Chromosome Quest Read online

  It worked. We could smell the splattered oil from here. The combination of the noise and the smell drew the vermin out into the night. There were not eight or nine. There were fifteen! I shuddered to think of the disaster had we tripped our door on seeing nine outside. I was about to jerk the rope when I heard another noise downstairs, and another sleepy squatter appeared in the doorway. A Deinonychus! Where had HE been hiding! Hope he didn't have any relatives!

  By now the velociraptors had headed off on their hunt, and the chicken's larger cousin sniffed the air as he walked back and forth in front of the door a few times. He let out a screeching, blood-curdling bellow or two, and then finally sauntered out into the woods. I wondered where his mate was, as they often traveled in pairs.

  Do I dare close the door now? Or might there be another toothy guest still in the house? I cocked an eyebrow at Teena and Petch. They shrugged. If we tripped it too soon, there might yet be another nightmare inside. But waiting might be a problem also, as it was evident from the horrific remains that our guests often grabbed their dinner at the drive-thru and headed back home to dine in. One or more might return at any time.

  Teena stayed on her perch intently watching as we debated the idea. Suddenly she hissed “CLOSE IT!” and I gave the rope a firm tug. For a horrifying second, nothing happened. Then we heard the big door slam shut. We prayed the latch had clicked!

  Queen's Chambers

  We watched as our deinonychus walked around outside, pecking at the now closed door. We prayed it would not open if the beast were to push against it. We watched frozen for several minutes until he decided to head back to the woods in search of more accessible prey. I had considered wasting an arrow on him, but the angle from my perch in the window of the Queen's Safe was less than ideal, and I was not confident in my ability to kill it with an arrow anyway! Even though driven by the tremendous draw of my magnificent Lady Seven, penetrating a dinosaur's hide was a tall order and hitting a vital organ still more challenging. Dinosaurs are tough beasts. Besides, a corpse near our front door would draw more deadly predators to the scene, precisely the opposite of what we wanted. When the beastie decided to head into the woods, we heaved a collective sigh of relief. We climbed down and cautiously descended to the main entry and checked the door.

  Fortunately, the latch had worked as hoped and the door was secure. We quickly added the additional braces customarily used at night. With these in place, the thick stone door is impervious to the lesser beasts such as the Velociraptor and Deinonychus, and too small to attract a T-Rex's interest. Once the door was secured, we turned to the mess inside. Unfortunately, as the sun had set and the light was fading fast, the castle inside was getting dark. With no candles in the chandelier and nothing with which to push back the gloom we decided there was nothing we could do towards the cleaning, but we wanted to try at least to secure the building.

  Scrounging around we found some single candles, and with the small amount of light they yielded, we began a room by room inspection, bows at the ready, closing and securing every room against future intrusion. There was no way we could close off every space, and a lot of the interior doors were not very secure, being of comparatively light wood rather than stone. Nonetheless, we closed every door possible.

  The vermin had missed invading a lot of the rooms. Their doors were closed, and I guess there had been nothing to attract them, scent-wise. Even though the lizards could easily smash a light wooden interior door, with nothing on the other side to draw them, they just hadn't bothered. On the other hand, they had smashed a good many doors and the debris and remains in the space within told the grisly tale. Wooden interior doors offer little protection from determined deinonychuses.

  A thick stone door resists the vermin but offers no better protection in the longer-term if the lizards can smell something within. Indoors and protected from the sun, they will merely make camp at the door and wait until the prey emerges. Your options soon boil down to a choice of whether to starve safely behind cold stone or to open up and be eaten. We found several who had chosen starvation. I supposed I might too, given the circumstances.

  After our tour of inspection, we retired to the Queen's Chambers as Petch had dubbed them, and scrounged up a few more candles, along with our meager food supply. We decided it would be best if we securely closed every interior door and slept together in one room. Despite our efforts, we still did not know that the castle was 100% vermin-free, and whatever barriers we could place between ourselves and potential nocturnal danger seemed a good idea.

