Ch 10 - Lane

Anthony Lane was lying on the soft sand of the

beach, his long grey hair spread to the sides, as drenched

as his clothes. His white cotton shirt, his brown slacks,

his suede sneakers, and even the vest that housed his

ribcage were all in the most miserable of states. Still, he

slept peacefully, oblivious to the conditions. Smacking

his lips with the burden of sleep that refused to leave his

body, he opened his eyes slowly, his vision still blurred.

The sun now entered his eyes, burning his retinas on the

way, but at least waking him up a little more. Feeling the

sweat covering his body, he cursed the misfortune of

waking up with his clothes sticking to his skin but soon

regained his spirits when he heard a bird chirping nearby.

— There's something pleasing about these expeditions to

paradise islands, — he thought, — even without any

proof when we return, the wildlife is always delightful.

— But this time there was proof; yes, this time the world

would know the Lanes as the revealers of our planet's

ancestral secret — that it never ceased being ancestral.

Prioritizing these damned trips had distanced him from

what had been left of his family for years on end, but it

would all be worth it because his daughter would be fine

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and the boy would always have a place to stay. He hadn't

made the best decisions in life, that's for sure, but who

had anyway, right? As these thoughts flashed through his

mind, the sound in the background seemed to fill with

the chirps, to the point where it was hard to think. As the

fantasy died down, the memories of the previous days

returned to his mind — huge predators, a body, death.

His eyes now opened suddenly, and he realized that he

was in the shadow of a leafy tree that projected its

branches over the sand line. From the branches far above

came the sound of beings gathering to observe the static

figure. Squeezing his eyes a little, the figures became

somewhat clearer and...redder? Even though his aging

body was in severe pain, Lane stood up to stare at the

creatures sitting in their respective nests of dry twigs,

and he finally understood; they were not birds, they were

vultures — Sinornithosaurus.

Turning to the sea in search of the speedboat,

Lane despaired at not seeing it anywhere, and the only

way out he could think of was to run into the jungle.

Seeing him shoot, as fast as his rheumatism would allow,

the predators launched themselves from the branches in

his direction. Praying only that they wouldn't reach him,

Anthony Lane could already hear in the trees around him

the animals jumping between the bushes and tall trees to

attack him. — Hell! — he shouted, feeling his joints

burning with incessant pain. The dispute over the venom

became more serious in his mind, now that the danger

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was real. Articles, theories, everything was now

nonsense; he would like to be sure, even if the mere sum

of the bites already caused death. All the dreams and

goals that depended on that excursion went through his

mind again and he saw them ruined, all his effort and

bad choices leading to absolutely nothing; crying, all he

wished was not to be killed. But life is never what we

wish for, is it? Rather, it is a sequence of uncertain

events, many of them tragic, as Lane should have

learned by now. Gliding from a tree behind the old man,

one of the animals reached him and dug its teeth into his

right arm, causing him to scream and stumble. The fangs

clamped down hard on the flesh and Lane could feel

them tearing into the muscle. Knocked over with the

impact, he reached for anything that would save him

before the other Sinornithosaurus piled on top of him as

they did with Abal. Stretching his left arm to grab a

branch fallen to the ground near his body, he swung the

piece of wood in the air and struck with fury at the

creature still clinging to him. With the strikes, the fangs

burrowed even deeper, causing excruciating pain to the

scientist, but it was even more painful for him to have to

kill an animal. By the third blow, he could hear the

morbid sound of the skull's fragile bones suffering and

finally breaking. The predator's jaws relaxed and

loosened their grip on the flesh. With difficulty, he stood

up again and grabbed the dinosaur's lifeless body by the

neck, and ran off into the brush, listening to the sound of

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his attacker's companions following closely behind him.

Already hopeless, Lane slowed down, tortured by the

intense pain of the bite, and with his legs begging for

rest; he was ready to give himself over to the most

painful of deaths.

When he raised his eyes, though, a beacon of

hope shone through in the form of a cub clinging to the

trunk of a tree — Lane had found the herd again.

Revived by the image, he used what strength he had left

to run into the clearing and hide among the huge bodies

that surrounded him. As he reached that part of the flock,

an approaching Guardian spotted the predators and

roared in their direction, waving his scythes at what

might be a threat to the Great Leader's young. Still

reluctant, the carnivores retreated, knowing the result of

putting themselves in the path of a Kaiaimunu's scythes.

Relieved at the unexpected salvation, Lane let himself

collapse, and when he turned around, he saw what the

Leader was looking for — a stunning lake of shallow

water that glistened in the sunlight. Around it,

Probactrosaurus and Deinocheirus drank greedily, and

the young of the former splashed happily.

