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  “Shit!” Carson said, shoving the egg back into the mound and standing, grip tight on the gun.

  Sweeping the room with his tranquilizer rifle, he calmed down. The barn was empty, and even if the animal nesting in the barn was an Oviraptor, Carson could shoot it and fend it off long enough with the leash pole for the tranquilizer to take effect. He felt like an old woman for being so nervous. All the talk about a velociraptor by Fanny and Marty had put him on edge. Turning back to the nest, Carson studied it, trying to remember if he had ever seen an oviraptor nest before. Then he heard movement behind him.

  Turning, Carson saw a velociraptor trot out of a dark corner of the barn. Spotting Carson by the nest, its head went low and its tail straight out. Hissing, it cocked its head back and forth, sizing up its target.

  Velociraptors were small predators, this adult about the size of a German shepherd, but equipped with curved claws used to slash prey to ribbons. Carson was six feet tall and 190 pounds, just big enough to give the velociraptor pause, but not for long. Velociraptors could bring down prey several times its own size. Slowly raising his tranquilizer rifle, Carson backed up, making sure when he moved, he moved away from the nest. The velociraptor continued to hiss, watching Carson’s movements, sizing him up, plotting an attack. Fanny had been right when she said velociraptors hunted in packs. It also nested in pairs. Carson had to get out of there before the mate showed up.

  In his peripheral vision, Carson saw the stairs. Guessing the barn doors were nailed shut, Carson backed up faster, never taking his eyes off the hissing velociraptor. Before he got to the bottom of the stairs, another velociraptor trotted out of the shadows of the collapsed wall. This velociraptor was larger, the size of a Rottweiler, and just as fearless. Assuming the attack posture, it was more impulsive than its partner. It charged.

  Carson shot it in the chest. The rifle was set for a fifteen-yard shot, and at this range the hit and explosion of the dart surprised the velociraptor, knocking it out of its charge. Spinning, the velociraptor reached for the dart with its jaws and then clawed with a foot. Carson turned, took two steps, and climbed onto the stairs. The smaller velociraptor jumped onto the stairs just behind Carson. Carson threw his rifle. The velociraptor caught the rifle in its jaws and twisted its head, the rifle coming free, clattering down the stairs. Carson pulled his pistol and shot the velociraptor three times at near point-blank range. Squealing, it snapped at Carson and then twisted, clawing at its chest, falling off the stairs.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Carson reached the top. The clicking of claws alerted him, and he turned just in time to see the larger velociraptor jump into the loft, a hypodermic dart hanging from its chest. Carson fired twice but missed the moving target. Surprised by the crack of the gunshots, the velociraptor retreated toward a dark corner. Carson fired again, the shot splitting a barn board, releasing a sliver of sunlight. Carson looked around. The loft held ancient hay bales but nothing else. There were double doors. Carson ran to the doors, finding a bar holding them closed. After lifting it out of the brackets, Carson shoved, the doors swinging open on rusty hinges. The blast of sunlight blinded him. Blinking, he turned, seeing the velociraptor crouched in a corner. Blinking furiously, Carson fired again, then sat with his feet dangling, holstered his pistol, and then grasped the edge of the opening, lowered himself, hung for a second, and then dropped.

  An ankle crumpled when he hit—sprained but not broken. Lying on his back, Carson saw the velociraptor leaning out the opening, estimating the drop. Then it turned, disappearing inside. Carson got to his feet, limping back the way he’d come. Pulling his pistol, he aimed it at the opening in the collapsed end of the barn. He was just past the opening when the velociraptor shot out of it. Carson turned to fire, but hitting a target as fast as a velociraptor with a pistol was almost impossible. Carson stumbled, turning, falling to his back, bringing the pistol up. The velociraptor jumped feetfirst, raking claws extended. Carson fired and at the same time Carson heard two almost simultaneous gunshots. The velociraptor was shredded midair, landing next to Carson, dead.

  Carson got to his feet. The Millses were behind him, each carrying a smoking shotgun.

  “I told you it was a velociraptor,” Marty said.

  “And I told you we wouldn’t let you go alone,” Fanny said.

  “I had it under control,” Carson said, limping toward them. “I’m a professional.”

