sense. I happen to think we need the house, and I’m going to build it.”

“All by yourself? I really doubt it. You can cut the beams, but you can’t assemble them without help,” Leyster said. “Face it, we’re all in this together. All this grandstanding and ego-tripping is perfectly useless.”

“You think I’m grandstanding?”

“I know you are.”

At which point Chuck had wandered up and said, “Hey. What’s up?”

“Chuck!” Jamal said. “You’ll help build the long house, won’t you?”

“Uh… sure. Why not?”

“Because we have more important things to do,” Leyster said testily. “Because we—” He stopped. Chuck was looking at him as if he weren’t making any sense.

And then, out of weariness and frustration, he had flung up his hands and said, “Fine! Do it your way! What the hell do I care?” and stomped angrily off.

Even as he did it, he knew it was a big mistake.

So now the team was split into two factions—three, if you counted Daljit and Matthew, who’d gotten stuck with watching over Lydia Pell while she died, and consequently had little energy for anything else. Jamal, Katie, Gillian, Patrick, and Chuck made up the house-building faction. Leyster, Tamara, Lai-tsz, and Nils were the food-gatherers.

It worried Leyster that this split had occurred. But since he was perceived as being the head of one of the factions—and the smaller of the two, at that—he didn’t have the credibility needed to patch up the rupture. It was a damn-fool situation to be in. It was completely counter-productive. But he couldn’t begin to see how to undo this mess.

He sighed, and stared out unseeing into the distance.

It was then, as he was thinking no particular thought and experiencing no particular emotion, that a most extraordinary sensation came over Leyster. It was a feeling very much like awe. He felt the way he had on occasion felt as a child sitting in the pew in church on Sunday morning, a profound and oceanic inward shiver, as if suddenly made aware that God were peering over his shoulder.

Slowly, Leyster turned.

He froze.

At the very top of the ridge—it must have been there all along—stood a tyrannosaur.

It dominated the sky.

The beast’s skin was forest green with streaks of gold, like sunlight streaming down through the leaves. This, combined with its height, its immobility, and Leyster’s distracted state, had rendered it invisible to him. He had simply failed to notice it.

Oh shit, Leyster said silently.

As if it had heard his thought, the tyrannosaur slowly swung its massive head about. Small, fierce eyes locked onto him. For an agonizing slice of eternity it studied Leyster with every grain of attention it had.

Then, with disdainful hauteur, it turned its head away, and resumed staring out across the valley.

Leyster was too terrified to move.

He’d stood beneath tyrannosaur skeletons in museums a hundred times imagining what it would be like to be the prey of such a monster. He’d pictured its ferocious attack, seen that devil skull dipping downward to munch him up in two crisp bites, felt his bones shatter under those brutally efficient teeth. This was far more terrifying than his most vivid imaginings.

His gaze went up to the many-toothed head so high above him. Then down to those taloned feet. All the world fell away from the creature. It was the crown and pinnacle of creation. Everything existed for its convenience. The valley held its face upward for its inspection.

It held the world fast in its claws.

He hadn’t had the exposure to tyrannosaurs to know what sex this one was. It was absolutely unscientific, then, to assign it a gender. But Leyster lovingly remembered Stan, the first Tyrannosaurus skeleton he’d ever gotten to examine closely, and decided on the spot that this, his first living tyrannosaur, was also male.

The brute’s calm was uncanny. He was still with the perfect stillness of an assassin at rest with his conscience. No doubts, no mercy, no hesitation sullied his thought. He was all Zen and murder, Death’s favored child. He stood here because it pleased him.

His was a timeless universe. He did not permit change to enter it. Now and forever, he was king of Eden.

As quietly as he could, Leyster edged away. If the tyrannosaur noticed, he did not deign to show it. His eyes remained slitted, his head motionless. Only his throat moved, pulsing gently.

Trees rose up to obscure the animal. The trail twisted and the top of the ridge disappeared as well. Leyster turned and, with frequent glances over his shoulder, crept furtively downslope. A hundred yards down the trail, he was able at last to draw in a deep breath.

He had seen Tyrannosaurus rex!

And he was still alive!

Had the animal been hungry, of course, it would have been an entirely different story. Nevertheless, Leyster was filled with a strange and savage joy. He was so happy he wanted to sing, though the wiser side of him cautioned that he should put a few miles between himself and his new playmate before doing any such thing.

Would he now have to avoid Barren Ridge?

It was a tough call. Dinosaur skin wasn’t anywhere as glandular as that of mammals. Still, theropods had a distinctive smell, dry and pungent, like a mixture of cinnamon and toad. So, had the ridge been a regular stop on the tyrannosaur’s rounds, Leyster would have known. He was a newcomer, then.

Even so, the overlook was a convenient spot. The Lord of the Valley might well decide to make it his regular perch. Before he dared find out if this were the case, Leyster would need to find a different approach. One where he could tell if the tyrannosaur were present long before putting himself within chomping distance.

In any event, best he avoid Barren Ridge for the next week or two. By then, the scent would tell the story one way or the other.

He hurried homeward to tell the others the news. They’d all have to take precautions. They’d all want to see.