Bedrock-Containment Protocol, Part 8
Home, sweet home. Fiction. 2000 words, 10-minute read.
Booker and his men catch their first sight of Nohfa’s home.
Find the rest of the Containment Protocol tale here: https://raytabler.substack.com/s/containment-protocol-serial
Part 1 (the beginning), ... Part 7 (last episode), Part 9 (next episode)
BEDROCK
by Ray Tabler
It came as a surprise to Booker that he was almost used to the musky smell of the swahldets by the time the cavalcade of tanks, Bradleys, and cavemen mounted on hadrosaurs caught sight of Bedrock. The ground had been rising, and becoming more volcanic in nature since the platoon had acquired its escort. Ominously smoking cinder cones dotted the horizon, and the locals led Booker and his command up a wide, gently-twisting canyon, with abundant vegetation taking advantage of the rich, volcanic soil.
“How much should I worry about those volcanoes?” Booker asked Muñoz.
Muñoz shrugged. “I can’t really say. I was only here for a week. The locals just laughed at me when I asked how often they erupt. I guess smoking volcanoes in the neighborhood is just part of the scenery to them.”
“That seems a bit short-sighted.”
Muñoz sighed. “I’ve encountered the mindset in other tribal societies. The world just is. They accept it, and probably figure that’s the way things have always been. If the gods decide to make the volcanoes blow, that’s the gods’ business.”
“They don’t believe sacrificing a virgin or two will change the gods’ minds?” Booker grinned.
Muñoz chuckled. “Maybe they can’t find any virgins.”
A flash of reflected light from the closest swahldet reminded Booker of a question he hadn’t had the time to ask until now.
“What are those uh things on the swahldets’ legs and tails? Ornaments?”
“Oh, those?” Muñoz peered. “I forget what the proper word is. But those are weapons.”
“What?”
Booker stared at the things strapped onto the nearest tame hadrosaur. Sharp, obsidian blades glinted. Affixed in a way that didn’t interfere with the creature’s gait, honed, stone blades the wicked blades adorned all four legs, and the tips of the tails. It put Booker in mind of razors on the feet of game cocks, only larger.
“Haven’t seen them use those, yet.” Muñoz said. “But, Zunta says a swahldet equipped with the blades can make a T-Rex think twice. Two or more armed Swahldets, with riders, are a match for a single T-Rex.”
“That’s a bit hard to believe.” Booker doubted.
“Maybe. Zunta tends to brag. Of course, he did say that T-Rexes usually hunt in packs, like the one we encountered. Then, it’s best to just run away.”
“Can’t the T-Rexes run too?”
“They can, and do.” Muñoz chuckled. The swahldets can run farther. T-Rexes are lightning fast for a few hundred yards. Then they’re winded, have to slow down. If a swahldet can out pace one for longer than that, it can usually get away.”
Booker imagined the spectacle of one of the hadrosaurs battling a predator like the ones which had attacked the platoon. It would be a savage fight. Fred’s seventy tons of armor plating and firepower rumbling along beneath him never felt so comforting.
There was some commotion and noise from the lead swahldet riders. Booker reached for the handles of the .50 caliber mounted by his hatch. Muñoz put a restraining hand on his arm.
“It’s okay. We’re here.” Muñoz pointed ahead.
A stone-sided mesa rose from the crest of a low, broad swell of land in the mid-distance. The feature reminded Booker of photos he’d seen of a place in Wyoming called Devil’s Tower. That landmark was formed when softer mineral eroded away over millions of years from a core of solidified lava, leaving a near-vertical pillar of stone. Perhaps something similar had occurred here. But this mesa was much bigger than Devil’s Tower. Or, so it seemed to Booker.
“Nohfa’s people call this place Malso. Which, as you might guess, translates as home.” Muñoz said.
By unspoken agreement, the vehicles and swahldets all stopped to take a look at Malso. Booker would’ve ordered a momentary stop anyway, to evaluate how his tracks would approach the mesa. Or was it a butte? He didn’t know how to sort the two out. Not that it really mattered which geographical term from another universe was technically correct to apply.