  “Any more in there?” Marty asked.

  “One other. It’s dead.”

  The Millses came to look at their kill. Carson looked the velociraptor over, searching for a tag—he could not see one.

  “Where is the tag?” Fanny asked, squatting by the velociraptor.

  “It’s subcutaneous,” Carson said, telling a half truth. “The carcass has to be returned to the Park Service or you would have yourself a nice trophy.”

  “I thought you said there weren’t any velociraptors at the Ocala Preserve,” Marty said.

  “Must’ve brought a couple in. They’ll get rid of them for sure now. I’ll go get my van and clean up the site,” Carson said, not mentioning the eggs.

  “Lunch first,” Fanny said. “I’ve got steaks in the fridge.”

  “And beer,” Marty said.

  “Sounds good,” Carson said, distracted by the thought of the eggs.

  The Millses were paying five hundred dollars for the job, but each egg was worth ten times that much on the black market—maybe more. The beer was cold, the steaks were thick, and by midafternoon, the velociraptor carcasses and the eggs were safely stowed in the Dinosaur Wrangler van and on the way home.

  3

  To Live and Die in Neverland

  That’s right, Senator, by passing through the passages inside the pyramids, we were able to travel forward and back in time and to quite remote locations. While we traveled only a few thousand years back in time, the fact that dinosaurs traveled to our present is proof that much more distant travel is theoretically possible.

  —Dr. Nick Paulson, testimony to the Senate Committee for Security Affairs

  Unknown time

  Unknown place

  Jacob Lewinski was a Realtor by trade, back when “Realtor” meant something. Jacob doubted any of the children born since coming to Neverland had ever heard of a Realtor. Now, instead of his chosen profession, Jacob was a rifleman in a hunting party. A rifleman hoping he would not have to use any of his precious ammunition, since it was almost as rare as batteries. If Jacob had been a carpenter or a farmer or even a butcher, he would have skills too precious to risk in a hunt, but Jacob was a Realtor, and Realtors were useless in Neverland.

  The bulk of the hunting party was spreading out before him, creeping through the low vegetation at the edge of the meadow, moving as slow as the minute hand on a clock. A mixed herd of ankylosaurs, Protoceratops, and other armored dinosaurs grazed well away from the tree line, a few always on watch, heads up, eyes and nostrils busy. Looking at all the armor plate in the clearing, Jacob shook his head. Something was wrong in Neverland. Only the armored dinosaurs remained, the sauropods gone, driven away by the strange high concentration of predators. Sauropods were big quadrupeds like the Apatosaurus, with long necks and tails and no armor. Too big to be hunted even by tyrannosaurs, adult sauropods were relatively safe, but their young were vulnerable. There were also the old, and the sick, and they could be taken. Unfortunately, the sauropods were gone, leaving behind dinosaurs built like a Sherman tank.

  The hunting party was downwind so if they moved slowly and carefully, they could get close enough for a chance at a kill, and they were desperate for a kill. Spreading out, a small group worked around to the far side of the herd. No specific animal had been picked out yet, the master of the hunt still studying the herd. If fate was kind, one of the young might get reckless, wandering too far from its mother, or if the herd stampeded, one of the old or crippled might fall behind. If not, the humans might still get lucky and pick off a healthy adult.

  Anky
losaurs were easier to kill but did not provide as much meat as Protoceratops. Protoceratops were a hard, dangerous kill. Thick hides, layers of fat and muscle, and a bone shield protecting the neck were hard to penetrate even with a rifle bullet, and the hunters were using arrows and spears. The precious bullets in Jacob’s gun were for emergencies, not hunting.

  The low-riding quadrupeds carried a long thick tail, a parrot beak for snipping off vegetation, and that armor plate covering the vulnerable neck. The beefy Protoceratops could outsprint a man but quickly tired, and with a little luck, a well-placed hunter could make a crippling or even killing strike. Armed with spear throwers, compound bows, and crossbows, the hunters spread along the most likely escape route. Most of the arrows and spears had steel shafts, and the hunters were well practiced and well motivated. An adult Protoceratops could be butchered into five hundred pounds of meat. Two kills would mean they would not have to leave their fortress for weeks.

