The story of millions of years part 12

LATE CRETACEOUS

North America…. 67 Million Years Ago

In a spray of foam, the pterosaur crested the wave; launched skyward on an updraft of air.

For a brief moment it glimpsed the clouds, brilliant, white sky-stacks on the horizon, and then, tilting the tip of an enormous wing, it was back in a long, rolling trough between the waves.

Now it picked up speed, the wide membrane of its wings catching the breeze, propelling it ever faster across the sea, the water beneath it passing in an emerald blur, its eyes watchful for signs of life.

Again, it crested a wave, changing course with just the slightest movement, allowing the pressure of the air to dictate the exact moment it should rise; the huge creature as light as spindrift on the wind.

It sailed on, rising and falling; disappearing for whole, long seconds in the valleys of an ever-changing seascape, only to reappear; its huge, crested head appearing above a swollen wall of water, a glinting, sun-dazzled shape against a brilliant, blue sky.

The water, pregnant with life, was where the pterosaur chose to feed, the flying reptile looking for fish that scattered in their thousands; silver shapes in the shifting green.

It would feed soon, its long, narrow jaw just inches from the surface, waiting for the moment to strike, but it had to be wary, for it was not alone, large, dark shapes moving in the gloom, also on the hunt.

Then, a mile away, a monstrous, black back broke the waves, a leviathan ascended from the deep and with it a scattering of flashing-gold, as fish, panicked by the lunging giant, leapt clear of the surface in the single-minded desire to stay alive.

The pterosaur changed course, covering the distance in a heartbeat, skimmed the open ocean, along with other of its kin; vast, white kites flying above the sea.

Below the surface, a dance took place, a deadly ballet that would see thousands die; the web of life enclosing those whose part it was to be food for larger mouths.

                                                                                 

 

The tyrannosaur was black, as black as the shadows it stood in, a vast cavern of darkness cast beneath the trees. In the tangles of vines and aerial roots the huge animal could barely be seen, and there it waited, eyes shut, its nostrils wide, dilated, drinking in the slightest changes in the air.

It was hungry, its belly tight, its last meal several days ago; a crocodile it had consumed in a bite, but patience paid, and now a herd was near; a group of unwary travellers that had wandered too close to the monster’s lair.

So, as the predator waited, patient and hungry, its prey did not, and with each large mouthful a wall of plants disappeared; months of hard-won growth vanished in a gulp; the sharp beak, clipping back branches and leaves alike, voracious in its vocation. Beside it worked another beak, and another, each attached to a large, bony head, competing, jostling for the choicest spot.

In this way the frill-heads, ceratopsians, had devastated the forest wall, digesting an arch of vegetation where it had hung low above the bank. Now the creatures, ever hungry, stood knee-deep in flowing water, using the natural channels to gain further access between the trees.

Their world was a wet world; the air rank with moisture, the high canopy filtering light so that shafts of green and gold found their mark, illuminating trunks and leaves and water alike in a dappled study on a muddy bank.

The dinosaurs were big, stout quadrupeds with short tails, large and solid, but not as large as the tyrannosaur that stalked them; the black, stealthy beast having left its shaded home on the distant shore to walk several yards upstream, step by careful step, placing its massive feet with care.

Now it watched them; its red eyes adjusting to the light; its head as still as the fetid air.

In the flat, tangled forests by the coast, fortunes came and went, seasonal pickings that travelled in herds, and the tyrannosaur, as attuned to its world as a bird is to the air, knew this, its instinct to feed tempered only by the patience of the hunt; acquired skills it had learned in its youth.

It waited and it watched, in no hurry to claim its prey, certain that when the moment came to act, it would.

The frill-heads, styracosaurs, grunted, rubbed, splashed through the shallow water; their solid legs sinking into the streambed, the water ran orange, rich in tannins and a yellow swirl of mud.

Fish waited, hovering in dark pockets, spooked by the noise, large fish with large teeth, their armoured flanks impervious to time.

The gar would outlast the dinosaurs but for now it was a bystander, a silent witness beneath the shifting surface of the stream.

Flies buzzed, light moved and the tyrannosaur stood still, a frozen statue of cold intent, downwind and silent, its primal mind measuring without the means of thought, where it would have to be to make the perfect strike.