The ground sloped gently up to the base of the mesa. On the far side, a small river meandered past. At least they wouldn’t have to ford the stream. Details emerged as Booker studied the place through his binoculars.
“Are those crops?” He asked Muñoz.
“The ones closer to Malso are. Surrounding them is what I call dino weed.”
“What?”
Now that Muñoz pointed it out, the two types of plants were obvious. Booker discerned a broad band, tangled vegetation of a reddish hue running completely around well-ordered, greener patches closer to the mesa. A narrow path snaked through the ruddy barrier.
“Dino weed?” Booker asked, binoculars still to his eyes.
“It’s like some super irritating ragweed. At least, the dinosaurs don’t like it one little bit. Won’t come closer than a quarter mile, even upwind.”
“What about the swahldets? Doesn’t this ragweed affect them to?”
“Not as much.” Muñoz answered. “I think it must’ve been bred out of them, to some degree, as they were domesticated. But they still don’t like the stuff. That’s why the riders are putting those hoods on ‘em.”
Booker pulled his binoculars from his eyes and looked at the escort. Indeed, the riders fitted thick, puffy pads over the snouts of the hadrosaurs. Leather harnesses secured the filters in place, straps looped behind the tall, vibrant crests emerging from the tops of the animals’ heads. Zunta’s swahldet nuzzled Nohfa as she gently tugged the contraption over its long snout.
Booker dragged his attention back to the mesa. In the distance, he discerned a faint, worn path running from the edge of the dino weed barrier, through the circle of crop land, to the mesa.
“Is there a ramp up to the top? I don’t see it.”
“There’s a big, wooden gate.” Muñoz pointed. “In case the dinos get through the dino weed.”
Booker focused on the spot Muñoz indicated. “Blends in well. I wouldn’t have picked it out unless you told me where to look.”
“That’s the idea I suppose.”
“I think the town gate’s big enough to fit an Abrams.” Booker narrowed his eyes, estimating.
“It is.” Muñoz confirmed. “Three swahldets could fit through there side by side.”
“Where does that gate lead?”
“Tunnel into the interior of the mesa. Old lava tube, I guess.” He shrugged. “Big, open area inside. Like a big bowl.” Muñoz demonstrated by cupping his hands. “You know, like the crater inside of a volcano. A...” Muñoz searched his memory, then snapped his fingers. “A caldera.”
“Enough room for all of the vehicles?”
“Oh yeah, and plenty more.”
“That’s good.” Booker said. “Don’t really want to park them out in the open. Dino weed or not.”
As they neared the dino weed barrier, the mixed group of tanks and hadrosaurs lined up to file through the narrow, winding path through the reddish brambles. Booker eyed the weed patch while Rusty steered Fred through the numerous twists and seemingly-random switch backs. The brambles grew high enough to be level with the top of Fred’s hull. Glancing back, it appeared as if the tanks and Bradleys plowed through an angry red-brown river.
In particularly tight turns, Fred’s fenders brushed deep into the dino weed. Clouds of red pollen billowed up, carried away on the breeze or drifting down to deposit on the tank in a thin layer of ruddy powder. The pollen made Booker sneeze and cough. He held his nose, and tried to breathe shallow.
“Son of a bitch!” Rusty, the driver, cursed and sneezed repeatedly. Located low in his seat near Fred’s prow, the dino weed appeared to be a wide, ruddy sea, just below eye level. Swells of pollen washed over him, spilling down into his compartment. He’d have slammed his hatch shut. But needed to see better than the glass ports let him. Otherwise, Fred probably would’ve run over the swahldet in front, or gone off course and blundered into the dino weed patch.
Presently, they were through the weed barrier, and into the cultivated fields beyond.
“What crops do they grow?” Booker asked.
“Corn. Wheat. Beans.” Muñoz swept a hand. “Didn’t grow up on a farm. So, I can’t be more specific than that.”