  They were far from the Home Depot they called home, ranging farther than they normally dared. Hungry families depended on the meat and increasingly on the skins, as usable fabrics went the way of batteries and ammunition. Since a pod of tyrannosaurs had moved into the valley, most of the herds had migrated to safer pastures. Unfortunately, the humans could not risk following. Ranging even this far from the Home Depot was a risk they seldom took.

  The ankylosaurs and Protoceratops that stayed behind when the tyrannosaurs moved in were a wary bunch and easy to stampede, and that made them difficult to hunt. Undetectable to the humans, the scent of the tyrannosaurs was in the air, keeping the herd on edge. The pod of tyrannosaurs hunting the valley was small as Tyrannosaurus rex went, but with dinosaurs, “small” was a relative term. Jacob’s head would barely reach the shoulder of even the smallest of these tyrannosaurs, and like all tyrannosaurs, they had a huge head with five dozen teeth they put to good use, snapping the neck of prey, or biting smaller animals in half. And while the biggest T. rex hunted individually, smaller tyrannosaurs like these often hunted in packs. The pod working the valley included six or seven adults, usually breaking up to hunt in threes and fours.

  This far from their fortifications, there was another danger for the humans. Hunting grounds were disputed even when game was plentiful. In times of scarcity, like now, hunters jealously defended their territory. The humans were hunting outside their normal range. If the Inhumans caught them, the fragile peace could be shattered.

  Now spread along the length of the meadow, weapons ready, the hunters held perfectly still, peeking through leaves, watching, waiting. The master of the hunt signaled their quarry, a fat sow with a calf orbiting its mother, eating, rooting, and throwing dirt. It was an ambitious choice, but both sow and calf had drifted to the back of the herd and near the hunters who would give chase. The master of the hunt gave the sign, and from the far side of the meadow, six hunters charged, shouting and waving weapons. As if one, the herd lurched and then stumbled into a confused mass as panic gripped it. In the few seconds of confusion, the hunters charged in a cone shape, cutting the sow and calf off from the rest of the herd, driving them toward the far edge of the meadow. The rest of the herd stampeded, tearing up turf, sending up sprays of moist earth as animal hooves dug for traction.

  Lying flat, weapons at hand, hidden hunters waited, watching. Sensing the trap, the sow turned to follow the stampeding herd. As she turned, the hidden hunters sprang to their feet, rushing into the meadow. The sow completed her turn, running parallel to the hunters, the calf right behind, bleating. Arrows flew, glancing off the neck armor, sounding like fingernails on a blackboard. One arrow buried deep behind the shoulder of the calf. It stumbled, digging its parrot snout into the earth, bleating. Hearing the distress, the sow looked back and then started a turn, an enraged mother giving in to her instincts. A spear pierced the calf’s belly, eliciting a loud, long, sharp squeal. As the mother finished her turn, two arrows struck simultaneously, the shaft from the crossbow disappearing into her shoulder. Still she came, driven by maternal instinct. A spear took her down, striking just behind the right leg, severing a key tendon. Crippled, the sow collapsed, three legs still working, but she was unable to lift herself to her feet. Hunters ran forward, plunging spears in mother and calf, slicing through the neck behind the shield, sawing deep, probing for a major artery. Blood spurted, then flowed, both animals continuing the struggle but growing weaker by the second. Quick deep breaths slowed to occasional gasps, and then, like a clock winding down, the breaths became shallower and slower, and then irregular. Finally, it came, the long slow exhale that marked the end of life.

  Jacob hated hunting. He hated the blood, the death, the gutting, the butchery, and the danger. He had always been that way, ever since his father dragged him out to get his first pheasant. Jacob hated hunting, but he liked shooting, getting good enough to become a junior skeet champion. And it was Jacob’s skill with a rifle that turned the Realtor into a hunter. So he hunted.

  The hunters were celebrating now, cheering and slapping each other on the back, a couple dancing a victory dance. Most of the hunters were bearded, Jacob one of the few who took the trouble to shave. Jacob did it for Leah, who liked him clean-shaven. Shaking hands, Jacob joined the revelry, and then he helped settle a dispute over whose arrow struck the sow first. Jacob declared it a tie. The sow and the calf continued to bleed out, blood pooling below the wounds. An animal the size of an elephant held gallons of blood. Crazy Kramer, one of the spearmen, put his finger in the sow’s pool of blood and then sucked his finger.

