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Chapter 11

The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else. – Umberto Eco

**

David was actually impressed with himself.

The urge to run screaming into the forest and keep running until he passed out from exhausion was quite strong but he resisted.

Barely resisted but still—resisted.

The reasons he resisted were complicated and long but they could be broken down thusly:

If whatever had killed and eaten the villagers was long gone, then running was the worse thing he could do as – given his luck so far today – he would almost certainly run into whatever had killed them. Therefore staying in the village was his safest bet for the moment.

On the other hand, if whatever had eaten the villagers had not left the area just yet, then that meanth that—despite him trudging around the general area in blissful ignorance for quite some time – it had not noticed him for some reason. Therefore, running screaming into the woods would almost certainly bring him to its attention—and given that the thing had managed to wipe out an entire village armed with a variety of farming implements and knives without any trouble, his own chances of surviving was zero. Therefore staying in the village was his safest bet for the moment.

On the third hand, if whatever had eaten the villagers had not left the area just yet and it has noticed him, then it has not decided to attack him just yet – presumably because it wasn’t hungry any more or hasn’t seen him as a threat or food. Running into the woods while screaming like an idiot will no doubt change its current opinion of him. Therefore staying in the village was his safest bet for the moment.

So he stayed in the village.

David looked around in some of the empty homes and managed to find some clothing that fit him, as well as a raincoat. He also found himself some maps, a large butcher knife as well as well as various bags of assorted snack foods and a canteen of water.

Sifting through the maps, he realized that the village he was in was about 50 or so kilometers in a more or less southernly direction from Tai’an—which was very good news. Tai’an was on a major railway line between Beijing and Shanghai as well as being connected to two major highways. Mount Tai itself was located just north of Tai’an and has been a destination for religious pilgrims for over 3000 years—and a destination for many Sinophile tourists for the last 30 years. To say that the city was ‘built up’ to handle traffic and transportation of all kinds was an understatement.

I should have no problems at all convincing somebody to give me a lift—especially since the money I have on me is the equivalent of what your average truck driver makes in two months…

Ok—Shanghai it is…that should be about – glance down at map – about 700 kilometers or so southeast of here...maybe a bit less…hell, even in a rickety old bus over dirt roads I should be able to get there by tomorrow night at the latest…and with a bit of luck I can get myself a plane or a ship back home from there if the Consulate doesn’t come through for me…

Nodding his head, David pulled out his journal and sat down and wrote what had happened in the last few hours. Shutting the journal closed, he placed it into a satchel with the other things he collected.

Taking one last glance at the map, David stepped out of the house—and into the rain….

When David finally deciphered the complex maze of dirt roads that eventually led him to a more proper road half an hour later, he realized that whatever was wrong was not just confined to small farming villages nestled between mountains or passenger planes from France.

The road was a river of humanity.

Thousands…tens of thousands…hundreds of thousands…millions…were on the road, fleeing away from Tai’an. They were on foot. On horses and mules. They were on bicycles…in cars, trucks, buses…anything that could move was being used.

Some were weeping. Screaming. Yelling. Shouting at the Heavens.

But others were silent. Stunned. Almost in shock.

And above all the cacophony of sounds were the same phrases repeated over and over again.

David had to almost throw himself into a nearby ditch to save himself from the everflowing river. All it would take would be one moment’s hesitation and one would find themselves trampled underfoot in an instant.

He tried jumping onto some of the vehicles passing by—but a few attempts quickly showed him the futility of that. Each and every single vehicle—from the smallest bicycle to the largest bus-- was piled high with people and their few meager possessions—and they were protecting their spots and their possessions with the ferocity of a mother bear from any trespassers, real or perceived.

David had a sneaking suspicion that any obvious looking non-Asians were probably not going to be met with open arms from any of the refugees. Sure—normally—the general population of Shandong province barely batted an eye at seeing non-Asians. Indeed—a significant percentage of the population actually liked all the non-Asians—so far as those tourists who were big tippers or were a bit clueless about the current currency exchange rate.

But a phrase that one of David’s political science teachers back in university told him came back to him now—‘A crowd’s average IQ is one hundred divided by the number of people in the crowd’. Given the large number of people in the crowd—all it would take would be one racist idiot to say or do something and then…

David glanced at the speed of the refugee river and made a few calculations---then quietly melted back into the forest.

David found himself on a small single lane paved road sometime later.

The road was quiet—for now.

David knew that will change in a few hours when the refugees—fed up at the glacial pace they were going on the main highways—will start looking at any and all alternate routes.

But for now—he was the only one on the road, although with the ever-present rain still coming down he could have been fifty meters away from someone and not see them at this point.

He went over what he had overheard from the refugees.

David was so engrossed in trying to decipher what had happened that he never saw the small river of mud come down the hill –until it hit him and pushed him off the road.

