Lost World Of Patagonia Read online

  Baby lizard squealed. At least for now, Gerald held a trump card.

  “Stay back! Stay back, or I’ll kill it.” He felt stupid for talking to the reptile. This was not an ordinary reptile, though. The small size of the lizards in the cave created a deception. The mother painted a true picture of what he battled. These weren’t some species of South American lizard. This was a carryover from prehistoric times. Just like the pterodactyl, this was some type dinosaur.

  Gerald cautiously stepped back, looking for an escape. He might have a chance if he could climb a tree. There was only one way to find out.

  A tree a few yards away had branches low enough for him to reach. If he timed things right, his plan just might work.

  “I’m not going to hurt it. I’m going to give it right back.” Gerald moved slow and steady toward the tree.

  Mother dino matched him step for step. Keeping a few yards between them.

  “Just a few more seconds, and I’ll set it free.”

  The mother dinosaur hissed and raised her clawed hands into the air.

  Gerald had pushed the standoff too far and had to move quickly. He lifted the baby dino into the air and let it drop, bringing his foot up like a punter on 4th and long. The small dinosaur sailed through the air and landed behind its mother.

  Gerald dashed for the tree, careful to watch his footing along the way. He dared not waste a second to look behind him.

  Just as he arrived at the base of the tree, fire shot into both of his shoulders. A horrific SKEER-AK chilled the air and distorted reality. Fearful dread washed down from the top of his head and rattled his bowels. Steel-like claws dug into flesh and around bone as Gerald’s feet lifted off the ground.

  The pterodactyl had returned to a known food source and was immediately rewarded.

  The wind blew reptilian funk into Gerald’s face as large brown wings flapped by his sides. The game was over. He’d lost. Substituting one inconceivable death for another.

  The pain had grown in his shoulders to the point where it began to numb. “God, please,” he sobbed. “Let me die right now. Take me now!” Gerald managed to make the sign of the cross, thinking his mother would be so pleased with him.

  The pterodactyl’s nest loomed in the distance. Three hungry mouths waited to be fed.

  Chapter 2

  Henry Lear stood behind an opulent mahogany desk in his study, his hands behind his back, rocking on the heels of shoes made of leather cured in baths of rye, oat flour, and yeast—hand-finished and soaked in wood liquor. A lazy stream of smoke rose from his 60-ring gauge cigar disappearing up to the 16-foot ceiling.

  Perkins would arrive at any moment. If the news the man carried with him was genuine, Lear stood to triple his current worth of three hundred million dollars. That would make him, Henry H. Lear, a billionaire. One billion dollars. Truly an almost incomprehensible amount of money, in reality. Although the way the government wasted money, many have been desensitized to the value of one billion dollars. It’s just one billion, right? How many billions made up the U.S.A.’s annual budget? Over three thousand billion.

  How much money is too much for one person to have? He’d been asked that question more than once over the years by friends and enemies alike. In his early years, after acquiring more money than any normal personal could spend in ten lifetimes, something shifted inside his psyche. Perhaps it was self-preservation because having all that money sucked his desire to achieve in life right out of him. At the time, he thought of the story of Alexander the Great, who cried after a battle, realizing there were no other lands to conquer—he had defeated them all.

  Henry needed a goal—a vision if you will. A point he must strive for. He remembered daydreaming in church one Sunday morning, a weekly event he hated, but was forced to attend by his parents. As he fidgeted on the thin cushion on the oak pews, the preacher’s voice cut through the fog of his insignificant musings. The preacher read: “Without vision, the people will perish.” For some reason that message stuck with him the rest of his life thus far, regardless of the original context the preacher meant.

  It was true. Henry needed a vision to keep pushing forward. And now that all the women, cars, houses, and drugs weren’t enough to motivate him, becoming a billionaire was. On occasion, he worried what would happen to him if he did achieve his goal. Would he again find life without savor? Something inside told him no. He needed to earn that billion—achieve that status. From there, as if he would ascend to a higher plane of spiritual knowing, the rest of his life would become clear. Then his life would head in a direction he was totally unable to fathom now.

