Dinosaur Thunder by James F. David Page B

seemingly unaware that it was wounded. Jacob shot it again, and again, his third round killing an Inhuman. After his fourth shot, the triceratops dropped to its knees, its massive head sagging to the ground. Then it was still. Feeling he had done his best to protect his family, Jacob backed away, fishing for his remaining ammunition. He found two shells. He put one in the chamber. As he backed up, Jacob stumbled over a body. Looking around, Jacob saw a circle of Inhuman bodies around Crazy Kramer. Bleeding from a dozen wounds, Crazy swiped at another Inhuman, wobbling as he did.
    “Let’s go!” Jacob said to Crazy Kramer, pulling his arm.
    “Bring it on,” Crazy Kramer said, gasping for breath.
    Hacking Inhumans to death was heavy work, and Crazy Kramer was exhausted. Backing up with Jacob, they moved toward the forest. Bodies littered the clearing; Inhuman and human. Triceratops rampaged up and down, destroying wells, gardens, sheds, tools, shelters, and stores. At the door to the fort, the Inhumans had created an opening large enough to crawl through, and now like a line of ants, were systematically squeezing past the dead triceratops and into the fort. Nearly running now, Jacob saw a triceratops turn their way.
    “Run!” Jacob yelled.
    With one last “Bring it on!” Crazy Kramer ran after Jacob.

 
    11
    Time Tunnel
    Kenny Randall’s original model predicting the intermix of the Cretaceous age and the modern age was a remarkable achievement. I regret that we have not been able to refine the model well enough to predict subsequent time disruptions.
    —Dr. Emmett Puglisi, Office of Security Science
    Present Time
Ocala, Florida
    “Carson, where are you?” Jeanette demanded into her phone.
    “In a Super Eight. The stingy bastards aren’t too eager to cough up the reward.”
    “Tell them to send you a check and get back here,” Jeanette said.
    “I have to meet with the head guy or they won’t give me the money. They’re on their way over right now.”
    “You need to get back here!” Jeanette said. “You know that … that … stuff you left with me?”
    “Not on the phone,” Carson said quickly. “No one needs to know about my … my stuff but me and you.”
    “You need to get back here,” Jeanette said. “Now.”
    “As soon as I get the reward, I’ll hit the road.”
    There was a long silence.
    “Just get back here before I max out your credit card on Alpo.”
    Jeanette hung up, leaving Carson puzzled. Why the hell is Jeanette feeding Sally Alpo? Carson thought. It’s not Christmas.
    A distant thumping developed into a roar. Carson pulled the curtains back, looking right and left. The roar nearly unbearable now, Carson went out onto the balcony. A helicopter cruised overhead, crossing the highway and hovering over the empty lot next to the Waffle House. The helicopter settled, kicking up dust and litter that blew across the highway toward the Super 8. An American flag was painted just behind the cockpit and another on the nose. Near the tail was USMC . The door opened, half folding up, and half folding down to make stairs. A marine in casual greens stepped out, followed by a man dressed in slacks and short-sleeved dress shirt. The civilian was tall, middle-aged, and lean. Two more stepped out, a beefy female ranger with hair shorter than Carson’s, and a gnome with wild black hair, wearing long black pants and a white long-sleeve shirt. His armpits were wet.
    Carson went down the stairs and out to the highway, waiting for the helicopter passengers to cross the road. Seeing the marines, Carson felt underdressed in his cargo shorts and short-sleeve khaki shirt. The name of his company was embroidered on front left, and the back was stenciled with the company’s logo, a cowboy lassoing a T. rex .
    “Carson Wills?” the lead man said, hand out.
    “Yeah,” Carson said, staring past him at the marine helicopter, two armed marine guards now posted on either side of the hatch. People streamed