  A few minutes later we were safely ensconced in the relatively luxurious quarters of the head of the household with our meager food supplies. The gravity-fed plumbing still worked, and we had water. With no family in residence to maintain things it probably would not last long, I feared. Stone age lifestyle requires the constant work of many hands to keep things running smoothly. Well, so does a modern lifestyle, I suppose, it's just not always as obvious. At least we could wash, and otherwise, take care of our physical needs this night.

  We were exhausted. The tension and adrenalin of dealing with the predators had taken its toll. We ate our meager meal and arranged ourselves to sleep. The communal sleeping arrangement was not unsatisfactory. It was the norm in our hosts' society, and while we might prefer more privacy, we had long since adapted. The native residents tended to sleep in collective groups; often a mother would share a bedroom with her children, frequently even adult ones. With dinosaurs prowling about, sleeping alone seemed less than desirable anyway. There were plenty of beds available. Teena took the biggest bed, the Queen's bed, we joked. Petch settled for a smaller bed against the far wall.

  Another wall had a very nice bed, roughly equivalent to a 'full sized' bed back home, smaller than Teena's, larger than Petch's. I quipped that it was the 'Goldilocks' bed, eliciting a faint giggle from Teena and a mock scowl from Petch. I perched there, turned my face to the wall and promptly left the day behind. Well, I suppose I oversimplify. Sleep did not come as quickly as all that, as we had been entirely too keyed up by the nearness of our death that day. I quietly lay as though I had gone to sleep, and I did eventually drift away. I presume my companions did likewise.

  It seemed almost a relief to have a night with no furry concubines. You'd think my poor abused anatomy should be grateful for the rest. Still, I had been maintaining a prodigious pace and the evening's sudden absence of demand left me in a strange state, almost like an engine heavily loaded only to wildly rev out of control when the load is suddenly removed. Partly, I guessed, I was missing a familiar furry snuggle with my Lolita. I wondered yet once more whether I would ever see her again.

  As was often the case, the nighttime came with rain and weather. The climate of 'Planet Oz' is tropical, with lots of rainfall. It tends to rain nearly every night, and often there will be a brief shower or even two, sometimes three in the daytime. A light rain shower is quite welcome during our prodigious runs, bringing, as it does, cooling relief and a welcome dousing. This evening was unusual; we were treated to a spectacular display of weather, much more of a storm than was common. As a rule, the frequent rains are gentle and short-lived. This storm was more nearly an old-fashioned midwestern thunder-boomer, and it poured very hard for hours. No doubt the weather tumult impacted our sleep some too.

  Sometime during the night, I sensed Teena moving, making soft noises. I first thought she was having a nightmare. I turned toward her. She had left a small candle burning in the corner, and in the low light, I could see she was awake and had apparently been crying. Petch, facing the wall, seemed dead to the world.

  She saw me, saw that I was awake and watching her, and to my shock and surprise she silently, wordlessly came to my bed and snuggled against me, making a spoon against my lap. I squarely confronted the sudden realization that something I had often fantasized about was happening right now. I certainly wasn't lacking for companions and partners on this world, but that which is thought unattainable is always sought over tha
t which is readily at hand, such is human nature.

  Faced with the warm reality of her body pressed firmly against mine, I was suddenly terrified. Was this incredible super-woman really in my bed? I wanted to pinch myself. Instead, I put my arms around her. Somehow the cast-iron Amazon was as soft and warm as any I had ever held, and her breasts fit my hands so perfectly I never wanted to release my clasp. I inhaled her natural fragrance, and it hit me like a narcotic, overpoweringly feminine, lustful, and with her in my arms, I suddenly found I had not a care in the world. Sex seemed superfluous.

  I was debating with my inner voice the meaning of this unexpected development when my single-minded alter-ego awoke and immediately telegraphed his own ideas. The message reached its recipient without delay, and the reply was instantly forthcoming. I expected rejection, I had supposed she merely wanted comfort and a cuddle and was prepared for only that, but rather than pull away she pressed closer, grinding her hips slightly. Very very quietly she whispered, “Don't wake Petchy.” The white-noise of the ferocious rain provided welcome acoustic cover.

