Chapter 11: He Ain't Heavy

Late summer is a fine time to stay up telling tales until the early morn hours, and the group has done exactly that. As February concludes, here in the Southern Hemisphere, five cohorts sit around the fire pit and "swap lines", as they say. Their soft voices slightly echo in the chamber although the Butler parents and Tana seem soundly asleep under their bearskin rug and beside slumbering Glump respectively. In the shadows, the senior Butlers and the youngest "Gorakson" appear peaceful and unaware of any vociferous outside activity.

Their sound sleep is good, for Greg provides especially animated entertainment. In his story, he announces outrageous events and elicits loud laughter. He acts out the plot, playing pretend as young ones do. He captivates Gorak, Gara, and Lok who have never heard this tale before. He keeps Katie semi-captivated, although she has met this amusing yarn. Hamming it up, Greg crescendos with an operatic attempt at instrumental music. Apparently, it punctuates each of the grand protagonist's epic episodes.

The assembled hold their applause. However, Gara immediately hails, "Very good, very great, Greg. Thank you for the engrossing story. We were in suspense, the entire time—whether the villain would be ka-bonged or not."

Katie courteously covers her eyes while she rolls them. She hears Lok heave himself upright beside her. Very attuned to her "Tarzan" (as she calls him), "Jane" listens to his steps shuffle toward something along the room's wall. She looks yon. Savoring, she surveys his square shoulders and shaggy hair stooped over a saurian-skin sack. Straightening and flexing his big bicep, Lok secures a small object and slings it to Greg. The little league pitcher easily catches it.

"Oh golly-gee, graphite. Gratitude, Lok!" green geologist Greg grooves the gift.

Gorak slaps the shouter on the back while his guardians sleep. "Greg, I grant you the go-ahead," Gorak gestures, "Please draw Quick Draw on the cave wall."

Gara suggests, "Use a combination of circles and squares in light lines and then smooth the edges. Afterward, you can apply prepared plant paint properly per your mental picture for prosperity and appeal. Please place the piece perpendicular to the pronking pronghorns and the prodigious pig."

From the periphery, Lok remarks, "It is hard to believe that a horse could be so huge. Ours are only twelve stones big. Holy Hanna."

Greg gets to work on the pictograph. With youthful vigor, he should be able to stay awake until dawn if need be, perfecting the art. Even if still up at first light, the child will simply be cranky all day. The kid is committed to not going to bed.

Gara and Katie, on the other hand, are interested in getting "beauty sleep" or whatever one may call it. The two gals value the physical rest and not looking too haggard the rest of the day. However, each finds that, more than the body, the mind needs rest in the Valley of the Dinosaurs, where each passing day is a lesson in survival. After all, a woman needs her acuity and intuition if she is to keep the men safe.

Away from the straw mattresses, Gorak and Lok consider guard duty briefly. You see, the truth be told, the Valley of the Dinosaurs is a frontier, somewhere most moderns do not live. So, contemporary folks would not necessarily consider security arrangements during the night. Since early modern times, they have "constables on patrol" (i.e. cops) for that concern. However, older societies used sentries. Or, more commonly, a homestead slept in shifts throughout the night. In fact, this activity was often called "the watch". Gorak and Lok are determining who provides emergency services should the need arise via antipathetic raiders, rogue animals, raging fire, or some other thing.

Gorak gets first watch. He grabs a spear and strolls the short gallery from the rear chamber to the cave's mouth. Momentarily, he will be here and watch the moon move a semi-arc before he gets up again. Then, Gorak will silently glide past the sleepers, and industrious Greg, so that he checks the network behind the rear chamber. Hardly anyone knows about those tunnels, but they are there. Tana and Greg once discovered them (E1). Besides somebody or something could slither or skulk on in seeking supper. If a giant snake or other thing arrived, Gorak would like to meet it—and make meat of it. He would not want Greg, Digger, or Glump to detect the devil and then have to deal with it. That is a dad's job.

