Code Name Flood. Laura Martin
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men, as though this should have been obvious, leveling his serious grey eyes on us.
“They sure look dead to me,” Todd commented, spitting a gob of sand into the water. He shoved his hands into his hair and tousled it roughly, sending a mist of grainy sand over Shawn and me.
“They’re just tranquilised,” said the other man with the gun, turning to inspect us. I jumped as I realised that what I’d taken for a slimly built man was actually a girl not much older than me. Her closely cropped black hair stuck out in odd spikes and twists over laughing hazel eyes. Her easy smile was a sharp contrast to the man beside her, whose narrowed eyes held no hint of warmth or kindness. “Those guys won’t wake up for at least three hours, and they’ll have killer headaches when they do.”
“Tranquilised?” Shawn repeated. “Why would you tranquilise them instead of killing them?”
“Wasteful,” said the older man stiffly. “The carnotaurus numbers aren’t stable. Their last breeding season was a bad one. Those right there,” he said, pointing to five large dinosaurs slumped near one another, “are probably breeding females. Did you know that their name literally means meat-eating bull? The name came from those impressive horns. Beautiful creatures. Simply amazing. Their eyes face forward instead of off to the side like all the others, one of the reasons they’re such efficient hunters. Although,” he amended, “it’s extremely rare for that many of them to chase prey like that. They prefer to hunt alone. In fact, I’ve only seen that behaviour when they believe their young are threatened.”
I’d never heard someone talk about dinosaurs with such obvious admiration.
“You mean like if someone fell headfirst into a nest and cracked an egg open with his big head?” Todd grumbled, glaring at Shawn.
“Right,” Shawn said. “Because I meant to do that. It was loads of fun at this end. By the way, why did you rip my shirt off?” he asked as he attempted to scrape the layer of sand off his neck and shoulders that the lake water hadn’t already rinsed off.
“Because I was trying to avoid that,” Todd said, pointing to the beach full of not-dead dinosaurs. He shook his head in disgust. “Obviously it wasn’t enough. They were still able to track your scent.”
Ignoring the boys’ bickering, I studied the girl curiously. “Why do you care about the, what did you call them? The carnotaurus numbers?”
“That is a good question,” Todd said, looking from the man to the girl. “Who are you people?”
“Wait a second,” Shawn said. “You don’t know them, Todd? Why did you run towards their boat?”
“Did you see a better option?” Todd asked, eyebrows raised.
“Clearly savages,” the older man sneered, turning to the back of the boat, where a small black motor was perched. “I told you we shouldn’t have picked them up, Chaz. Don’t get too close, they probably have fleas.”
“Fleas?” Todd said in indignant disbelief. “And who are you calling savages?”
I put a restraining hand on him; now was not the time to insult the people who had just saved us.
“At least you don’t have to report their deaths now. Think of the mound and a half of paperwork you just avoided,” the girl said good-naturedly. “Besides, we’ll send a team back to attach tags and trackers before the carnotaurs wake up, so it isn’t a total loss.” The man huffed into his moustache and pulled a handle on the motor. It sputtered to life.
“We’ll drop you off a mile or so down the shoreline,” the man said coolly. “That way other members of the herd won’t be able to find your trail. Although I suggest you bathe the one who fell into the nest. The stench of a hatchling can linger for months if you don’t.”
“Months?” Shawn squeaked, looking pale.
“Actually,” the man said, wrinkling his nose, “you would all benefit from bathing. You smell like faeces.”
“That would be me,” I said, raising my hand. I couldn’t smell the dinosaur poop I’d landed in anymore, but I’d probably become immune to it. The man had called us savages, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. My green tunic and leggings were liberally stained and spotted with dinosaur dung, a film of wet sand still clung to my skin, and my red hair hung in wet tangled ringlets. Shawn and Todd didn’t look much better. Shawn was dripping wet sand onto the floor of the boat, shirtless, his hair smashed down on his head in dirty clumps. Todd had somehow ripped a large gash in the shoulder of his tunic so it drooped to the side, his bow and other gear a tangle of straps across his chest. In sharp contrast, the girl was immaculate in her crisp blue jumpsuit with its neat red badge on the upper shoulder that depicted the silhouette of a long-necked brachiosaurus.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Scientists.” The girl grinned. “We’ve been studying dinosaur populations around the lake since before the pandemic.” She extended her hand, and I shook it. “I’m Chaz, by the way, Chaz McGuire. This grumpy but brilliant man is Dr Steve Schwartz.” Dr Schwartz didn’t acknowledge his introduction as he fiddled with the puttering motor positioned at the back of the boat. I glanced around, taking in the small craft’s flat wooden hull. Narrow benches built into the sides of the boat were the only available seating, leaving the centre of the boat open with enough space for the five of us to move around comfortably. Lying open near Dr Schwartz’s feet was a blue duffel bag. Leaning over, I peered inside it to see equipment I was all too familiar with as the daughter of a biologist – small sample bottles, logbooks, and various bits of technology used to measure, catalog, and label scientific findings.
What had that girl, Chaz, said? That they had been studying dinosaurs since before the pandemic? How was that possible? The pandemic, set off by the resurrection of the dinosaurs over 150 years ago, had moved swiftly, decimating over 99 per cent of the human population within days and forcing the remaining survivors underground. Well, I amended, most of the survivors. Todd’s village, the Oaks, was proof that not everyone had found refuge underground. Yet this girl acted as though the pandemic had come and gone and they’d gone right on studying dinosaurs. It made no sense.
“Do you live in a tree village like Todd?” Shawn asked, the confusion in his voice echoing my own thoughts as he shrugged into the damp tunic Todd handed him.
Todd shook his head as he eyed the girl’s strange jumpsuit. “There aren’t any villages within miles of the lake. Too dangerous. They must be compound moles like you guys.”
“Not possible,” I countered. “There are only four compounds, and none of them are anywhere close to here.” They were in fact located on the northern, southern, eastern, and western corners of what used to be North America. And up until I’d met Todd, I’d believed that they were the last holdouts of the human race, used as safe houses for the survivors of the pandemic. Now I was faced with yet another person who apparently lived outside the Noah’s rule.
Chaz grinned while she watched this exchange, as though she was enjoying a private joke. “We aren’t affiliated with the compounds or any tree villages. Good guesses, though. Actually—”
“That will be enough, Chaz,” Schwartz said sharply, cutting her off midsentence. “You’re making me regret promoting you to my assistant. One more word and you’ll be back scooping out pens.”
Chaz cringed, and I cocked my head to the side as I considered what Schwartz had just said. What pens could Chaz possibly have to scoop? I glanced back at the bag of scientific equipment again. Who were these people? Before I could ask, Schwartz turned a lever on the motor, and the boat suddenly lurched forward. My feet went out from under me, and I yelped, toppling backwards into Todd, who hit Shawn. Someone’s elbow connected with my head as I landed hard on my back. The boat continued its surge forward, the bottom vibrating underneath me so hard my teeth clattered together.
“Thanks for that,” Todd called over the roaring motor as Chaz helped him to his feet.
“Sorry,”