The Last Hunter - Descent - Jeremy Robinson [53]
I have stones for making fire. A collection of dried dung for fueling said fires. And a collection of sharpened bones I use to pry apart, fillet, skewer and otherwise dismantle my meals. I’m a regular subterranean butcher and chef rolled into one.
But I have yet to take down anything bigger than me.
That changes today.
Today is the day I overcome one of my lingering fears. Granted, it’s not the biggest specimen I’ve seen, but it’s a start.
My map of the underworld has expanded from three cubic miles to four miles deep and twelve square miles around. The territory is vast and overlaps in several places with the domain of the dinosaurs that I now call Crestosaurs. Cresty for short. Not very Latin sounding, I know, but it’s descriptive. The crest atop their heads ranges in size and color on the males. The most dominant have tall, bright red crests. The females have average-sized green colored crests. But the females are also much larger—up to thirty feet long—though they never stand fully upright. Even the biggest stands only fifteen feet high. They are lean, fast and move in packs.
But they hunt alone.
Like this one.
At ten feet long, it’s no lightweight, but it’s still an adolescent and not the best hunter. It chases after everything it sees, running madly, striking fast. It catches a centipede, toys with it for a moment, then gets distracted by something else further down the tunnel.
We’re in a river tunnel I call the Deep River. It’s actually very shallow, but it runs about a mile beneath the High River, which drains into the old temple ruins (which I have yet to return to—that is a fear to conquer on another day). This river is wide, nearly forty feet, but the ceiling and floor are covered with stalactites and stalagmites, some of which merge and form columns running floor to ceiling. A scattering of smaller stalagmites makes moving quickly difficult because I’m likely to impale my foot if I’m not careful, but the large ones provide ample hiding places. And this allows me to stalk my prey without fear of detection.
As the young cresty claws at a stone, trying to flip and chase down the small crab-like thing that scuttled beneath it, I sneak up behind. With my free hand and feet, I cling to the larger stalagmites and shift from one to the next, careful to keep my feet out of the rushing water. I’ve learned not to underestimate any creature in the underworld and I’m not about to start with one that could remove my head in one bite. A drip or splash might be enough to alert the beast to my presence.
I’m within striking range now, just ten feet away. I consider my approach. Silent? Check. Down wind? Check. Out of sight? Check.
Something tickles my foot.
I look down. A long green tendril slides back and forth over my foot. The rest of it disappears into the water. Is it a snake or some kind of worm?
I can’t tell, but I’ve never seen it before, and if it lives down here, it’s a predator. I expect the thing to bite into my foot with whatever small jaws it has, but it suddenly disappears beneath the water, as though pulled away.
Pulled away.
The cresty has stopped scraping the rock. I can still smell it, but it’s not moving. It’s waiting.
For me.
I take a deep breath. It’s time.
With a howl I jump out from my hiding spot, Whipsnap held high.
The dinosaur has misjudged my position and nearly falls over with surprise. It may have detected me, but the element of surprise is still on my side. I press the attack, lunging with the spear tip. But the cresty is fast and leaps away.
And now it’s angry.
The cresty snaps at me twice, eyeing my weapon. It’s smart enough to know rushing into a blade would hurt. But how smart can it be, really? Dinosaurs have what? Almond sized brains?
I lower the spear