Spark plugs don’t care. No matter what, they need to be checked, and Entippa was checking them. He yawned comfortably in the baking parking lot. The door to their motel room was propped open and inside he could hear Tark cursing at the Internet. There was no rush to see Cass in the hospital. Normal visiting hours don’t apply when the patient’s lying in traction on the hospital lawn.
Two young humans in sandals observed Entippa, safely out of range of his tail. They differed in sex, but Entippa couldn’t tell which was the male and which the female.
“Do you know Stegosaurus?” asked one of the children.
“Stegosaurus is a whole genus,” said Entippa, “not a person.”
“Oh! Triceratops! Do you know Triceratops?”
“Triceratops died out when your ancestors were tree shrews,” said Entippa. He turned over the spark plug, looking for cracks. “The chasmosaurs were the only ceratopsians who made it to Mars. And then they split into the alethinosaurs and the bradupeithids.” He set the spark plug down on the motel towel.
“I found it!” shouted Tark, stumbling out of the motel room. The children goggled.
“What kind are you?” asked one.
“Kick-your-ass-a-saurus. Hey, how would you kids like to see a real tyrannosaur?”
“Are you trying to scar these kids for life? Real third-degree burns! Her tail’s broken in five places!”
“Don’t guilt me! I love Cass like my sister who’s a different species for some reason. My half-sister. So, I’m putting in the legwork to find out who’s behind this. I did a web search for ‘I hate dinosaurs’ and it’s either the radical birdwatchers or the young-earth creationists.”
“I’ll tell you who’s behind it,” said Entippa. “Some idiot built an unsafe vehicle and another idiot named Cass signed off on it. She’s got carnosaur entitlement syndrome. People get hurt and everyone says ‘Oh, how could this have happened’ and it happened because carnosaurs think they own the world.”
“You’re neglecting the important point, which is, birdwatchers.”
“Birdwatchers.”
“I never realized the depths of their hate, Entippa. One faction that considers us birds, fit only to be watched. And another faction that considers us mere lizards, beneath their notice!”
“I’m not feelin’ the hate, to be honest.”
“Here’s the scary part. They’re having a meeting to resolve this issue one way or the other, this weekend, in Boca Raton. The same week the Reverend Doctor Billy Fitch comes to town with his big tent and his footprint casts that prove Jesus walked with Dimetrodon. So what do you think? Pretty good detective work, huh?”
“You’ve proved nothing except that Florida is full of crackpots.”
“Do you hear a helicopter?” asked Tark, and crumpled. “Ow! Something bit me!”
“You got shot by a bunch of goddamn poison darts! They’re all over your leg!”
“They’re trying to silence me! Entippa, carry on my work!” Tark fainted with his tongue out. There was definitely a helicopter coming towards the parking lot. It was camo green, but not military.
“Get out of here,” Entippa told the kids. He swung onto his bike, which wouldn’t start. Spark plugs, right. A second frill of darts hit him in the stomach. Fingers of nothingness burned outwards from the punctures. Entippa fell wobbly onto Tark, the bike skidding away.
“Are you okay?” said one of the kids, already climbing all over Entippa the way kids always wanted to.
“Stop it!” said Entippa. There was a puff of gas from the helicopter and a net bloomed around them. The kids screamed.
“Tark! We’re being kidnapped! Wake up! Bite through this net or something!”
“Not . . . made of biting,” Tark muttered, but Entippa was already asleep.
–
A light flicked on. Tark woke up.
“It’s about time,” said a voice. “I’ve been flicking that light on and off for ten minutes.”
Tark sprawled, immobilized, on a concrete floor. The light was one of many hung from a tall ceiling. The walls bore a gradient of dark red stains that faded out three meters up. Some ways away Entippa lay on his side, snoring loudly.
“Hey, I know this place,” said Tark.
“Then you’re a fan of Dino Fights?”
Tark’s eyes darted back and forth. He couldn’t see an exit. The voice came from behind him.
“Not as such,” said Tark, “no.”
“That’s a shame,” said the voice. It came closer; Tark heard someone climbing down a ladder. “It’s more fun to shoot with fans. Makes a better show.”
“I’m not fighting my best friend. Entippa! Help! Wake up!” Entippa blinked but didn’t move.
“Why not? You’ve got your claws, he’s got that battering ram of a skull. It’s a fair fight.”
