"Doc," Eddie said. "Let me do it."
"No," Thorne said. "If anything happens, you're the only one who can repair the equipment You're more important, especially now that we have the kids."
Standing behind the car, Thorne lifted the motorcycle off the carrier hooks. He swung it down, checked the battery charge, and rolled it to the front of the car. He said to Malcolm, "Give me that rifle," and slung the rifle around his shoulder.
Thorne took a headset from the dashboard, and put it over his head. He clipped the battery pack to his belt, placed the microphone alongside his cheek. "You two go back to the trailer," Thorne said. "Take care of the kids."
"But Doc…" Eddie began.
"Just do it," Thorne said, and lifted the motorcycle over the fallen tree. He set it down on the other side, and climbed over himself. Then he saw the same pungent, pale secretions on the trunk; it had smeared on his hands. He glanced back at Malcolm, questioningly.
"Marking territory," Malcolm said.
"Great," Thorne said. "Just great." He wiped his hands on his trousers.
Then he got on the motorcycle, and drove off.
Foliage slapped at Thorne's shoulders and legs as he drove down the game trail, following the tyrannosaur. The animal was somewhere up ahead, but he couldn't see it. He was driving fast.
The radio headset crackled. Arby said, "Dr. Thorne? I can see you now."
"Okay," Thorne said.
It crackled again. "But I can't see Dr. Levine any more," Arby said. He sounded worried.
The electric motorcycle made hardly any noise, particularly going downhill. Up ahead, the game trail divided in two. Thorne stopped, leaned over the bike, looking at the muddy path. He saw the footprints of the tyrannosaur, going off to the left. And he saw the thin line of the bicycle tires. Also going off to the left.
He took the left fork, but now he drove more slowly.
Ten yards ahead, Thorne passed the partially eaten leg of a creature, which lay at the side of the path. The leg was old; it was crawling with white maggots and flies. In the morning heat, the sharp smell was nauseating. He continued, but soon saw the skull of a large animal, some of the flesh and green skin still adhering to the bone. It, too, was covered with flies.
Speaking into the microphone, he said, "I'm passing some partial carcasses…"
The radio crackled. Now he heard Malcolm say, "I was afraid of that."
"Afraid of what?"
"There may be a nest," Malcolm said. "Did you notice the carcass that the tyrannosaur had in his jaws? It was scavenged, but he hadn't eaten it. 'There's a good chance he was taking the food home, to a nest."
"A tyrannosaur nest…" Thorne said.
"I'd be cautious," Malcolm said.
Thorne slipped the bike into neutral, and rolled the rest of the way down the hill. When the ground leveled out, he climbed off the motorcycle. He could feel the earth vibrate beneath his feet, and from the bushes ahead, he heard a deep rumbling sound, like the purr of a large jungle cat. Thorne looked around. He didn't see any sign of Levine's bicycle.
Thorne unshouldered the rifle, and gripped it in sweating hands. He heard the purring growl again, rising and falling. There was something odd about the sound. It took Thorne a moment to realize what it was.
It came from more than one source: more than one big animal, purring beyond the foliage directly ahead.
Thorne bent over, picked up a handful of grass, and released it in the air. The grass blew back toward his legs: he was downwind. He slipped forward through the foliage.
The ferns around him were huge and dense, but up ahead he could see sunlight shining through, from a clearing beyond. The sound of purring was very loud now. There was another sound as well-an odd, squeaking sound. It was high-pitched, and at first sounded almost mechanical, like a squeaking wheel.
Thorne hesitated. Then, very slowly, he lowered a frond. And he stared.
Nest
In the midmorning light, two enormous tyrannosaurs - each twenty feet high - loomed above him. Their reddish skin had a leathery appearance. Their huge heads were fierce-looking, with heavy jaws and large sharp teeth. But somehow here the animals conveyed no sense of menace to Thorne. They moved slowly, almost gently, bending repeatedly over a large circular rampart of dried mud, nearly four feet high. The two adults held bits of red flesh in their jaws as they ducked their heads below the mud wall. This movement was greeted by a frantic high-pitched squeaking sound, which stopped almost immediately. Then, when the adults lifted their heads again, the flesh was gone.