  Sometime later she sighed softly and whispered, apparently to herself, “If I were only even a hundred years younger!” and then we slept.

  When I awoke it was still dark, but the rain had stopped, and the sky I could see through the window was growing lighter. Teena had returned to her bed, and the tiny candle had nearly burned to a nub, sputtering on the verge of extinguishing. Petchy was still facing the wall, apparently oblivious. I hoped he remained unaware of our night music. I expected he would disapprove and I did not want friction in our group. Too much was at stake for strife or jealousy in our band to be permitted. As much as I fantasized about it, as much as I wanted it, I resolved not to let that happen again. Sadly, I recognized that in such matters my resolve is notoriously unreliable.

  As the sky lightened, I contemplated packing our stuff and getting ready to head to the riverbank where we had cached the boat, but it was much too early to venture outside. That bellowing T-Rex had been much too close last night and no doubt the 'chickens' would soon come home to roost and would be at the door any minute. We preferred to avoid breakfast with them. It would take them some time to accept that their home had been repossessed and to decide to relocate to more regular quarters. We wanted to give them all the time they needed.

  Hopefully, they would not decide to sleep huddled against the door. That seemed unlikely though, as they usually sought refuge from the sun and the area around the door would not be to their liking.

  No, we could not go to the boat for at least an hour, or closer to two, depending on that toothy flock. Assuming the boat survived undamaged! If we can get into the water within two hours, we should be able to reach the next stop about six hours later, based on yesterday's progress.

  I lay watching Teena sleep. Soon I saw she was not asleep but was, in fact, watching me as I was her. She smiled a knowing smile and pressed a finger to her lips. I was somewhat puzzled but concluded I should keep what happened to myself, for now. I resolved to get her alone to talk at the first opportunity. What did she mean by that strange comment about if only she were younger? Was she, in fact, well over a hundred? It seemed impossible; I couldn't see how that could be the case. Petch had dropped several hints that he was much older than I would believe. But he, in fact, appeared much older than I even if not nearly as old as he implied. She did not; she seemed much, much younger than he, in fact, a few years younger than I, like a younger sister I supposed, recognizing our slight familial resemblance from a fresh perspective I had not fully acknowledged before.

  And what of any possible romantic connection. Was Teena merely feeling an adrenaline crash after our near demise and in need of some comforting? Or was she, like I had been a few months ago, feeling a long dry spell and in need of basic human touch. My mind was in turmoil. Had this just been a random, meaningless coupling? Or something deeper. I already have experienced plenty of meaningless ... I have no interest in meaningless ...

  Muddy Water

  About an hour passed and Petch awoke. We began talking, planning our day, keeping our voices low in case some of the nightmarish predators might still lurk nearby. Just because they couldn't get to us did not mean we thought advertising our presence to them was a good idea. Petch didn't have much to say, and in the gloom, I thought he gave me several funny looks. Had he been awake after all, and quiet as we had been, nonetheless heard our midnight jam session. Or was he just in a grumpy mood. Or was it just my guilty conscience bothering me? I resolved not to talk to him about it unless he broached the topic. Or she did. I for one was determined to keep the confidence, to the death if need be. I did wonder how long that would last though. Secrets, especially on that topic, seldom last long.

  Finally, we arose and gathered the remnants of our supplies. We carefully peered outside via the high window of the 'Queen's Safe' and verified no predators were lurking around the castle. That was a relief. We decided that their return to the castle nest thwarted, they had sought an otherwise more usual perch for the day. Listening carefully, we opened the doors and, again arrows nocked, descended the stairs to the main level, securely re-closing every interior door in the process.

