Larry the Horrible Time Traveler by Andrew Coltrin

Author:Andrew Coltrin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: time travel, dinosaurs, robots, Ishmael, tacos, time cops, humor
Publisher: Andrew Coltrin
Published: 2015-03-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Blood and Feathers

(Larry)

So, I crapped my pants, but even I’m not sure if that was literally or figuratively, as I’d been mucking about in a sewer all day, so it was pretty hard to tell where things began or ended. The one thing that was for sure was that there were more damned talking dinosaurs in my life.

We were pretty much surrounded by these demented turkey looking things that, I guess, are what velociraptors actually look like. Feathers on them, too. And they were giggling like a chorus of kindergartners juiced up on pixie sticks on Halloween.

In the end, it’s the sounds the dinosaurs make that really gets me. And the fact that they talk. And that the big one, way bigger than the velociraptors, but not as big as the allosaur that wasted Agent Hastings back in San Diego. Anyway, this big one was wearing a red and white striped sweater and aviator glasses like he was trying to pull of his best Tom Cruise dressed as Where’s Waldo impression. I mean, I might as well be looking at one of those Cthulhus that the weird kid in my high school English class was always talking about. I mean, screw that kid. This right here, a 9 foot utahsaurus in a Hannah Anderson sweater, that is the most unspeakable of unspeakable horrors I could imagine.

Which is why my pants were thoroughly greased inside and out.

Apparently Queequeg owed this dinosaur’s boss some money, which was a whole other level of mind-eff for me. Are these, like, mobster dinosaurs or something?

I was out of my depth and pretty sure I was going to die. I mean, I’d seen a lot of crazy stuff since I’d started time traveling with Ishmael. But, I always had Ishmael there to watch my back. Plus, at the beginning, I was pretty wasted and didn’t really know what was going on.

But now, at this point, befouled and cowering in the snow with a crotchety old fart who, let’s face it, probably could give a shit and a half about my sorry ass, I was pretty sure I was going to be eaten by several dinosaurs.

And then the big one started talking again, in a voice that sounded like some kind of industrial machinery trying to make love to a school bus:

“What makes you think your privileged timeline has any bearing on me whatsoever?” it said.

“Well,” said Queequeg. “You’re welcome to try your worst. I’m just not very confident it will turn out the way you’re planning.”

The old mad was bluffing. I’m pretty sure. I have no idea what this ‘privileged timeline’ b.s. is, but I’m pretty sure it’s b.s.

“It doesn’t matter,” said the dinosaur. “Horkachorge wants you alive. He’s just not particular on whether you still have all your limbs attached when I deliver you.”

“And what about the kid?” Queequeg asked.

“We could eat him,” said the utahsaurus. Then the dinosaur turned his creepy, Tom Cruise aviator shades toward me and asked, “but have you smelled yourself, lately? What you’ve been marinating in is not very appetizing, to say the least.

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