⬫⬫⬫

— I'd say he's gone, — Jacob Keene said. Back

at the Abal hut, where there were more provisions, we

had closed the curtains and propped furniture against the

windows, also locking Samuel Abal's room, sealing the

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macabre scene it kept. We waited and thought, argued

and paced disconsolately from one side of the cabin to

the other. From the moment we reached the beach and

both Lane and the speedboat had disappeared, we waited

on the exposed beach, but soon had to take refuge in the

cabin. We had eaten something and put in our backpacks

any provisions that were not going to spoil immediately.

— And leave us here? My father wouldn't be that

cold, — was Lucy's answer to Keene.

— Isn't that...precisely his reputation? — the

Doctor teased, savoring every word, but without getting

an answer. Lucy made her way to one of the windows

blocked by the furniture, and, hearing the chirps coming

from outside, she said with certain bitterness:

— It's those damn little animals again. Kevin, can

you please pretend to care about the situation? — After a

few seconds of meditation and still feeling her

inquisitive gaze on me, I answered:

— There's not much to worry about, really.

Whether he left us here or left for some other reason, Dr.

Lane should be fine. These little Sinornithosaurus can't

get into the hut if it's locked up tight, and apparently,

they are nocturnal predators; as soon as the sun comes

up, they will become inert again and we'll be able to

leave. Would you lend us your boat for this, Mr.

Norwayan?

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— But of course! — replied the native, still

playing with his son's letter between his fingers. — It's

docked, near my cabin.

— And what about the Australovenators? — she

insisted.

— Those are opportunistic predators, — Keene's

voice sounded from across the room. — Now that they

have found the pack, they will stay close to it, attacking

the wounded, those who dare to disturb the Leader, and

old fools who no longer value life, like the one you

found, Kevin. As long as we don't hear the Leader's roar,

we won't have any big predators around, — he pondered.

⬫⬫⬫

Back on the lake shore, the three species that

made up that diverse flock slept peacefully. The

Kaiaimunu chicks didn't even need to change the

position they acquired during the day, except to stop

eating leaves; their mothers and most of the other

Kaiaimunus had their necks bent inward, wrapping their

heads with feathered arms, almost losing the appearance

of a living being. The probactrosaurus had their

respective offspring gathered together and welcomed all,

young and not so young, wrapped around each other.

Around the flock, a few Guardians still roamed the

circumference of the huge imaginary circle they made

up. As Lane could observe, they would soon return to the

middle of the flock and assume the resting position of

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the other Deinocheirus, and then be replaced by others

who would immediately spread their blue wings, raise

their necks, and take their position in defending the

group. They seemed to agree among themselves about

who would take the next turn in the watch, and perhaps

they did, like elephants, that communicate through

low-frequency vibrations, or perhaps the purring sound

they made also meant that sometimes. Anthony Lane's

mind made conjectures of all kinds about the animals

and their behavior, but soon the sharp pain snapped him

out of his scientific trance. Now he was wiping from his

lips the remains of what seemed to be the tenth time he

had vomited. Raising his hand to his forehead, he

verified that he was going feverish. — God, — thought

Lane, — let's hope it's just an infection, not

envenomation. — Looking at the small animal he had

strangled in his hands, Lane felt sorry for the creature.

He had grabbed the Sinornithosaurus that had bitten him

to examine it and, if there was time, perhaps produce a

serum in case the animal was indeed venomous. Now,

however, the jaw would not even open; the blows had

fixed its teeth into the skull. Hopeless that the carcass

would be of use to him, Lane crawled to the edge of the

lake and gently put the animal into the water, letting that

body float and eventually sink into the shallows to

perhaps one day become a fossil. The scientist would

sleep through a night of pain if rest was possible.

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Indeed, an entire night passed, but to Lane, it

seemed like minutes, as he slept so little. From what

little sleep he could get, he was awakened by loud roars

that marked the awakening of the day and the entire

herd. Despite the constant fatigue, a slight smile crept to

the corner of his lips, as the Great Leader began to march

and headed for the other side of Ambungi — the side

where there were boats, huts, and from where, he hoped,

his daughter and Kevin had left long ago. Still staggering

a bit, he set out to keep up with the animals, surrounded

by all sizes of probactrosaurus that ran past just inches

from him, threatening to knock him under the large

hooves of the adults. In this march, he was safe, despite

the risks posed by those inconsequential youngsters, but

they were not as dangerous as the Australovenators that

were certainly lurking around the pack. Surrounded by

the Ring of Guardians, no being contained within it

feared attack.

⬫⬫⬫

Back at the hut, just as the scene with the widow

had been, now the same was repeated, this time with

Lucy, as Paka Norwayan busied himself with consoling

her.

— I'm sure he's already in Murien, dear. Oh, do

you think he might have gone to get that pilot you told

me about? — he said to the downcast figure who was

now Lucy Lane.

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— I can't forgive him...not a second time, — she

answered in a low voice.