  A voice came over speakers built into massive bookshelves behind him: “Mr. Lear, Ronald Perkins has arrived.”

  “Excellent. Please have Mr. Perkins escorted in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Henry drew in on the cigar and tasted the mild fruit and toasted nut notes from the blended tobaccos. As strange as it seemed, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been so excited to meet someone. He certainly felt less as he waited to meet the current President of the United States. In public, businessmen are made the bane of society’s ills by politicians, accused of stealing from the hard working common man. It was the Politicians who really robbed the poor populist blind. Creating government programs for the main purpose of helping themselves get reelected, while having to borrow more money than the country collected in taxes to pay for them. Years of undisciplined spending had infected the economy with a hidden virus—taxes and inflation that did nothing but lower the standards of living across the country. It was the politicians who were destroying the United States, not the businessmen.

  A knock came from the door.

  “Come in.” Henry turned and walked to the side of his chair, his thigh touched against the desktop. He latched both his thumbs and forefingers to either side of the lapels of his jacket, resting his arms against his side. His nose turned slightly in the air. His gaze narrow and eyelids half open. While going to dinner one night, a girlfriend of his once told him he looked stupid when he stood like that—especially with that huge cigar shoved between his lips. He had his driver pull to the side of the road right then and put her ass out on the side of the Santa Monica Freeway. That was the last time he had seen or heard from her.

  The double doors opened, and two young men who could have played linebackers for the Dallas Cowboys followed behind Ronald Perkins. Once inside the doors, the two escorts flanked to opposite sides and stood at attention—their hands crossed by their belt buckles.

  Perkins’ mouth slightly dropped open as he moved his gaze around the room. He stopped a few feet from Lear’s desk, briefly looked behind him as if checking to see if his escorts were there, and then fixed his attention to the man behind the desk.

  Henry removed the cigar from his mouth and held it to the side. “Mr. Perkins, please take a seat.” He diverted his attention to the back. “You gentleman may leave.”

  Perkins had only one choice where it came to sit—a leather chair off to one side of the desk. He stepped toward the chair as the double doors closed with the bright snap of the doorknob’s latch bolt finding the slot in the strike. Arriving at the chair, he hesitated and looked back at Lear. “Uh, I didn’t change clothes. They’re a few days old.”

  “No matter. If we can’t clean the stench off I can always buy another chair. Sit.” Henry maneuvered his chair and sat, swiveling over to face Perkins, who now was seated.

  “I washed up on the jet, but I didn’t have any clean clothes to put on. Your men met me right as I entered town and took everything I had—even my cellphone.”

  “Not everything, right, Mr. Perkins?” Henry rapped the cigar on the side of a crystal ashtray on his desk, knocking off the lengthening ash.

  “No, I guess not. Not everything.” Perkins nervously tapped his left foot on the hardwood floor.

  Henry relaxed his shoulders and sat straighter in his chair. “And that’s why I had you sent here, directly to meet wi
th me. I wanted to deal with you personally—so that we may build a trust. Don’t worry about the things my men took from you. I’m going to make up for that and reward you in ways you’ve never dreamed. Before we begin, can I have something brought in for you to drink? Water, coffee, or perhaps something a bit stronger?”

  “No, no thank you.” Perkins wiggled in his chair, his eyes bright and hopeful.

  “Very well, may I see what you have for me?”

  “Yes, sir!” Perkins’ hand reached into his jacket pocket and removed a pouch. He eagerly leaned over and placed it in Lear’s outstretched hand.

  Henry brought the pouch under his eyes and gazed at it for a moment. He set the pouch on the desk and slowly pulled at the string to widen the opening. Once in view, he felt air deflate from his tightened chest. It was a genuine red diamond—the largest ever discovered. “It’s absolutely magnificent.”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t even look real, does it?”

  “At over six hundred carats, I do see your point. But it is real.” Henry placed a finger and gently ran it along the smooth and curved surfaces. Then, he carefully moved the stone aside and opened a desk drawer. His hand went in and came out with a bound stack of 100-dollar bills. He placed it on the desk, and then reached in for another, and another, and then another—stacking them side by side.

