Raiding Prehistoric by Erik Testerman

Author:Erik Testerman [Testerman, Erik]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2023-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

***

The ape didn’t look so big and bad when he saw me flying towards him.

His jaw dropped open, fully exposing yellowed canines in shock. A split-second later, I was sprawled across the trike’s bone shield and slamming the edge of the tomahawk into the ugly monkey’s painted forehead.

Blood sprayed, streaming down the white face paint as the fresh corpse slid off the dinosaur, nearly wrenching the tomahawk from my hand.

One less ambusher and I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with myself now.

The trike tossed its big head, unhappy about me lying across his face.

Grabbing the bone shield, I braced a boot against an upper horn and pushed myself over and onto the back of the galloping beast.

The Pinkerton driver glanced back, and his jaw dropped lower than the ape’s had a moment ago.

Grabbing the trike’s reins seemed like the most natural thing to do now, so I scooped them up from where they’d been dropped with my tomahawk still in one hand.

I’d only seen them used by attacking apes before and hadn’t paid much attention at the time since I was trying to stay alive but, now with the leather straps in hand, I wished I had.

It seemed obvious that pulling in one direction or the other would get the trike to turn, and maybe pulling back would make it stop. But I’d no idea what to do to make it go forward.

A trike slammed into the side of mine, almost crushing my leg between the pair. An obsidian-tipped spear was thrust at my face with the point coming fearfully close to jabbing flesh.

Swatting the weapon aside with the tomahawk, I dropped the reins, drew the Smith and Wesson and fired it into the she-ape’s torso.

She pulled the reins while falling off the dinosaur and the trike ran away minus its rider.

A pair of arrows slammed into my trike.

One drove deep into the rear end and the other glanced off the bone shield, ricocheting away in splinters. Bellowing in pain, my mighty beast shook its horns and moved to hit the coach in front of us again.

Tugging the reins, I managed to get the trike to move to the right and by thumping my boots against its side as though riding a horse, the wounded dinosaur bounded forward alongside the arrow and spear-riddled stagecoach.

The look on Irving and the Marshals’ faces was worth every rear end busting bound the wide-bodied dinosaur made with each running step.

We raced around the final thicket of trees, getting some respite from our attacking mounted apes, and into the large open clearing.

It was absolute pandemonium.

The tall grass was being trampled down by horse and trike alike as the Raiders and apes circled each other, exchanging arrows and bullets. Dust swirled in the air filled with shouts and bellows of pain and rage and I was pretty certain I heard George rebel yelling in the midst of it all.

“Keep going!” I screamed at the Pinkerton driver.

Not that it looked like he was about to stop.

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