Warren Murphy - The Last Dragon

The head had plopped on a thickest part of the logs. Swamp water lapped at the lower part of the upper lips, but the nostrils rode high above the water, where they quivered and blew out air that smelled faintly of mushrooms.

"Thank goodness," Nancy breathed. And she was so relieved her knees began shaking and she let herself down onto the muck to give her legs time to calm down.

She was in no position to stop what happened next.

Skip King turned to the team and said, "Okay, cameras out. Get the banner into position."

"Banner?" Nancy said blankly.

The cameras came out. There were three in all. Two zoomed in on Skip King, who had recovered his hat and his rifle and was striking a kneeling pose at the swamp's edge, the rifle stock set in the muck. Almost as an afterthought, the third cameraman was shooting the slumbering reptile.

Two natives finished unpacking a long object and brought it up to King. It resembled two short rugs rolled together.

"Open it up." The natives separated, walking backward, and slowly a white banner unfurled between two rolling masts.

Nancy eyed it with growing horror.

BROUGHT TO YOU BY BURGER TRIUMPH KING OF CHEESEBURGERS

Above the banner was Skip King's lean face, and over his shoulder the dappled orange shape of the reptile was distinctly visible.

"I don't believe this," Nancy said in a sick voice.

King cleared his throat and began speaking in a deep unnatural baritone. "This is an historic day in the glorious annals of corporate history. Only a fast food giant like Burger Triumph, Inc. could have done it. Only its marketing chief, namely me-could have conceived it."

"King!"

"Cut!" King shouted. His face was red as a beet. "What's the matter with you? We're rolling here!"

"Our agreement was that there would be no overt commercialization of the expedition," Nancy reminded him.

"These are home movies."

"Then why do you sound like a commercial announcer?"

"A copy will go into the corporate vaults, of course," King said in an injured voice. He turned his attention to the others. "Okay, from the top."

As Nancy watched, she could feel the steam rise from under her collar. King repeated his spiel, and then picked up where he had left off.

"For over a hundred years explorers have returned from the Dark Continent with rumors of dinosaur survivals in the far reaches of the legendary Kanda Tract. White men scoffed at these native tales, but still the stories came out. Until the day Skip King, visionary adventurer, public relations genius, heard the tales-and believed."

He puffed out his chest like a proud adder.

"Behind me, ladies and gentlemen, lies the first known Brontosaurus ever to be-"

"Apatosaurus," Nancy shouted.

"Not again! Nancy, what do you want now? I gave you your fifteen minutes of fame at that last recording stop."

Nancy folded her arms. "You said Brontosaurus. It's an Apatosaurus. I explained that to you back in the States."

"Not now!"

"My professional reputation is riding on this expedition, too. It's an Apatosaurus. Nothing but."

"Glory hound," King muttered. To his camera team, he said, "Okay, we'll take it from the point where I say, 'Behind me, ladies and gentlemen.' Got that?"

The cameras rolled. The native bearers looked bored. They had turned their Burger Triumph T-shirts inside out as a form of silent protest.

Nancy felt her legs again and struggled to her feet.

And Skip King doggedly resumed his spiel.

"Behind me, ladies and gentlemen: Thunder Lizard! Twenty tons of Halloween-colored monster."

"Thunder Lizard is incorrect," Nancy called, enjoying the way King's sharp features turned red as a fox when she interrupted him.

"What is it with you! Didn't I give you enough face time back on the trail?"

Nancy folded her arms. "I'm not interested in face time," she said distinctly. "You said Thunder Lizard. You should have said Deceptive Lizard. Apatosaurus means 'Deceptive Lizard,' not Thunder Lizard. Actually, Deceptive Reptile is the preferred term."

"Maybe you'd like to make up a bunch of cue cards," King said acidly.

"Not really."

"If you had been on the moon when Neil Arm strong stepped off the Eagle, he'd never have got to say, 'One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.' "

"Actually, he said, 'One giant leap for a man,' " Nancy corrected.

"He did not."

"I say he did."

"I imagine Dr. Derringer is right," Thorpe said.

"Who asked you?" King snarled.

"No bloody body." Thorpe undertoned in a voice that was edged with steel. "But you might start giving some thought to what we're going to do when the beast wakes up," he added in a more polite tone.

"There's plenty of time."

"We don't know that."

"That's right," Nancy added. "We're dealing with an animal whose metabolism has never been studied. No one knows how long he'll stay tranked."

"Long enough to get him to the railhead at M'nolo Ki-Gor," King snapped. "Where suitable transportation has been arranged."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"Actually, the idea was to coax him to walk that far himself. But I guess I got carried away when I saw him."

"That was your plan? To lure him!"

"Don't have a platypus. We've haven't tried it yet. It could work."

"Except how did you envision getting him to walk? By leaving a trail of jungle chocolate for him to follow?" Some of the natives understood English. They laughed among themselves at the white woman's words.

King's face froze. Nancy met his glare with one of her own.

"Actually, I had figured on setting fire to the jungle behind it," King said. "The flames would have stampeded him in any direction we wanted."

The natives suddenly stopped laughing. Now it was their turn to glare.

"Burning a virgin rain forest!" Nancy shrieked. "Are you mad!"

"You have a better way?"

"You can't burn forest like this," Thorpe said laconically. "Not so soon after a hard rain. So let's all put any thought of burning out of our minds, shall we?"

"We can try," King said stubbornly.

"You can try," Thorpe answered. "But I rather doubt the native boys will cotton to the idea."

"Who asked them?"

"It's their country."

"Like hell it is. I have permission from President Oburu to do whatever I have to to fulfill the mission."

At the sound of the name of Oburu, the Bantus grew narrow of eye. Some spat into the ground. A few hissed through perfect teeth.

"Guess they voted for the other guy," King muttered uneasily.

"In Gondwanaland," Thorpe said, "there is no other guy."

"Okay, I'll find another way."

He stomped off into the bush.

"Think he'll come up with anything?" Thorpe asked Nancy.

"Not in a million years."

But only a few minutes later he was shouting frantically for them to come running. They came upon Skip King standing in the flank of one of the misty rises that from a distance resembled small hills, but which they now realized were great escarpments swallowed by low-hanging jungle mists. There was an opening in the foot of the biggest of these. It was huge. And it had fallen in. The mouth was choked with red earth.

Leading in and out of the mouth were great saurian prints.

"I think I found its lair," King whispered.

Nancy knelt to examine the prints. When she stood up, her features were pale.

"These prints are fresh," she said.

"Of course," King said. "Made since the last rain."

"And there are three distinct sets," Nancy added. "Larger than the one we found."

"You mean the one I got isn't full grown?" King gulped.

Nancy nodded soberly.

Everyone carrying rifles clenched them more tightly, and those who had no weapons crowded closer to those who did.

"Let's keep our heads, shall we?" Skip suggested.