  “And that’s not the biggest one, according to Hawkins. He said so in a note.” Perkins leaned forward in the chair, hands gripping the armrest.

  “Yes. Yes, I’ve been informed about the note. What do you make of it? Attacked by a flying dinosaur? Do you think Hawkins was sane when he wrote that? Perhaps suffering from a fever?”

  “I knew Gerald well enough that I don’t think he was bullshitting. I don’t know why he would do that anyway. As far as his mental state, the note seemed rational enough. One thing for sure, he was in right mind enough to put the note and the gem on the drone.”

  “So you’re telling me you didn’t see the video footage the drone took when it left the cave?”

  “Footage? No…uh, didn’t take the time. No, sir, after I read the note, I called in the report and hightailed it out of there.”

  Two more stacks of 100s came up from the drawer and were placed next to the others. Henry scratched his chin. “Were you aware that the drone’s camera is connected to a satellite link? It has the ability to send real-time images anywhere in the world, specifically to me.”

  “Uh…no, sir. I didn’t know.”

  “Oh yes. It’s quite a sophisticated piece of machinery. Why, it even told us you connected your phone to its video. You must have forgotten, Mr. Perkins, but you have downloaded the video on your phone.” He placed two more bundled stacks of 100s from the drawer on the desk.

  “Look—I don’t know. I must have had the app on to automatically download. The video might have been on my phone. But I haven’t seen it.”

  “Really? Because we found a few still shots cut from the video on your phone. The same ones that you sent to a newspaper. How did that happen?”

  Perkins abruptly stood from his chair, his body trembled, his arms and hands wide apart. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lear. Honestly! I wasn’t thinking. They…they probably won’t even believe they’re real.”

  “Have you spoken with anyone at the newspaper? Do they know who you are? Who you work for?”

  “No! Not at all. I set up a special email account to deal with them. I used a false name, and we were working on a deal but were nowhere close to finishing it.”

  “So the location and the secret are safe? Do you promise me that? I have to know the truth.”

  Voice quivering, Perkins said, “No one knows! I swear on my life. I was just trying to sell the pictures for some extra money.”

  Henry stared long and hard while Perkins looked like he was going to shiver out of his skin. Very mildly, Henry said, “I believe you, Mr. Perkins.”

  Perkins closed his eyes and sighed. “Thank you. I’m so sorry I did that. I was stupid. Stupid!”

  “Yes. But you have confessed your sins, and now you shall reap your reward.” Henry reached in the same desk drawer from where he had removed the money and came up with a black 9mm pistol with a suppressor on the end.

  Perkin’s expression turned to shock, and before he could plead for forgiveness, Lear fired the pistol. The bullet hit the man right in the heart. He dropped to his knees, gasping for air, and clutching at the wound. His wide eyes looked off into the distance, and his last breath escaped his lips.

  “Ms. Sanders, please send someone in to clean up,” Henry spoke into the air.

  “Yes sir, Mr. Lear. Right away.”

  Having his enemies killed had always brought him great pleasure. Now that he personally participated, his pleasure had exponentially increased.

  ***

  Something shifted in Gerald’s oblivion, emerging consciousness like a slowly rising crescendo. Awareness grew from discordant thoughts and sharpened as his senses kicked in. Wind rustled through tree leaves. The earth felt warm and sticky-moist on his exposed arms. A dull pain in his head preceded other aches and throbs waking throughout his body.

  His eyes opened in short blinks, drinking in the beauty of the savage land. The lush green foliage hid him like a small insect in tall, thick grass.

  He was alive. Hurt, no doubt, but alive. Death had been so close—as before, but fear had energized him at the last possible minute and gave him one last chance. He remembered:

  Although he thought his strength had been sapped by the strong talons of the pterodactyl, seeing her hungry hatchlings forced mind over matter. He managed a futile effort to pull its claws out of his left shoulder and failed. Then he remembered the six-inch knife tucked securely away in its sheath attached to his belt.

