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into stomach cramps.
She knew her body was running out of fuel, fuel she would need to fight the
cold. Con crawled into her cramped, muddy den and removed her shirt to wring
it out before putting it back on. The mud-caked garment was only slightly less
wet.
Speaking to herself, she said, God! I m hungry! Yet the problem was not a
lack of food, but rather its nature. Her situation was ironic. You re lying
under tons of meat. Only it was raw flesh, rotting on a hillside. In
comparison, the charred dinosaur meat was dainty fare. Here, nothing would
obscure the fact she would be devouring a dead animal. The idea made her
squeamish.
The only other option was to starve. I m not hungry enough yet! By her very
declaration, she admitted she would be.
When will hungry enough be?
she asked herself.
When I m sick? When I m so weak
I can barely move? When I m freezing to death?
The sensible thing would be to eat while the meat
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was less spoiled and she still had some strength. She resolved to eat some and
quickly encountered a problem. How can I take a bite? Con felt the thick
hide above her. She d need a knife to penetrate it.
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The idea of her gnawing through the tough, bumpy skin was ludicrous. I could
chew for hours without making a hole. Thoughts of her puny teeth made Con
think of the Tyrannosaur s knife-like ones. An idea came to her. They can be
my teeth, too. She emerged from her den, rock in hand.
Even in death, the Tyrannosaur s head was fearsome. Its nightmarish mouth
seemed too large for a natural creature. Only a wheelbarrow of flesh would
fill it. Above the mouth, a large yellow-green eye stared blindly skyward. Con
looked into it, but only saw her mud-stained face peering back. She returned
her attention to the mouth and its teeth. Con felt a pointed, six-inch tooth.
It was sturdy and curved, with edges that had razor-sharp serrations like
those on a steak knife. She struck it with her rock at the gum line. The blow
sent the tooth flying into the partly open mouth and Con had to stick her
whole arm between the jaws to retrieve it.
Tooth in hand, Con surveyed her forty-six-foot-long meal. I wonder what s the
best part to eat? She chose an arm, purely for convenience. Compared to the
massive body it looked tiny, yet it was the size of a man s and more heavily
muscled. Con discovered the serrations on the tooth sliced easily through the
thick skin. Dark, sticky blood oozed slowly from the incision. She sawed
through muscle, tendons, and cartilage until she held the severed limb in her
bloody hands. Despite the cold, she butchered it in the rain rather than where
she would rest. She separated the upper arm at the elbow and sliced through
the skin and peeled it away. Brunch is served. Con placed her stone, her
Tyrannosaur tooth, and the lower arm next to her shoe within her den, then
crawled inside with her food.
The rain had soaked and thoroughly chilled her, but she did not want to wring
out her shirt with bloody hands. Instead, she formed her body into a tight
ball to try to get warm. In that position, she bit into the raw meat. It was
tough and stringy. Tearing off a piece with her teeth was difficult. The
flavor was not pleasant. The flesh was strongly gamy, with the odor and
metallic aftertaste of stale blood. Con chewed thoroughly before swallowing.
Despite her hunger, she felt like gagging. I need to eat this. It may be a
while before Rick and Joe find me. Con used the tooth to slice though the
muscle, making it easier to chew. Methodically and stoically, she devoured a
pound of the meat. Afterward, like a wild carnivore, she lay in a semistupor
as her heavy meal digested.
Con s thoughts drifted from question to question.
How long have I been here? How far did I travel down the river? When will Rick
and Joe reach me?
She had no idea. Often, her thoughts took frightening directions.
What if they think I m dead? What if they can t reach me? What if they were
here while I slept? What if they ve left?
As quickly as these questions arose, she tried to banish them.
The answer was terrible to contemplate, and it was always the same.
I ll die alone.
Then, only one question remained.
How soon?
She forced her thoughts to happy outcomes. They ll come for me. I know they
will. She imagined running to hug Joe and Rick. They ll say, We thought you
were dead. And I ll answer, Takes more than a little water to kill me! And
Joe will say something smart. And Rick will gaze into my eyes like he did on
the beach. She envisioned telling them all about her narrow escape as they
walked back to the plane. They d arrive to find that the water-softened earth
was easy to dig. No . . . they ll have already dug it out. I ll step in and
we ll fly away.
In an effort to realize this happy vision, Con climbed again to the rainy
hilltop. The sky was darker than before, and the view was even more limited.
The rain muffled her hoarse cries. She returned to her shelter more chilled
and more discouraged.
Before an utterly black night enveloped the world, Con made three more
fruitless and disheartening trips
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to the hilltop. By the last visit, her voice was barely audible. She forced
herself to eat more meat before settling in for the dark hours ahead. Con
stuffed mud into the cracks in the stone wall and decided her damp shirt would
keep her warmer if it sealed the doorway. She set it in place by feel since it
had become too dark to see. Then, curling into a tight ball, she tried to
sleep. Eventually, she succeeded and dreamed of kissing Rick on a warm sunny
beach as the world ended.
WATER FOUND ITS
way into Con s den and woke her. It was absolutely dark outside, but her ears
told her the rain was falling heavily again. She stuck her hand out into the
night and found it was colder than before. She had no idea where the rain had
penetrated her defenses. In the dark, there was no point in venturing into the
downpour to investigate. Best to wait for light. Until then, she was
resigned to endure the puddle that was forming beneath her.
She ate some and drank a little from the puddle outside her doorway. Awake,
she pondered a new dilemma she was losing her voice. Every time she spoke to
herself, it was evident. How will I call for help? She recalled that hikers
were advised to carry whistles because their unnatural pitch attracted
attention in the wild. That s useless information. She wished she had
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