The Lost World - Michael Crichton [140]
“What happened?”
“You missed!”
Kelly shook her head. “Never mind!” Sarah shouted. “You can do it! I’ll get closer!”
She angled the bike toward the raptor again, moving closer. But this time was different: as they came alongside, the raptor abruptly charged them, butting at them with its head. Sarah howled and twisted the bike away, widening the gap. “Smart bastards, aren’t they!” she shouted. “No second chances!”
The raptor chased them for a moment, then suddenly turned, changing direction, racing away across the plains.
“It’s going for the river!” Kelly shouted.
Sarah gunned the engine. The bike shot forward. “How deep?”
Kelly didn’t answer.
“How deep!”
“I don’t know!” Kelly shouted. She was trying to remember how the raptors looked when they crossed the river. She seemed to remember they were swimming. That meant it must be at least—
“More than three feet?” Sarah said.
“Yes!”
“No good!”
They were now ten yards behind the raptor, and losing ground. The animal had entered an area marked with thick Benettitalean cycads. The rough trunks scratched at them. The terrain was uneven; the bike bounced and jolted over the bumps. “Can’t see!” Sarah shouted. “Hold on!” She angled left, moving away from the raptor, heading for the river. The animal was disappearing in the grass.
“What’re you doing?” Kelly shouted.
“We have to cut him off!”
Shrieking, a flock of startled birds rose up in front of them. Sarah drove through flapping wings, and Kelly ducked her head. The rifle thunked in her hand.
“Careful!” Sarah shouted.
“What happened?”
“It went off!”
“How many shots do I have?”
“Two more! Make ’em good!”
The river was up ahead, shimmering in the moonlight. They burst out of the grass and came onto the muddy bank. Sarah turned, the motorcycle swerved, slipped, and the bike shot away. Kelly fell, hitting the cold mud, Sarah landing hard on top of her. Immediately Sarah jumped up, running for the bike, shouting, “Come on!”
Dazed, Kelly followed her. The rifle in her hands was thick with mud. She wondered if it would still work. Sarah was already on the bike, gunning the engine, waving her forward. Kelly jumped on, and Sarah headed up the riverbank.
The raptor was twenty yards ahead of them. Approaching the water. “It’s getting away!”
Thorne’s Jeep crashed down the hillside, out of control. Palms slapped against the windshield; they could see nothing at all, but they felt the steepness of the incline. The Jeep fished sideways. Levine yelled.
Thorne gripped the steering wheel, tried to turn the car back. He touched the brake; the Jeep straightened and continued down the hill. There was a gap in the palms—he saw a field of black boulders looming directly ahead. The raptors were scrambling over the boulders. But maybe if he went left—
“No!” Levine shouted. “No!”
“Hang on!” Thorne yelled, and he twisted the wheel. The car lost traction and slid downward. They hit the first of the boulders, shattering a headlight. The car swung up at an angle, crashed down again. Thorne thought that had finished the transmission but somehow the car was still going, angling down the hillside, moving off to the left. The second headlight smashed on a tree branch. They continued down in darkness, through another layer of palms, and then abruptly they banged down on level ground.
The Jeep tires rolled across soft earth.
Thorne brought the car to a stop.
Silence.
They peered out the windows, trying to see where they were. But it was so dark, it was hard to see anything. They seemed to be at the bottom of a deep gully, a canopy of trees overhead.
“Alluvial contours,” Levine said. “We must be in a streambed.”
As his eyes adjusted, Thorne saw he was right. The raptors were running down the center of the streambed, which was lined with big boulders on both sides. But the bed itself was sandy, and it was wide enough for the car to pass through. He followed them.
“You have any idea where we