  Gerald fumbled the flap aside and grabbed the plastic handle. With as much strength as he could muster, and as rapidly as possible, he repeatedly stabbed the clawed foot. To his surprise and elation, the flying reptile squawked and let go of his left shoulder. He immediately switched the knife to the other hand and franticly stabbed away at its right claw.

  The pterodactyl held firm, shifting her flight pattern away from her nest, flying erratically.

  Damn it, let go! Gerald now considered the dinosaur might skip feeding him to her children and bring him to the ground where she would dine.

  SKEER-AK!

  The pterodactyl’s cry didn’t come from his attacker. Gerald turned his head up and saw another winged reptile willing to join the fray to fight for the prize. The pterodactyl that held him saw the interloper too. It screeched in defiance and quickened the flap of its wings.

  During the distraction, Gerald put all of his power into one last jab. The blade went in almost half the length. He then gave the handle a twist, tearing deeply into flesh.

  Talons loosening from his shoulder brought instant relief. He saw his attacker meet the intruder in mid-air amidst warning cries and brandished talons ripping the space between them.

  He plunged through tree branches and leaves, slowing his descent, but getting poked, scraped, and cut along the way. Then, darkness swallowed him whole.

  There was no way to know who won the battle or by what miracle the victor didn’t return for its reward. The fact that no other creature in this remote land had made a meal of him was surprising enough. What else hid among this unknown land?

  With his senses back online and working together again, the picture of his health slowly developed. He was sore but didn’t seem to have any major lacerations other than the claw marks, although he was scraped and cut. His body had to have sustained deep bruises. After sitting up and going through several arm and leg motions, along with wiggling fingers and toes, nothing appeared to be broken. Another miracle.

  Another miracle. Maybe his mother was right about everything she believed about God. Gerald turned his gaze toward the sky. “Thank you.” The act seemed silly on one level but fit the moment.

  How long had he been unconscious? Dirt stained
the face of his watch. He wiped it off, and it revealed it was around 16 hours from the last time he remembered. His stomach told him it had been a while since he had eaten, and his mouth was so dry his tongue couldn’t find any moisture. There was plenty of water in the area, in small streams and bogs. The problem lay in the microorganisms contained in the water. Without water purification tablets, he risked intestinal parasites along with a host of other woes. Gerald’s supply of tablets waited in his backpack at the cave.

  At or near the cave is where his rescuers would try to find him. As much as he hated the idea, Gerald knew his only hope of surviving was to find his way back to the cave area and wait.

  How far away was the cave? He had no way of knowing. Gerald went into shock almost from the moment the flying reptile snatched him away. The time in its grasp, which seemed like an eternity, probably hadn’t been long.

  He reached in his side pocket and pulled out a compass. The needle rocked a bit on its pivot and pointed toward the north. With any luck he’d be able to find his way back. He didn’t know if mama dinosaur took refuge back in the cave, and he really didn’t want to find out. Now he hoped he could make it to the area, this time taking shelter in a tree. The strange fruits he and Will occasionally came upon on the trek might very well dictate life or death. In order to live, he had to hydrate. If the juice from the fruits weren’t enough—or made him ill—he’d have to chance the water or gamble on going back into the cave for the purification tablets.

  Once up on wobbly legs, a dull pain eased throughout his left knee. Perhaps his leg had twisted a bit as the branches cushioned his descent. The pain might slow him down but wasn’t enough to stop him. Gerald steadied his hand holding the compass and gazed toward the southeast. Time to move before night fell.

  *

  Gerald’s lips slightly stung from the citrusy fruit he had found and ate an hour prior. It had tasted like a cross between a grapefruit and an orange, with a slight hint of kiwi. It wasn’t sweet, and it wasn’t sour, and only slightly bitter. He realized such primitive fruit didn’t have the benefit from years of man’s cultivation to produce a more savory product. So far, his body had accepted it without the slightest hint of rejection. Which was great news, since he had picked two others to enjoy later—if they proved to be safe.