  “Finger-lickin’ good,” Crazy said.

  No one laughed. Crazy was a good hunter because he was big, powerful, and too stupid to know what was dangerous, but no one wanted him around when the hunt was over. Overbearing, crude, and dumb made for poor company, but he was human, and that meant Crazy was one of their own. With each passing year, there were fewer left in the Community, and that made even a life like Crazy Kramer’s precious.

  Then the ground trembled, then shook, and then settled back to a dying tremble. Suddenly wary, the hunters searched for signs of attack. Tremors were the early indicators of predators. Seven tons of animal were not good at sneaking through the forest, although every one of the hunters had been surprised by one at some time or another.

  “Just an earthquake,” Willy Williams said.

  Just an earthquake, Jacob mocked silently, amazed at how quickly something so dangerous could be dismissed. And it was not just another earthquake. Small earthquakes had been occurring regularly in recent months, and getting more frequent.

  Willy Williams was the master of the hunt and now took charge of field dressing the kills. Ironically, before the rest of the world disappeared, Williams worked at the Portland Zoo, preserving animals. Now he led the hunts. Removing the entrails was a messy job, so during the gutting, Jacob was happy to be a rifleman. The blood from the kills would attract scavengers, so experts did the butchering and did it quickly. These men unsheathed their knives and rolled up their sleeves, ready to begin the cutting. Willy Williams led one team of butchers, and his oldest son, Mel, the other. Once the meat was butchered, each man would pack home one hundred pounds of it.

  Willy Williams and his men worked on the sow while his son’s team dressed the calf. The sow rolled to her side as she died, but the calf died on its belly. Six men rolled the calf up onto its side so Mel Williams could cut through to remove the intestines. The baby was male. Mel cut off the penis and testicles, passing them to his younger brother, Jack, who held the foot-long penis in his crotch and waggled it at the others. Ribald jokes and laughter followed. The penis and testicles were good eating, however, so they were packed to go home. Willy Williams was further along, pulling out intestines, digging for the liver and heart—more good eating.

  Small pterosaurs flushed from the forest were the only warning. Jacob spotted them, a dozen in flight, screeching, whiplike tails swishing the air as their featherless wings beat the air for elevation. The crack of brea
king limbs came next, and then the vibrating ground as hundreds of tons of carnivores broke from the trees, charging across the meadow.

  “Run!” Jacob yelled.

  He could have saved his breath. The others were moving as he spoke. Unslinging his rifle, Jacob hung back, even knowing it would take a bazooka to stop a charging tyrannosaur, not a .30-06. Two other men carried rifles, and like Jacob let the others flee first, backing away from the kill, rifles ready.

  The tyrannosaurs came on, the alpha male in the lead. Careful not to stumble, Jacob and the others continued to back away from the kills, picking up speed but not turning their backs on the attacking carnivores. Approaching the sow, the alpha male deviated, charging around the carcass. Jacob and the others continued to back away, rifles ready, knowing they were more effective as noisemakers than as weapons. Just when Jacob thought he was dead, the alpha male skidded to a stop, opened his jaws wide, and screamed at the humans. So close was the carnivore that Jacob felt the warmth of the tyrannosaur’s breath and smelled the rot of its breakfast.

  “Keep walking,” Jacob said to steady the others. “Just keep walking.”

  The alpha male took another step, repeating the screeching. Behind it, the other tyrannosaurs reached the sow and calf, digging in. Snapping jaws and butting heads, the bigger tyrannosaurs took prime positions, snapping up the entrails from the meadow, ripping out chunks of flesh. Hearing the feast behind him, the alpha male snorted at the retreating humans and then turned back, forcing his way between two smaller tyrannosaurs, tearing off one of the sow’s legs.

  “Now we can run,” Jacob said, giving the others a head start and then following.

  “Damn, I hate hunting,” Jacob muttered as he ran.

  Back in the trees, the hunters gathered, nothing to show for the hunt but two balls and a penis.