But, for now, Gorak guards the main entrance. The night has a low murmur, as nights do. However, seemingly little occurs in the vicinity. All villagers are very quiet. All animals stalk quite subtly if they are out there. No colossal dinos tramp past like low thunder. Only the moonlight and starshine arouse the breezy air. Their rays scintillate on sand and stone and move the shadows slightly as Gorak sits studying the scene. The moment (a Butler would say "the hour") is a perfect time to see some specter of the night. And, Gorak wonders whether he will see some ancestor or other ghost. Some nights, he swears that he does, whether they be dreams or devils. Or whatever part of his natural world, like memories. Under any circumstances, Gorak tries not to be scared, for these weird visitors are like the Butlers. One can learn from them.

An apparition passes in the distance. For an instant, Katie strolls the sands near the settlement's boundary. She may be dressed differently than usual. Gorak is not sure, for she flits past far away. Her clothing could be as the wolf or bear's exterior, or it could be a sleeveless blouse and capri pants, outsider stuff. Above her, big bats flit past the moon's face and forage for ferruginous food.

Ever-brooding Gorak grips his spear tightly. Gorak could swear that Katie was just in the cave behind him. How did she sneak out? If sight not deceive him. How did she get so far if she snuck out? The dear is a swift runner, but she could not have so shortly exited the cave's back and circled wide. Rubbing chin whiskers, Gorak wonders whether Katie is abed or not. If the guard saw only a Butler bogey, that is fine, and that is a blessing of the world. Any Valley native knows how to simply accept what he sees. The mysterious is sacred. But, if Katie is actually out of bed, that event is perhaps not okay. Awful things wander the midnight blackness, and that is why humans huddle in groups at night, as other animals do.

Paternal Gorak must put his mind at ease. Thus, he rises. And, the watchful ram shuffles back to his "sheep and kids". Kin and companions rest peacefully around the inner grotto with glowing firelight swathing them. Tana retires in the fetal position as though she will always be a baby (to Gorak). Supine Gara lies as though the wise wife would study the stars as she sleeps, steady as she goes. Lok lounges, laid-out, like Digger the Dog nearby. And, Gorak silently laughs at how comfortable both look. John and Kim catch rest upon the tatamis that they built. As often happens, the Butlers could not simply sleep on straw at night, as everyone does. Thus, they constructed something special. John once saw tatamis, woven reed beds, in Japan, far from the Valley. So, he constructed them instead of futons, also from Japan, that would not fit the tight cave quarters well. Gorak snoozed in tall, thick grass while the Butlers made their beds. He remembers and grins.

However, Gorak frowns slightly when he cannot find Katie and Greg. Katie is, indeed, not idle upon her cot under the watchful skull of an elk. Only her impression indents the bed beneath the wide antlers. And, Greg has somehow completed his drawing most quickly and is elsewhere instead of asleep. The wall icon introduces Gorak to a cowboy hat and a six-shooter, but they are not comforting culture. Rather, they are more strange sights on a progressively strange night.

Head ever on straight, the caveman cogitates. He knows that Katie and Greg did not slip by him at the cave mouth. Thus, he figures that they must be beyond the den in the dank and extensive passageways into this mountain. He deems that he cannot determine their direction and dutifully hopes that they are not in danger.

Down away from the den, in a different dome than Gorak's, a distaff mind operates. Prof. Katie contemplates as she delves deeper into the dense mountain stone and atmosphere. Ahead of her, she must not lose him! She just caught sight of Greg! Although, Katie seriously cerebrates as she celebrates, for her little brother appears literally littler than late. He looks like himself in '74! Torch before her, Katie concentrates on his possible path.

Backlighting her parallel's path, Cave-Katie also cudgels her brains about what the two time-tossed thirtysomethings just saw. Bearskin Katie can likewise comprehend little about her kid brother being presently a kid. Of course, the ape-girl got only a glance, nothing conclusive. The scampering sibling shade could have been a Greg goblin. Gorak and Lok believe in those creatures.

Suddenly, St. Paul Katie slips, for that Katie is not too acclimated to sweaty subterranean floors. Her tush smacks hard but saves her torch the spill. Concerned Cave-Katie stoops to aid her spitting image. One other reaches for the other.

And then, there is only one.

Prone Katie cranes her neck about but sees only obsidian darkness beyond the illumination of her lone torch. "Hey, Katie! It's Katie," she calls, "Are you there?"