— Of course, I understand that it's difficult, —

answered the native.

— No, you don't understand! Don't you see that

there are few men with your character?

Lucy's shout seemed so sudden and foreign to her

personality that it made us all look at her. I can't stand

seeing an elder being yelled at, no matter how much of a

"justification" there is for it; Keene seemed to have the

same concept, because he cast a dark look of disapproval

at her, which I restrained myself from doing, and the

native himself seemed shocked as if he had known her

behavior for years. Looking around and realizing that we

were all stratified, she immediately turned to the native

and, in an embarrassed tone, said:

— I...I didn't mean to yell at you, Mr. Norwayan,

I just...

— It's all right, — interrupted the native, raising

his hand, — it can't be easy for you to keep calm in this

situation. — Lucy kept the same sorrowful and

embarrassed look before Norwayan; as for him, the

tender fatherly look that he carried forever. The heavy

atmosphere we had created soon dissipated and we had a

brief moment of peace in the confusion. But such

precious seconds of safety have a terrible habit of being

brief, like the existence of dew. Just as we were enjoying

this sweet passing dream, a sound echoed in the distance,

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not the roar of a carnivore or the macabre chirps that

kept us awake at night, but a sound that can only

resemble the receding waters of the seas — something

harmless in itself, but which carries mortal danger with

it.

— Was that the Leader? — asked Lucy,

recognizing the roar.

— It sounds...sounds like it, — I stammered,

wondering what might happen next. Turning to the

windows, we removed the furniture blocking them to see

the herd once more. For a few minutes we had our faces

pressed against the glass, waiting to see those fantastic

herbivores again, and they did not disappoint. Tearing

through the foliage in his path, the Great Leader made

his way through the jungle and, roaring furiously,

emerged on the sand line. Behind him came the female

Kaiaimunus and the flock of probactrosaurus that

accompanied them, also harboring the young ones that

leaped across the sand like playful foals.

— But it's ... incredible! — said Paka Norwayan,

in an emotional tone. The gigantic herbivores passed by

our windows and spread out over the beach, sheltering a

few houses within the ring of Guardians. Heading for the

door, the native kept his voice tight with emotion,

saying:

— It is exactly what the legends describe! —

Noticing that the man intended to leave the shelter to go

see the animals from up close, Lucy ran to stop him. —

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No! No, Mr. Norwayan, please! — she cried, rushing to

grab his arm.

— Now, aren't all the animals outside herbivores?

That's what you said! — complained Norwayan. Lucy

replied in a respectful tone:

— Yes, sir, that's true, but even these herbivores

can be extremely dangerous. One of them attacked

Kevin because it thought he was a threat to its young and

we almost lost him. — As the native looked at me, I

nodded, in a simple gesture that confirmed Lucy's

account. I immediately turned to the window, but it was

difficult to discern the bodies from each other now —

the brown feathers of the female Kaiaimunus were

passing by the scaly, olive-colored skins of the

probactrosaurus, all too close together, making it

difficult to see. Then, among the animals clumping on

the beach, I visualized a much smaller, upright form — a

human being. Stumbling over his feet, he was getting

closer but was still in the distance. When I could see

more details of the figure, I noticed long white hair and a

green vest, and my eyes widened in surprise.

— But it's Doctor Lane! — I shouted.

— But how? — asked Keene, hurrying to the

window. A quick glance out the window beside her and

Lucy ran outside, disregarding the very advice she had

given the native. We followed her, as we were all

amazed to see my master there again. The four of us also

squeezed in among the herbivores to catch up with the

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old man who, we could see from his walk, was about to

collapse. — Dad! Dad! — cried Lucy, running ahead of

us. When we reached Anthony Lane, Lucy and I

supported his body, one arm on each of our shoulders,

and poured our questions over him:

— What happened to you? You look so sick, —

Lucy said.

— Were you attacked when you were in the boat?

Did you see anything in the tree line? — I added.

— Can you hear us, Dr. Lane? — added

Norwayan, worried.

— And where have you been all this time? —

was Keene's addition.

Trying to lift his head and answer, Lane gasped

and groaned in pain. Receiving the welcoming shoulders

that supported him, the old man let his weight fall, and

Norwayan had to support him to keep him from

collapsing to the floor. We immediately carried him

inside; the native and the Brit holding his legs and the

two of us carrying the rest of his body, supporting

especially his head. The entire entourage entered the

widow's house and laid the Doctor down on the couch to

rest.

— We have to get him to a hospital now! — said

Lucy in an urgent tone.

— We can't, — Keene said, — the Guardians are

surrounding the beach; they'll attack us if we try to get

through with Norwayan's boat.

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— But we can try! — I complained.

— I'm afraid he's right, children, — commented

the native.

— But then... what... — stammered Lucy.