Booker wrinkled his brow. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that there’s Earth plants here? In another universe.”
“Not any weirder than people and dinosaurs here in another universe.”
“Well, you’ve got a point there.” Booker chewed his lip. “Plenty of weird to go around.”
The locals had noticed the approaching swahldets and vehicles. They abandoned plowing, planting, weeding, and whatever else it was they were doing, to come running across the fields. Apparently, the platoon’s arrival signaled a spontaneous holiday. A couple rode swahldets bareback. Booker assumed that those animals had been hastily unhitched from plows for the occasion.
Before the group was halfway through the fields, a mob of pedestrians paced alongside. At least the rubberneckers sensed it was not a good idea to get too close to the moving tank treads and road wheels. That could’ve instantly chilled the festive air welling up from the crowd.
Braver souls climbed aboard the slow-moving tanks, waving and calling to friends in the crowd. They ran hands over the smooth metal surfaces. That made Booker nervous, fearing someone would tumble off and be crushed. But the freeloaders proved nimble enough to avoid such a fate.
Booker twisted about, standing in his open hatch, checking on progress and status of the other vehicles. Betty was the last in line, and just clear of the weed patch barrier. Just ahead of Betty, Pebbles attracted a large clump of locals, who jostled to pat and run fingers over the T-Rex flesh draped across the Bradley’s rear deck. Ennis despaired, fearing that the dino weed pollen would mix with the lurid T-Rex blood dripping from the tail, to form an irremovable cement on the armor of his Bradley. Booker could hear the excited chattering over the whine of Fred’s turbine all the way up at the front of the line of march.
Nohfa stood atop Pebbles, astride the severed tail meat. She called out to the crowd, voice husky in her own language. One hand clutched a dozen T-Rex feathers, waving in the breeze. With the other hand she reached down into an ammo box at her feet. Nohfa brought up a handful of trophy teeth and held them high. One by one the woman let the teeth fall back into the ammo box, clattering. The indigs ooh-ed and ahh-ed in wonder at the sight. In spite of himself, Booker felt a thrill travel up his spine at the savage, boastful display.
Riding in Wilma, halfway between Fred and Pebbles, Mulroney and Yoder noted the look on Booker’s face.
“Having some second thoughts?” Mulroney asked.
Irritated, Yoder frowned at his tank commander. “Double or nothing?”
Out of the side of her eye, Nohfa noted that Booker watched her, and smiled in sly satisfaction.
The sheer, daunting mass of the mesa loomed up before them. Booker assessed the place with the eye of a military man. With its near vertical stone walls, and limited entry, Malso offered an impressive natural fortress. Almost impregnable, to a pre-fire arms attacker, the inhabitants could sit comfortably inside as long as the food held out. Of course, even primitive cannon would make short work of the gate. But dinosaurs didn’t have any cannon...as far as he knew. If anything, the day had disabused him of pre-conceived notions.
“You sure we’ll be safe in there?” Booker questioned Muñoz again.
“I guarantee it.” Muñoz held up a hand solemnly. Which was in contrast to the wry grin on his face.
“You better be right about that.” Booker shook his head.
“Relax el-tee. These people are gonna throw us one hell of a party tonight.”
“That’s kind of what worries me.”
Muñoz laughed. The wooden gate swung open for the swahldets, and riders in the vanguard. The boisterous crowd jostled along through the portal, interspersed between swahldets and vehicles. Booker felt a chill as Fred rumbled from bright sunshine into the cool, dark tunnel.
END.
Tune in next Tuesday for Part 9 of Containment Protocol - Diplomacy and Politics!
Find the rest of the Containment Protocol tale here: https://raytabler.substack.com/s/containment-protocol-serial
Part 1 (the beginning), ... Part 7 (last episode), Part 9 (next episode)
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Another fun installment! The happy homecoming along with the troops taking side bets on the lieutenant’s moral compass. No doubt things are about to get real interesting. Looking forward to the next installment!