It took a step, and then another, inching ever closer towards its prey.

A lizard climbed a branch, stopping and starting, searching for a patch of sunlight, then basking in its private pool, oblivious to the monster below, a creature so massive it could not fit into the reptile’s tiny mind.

And then the hunter leapt, its long whip-tail lashing out, propelling its slim body forward, snatching a glimmering prize from the air.

With its hunger sated for now, the lizard returned to its patch of sunlight, unaware that it would soon become a meal itself for a swooping bird.

The tyrannosaur had gone, its black presence a shifting shadow on the forest floor, head low, nostrils wide, eyes focused, the riot of opportunity now in view.

The large herbivores, busy decimating the river bank, had no idea they were being stalked; their single-minded purpose to eat as much as they could, stripping the figs, magnolia and sable palms of their wide flat leaves.

Occasionally one would look around, take a moment to pause in its consumption to observe its surroundings, but with eyesight poor and nothing obviously moving, it returned to its task; the daily challenge to overwhelm its gut.

Shadows shifted, the sun high, slowly circling the forest world, penetrating deep into the green-tinted gloom, finding the floor only where old giants had fallen and eager saplings hurried to fill the already diminishing gap.

The rivers alone offered some resistance to the forest, but even these were overshadowed by the tall cypress trees, their thin, lacy leaves dripping from long grey branches.

Here, close to the sea, tides rose and fell, the brackish estuarine waters leaving their black signature on the trunks of trees, a muddy, damp marker that dried throughout the day.

Flies swarmed in their millions, food for everything that leapt and crawled.

And a coming storm growled its first ominous growl, far out over the Western Interior Sea.

                                                             

                                                                                         
 

The squid ejected its ink and shot away, forcing a jet of water through a siphon beneath its massive eyes to propel itself backward at blinding speed. But the fish that pursued it was too large, its vast body closing the distance in one sweep of its forked tail, so that head and open mouth followed the unfortunate cephalopod, emerging from the dispersing cloud to ingest the intelligent, boneless beast.

The fish turned, returning to the fray, eager as a cold, emotionless creature could be to continue feeding and take advantage of the food driven to the surface from the depths.

Long pillars of bubbles appeared all around it, as massive, white missiles broke the surface, strange, alien creatures falling from the sky, and beyond them the elasmosaur fed.

It was vast, what could be seen in the murky, blood-filled gloom, its neck and flippers appearing and disappearing as it rolled effortlessly from side to side. An initial ambush now turned into a desperate flight as Enchodus in their thousands evaded its outstretched bite.

The elasmosaur had surprised the school, gliding silently in their midst, but now, the school driven upwards, it snatched what it could while sharks and other more nimble hunters took advantage of the boom.

In and out they wove; hungry mouths open wide, striped flanks flashing silver, rushing their confused prey, battering them with pectoral scythes, leaving trails of twitching fish cut in two.

And then, just as it had begun, it ended, the massive, sleek leviathan swimming away, its retinue of attendants following, leaving only pickings for those that chose to stay.

In that moment between life and death, when reality refuses to be measured, or, if it does, it hits home with all the force of a tyrannosaur’s jaws spread wide, the ceratopsian was wrenched backwards, bodily hauled by a force it had little time to comprehend.

Then came the catastrophic loss of blood; the crippling blow instantly turning the river a deep red as the styracosaur, now in shock, struggled to stand, honking and grunting to its fleeing companions which in a stampede of terror were already vacating the stream.

The victim could smell its own death, yet couldn’t flee like the others of its clan, the panicked herd focused on survival, floundering in the shallows, or struggling to mount the slippery, crumbling yellow bank; blind terror, impervious to the calls of the calf that, no longer able to support its own weight, fought to keep its head above the water, the muscles, bone and sinew of its hip, ruined beyond its dim understanding.

Now the tyrannosaur could take its time, the black beast having crossed the stream in two, purposeful strides to sink its bone-crushing teeth deep into its prey’s flank. Now it placed a massive foot on the styracosaur’s back, pinning it down and pushing it deeper into the sulphurous ooze; the leaf litter and turmoil of weeds parting to suck it under.

It was now, perhaps, that the calf realised what was happening, the last moments of its short life to be witness to its own dismemberment, as the tyrannosaur began to feed.