Pages from a Mission: The Journal of M. E. Jenkins, Dinosaur Hunter (Episode 3)

Protecting the Home Front

There was little satisfaction in the capture of the old dinosaur, only the bitter understanding of duty. I might have stopped to contemplate the philosophical implications of such a feeling, but my thoughts were interrupted by a terrible awareness of danger, like a scream carried on the wind from miles away only audible to the deepest recesses of my mind. A primal surge of adrenaline rushed through my veins and I broke out onto the battered road, rapidly accelerating and scanning for signs of the distress my hunter's instincts were picking out of the air.

I rode for some time, tense in my seat, sweat dripping from my brow as I anxiously sought the endangered people emanating fear and need from somewhere beyond my sight and hearing. Knowing that finding the prey would be the best way to find the predator, I turned abruptly when I came across stretch of well-settled road. Many of the domiciles seemed to be from a time before the dinosaurs arrival; it was a challenge to know which were still inhabited. Better that way, I thought, if I couldn't tell where the remaining humans hid, odds were good that the primitive brains of the 'saurs couldn't figure it out either. A loud series of thumps rumbled through the air ahead of me: a dino was rampaging nearby.

I raced down the street, hearing at last the scream that had lingered on the edge of perception all the way out of Shadyside. My brakes squealed as I skidded to a stop beside a beautiful old house with a well-tended yard. It wasn't hard to tell someone was home, not even for the angry steg that was stomping around in their flowerbeds, trumpeting to his fellows that a meal was at hand. It would only be a matter of time before more dinos came swarming to the spot. I had to act quickly.

I snapped the kickstand down as I leapt from my bike, whipping out the tools of my gruesome trade in a flash. The blue body gave way to an angry red nearer the tail. The change of color was a clear sign the beast was preparing to charge. Time was running out.



I took only a moment to aim and the dino turned one glaring eye toward me as it continued to trample the landscaping. I took my shot and the dino stomped its last, leaving the garden to resume its pretty, peaceful growing.




When the frightened citizens came outside, I put on a suitable show of bravado to give them confidence. But as I shook my fist at the fallen beast, I wondered if these hunter's hands might be good for anything else, perhaps there would be a time for pretty, peaceful growing in my future.

Dinosaurs Captured: 4
Miles Traveled: 4.7
Average Miles Per Dinosaur: 1.175