David found himself suddenly staring up at the dark clouds, rain falling onto his face. He glanced to his right and noticed that he was only about 5 or so meters away from the road.

Hesitantly, testing to make sure nothing was broken, he started to stand up –

--only to hear the sound of high-pitched hissing coming from in front of him.

He looked up—and sat back down again, gasping in fear.

Standing before him was…something.

It was unlike anything David had ever seen.

It stood just under three feet high and was about six feet long from nose to tail. It stood on its hind legs and had two small grasping claws in front. Its skin texture was a pebbly green colour—but its long reptile-like tail was covered with green and black stripes. It had what looked like tufts of long feathers on its head, along the sides of its front arms and all along the back of its hind legs.

It was as if someone saw the raptors in Jurassic Park, decided to shrink them down to half size—and then, in a moment of amusement, decided to stick peacock feathers all over it just for laughs.

For one brief hopeful moment, David thought that he was looking at some movie prop.

Then the creature reared up and hissed, revealing a jaw filled with rows of sharp teeth.

It took a step or two towards David—

--and collapsed almost instantly as gunshots rang out and a dozen holes appeared in its body, splattering blood and gore everywhere.

David turned to his right from where the shots came from.

Through all the mist and rain, a figure—in a military uniform – appeared and nimbly jumped over a few rocks and logs and approached the dead…dinosaur?

The figure prodded the dead dinosaur with a foot while still aiming the gun –some kind of submachine gun-- at it. Satisfied that it was now dead, the soldier yanked out the spent magazine and slammed in another one. He turned to face David…

…she turned to face David….

David smiled as the soldier approached him.

“Thank you very much!”, he said, speaking in Mandarin. “You have no idea how happy I am to see—“

The praise faltered with a gasp as the soldier swung her gun up at David and yelled –

“You have precisely ten seconds to tell me who you are and what the hell you’re doing here or I’ll kill you!”

Merde … was all David could think as the submachine gun came up and pointed at his face….

**

“We’re going to die!”

“What do we do?”

“Maybe there’s another way out!”

“How do we find it?”

“I don’t know!”

Philippe walked away from the five people arguing and sat down on the subway tracks.

Ghislaine sat down next to him a moment later.

Philippe pulled out a pack of cigarettes and noticed that he was down to his last two cigarettes.

“You smoke, Ghislaine?”

“Trying to quit but that doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore—so yeah, hand one over.”

Philippe lit up the two cigarettes and leaned back

“Are you two going to actually do something or are you just going to sit there and smoke all night?” yelled the blond guy with the beard.

“I was looking at the sides of the tunnel as we were walking”, said Philippe “—and I didn’t see any doors or obvious looking ventilation vents—so any other ideas on how to get out?”

“We could…could look again…I suppose…” said another guy, this one wearing a dirty army jacket.

Philippe nodded his head “And I’m planning to do that—after I finished smoking this cigarette”, he said, waving his cigarette.

Philippe leaned back and took another drag on what he was sure was going to be his last cigarette, savouring it. He exhaled and watched the smoke drift away.

…drift away…

It was difficult to see clearly with the only light in the tunnel coming from three—barely functional—emergency lights scattered along the entire length of the tunnel and the light from their cigarettes but…there was something weird about the way the smoke was drifting…

Philippe suddenly stood up and took another long drag—an extra long drag—on his cigarette and yanked out his lighter.

Flicking his lighter on, he blew out a puff of smoke—and watched the smoke.

It was subtle…barely noticeable…but the smoke was definitely being moved by ...

…a breeze!

“There’s a hole somewhere!” screamed Philippe. “Somewhere near the wall of rock that came down!”

The seven of them—using their hands and the light from the lighter—started checking out the wall of rock.

In the extreme lower left hand corner of the wall of rock that blocked the subway tunnel—they found it.

A small hole—no more than two feet wide—disappearing in the direction of the original subway tunnel.

Philippe moved his lighter next to the tunnel—and grinned as he saw the flame flicker with a breeze.

“It has to lead all the way to the next station! We found the way out!”

“That’s a small hole! Too small!” yelled the old lady.

“It’s big enough for us! We can squeeze through there for sure!”

“You sure?”

“Damn it! I’ll go first and prove it!” yelled Philippe.

A minute later, Philippe was wriggling his way through the tunnel.

It was a tight squeeze and Philippe found himself having to wiggle on his belly like a snake to get through. He kept trying—with no success—to forget the fact that there were thousands of tons of rock over his head that could at any minute come crashing down.

It was slow going too—giving him ample time to realize something about himself that he wasn’t aware of until just now.

He really hated enclosed places. Really, really, really hated them……

Clothes dripping in sweat and his breath coming in rapid gasps, he continued to wiggle forward, his lighter held in front of him like a beacon.

