You know how the youngsters play around with scientific things these days—”
“No use kidding ourselves, Joan; it’s a pterodactyl. And there’s only one place where it could have come from, and that is the shaft of the mining site. Being a bird it could easily fly from its underground prison.”
“But you didn’t see anything alive down there, did you?”
“No, but according to Bill Masterson a Jurassic cavern or something has been opened, and there could have been life that deeper canyon which I didn’t explore. The fact remains: that object up there couldn’t have come from anywhere else.”
They stood watching it for a time as its gyrations grew gradually less, until finally it seemed to be hovering far above, motionless.
“What’s it looking for, do you think?” Joan’s eyes were commencing to ache with the constant effort of staring aloft.
“I’m not sure, but I can hazard an uneasy guess. Right in this garage we have something prehistoric, and by some telepathic link, such as does exist among many birds and animals, that flying horror may be aware that an object of its own time and kin is down here.”
“Sort of inverted homing instinct, or something?”
“Like that—yes.” Cliff had the field glasses still to his eyes—then suddenly he let out a gasp.
“It’s diving!” Joan cried at the same moment. “Quickly! Into the house!”
With appalling swiftness the pterodactyl suddenly began a power dive, swooping with incredible speed from the misty heights, straight down towards the garden. Tripping and tumbling, Cliff and Joan blundered towards the house, gained the kitchenette and slammed the door. Then at top speed they raced into the adjoining living room and watched through the window. Spellbound they watched a scene that had certainly never been viewed before by modern beings.
The pterodactyl had reached the garden, and its size was apparent now as its great wings, dry and membranous, overspread the width of the lawn and became partly entangled with the parting fences on either side. It had a body as big as a man’s, yet a head like a vulture on an enormous scale. It was quite the vilest thing ever, its tremendously strong beak pecking and lashing at the strong garage doors.
“I—I feel sort of sick,” Joan whispered, white-faced. “What in the world do we do now?”
“Nothing,” Cliff snapped. “That thing’s carnivorous, and unlike the modern bird, it has triple rows of shark teeth. I just caught a glimpse of them. If we try and deal with that thing we’ll be ripped to pieces. It’s after that damned egg, sure as fate.”
“Call the police,” Joan urged. “They’ll do something.”
“Not on your life! The police might as well try and fight a tank as fight this. Leave it alone and watch what happens.”
Apparently the terrifying creature was becoming annoyed at finding the garage doors too tough for its onslaught. With a series of ear-splitting screams it flung itself in leathery fury against the barrier, its vast beak tearing great shards and splinters out of the woodwork—but the doors held, and at last the pterodactyl seemed to realise it was beaten. It withdrew and folded its wings, standing for a moment in the centre of the lawn like a colossal bat, its evil head turning slowly until a lidless, deep red eye became visible to the crouching two in the lounge.
“The size of it!” Joan panted. “I’d say it’s nearly twenty feet high!”
“Nearer thirty— Ah! Thank God for that!”
The flying lizard had suddenly spread its wings again and, with another piercing, unearthly scream, it took off into the evening mist and was gradually lost to sight. The only trace of it ever having been present at all lay in the battered garage doors and huge three-claw imprints in the soft soil of the flowerbeds. It had been no nightmare then. The past had come into the present and there was no foreseeing the repercussions.
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