Dinosaur Blackout

1. Title Page
   
2. Book & Copyright Information
   
3. Dedication
   
4. Chapter One
   
5. Chapter Two
   
6. Chapter Three
   
7. Chapter Four
   
8. Chapter Five
   
9. Chapter Six
   
10. Chapter Seven
    
11. Chapter Eight
    
12. Chapter Nine
    
13. Chapter Ten
    
14. Chapter Eleven
    
15. Chapter Twelve
    
16. Chapter Thirteen
    
17. Chapter Fourteen
    
18. Vocabulary/Descriptions
    
19. Creatures Mentioned in the Book
    
20. Other References & Notes
    
21. Bibliography
    
22. Acknowledgements
    
23. About the Author
    

© Judith Silverthorne, 2008.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Edited by Barbara Sapergia

Cover illustrations by Aries Cheung

Cover and book design by Duncan Campbell

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Silverthorne, Judith, date-

        Dinosaur blackout / Judith Silverthorne.

(Dinosaur adventure series ; 4)

Includes bibliographical references.

ISBN 978-1-55050-375-3

1. Dinosaurs—Juvenile fiction.  I. Title.  II. Series: Silverthorne,

Judith, 1953—Dinosaur adventure series ; 4.

ps8587.i2763d545 2008 jc813'.54 c2008-900241-5

Available in Canada from

Coteau Books

2517
Victoria Avenue, Regina Saskatchewan Canada
S4P 0T2

www.coteaubooks.com

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the financial assistance of the Saskatchewan Arts Board, the Canada Council for the Arts, including the Millennium Arts Fund, the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development
Program (
BPIDP
),
Association for the Export of Canadian Books,
and the City of Regina Arts Commission, for its publishing program.

As always, to my son, Aaron,
who inspired me with this series
from the beginning.

To Modeste McKenzie,
many thanks for the imaginative details
in the final venture to the past.

And to Susan McKenzie
for suggestions throughout.

Chapter One

D
aniel awoke with a niggling feeling
in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t remember his dreams, just a feeling of unease and the memory of a strange sound that ran through them. As he dressed, he noted how the low angles of late summer sunlight glinted off his computer, highlighting the rows of books and dinosaur replicas on the shelves above his desk. He could hear the
fee-bee-bee
of chickadees chattering in the caragana hedge below his open window. And downstairs Mom rattled pans and dishes as she made breakfast. The aroma of coffee and sizzling sausages wafted upwards. His two-year-old sister Cheryl must still be sleeping. He didn’t hear her usual chatter. Everything seemed normal and he couldn’t figure out what was bothering him.

Dad was sure to be halfway down the valley at the farm’s campsite, seeing if the tourists needed any help preparing for one of the day’s tours. At an excavation not far from the campsite, visitors could see a real dinosaur dig and even help with work on a small sample plot. If anything were wrong there, Dad would be sure to come to the house for help. The operation was simple though, and aside from guests having mechanical difficulties with their campers, there was little that could go wrong. Daniel and his best friend Jed Lindstrom had checked the night before that there was ample water and firewood. They’d fed and pastured the trail-ride horses and made sure the campfires were doused.

But the uneasiness persisted as Daniel headed to the barn, only slipping to the back of his mind as he carried out his chores. While he milked Daisy, he studied how the bright shaft of sunlight from the high windows outlined the mangers and stalls of the old wooden barn with its packed dirt floor and wall ladder that led to the hayloft.

When Craig and Todd Nelwin rattled open the big sliding door some time later, light streamed in and the dust motes danced down the centre corridor. Marble’s kittens skittered about, playing with pieces of straw that fluttered to the ground like butterflies each time a puff of fresh autumn air swept through the barn.

The brothers had been working at the Bringhams’ all summer, as restitution for bullying attacks on Daniel and vandalism at the campsite. They’d been better workers than anyone expected, and after their debt was paid, Daniel’s father had hired them for the rest of the summer. The boys lived alone with an abusive father – their mother had died five years ago. Now they were almost like part of Daniel’s family. Craig had even developed an interest in dinosaurs.

Daniel snorted back a laugh as he caught sight of Craig. The younger brother’s light brown hair stuck out in all directions, like a windmill gone wonky. Obviously the stocky fifteen-year-old had not taken the time to plaster it down as he usually did. In contrast, sixteen-year-old Todd’s dark bristly hair stood on end all the time, though it seemed to spike to attention even more this morning, like a frightened porcupine. But neither boy had any fresh bruises to indicate that their father might be hitting them again.

Daniel supposed that with the boys working at his family’s place full-time, their dad didn’t have time to harass his sons. Horace Nelwin seemed to have accepted them working away from home, though he insisted they do their chores at home, morning and night. His mean streak flared whenever they were late.

“What’re we doing at the quarry today?” Craig asked, grabbing a pitchfork from a nail on the wall and starting to clean the stalls.

“Nothing special that I know of,” Daniel replied. He expected that they’d continue uncovering the
Stygimoloch
skeleton they’d been working on for the past couple of months. Mr. Pederson, their neighbour and Daniel’s friend, had discovered the skeleton of the fairly rare plant-eating dinosaur. Sometimes referred to as “thorny devils” or “demons from the river Styx,” the small pachycephalosaurs had bumpy skulls rimmed with many one-hundred millimetre horns. Pederson and Daniel had been exploring the fossil sites for a year and a half now, and the
Stygimoloch
was one of their most exciting discoveries.

Craig shook his head in disappointment. “Too bad we couldn’t go prospecting,” he said. Prospecting meant looking for places that might contain fossils, and Mr. Pederson had promised to show them how to do it.

Daniel thought about it. “You know, after this weekend, there aren’t any visitors scheduled for quarry tours. Maybe we could talk Mr. Pederson into going next week.”

“We’ll have to do it soon. School starts on Thursday,” Craig reminded him, leaning on the fork.

Todd spoke up. “I’d like to go too.”

“You would?” asked Daniel, trying not to look too surprised. Todd had never shown an interest in the time-consuming work of uncovering dinosaurs before.

Todd shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

“’Cause you always prefer to help Daniel’s dad with the farm work, rather than digging at the quarry,” Craig said.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be interested in paleontology too.” Todd nudged his brother with a muscular shoulder. He looked a bit embarrassed, but determined.

“Guess not.” Craig regained his balance.

Daniel agreed. “No problem. We’ll ask Mr. Pederson this morning then.”

“Great.” Todd swung the pitchfork around and began scooping up the manure in the first stall. Craig set to work, whistling.

As usual, the brothers worked in tandem, with Todd taking the lead and Craig following behind. This morning they made a game of their chores, challenging one another to see whose energy would give out first at the fastest pace they could go. Loading pitchforks with manure and heaping it onto the stoneboat for later removal, then chucking bales of hay and spreading the clean straw around the stall was strenuous work. They were soon sweating and grunting.

Daniel watched the pair, listening to the sounds of the barn – the
squirt
,
squirt
of milk hitting the metal pail, several lazy flies buzzing and cows rustling in the straw bedding at their feet. But when he grew bored with the boys’ antics, Daniel felt anxiety rising to the surface of his mind again.

Shuffling the playful kittens out from under his feet, Daniel moved over to milk Lily, then carried the pails of milk to the separating room. As he released the cows into the fenced pasture for the day, his golden retriever appeared from over the rise of a hill and scampered towards the barn.

“Dactyl, how’re you doing, boy?” Daniel bent to scratch behind the dog’s ears, continuing down his back, burrowing his hands into the thick, furry coat. Daniel had named him after the prehistoric
Pterodactyls
that had once flown through these very skies.