“The skull dome is not a weapon,” snapped Entippa. “It’s used only in mating rituals and dominance display.” He resumed snoring.
“What he said. Also, you’re insane!”
“It always comes down to that, doesn’t it?” said the voice in disgust, now circling around Tark. “Whether a successful Internet filmmaker can also be insane. Given that his quote-unquote insanity is also the fuel for his objectively measurable success as an entrepreneur. And whether it makes sense to judge him by the standards of talking dinosaurs from Mars.”
“We have people like you,” said Tark, “they’re just crazy.”
“Crazy, for creating a space where dinosaurs can do what they’ve always wanted to do, that being kill each other? Au contraire, my reptilian friend.” The voice came into Tark’s field of vision. It was just a human in a T-shirt. Tark snapped at him helplessly.
“The Greeks had a word for it. The source of ideas that become profitable subscription-based websites. They called it the genius. That’s the word I prefer. And once my handlers get here and the extremity paralysis wears off, you will fight your friend. You’ll probably even enjoy it.”
The human looked down at Tark. “I always wondered what color the feathers were,” he said. “Back in Cretaceous times. I imagined corn-syrup Toucan Sam colors. But you’re brown. Brown, black, or dark orange, or in your case grey. You’re a pigeon, my friend.”
“Entippaaaa!” called Tark. “He’s mocking my plumage!”
The human kept walking, completing his circuit of Tark. “But what a pigeon! A war pigeon. Nature red in tooth and claw. A sculpture in power.” Tark felt a clammy hand gently stroke his flank.
“Don’t touch me,” he said, and kicked out with both feet.
Tark’s foot caught something and sliced it. The human let out a cry and stumbled backwards. Something spilled onto the concrete and a body hit the ground. The human let out a long, long groan, and then there was no sound but Entippa’s snoring.
“Damn,” said Tark, “that smells really good, and I haven’t eaten today.” He waggled his arms and they waggled back.
“Entippa,” Tark called softly, “if you don’t think I should eat this guy, then say so right now.” Entippa said nothing.
“Sounds like a plan.” Tark got up and turned around. His knees gave way and he fell into a split. He ate the guy from a sitting position.
“Are you eating that guy?” asked Entippa later as Tark rounded the room on shaky legs.
“Already taken care of, buddy,” said Tark.
“Do you ever think? We’re in the shit now. You literally killed a guy and ate him. You’ve confirmed the worst dinosaur stereotype imaginable. There will be riots in the streets.”
“He was going to make us fight to the death!” said Tark. “I made an executive decision.”
“To kill him. And then you made a different decision to eat him and snap his bones and I don’t know what you meat-eaters do. We are so—” Entippa’s head dropped back to the floor.
He woke up when Tark dropped a refrigerator into the arena. The refrigerator buckled on impact. Its door burst open and tiny cans scattered across the floor like cockroaches.
“Have some Red Bull,” said Tark. “I drink it to counteract the tranqs.” Tark climbed down the ladder. EMPLOYEES was stenciled on the refrigerator door.
“You drink Red Bull all the time,” said Entippa.
“Yeah,” said Tark. “It’s 'cause I’ve been taking tranqs to help me sleep. Those motel blankets are real scratchy. I guess you build up a tolerance if you take a lot.” Tark flexed. “Uh, I guess you’re going to lecture me about this, too.” But Entippa was asleep.
When Entippa came to again he was drowning because Tark was pouring Red Bull down his throat. Tark walked Entippa around the arena until feeling came back into his legs.
“Man, if I had a gun?” said Tark, “I’d have really taken care of that guy.”
“You did take care of him! With your foot!”
Tark had even filled the freezer compartment with wilted, half-frozen greens, which Entippa devoured. “There’s this walk-in freezer that says LIVESTOCK,” Tark said. “It’s got more if you want.”
Entippa climbed the ladder. The rungs bent as he stepped on them. At the top, near a bank of camera controls, stood the kids from the motel parking lot, holding each other and quaking.
“Where’d you find them?” asked Entippa.
“The kids,” said Tark, “were also in the freezer.”
“The LIVESTOCK one,” said Entippa. “Okay, these kids are our ticket out of here. We need to call the police. Where do you humans keep your phones?” The kids said nothing.
“Actually,” said Tark, “I bet that guy left his car parked outside.”