Maybe, Katie (meaning herself) conked her head concludes she. College Katie coasts over, crawls to her knees, and claws up the slick walls until upright. She momentarily cringes for some reason, for there was just now someone about whom she thought. But, she can't remember the person now. Was there someone in kind of a cat costume accompanying her a minute ago? Some kitty with huge hair and patchouli perfume?

Immediately, someone (else) is present, and he disconcerts Katie. From the darkness, a figure pops and plants a hand on sister's forearm. Dr. Butler bolts upright and her brunette locks almost do too, like in a cartoon. Exhaling, she examines her assailant—and almost embraces him! With closed eyes, Greg stands—apparently sleepwalking—before her.

However, Greg is somehow once again an early adolescent. The academic examines the sight. Reverse aging is a biological rarity such as spontaneous combustion, telekinetic ability, and lycanthropy. It is science documented once in a blue moon. But, a modern mind seeks more substantiated explanations. Katie craves the logical reason for the boy before her. Who and what is he really?

Then again, to be truthful, Dr. Kate never did find a great theory about Cave-Katie. Wait. Who's Cave-Katie? Katie cannot imagine who.

Unexpectedly, Greg unclasps his hand. Without a word, he rampantly rushes into the darkness.

Hissing torch high, testy sister follows her somnambulist brother into the caverns. The troublesome troglodyte nimbly dodges betwixt the drooling rock walls, and his driven pursuer sorely skids and skates after the scurrying scamp. She tries to shout nothing scurrilous, tempted to scream at the screwy boy. Katie skips over a sizable centipede crossing her path; she swerves around dripping ceiling slime. She hurtles an open shaft smelling of stank; Katie careens through a cage of stalagmites and stalactites (similar to those supposedly under the Black Lagoon).

Katie stops in a subterranean cove. Greg has halted here as well. A wide water body sits before both siblings. The torchlight shimmers on its still surface, and the water's expanse becomes apparent under the ceiling's eerie phosphorescent firmament. Suspended minerals make the remote pond milky, misty, and mysterious. The environs set a certain mood as sister moves toward brother.

As occurred moments before, one sibling snatches the other. This time, Greg startles. His eyes and mouth open in surprise. Although, it is just his sister. Although, she has new duds and oddly looks older.

The Greg of old orientates himself, "Do I know you?"

"You should. I'm your sister," Katie comes back.

"You look like my aunt," the nipper notes.

"Mary?" the "auntie" asks.

"No, just your age," Greg responds, "not your exact looks."

The trained scientist looks at the pre-teen before her, "How come you're not thirty?" Sometimes, questions aid an investigation.

"Thirty of what?"

"Years."

"Because I hope I die before I get old," Greg cheekily guesses. He grins befuddled.

"Who are you?" Katie continues consultation.

"Who? Who?" the kittled kid questions (and quotes), "Tell me. Who are you? I really want to know."

"Um. I'm your elder!" Katie quells role reversal, "You should answer my inquiries."

Greg retorts, "Well, have you ever seen The Twilight Zone episode where a time-traveler meets his younger self."

"There are a few of those," Katie confirms.

"This instance reminds me of that," Greg replies, "except you're meeting your younger brother when he is my age."

The doctor does calculation and deduction. Then, she states, "You could be my younger brother—somehow."

Greg grants, "You appear to be my older sister. But, how did you get here? The Time Tunnel?"

"How about Willy McBean and His Magic Machine?" Katie cleverly counters, "The hero and his monkey pal even go back to prehistory and meet cave-dwellers."

Greg nods, "The TV show It's About Time from about the same time has the same plot, although the heroes are two astronauts."

Katie contributes, "I watched all of those pictures and programs with my baby brother."

Greg grazes his chin and grits his teeth. Gazing at this "girl" (per '70s parlance), the junior "genius" must consider the impossible. However, he is a kid. And, kids—even aspiring scientists—do have significant imagination. In Butler's mind, a boy could be in an amazing story.