He screamed as the lighter slipped from his sweat soaked hands and fell to the ground, skidding away from him and plunging him back in darkness.

“Philippe!” echoed a distant voice from behind him. Ghislaine’s voice…

“I’m…I’m okay! Just…just… burned my finger on the lighter, that’s all! I’m going to keep moving forward!”

“Be careful. Please.” came the echo.

Crawling on his belly, he slowly moved forward, his hands outstretched in front of him…

…and he gave a small shout of joy as his right hand touched a familiar rectangular object.

When he lit the lighter and saw the small flame flickering in front of him, illuminating the tunnel in front of him, he almost cried.

Taking a deep breath, he moved forward again…

Philippe had just reached two hundred and ninety seven when he got to the exit of the tunnel.

Wiggling his way out, he got out of the tunnel and stood up, holding the lighter over his head.

The ‘wall of rock’ had come down and buried the entire right hand side of Mont Royal station. It extended southwards as far as he could see in the flickering light from his lighter.

But the left hand side of the subway station was still intact.

Peering over the edge of the subway track—he saw that the subway was completely empty and dark—no sign of life at all.

“I’m through! The tunnel goes all the way to the station!” screamed Philippe, his voice echoing along the length of the tunnel.

Ghislaine was the first to go through.

She was almost in tears—whether in fear or joy, Philippe never did find out—when she exited.

The two of them calling out encouragement and holding the lighter near the exit as a beacon, one by one the rest slowly wiggled through and joined them.

After a half hour, the last –the old lady—came through.

They practically ran up the stairs to the exit. Even the old lady showed surprisingly fast speed.

“We’re out!” screamed Philippe, as the seven of them poured out of the exit and onto the corner of Berri and Mont-Royal streets. Philippe was almost immediately struck by two things he noticed.

The entire street –no, the entire city--was blacked out.

And the city was utterly and completely silent.

It took a few seconds before Philippe was aware that the six people behind him were silent as well.

He turned to find out why—and nearly fainted.

Behind him to the west—stretching out for as far as he could see—was a…a…forest.

Philippe’s further thoughts on the matter were cut short when a deafening roar came from the forest.

A second roar followed a few seconds later…this one much closer.

Glancing at one another for a brief moment, the seven of them ran…

**

Tuesday Aug 19, 2008 - Lago Piratuba Nature Reserve – near Macapá, Brazil

Victor was never able to find out just how long they ran.

Holding onto Shantala’s hand for dear life—not wanting to lose her for even an instant—they ran and ran.

Even when it became obvious that the dinosaur after them had long given up the chase, they ran until their lungs felt like they were going to burst.

Then they ran some more…

Finally—when it felt like they were going to collapse if they took just one more step—they stopped.

Taking in deep gasps of air, Victor looked at the rest of the hiking group. Many of them were leaning up against trees or rocks, too stunned and tired to move.

Standing up, he staggered to the middle of the group.

“Alright people—we need to organize ourselves and come up with a plan. Here’s what I think we should do –“

“Who the hell made you King?” yelled one of the hikers, a tall lanky blonde guy. Texan or something like that by his accent.

Victor glanced at the guy.

“Just giving my opinion, dude. You’ve got a freaking problem with that, I’ll be glad to hear your suggestions. No? Don’t have any? Fine—here’s my suggestion. It’s too dangerous to go back to Macapá on foot—not with more of those things running around. I say we head for the nearest highway, flag down something and hightail it to the nearest big city as fast as we can.”

“Bullshit!” yelled another of the group—a blonde female who was sitting close to the Texan—“All of our stuff is back at the hotel in Macapá. I say we go back!”. There were a few murmurs of agreement from one or two of the group.

“Are you nuts?” yelled the Aussie. “Hello? It took us the whole freaking day to get this far—even if we set out right now and hike all through the evening, we won’t get there until sunrise tomorrow! And I definitely don’t want to meet another one of those Brontosaurus –“

“—Apatosaurus--” said Victor helpfully.

“—whatever!—in the fucking dark! Okay?!” screamed the Aussie.

“We could just find a safe place to camp out and try for it tomorrow” said Manuel, the guide.

“Safe? Safe?! Where?! All we have are some machetes and that dinky little rifle of yours! Much as I hate to admit but the annoying newlywed there is right!”

“Screw that!” said the blonde female, clearly not willing to concede.

Victor just shook his head and went to sit next to Shantala.

After about fifteen minutes of yelling and screaming and insults, the group—more or less –came to a consensus.

The guide and four of the group will go back to Macapá.

Victor, Shantala, the Aussie—name of Michael—and some tall black haired Brit named John—will go for the highway.

Both sides were feverently sure that the other was insane and stupid and idiotic and a great many other things.

With very little fanfare—the two groups went off in separate directions.

It was the last time either one of them ever saw each other again in their lifetime.

~~

On to Chapter 12

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