Well, this little fella is going to throw a real monkey wrench into what we thought we knew about the ancestry of horses.
As if overhearing MacCready’s thoughts, Parahippus raised his head, cocking an ear. MacCready held his breath.
Suddenly there was a horselike cry from the sea of grass bordering the far side of the watering hole.
Unknowingly, the scientist’s body reacted with the slightest twitch. There are more of them, he thought, maybe a whole—
The tiny creature turned its head and looked directly into MacCready’s eyes.
—herd.
MacCready never bothered to stifle the smile that had begun to spread across his face. But even before he could complete the grin, the crack of a gunshot sent him sprawling into the mud.
Mauser, MacCready thought, reaching for his sidearm and catching a glimpse of the tiny horse as it flew across the muddy pool in a single leap. A split second later, there came an explosion of green-streaked water. Even before MacCready’s gun arm could spin toward the new commotion, a toothy reptilian snout stabbed upward and closed only on open air. With a measure of relief, MacCready saw that the frightened Parahippus had already vanished into the grass.
Reptilian reflexes pitted against mammalian ones had become the horses’ good fortune, and MacCready’s misfortune. The caiman landed with all the grace of a fat kid belly-flopping into a pool, a noise that was certain to be heard by whoever had fired the gun. MacCready rolled into cover, alert for any hint of someone approaching through the grass.
About a minute later, there came another gunshot, farther away this time. Definitely Mauser. Definitely Krauts, but they’re not shooting at me, he thought, his relief tinged with annoyance. Leave it to the Master Race to take pot shots at a herd of animals that’ve been extinct for fifteen million years.
By the time his adrenaline rush wore off, MacCready began to realize just what exhaustion combined with a decision to press forward in broad daylight had nearly cost him. Now he would wait for dusk before leaving cover.
Three long hours later, the zoologist skirted the waterhole in a semi-crouch, taking a moment to appreciate a perfect set of Parahippus toe prints in the mud.
I’d give a million bucks to make casts of these, he thought. Then he shot a glance into the grass where the animal had disappeared. And another million to track that herd.
But he pushed his explorer impulses aside. He had a civilization to save. His own. MacCready turned resolutely toward the stark cliffs of the Mato Grosso Plateau. Rising out of their lake of mist, and far closer now, the stony guardians of Hell’s Gate looked impossibly steep and just as inhospitable.
Jesus, MacCready thought. Don’t make me have to climb those fuckers.
CHAPTER 12
From the Mist
God is in the details.
—FREEMAN DYSON
The devil has a better press agent.
—LEWIS ABERNATHY
January 26, 1944
An hour before dawn
The vampire bats hung like ten giant black teardrops beneath the gnarled branches of the great tree. For uncounted millennia this had been an especially rich section of their hunting ground, until the strange sounds and a sudden swarm of bipeds had driven most of them away.
Now they had come back to investigate.
Just beyond their roost, it was as if a strong wind had blown through the forest in a straight line, sweeping away every tree and every sign of life. The lead male sent out a stream of ultrasonic clicks that beamed along the clearing in a clean, straight line, unimpeded.
Puzzled, he repeated the call, this time casting a wider beam of energy that painted a sonic picture of the dense foliage bordering both sides of the clearing. The return information was processed instantly. A long stretch of forest had disappeared.
From her position at the center of the cluster, the mother could already sense the combination of fear and anger in the pheromonal response of her mate. Hanging from the same branch, she felt the twins stirring uneasily in response to their father’s chemical message.
The lead male’s body vibrated for a moment, then his jaws snapped open. A pair of specialized salivary glands swelled, filling the front half of the bat’s mouth. The creature let out a long audible hiss that was accompanied by a thin, aerosolized spray, and from behind the mother, several subordinate males, including the male twin, responded immediately, mimicking his call.
Before, they had taken the new bipeds only when they encountered them by accident. Now they would hunt them.
Moments later, the branches of the great tree were empty. The creatures who had been roosting there were now returning to the cliffs, racing the coming dawn, and leaving in their wake the scent of gardenias.