Similarly, his sister may be a scholar from the 1990s, but she is a woman who has certainly seen the supernatural before. She lived with early man in an uncharted land populated by long extinct animals, for crying out loud. Many of those animals—from humans to dinosaurs—never co-existed by established, logical, vetted, scientific chronology. Unless she has been in a coma for two decades, and her story has been just some surreal fiction, Katie can ken the incredible. It's true. Her brother and she could have to simply suspend their disbelief, like anyone else, here, in the Valley of the Dinosaurs.

Still, strong minds ponder further. The two brains continue thinking in the quiet cavern around them and in their heads. Greg goes down one rabbit hole. He muses about how other dimensions exist, in Einstein's theories and in comic books. Supposedly, objects, whether Superman or Katie Butler, can move much faster than the objects and people around them. At such great speed, time could pass differently for witnesses relative to each other. And, a woman's recent footprints could become ichnites across the ground.

At the cerebrum's swift speed, Katie's consciousness also moves like Greg's. Recent graduate study gives a scholar some understanding of theoretical physics. Still, she has studied only so much quantum theory. A bright biologist found it interesting, but she was "never" going to use it—in theory. Besides, her daddy always emphasized practical application when she was growing up, in episode after episode. Yet, that history acknowledged, Katie comprehends that alternate timelines have been proposed since 1954. Oddly enough, that occurrence is twenty years prior to 1974, where and when she is now, and she comes from around twenty years in the future. Jocosely, Katie concludes that, if only she could conjure her 2014 self, all would become clear.

Simultaneously, the couple of siblings (correspondingly) consider further fact, firmly established by the time of the Ford Era.

For one thing, supposedly extinct creatures do sometimes shockingly survive over eons. There is precedent for prehistoric life appearing in the modern period. A dale of dinosaurs could incredibly exist anywhere from 1822 to 2022. The offbeat animals would simply complement krakens, cockroaches, crabs, cranes, camels, jellyfish, sharks, sturgeons, storks, elk, antelope, gators, alligator gars, Komodo dragons, musk oxen, polar bears, Turu the Terrible, Godzilla, and possibly Bigfoot. All are prehistoric animals still around today. Over time, cryptozoology contains copious credible cases.

For another thing, consult Carl Sagen. The cosmos is a kinky locale of which we have a casual understanding hardly uncorked. Nature could kidnap its components from anywhere and any when for whatever quirky function. Although, such coocoo concoction would contradict Newton's universal assumptions, even though current scientific conceptions already challenge those.

Conclusively, Katie, shan't cant over time, twisty as a cruller. She can intellectually accept queer conditions. Close by, Greg can also turn a curveball into at least a grounder. He grasps that this Katie does not have cooties. She is congenial and okay. So, carpe diem, as the Catholics say. Seize the day.

Then, time seizes the siblings instead. Cruel Cronus creeps at first. Above Greg's fist, a clock clicks around an analog face, and a digital device does the same on Katie's womanly wrist. Those contraptions go crazy. Greg's clips about and circles chaotically. Katie's calculator watch indicates every conceivable combination—in multi-color. The Butler brethren move to connect for security, under the cockamamie circumstances.

Father Time moves further. Instantly, the kin become klutzy and uncoordinated and clop crapulously. Then, gravity's clutch increases again. Joints' cartilage creaking, Katie and Greg feel like they weight 454 kilograms, or one Yankee kip. Relentlessly, the invisible, non-corporeal coercion crams and crushes our cherished characters from crust to core, challenging their constitutions.

However, chippy Katie concedes not. Concentrating while cringing, Katie recalls that she is uncommonly strong at times. In certain chapters of her Valley stay, she casts boulders, carries cords of wood, clings indefinitely from cliffs, cradles big Glump, or completes construction projects in record time. One need only catch and critique episodes. Like a cartoon or Cretan legend or Rosie the Riveter, Katie can. And, she must. The heroine's compassion, courage, capability, strength, and chutzpa command that Katie must save Greg. He ain't heavy, he's her brother—like the '70s song chorus says, if Katie coins it.

Suddenly, the contest of oomph ceases. The constraint cuts-out. Katie falls clownishly on her coccyx. Released, Greg curtly kowtows and cracks his cabeza on the cavern's concrete. He could be knocked unconscious.