  Cautiously we opened the front door and peeked out. Sighing with relief at the peaceful, bucolic view, we set about arranging the front door latch so that it was secure, yet could be opened from outside. Typically, someone already inside must open the front door. As a precaution, we also suspended the rope from the upper story, so providing access of last resort by climbing up the line into the Queen's Safe. We wanted to use this castle again and hoped another clan would decide to repossess it. Keeping the vermin out was necessary to both ends.

  Finally, with the castle secured and future safe access provided for, we headed to the river. Our pirogue had been disturbed but was unharmed. It appeared as if it had been pushed around by the night denizens and they had evidently clawed at some of the packs. Perhaps it had been windblown in the storm, too. We speculated that possibly they had sensed a slight scent of the food we had carried but gave up when they couldn't find anything.

  In any case, our pirogue was serviceable, though we did have to re-tie most of the packs. We wasted no time getting into the water and getting underway. Soon we were in the center of the river and paddling vigorously downstream, determined to make our destination long before nightfall.

  The storm had significantly affected the river. It must have been something! The river was swollen, muddy and rolling fast. It seemed that the current was carrying our pirogue along much quicker today than yesterday. I suspected we might make better progress today and might make the trip in less time than planned.

  We paddled vigorously for two hours when I began watching for our first landmark. It appeared almost precisely on schedule. We seemed to be making excellent progress. By noon, it seemed apparent that we were on track to reach our destination well ahead of the six hours we had allotted for this run. Nonetheless, I still worried as I had come to suspect the big stone map we had studied was not all that accurate.

  At five and a half hours we began watching intently for our landing. By six hours we were starting to worry. We were hoping we hadn't missed it. By six and a half hours we were in a panic. We didn't believe we could have passed it, but we almost certainly must have. We were debating trying to turn around and go back upstream, knowing that if in fact, we had missed our landing, we were dead. Making any significant progress against the swollen current was unlikely, so if we had passed our destination, there wasn't much else we could do, though we would indeed die fighting.

  When we hit the seven-hour mark, I recognized a distinctive rock formation. That was the good news. The bad news was that the rocky outcropping was too distinct to be mistaken and it was well past our destination point. We had missed our landing, obliviously floating right past it. Turning around and paddling upstream was impossible in the time we had left before sundown, especially with the storm-swollen current. There was n
o question now; we have a little less than three hours to live!

  Our only hope was to beach our craft and run back in the direction we had come, attempting to reach our destination castle overland. In theory, we should be able to make much better time on land than by water upstream against the current. The flaw in that plan, however, was that while we might quickly run the miles to the castle on a regular forest trail, we are far from any manicured path, and would have to cross overland through the rough forest terrain. Even a few miles could take far longer than the time remaining, assuming we do not get lost.

  We debated our options for a brief moment and agreed that on the water we had precisely zero chance. On land, we had a slim chance at best. Hurriedly paddling into shore, we beached our craft. We did not take any supplies except for a small amount of water each. Not even our minuscule remaining journey cake, too little to be of use. We were in no danger of starving! I also grabbed a small bag I routinely carried and my weapon, not that the Lady Seven could help us much. As the last act before leaving the pirogue, I threw the bag with our tiny amount of remaining food in it away from the boat. Perhaps the various night creatures would leave the craft alone with no food present, and the fur-people might later find it and recover the cargo we carried. Even that seemed unlikely.

  We headed along the shoreline, back in the direction whence we had come, hopefully in the direction of our safe harbor.

  We scrambled along the shoreline for a mile or so, making reasonably good time over the harsh and uneven rocks. We noted several caves along the way, some small, some much larger. We speculated a bit about what might inhabit those dark recesses in the stony landscape. We surmised that slumbering dinosaurs might well repose within, awaiting the disappearance of the afternoon sun to emerge.

  Soon the stone gave way to soft earth and dense vegetation. We struggled with the undergrowth as it became increasingly dense. A pair of good machetes would seem highly desirable, but even if we had such tools, the result would be the same. We soon came to a halt against the impenetrable forest. A crew with strong arms wielding fierce machetes for a month could doubtless penetrate the growth with relative ease.