— Don't worry, dear, — said Norwayan in his

fatherly way, — as soon as we can, okay?

I sighed deeply, looking at my tutor. His clothes,

always so well cared for, were now rags like those that

even a beggar would despise, so dirty and torn were

they; the grey curls that hung from his head, disheveled

as I had never seen before, and the worst was his facial

expression — one of pain, suffering, and worry that

perhaps he experienced even in the deep sleep that, I

believed, he was now sleeping. An hour passed, then

two, and finally here we were on almost another night on

that damned island, and now our master was sick before

our tied hands. Sitting opposite Lane's couch, Lucy and I

kept our eyes fixed on him, Norwayan and Keene having

theirs fixed on the windows, watching and making

occasional comments, especially the native, who was

still enraptured by the beauty of the dinosaurs, these

being answered by a grunt or monosyllable from Keene.

I imagined the most diverse theories to explain what had

happened to Lane, but I still didn't understand how he

had ended up in the herd's presence again. Getting up

and walking toward the motionless figure on the sofa, I

noticed some unusual patterns on his right arm. Noticing

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our movement around Lane, Norwayan returned to his

protective mode and began again:

— Oh, little ones, stay calm. I don't know exactly

what happened to the old man on his adventure in the

jungle, but the important thing is that he seems fine,

perhaps just overtired.

— I'm afraid it's more than that, Mr. Norwayan,

— I said, still analyzing Lane's arm.

— What do you mean, Kevin? — asked Paka

Norwayan.

— Look at this. There are some cuts in the

clothing, and... — I paused to further open the tear in the

clothing to expose the skin.

— God, — he said, surprised, — He was...

— Attacked? — Lucy added.

— I'm afraid so, — I said painfully.

— But what could have attacked him without

causing major damage, if the smaller predators were at

our window last night? — he reasoned.

— Well, somehow they reached him in the

meantime; the size of the bite matches that of a

Sinornithosaurus, — I concluded, without taking my

eyes off the wounds.

— Maybe the bite caused the infection, then?

— Possibly. And maybe it's a mild infection now,

but it's bound to get much worse without medical help.

— But what do we do, if we can't leave the

island?

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— You can tell the world the truth, — sounded a

weak, raspy voice.

— Dr. Lane? — I shouted carelessly. This was

followed by a confusion of cries of astonishment and

excitement, voices calling for the title mixed with one

calling him "dad" and the four of us surrounded the bed,

blocking what little air could reach the old man.

— You...are still with us! — Lucy cried, holding

Anthony Lane's hand.

— What happened, how did the Sinornithosaurus

reach you? — I asked in anguish. With a slight smile and

great effort, Lane inhaled a large amount of air, filling

his lungs. We understood the gesture that indicated he

had literally run out of breath, and we stepped back a

little, leaving only Lucy's hand clutching her father's.

— I couldn't explain to you exactly what

happened, — he began, — All I can remember is that I

was on the boat examining Jacob's map…

— Yes, it was just before I ran to where you

were, — Keene interrupted. We confirmed his statement

and turned again to Lane, who continued his account

interspersed with groans of pain:

— Well, after that I only remember waking

up...soaking wet on the other side of the island...with

Sinornithosaurus staring at me.

— But how? — asked Paka Norwayan, — They

were at our window last night.

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— The females had nests, — said the whining

voice of the scientist.

— They did? — I asked, surprised.

— I believe the ones that fled before the

Kaiaimunus...were males...and the females stayed to

guard the nests. — Before he could finish his thought,

the disease forced him to turn and vomit before our feet,

exposing his arm, dotted with perforations that were

already suppurating with inflammation. Weeping with

the humiliation and pain to which the illness had

subjected him, he lay down again and, looking at Lucy,

cried out:

— Promise me you will tell the world what we

found here, please promise me!

— But dad, you will tell it yourself…we

will…together, — said Lucy, who was also already

crying. — Tomorrow the herd must leave and we will

take you to the hospital. — Horrified at the word, as if it

were almost an offense, Lane exclaimed:

— There is no tomorrow! — Then turning to

Keene, he looked at him with pleading eyes, then at his

camera resting on the table, and back at him. The British

man immediately understood the request that he showed

the photos to the world and agreed with the same

emotional look. Finally, he turned to Lucy and me and

said:

— Kevin, you are going to have to tell this story

by yourself...take good care of each other. — His voice

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weakened even more and his breathing sounded even

more painful. Still crying and moaning, Lane suffered

for a while longer, before he fell silent.

That evening, the sun was setting beautifully, as

if it didn't care about what happened there; a languid

orange streak of light came through the window and

tried to force joy where there was none, and soon it

ceased, the sad darkness of the night rejoicing to see our

tear-streaked faces. On that dreary muggy night, to the

soft sound of the animals getting ready for bed outside,

we lost Anthony Lane.