Concerned Katie calls "Greg!", but the consternated can't linger long. Beside her, the cove's capacious cauldron acts capriciously. Across the wide water, the caliginous broth burbles as though cursed forces commence evil. Like at the Call of Cthulhu, the water roils uncontrollably. Huge bubbles percolate to ceiling-scraping peaks before they crack cacophonously. Their capital collapses clap the water's surface, and waves crash ashore in the enclosed cave quarters—cascading cruddy, grimy glogg over Katie and Greg. Calcified, greasy, glacial gunk cakes and glazes them. The quaking, creamy soup cranks-up like the Cook Strait or Cooperation Sea. The pool's crusty cover crests over in conspicuous crescent white caps. The commotion kicks up the bottom clods, and the clotted sediment clouds the water like climbing cumulonimbus contentiously contained in a closed quarry. Excoriated fluid climaxes to the roof one more time, cracking rock, causing crude erosion.

A keyed-up Katie covers herself—and her conked brother—while the choppy drink calms.

Unbeknown to Dr. Butler, a submerged shadow cruises like a caiman through the turbid, tossing cocktail. Almost cue cello music. The quick creeper scissor-kicks sinisterly to the subterranean shore. In the stormy murk, a monster. He comes for the Butler cognates. The Creature from the Black Lagoon springs, from a lagoon, and bellows. Butler blood curdles. Katie backs up. Greg becomes half-alert. The choleric Creature exits the unclean juice. Katie jukes and recoils from a jutting claw, lest it cut or crush her. Greg gets groggily up. However, the half-catfish curmudgeon hastily charges. Huge hands coordinate and capture a couple highbrows in clammy grip. Oh no! He has them in the claw! Greg recuperates [slightly] in the cold grip and gross b.o. He futilely clubs crenulated forearm. Despite herself (being no coward), Katie keens. Collecting herself, she tries karate and kicks the Creature in the codpiece. The castigation comes up short. Curling a lip, the cantankerous cur chomps, champs, and chews in dumb-show close to the "damsel in distress". Katie knows the charnel possibilities. Contingently, she could be caseating carrion or underworld queen.

Although, those outcomes do not occur. Rather, a controlling force claims the Creature, still stiffly clamped to the Butlers. Currant-colored eyes freeze, and muscles contract to a cinch. An unseen cord conveys the Creature and connected Butlers backward to the cave pond. Greg grows indignant. The little guy growls in the gristly glove gravitating toward God-knows-what. A grave probably. The boy scout brandishes a blade and gouges the gummy brawn grafted to him. But, Butler's aggression gets nowhere. Gradually, as if a christening cleric in consecration, the enthralled Creature dunks entrapped Greg underwater. Greg gurgles and gargles gritty grotto condensation like gravy.

In the gargoyle's other grip, Katie contends to curtail a calamity. Skidding feet and stiff legs combat Charon. Of course, the gal could recall how American commercials counsel one that it's not nice to fool with Mother Nature. In fact, the scientist should know: you can't. The cosmos champions every time.

For example, a black hole beckons all things whether they feel called or not.

The cavernous cauldron collapses into itself. All captured creatures catapult toward the core. In a centisecond, an unmitigated draw carries the discontented down an endless chasm. Then, in a jiffy, the plunging pool pops right back up, perfectly placid.

In that mere moment, time creases on Katie. Caught in a collapsed star and cloying alliteration, she sees ceaseless constructs of herself. Cave-Katie and callow Katie lead the catalog. Converging Katies collate. As though something corrected, the chasm's cataract reverses and returns its constituents to its surface.

In 1974, teen Katie clings to her unconscious brother in the cold cavern's lake. Overhead, chirping chiropterans careen past to carry themselves outside. Capri jeans kick desperately to conduct a dear kid to shore. A clean white blouse colors with calcified stain, and Katie's countenance crimsons with strain. However, he is never heavy. Katie's broad, big-buckled belt and the boy come to the bank where the groovy gal, in her old '70s garb, drags the convalescent. Katie commits to CPR. But, the boy Butler suddenly sits up. Greg gawps and disgorges garbage from his lungs. His companion is grateful.

Katie coaxes Greg to his feet. The siblings saunter back to the home group. They see that Gorak sleeps and that Lok guards the den. Then, they sleep themselves.