Free Flyers by Scott Ciencin Page B

team leader said. “We know what we’re doing. We’ve got to neutralize the threat!”
    “Really?” Alan asked. “They’re not doing anything. Which of you wants to take the shot that starts the bloody end of this? And I mean bloody. Which of you is so sure they can’t miss the flyers and hit those people? Which of you thinks you won’t just make them angry or scare them off so all this happens again another day?”
    The mass of shooters edged around the scene uncomfortably.
    Alan looked at the alpha male. “There’s another way. . . .”

CHAPTER 21

    “Meep,” Goldie said, resting gently next to the Keepers and munching pieces of fish they offered.
    Goldie’s father couldn’t believe it. Neither could his mother. The Keepers were helping.
    Fire and Flood had tried to bring Goldie food, but he hadn’t eaten. They had cooed to him and bathed him and sheltered him, but all their care had not eased his cries of pain. For the first time since he had been burned, Goldie looked as if he might one day fly again.

    YOUNG PTERANODON
    Fire knew this place was not for them. It seemed that no matter how far they had flown from the island of their birth, no place was for them.
    But what could they do? Where could they go?
    Home.
That was the only answer. And the others knew it, too.
    Fire looked to the Keepers—and slowly bowed his head. They were going home.

CHAPTER 22

    Eric was tired and wired at the same time on the first leg of his journey back to Enid. His body was exhausted and his mind was still racing as the plane jetted through the bright morning sky. Beside him, Amanda was sound asleep, the soft, comforting thrum of the engines singing her a lullaby.

    Eric watched a morning news show, his in-flight headphones turned down low. It wasn’t until footage of the flyers came on that he turned them up.
    “And here you see a truly one-of-a-kind spectacle,” the newscaster said. “The Pteranodons of Isla Sorna and their children are going home. . . .”
    The image accompanying the narration was of the flyers sailing behind a pair of old-fashioned biplanes that had been painted and made up to look a little like Pteranodons themselves. A small harness dangled from one of them, allowing the still-healing littlest flyer to soar with his loved ones.
    The scene cut to a studio interview. A clean-cut, well-rested man in a dark suit introduced the first of his guests, a reporter Eric knew all too well. Manly wore a designer suit. Makeup covered the bruise Amanda had left on his jaw.
    “Mr. Wilks, I understand you’ve been in negotiations since last night with a handful of top publishers for the rights to your harrowing story. Is that correct?”
    “The talks are ongoing,” Manly said confidently. “But I suspect we’ll have an announcement in time for your lunch program.”
    “So you’re an expert on Pteranodons,” the interviewer said.
    Manly grinned. “Absolutely. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I was the one who studied the behavior of these creatures and discovered the secret that won the day. These are intelligent, highly evolved beings, possessed of a unique social structure. You’ll read all about it in my book.”
    The reporter raised an eyebrow. “And from a remote locale, we have another expert joining us. Please welcome Dr. Alan Grant.”
    A small box appeared, showing Alan in a remote studio. Manly shrank a little at the sight of the paleontologist.
    “Good morning,” Alan said.
    “Dr. Grant, do you have anything to say about Mr. Wilks’s comments?” the newscaster asked.
    “I’m intrigued by his assertion that Pteranodons have a completely unique social structure,” Alan said. “Like nothing else found in nature.”
    Manly cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s right.”
    “And you’ve studied Mesozoic life forms for how long? I mean, besides your illustrious work for the tabloids, like these. . . .”
    A series of ridiculous headlines flashed on the screen, all culled from