The spear quivered in the ground, letting the energy of the throw slowly release through the rhythmic undulations. Blood gushed around the spear, spurting violently when an undulation would allow for more blood to pass through the hole. The infant Parasaurolophus kicked and continued kicking until a pool of blood had formed beneath its neck. Its head drooped, duck bill contorted in a silent cry as its tail laid stiffly on the ground. Only now did the herd realize their crippled infant had fallen, slain by some unknown creature.
The right female turned, her great head gazing at the gory scene. She let out a wail that pulled at Billy's heart, making his eyes droop with sadness. She wailed again, a song so harmonious and tragic that he wondered if she truly felt loss, or just some primal sensation that wouldn't necessarily make sense to humans. She ran to the babe, wailing as she drew nearer.
A whirlwind of color darted out from nearly every direction, black and red torpedoes weaving between the stump-like legs of the herd, out into the center where their meal lay bleeding out. Billy lifted his camera and began to take photos of the scene. Raptors circled the mother and her infant, distressing her so that the entire herd turned on their great legs to face the distressed mother. She spun faster than the team could've anticipated, calling out in a desperate symphony. The raptors ran around her, hissing and snarling at her while the alpha male reared, doubling his height and let out such a call that Billy's head shrank into his shoulders in attempt to protect his ears without dropping the camera.
One of the male raptors, elaborately colored with short primal feathers adorning its skull and upper neck, ran at the mother, jumping onto her back. She wailed, rearing just as their alpha had and came down with such force on her forelegs that the raptor was thrown across the clearing. The raptor angrily slammed into a crumpled, rusting car and hissed back at her—seemingly un-phased.
The woman, the raptor girl, covered in clay dust from the dried and long since fallen clay mud came out from the jungle, letting out such a scream that one would have assumed that someone was dying. The alpha female raptor emerged from somewhere to the north of the clearing, walking out with her head held high as if she literally owned the place—Billy was sure that she did. She hissed lowly and the raptors in the clearing coalesced in the center near the infant, making a sort of chevron around its body, facing the mother. They snapped their tooth lined jaws, hissing angrily at her
James had pulled out a sketchpad and was furiously recording the event unfolding before them, his intense eyes focused on the hadrosaurs desperately trying to mourn the death of a fallen infant. Billy snapped photo after photo and only when the mother Parasaur, wailing in agony at her loss, turned on her heels and walked towards the front of the herd did he let the camera fall. His eyes, sullen and rimmed red with emotion fell to the mossy front steps of the compound.
The raptor woman stood back behind her kill as the herd of horned hadrosaurs continued their passage through the compound lot. She stood proud, puffed up—back arched to push her chest out, legs spread slightly in a defensive stance with her arms tight at her sides, muscles tense.
"She's proud," Billy whispered, watching the woman turn finally from the herd as it disappeared into the jungle beyond.
He stepped back, turning to look at James who had filled at least three pages of quick scribbles since standing there. His eyes were wide, crazed and full of awe. "Is it over?"
Billy nodded, touching his index finger to his chapped lips. The artist sighed quietly, nodding as he put the sketchbook into his backpack, re-slinging it over his shoulder. He followed Billy as he made his way through the compound again, even quieter than before.
They found a back door and by one in the afternoon, they reached the bone yard where the predators of the island—the large ones anyway—had gone to die suspiciously.