Lost in Time(38)

The question was: what was the next step to turning it all around? Surviving the night. That was the answer. And to do that, he needed shelter. A better way to protect himself would also help. The small stick wouldn’t be much protection against a major predator. A fire would do. It might draw the other prisoner, but Sam felt that was a risk he’d have to take.

He moved across the rock outcropping, picking the green pods and filling his pockets and his mouth. One thing struck him: there were no bite marks on the plants. The dinosaurs hadn’t been feeding on them. Why? Were they not ripe yet?

By the time he had circled the perimeter of the rocky area, his pockets were full and so was his stomach. Fatigue was catching up with him, and all of a sudden the sun seemed achingly bright. It was sinking faster now, diving in the sky like a roller coaster racing down its finale.

Shelter.

And fire.

Those were the priorities now.

Sam moved toward the interior of the rocky area, leaning on the stick. With each step, it was harder to keep his eyes open. The exertion from the day, mainly the journey from the beach, seemed to have caught up with him all at once.

Or was it something else?

He hadn’t been stung by an insect. He didn’t think. Couldn’t remember it. How long had he lain on that beach?

Near the middle of the rocky expanse, a large stone rose into the air. At the base was a hole about waist high.

Sam planted his feet and extended the stick into the mouth of the small cave and pushed into the darkness, half expecting a creature to burst out and maul him.

But it wasn’t a beast emerging from the depths of the cave that assaulted him. The attack came from inside. His stomach seemed to seize up like a fist closing, tightening, pain punching out through his abdomen.

Green mush flowed up through his throat and out of his mouth, a soupy goo that sprayed across the white-gray rock.

Sam’s vision blurred. Legs went weak. He sank to the ground, still clutching the stick, watching the dark hole for any sign of a predator. He saw only darkness.

Another wave of semi-digested fruit sprayed out. Then another. It was like an invisible attacker was reaching down through his throat and yanking out his insides. It kept pulling until his heaves were dry. His abs ached. Throat burned. Eyes bulged. He felt like his body was self-destructing, trying to explode.

The sun slipped behind the treetops, as if it couldn’t bear to watch.

Sam lowered himself from his hands and knees onto his side. The rock was cold on his face.

The rain started then, a soft pattering on the stones at first, then drumming, and finally pounding all around, like a symphony signaling his end.

In a fitting touch, the light from the sun faded behind the trees. A curtain being drawn on Pangea.

And maybe his life.

Was this his final act? Would it end in this rocky expanse in the distant past?

If not, what would darkness on land bring? A predator to finish him? The green pods had felled him. The kill was all that remained.

Get up, his mind said. Get up or you never will again.

He planted his hand on the rock, but it slipped on the wet surface, slamming him back down. He tried to push up again, but his body didn’t move.

He just needed to rest.

Just a little longer, he told himself. But there wasn’t any longer. It was now or never. He had to get up.

In his mind, he imagined himself stepping out of Absolom, hugging Adeline and Ryan, back in the world he knew, in his life, vindicated.

He had to fight.

He rolled onto his belly, set his forearms on the rock, and pushed. He got his knees under him. He reached out, grabbed the stick, and shoved it into the small cave. It hit rock at the back.

He army-crawled closer. There were no animal droppings near the mouth. Or inside.

He pulled himself deeper inside. It wasn’t really a cave, just a deep indentation in the rock, barely large enough for him to hide, with an opening small enough for him to defend.

He held the stick out, ready to stab anything that might approach.

He waited, eyes growing heavy. He retched twice more before night fell completely. In that time, he drifted somewhere between sleep and waking, and in the darkness, in one of those moments, under the soft glow of the moonlight, he heard rustling in the forest, near the tree line.

Slowly, tentatively, the creature stepped out of the shadows, into the clearing, and began moving toward him.





TWENTY-EIGHT


On Saturday afternoon, Adeline attended a memorial service for her father. It was held at Elliott’s home, and on the whole, it was an awkward affair, for a few reasons.

First, Elliott had insisted on the event being a dual remembrance of life for Nora and for Adeline’s father—who was, according to the court (and his own confession), guilty of her murder.

Many of those in attendance were employees at Absolom Sciences. They saw both Nora and Sam as victims.

Others, like Nora’s former university colleagues, looked at Adeline with a barely concealed accusation in their eyes. When their glares cut into Adeline, she didn’t back away. Just the opposite. She stared back, not hiding her own contempt, silently declaring, My father is innocent, and you should be ashamed, not me.

Adeline was discovering a whole new side of herself. There was a fighter inside of her, a person she never knew existed and wouldn’t have if not for Nora’s death and her father’s exile. She marveled then that one never knew what they were made of until their back was against the wall.