«The Fields Tinged with Red» by Wayne Kyle Spitzer

From The Fields Tinged with Red:

“Mm.” He spat for the first time that morning and looked out over the green fields. “Any sign of our friend?”“Not hide nor sickle-claw.”But Teddy had focused on something; something out by the freshly painted barn (which nonetheless leaned precariously; a result of the hurricane-like winds that had attended the Flashback, no doubt), and frowned. “You sure about that?”“What do you mean?” Nick followed his gaze but saw nothing, only a rusted-out van and some equally rusted drums, and something he hadn’t noticed before (probably because they hadn’t been there, he was sure of it): a stand of hoary cycad bushes. Literally—cycad bushes. In rolling wheat country. In Eastern Washington. After a bitter winter.“I’m afraid I don’t—”But there was something; something partially obscured by the van and the cycad bushes; something brown and tan and red and mottled green; a thing which didn’t move, didn’t breathe, which didn’t even seem to be alive—until it adjusted its head slightly and he could no longer miss it, no longer even look away.“Oh, he’s a ninja, that one,” said Selena, having joined them at the railing. “A real cucumber. Silent Jim; that’s his name.”“Shhh,” whispered Teddy.“I don’t get it,” said Nick. “I mean, is he just curious, or is he afraid, is he stalking us, wh—”“Jesus, gods, would you be quiet?” Teddy appeared taught as a whip. “And bring me that damn rifle. Hurry.”He mumbled as Selena fetched it: “How you too are ever going to survive a dinosaur freaking apocalypse is beyond me.” He reached for the weapon as she approached but she hesitated before handing it over. “What? What is it?” he grumbled.“Nothing, it’s nothing,” she said, and handed him the gun. “It’s just that, maybe this isn’t a good idea.”He braced his elbow on the railing and aimed even as Nick looked at her sharply. “What are you talking about?”“I mean, what if it’s the wrong thing? What if it turns out we need those bullets more than we’ll need that beef? Or what if it’s some kind of ambush, or—”“Shut her up or I will,” growled Teddy, even as he eyed the scope and fingered the trigger. “We’ve got one shot at—”She took a step closer. “Wait—”And there was a crack! and a recoil and the shot echoed along the hills, even as Nick looked and saw the animal darting into the brush and zigzagging through the tall grass—before tripping once (but just as quickly recovering) and vanishing into a stand of trees.