Age of Monsters by John Schneider (a book to read txt) 📕

the remains of a bear, lying along the dead sauropod's haunches, that had evidently tried to scavenge the infected meat.

Visually, the effect was rather like a systemic, full-body allergic reaction – like every cell swelling into a zit, and then popping all at once.

The bear was an unrecognizable mess.

That mostly took care of any competition from the indigenous local predators.  And of course, the rex had his own rivals in check – it had already chased most of the sickle-claws out of the area, as it had any lingering carnosaurs.  The Siskiyous were solidly tyrannosaur-territory.

But right now, trespassing stealthily from behind, were a small pack of those little cat-sized beasts – those scurrying, clawed little lizards – no more than ants compared to the infected rex.

They stayed guardedly away from the downed sauropod, but snapped at some of the scavenging birds – cawing back at them in a mimic of their own squawks.

The rex jerked at the sound – snorting with a touch of irritation.

On the ground below, the little lizards turned and hissed.

The rex actually paused at the cheeky affront, its nose wrinkling.

Then the rex blinked, its eyes briefly tearing, like with a dose of smelling salts in the sinuses – perhaps some chemical musk.

Whatever it was, it sparked an instinctual temper response.

Turning from the carcass, the rex began to stamp the little lizards like yellow-jackets at a barbecue.

The tiny creatures darted in every direction – one actually made it under a log, hissing balefully, screeching its oddly birdlike warble – but the rex simply stomped the log flat too.

It turned, somewhat disgruntled, back to its meal, wiping its foot disgustedly on the rocks.

At the perimeter of the basin, the other creatures faded back.

And now, along the ridge, in the same direction the rex had come, more giant shadows loomed – a pack of them, framed by the strobing lightning, eyes glowing green.

His 'gang' – the big rex was not the only tyrannosaur wandering slumber-mountain.

A procession of a dozen or more – all infected giants – spread out across the crest of the hillside, looking down into the basin.

The group of them had been more or less traveling together.  And they had taken to following the big rex as sort of a defacto-leader.

They hung back respectfully, of course – mostly females at the moment – although a few scattered males prowled at a distance.

Dominant females would sometimes tolerate adolescent and even adult offspring – but these were also almost exclusively female – male aggression made them incompatible in a pack.

In mating season, the dominant female would pair-bond with the dominate rogue.

The big rex regarded his entourage – particularly the males that postured along the perimeter – alert for any potential challenge.  A couple of them had tested him in the recent past – both attempted coupes had been quick and total failures.

But no one was feeling particularly sparky today – the rex's would-be rivals simply stood down, waiting in regimented formation – and therefore he allowed them to remain.  They would chase off any competing predators while they waited their turn at the banquet.

If Major Tom could have observed this small scene, he might have gained new insight.

This was ritualized social-structure at work – born of pure behavioral instinct.

The strictness was a necessity when one was born with evolutionary super-weapons – just existing among your peers was an uneasy state of détente.  Fossil tyrannosaurs often showed scars from inter-specific battles – a LOT of inter-specific battles.  The breed had, in fact, been described by researchers as honky-tonk bar-brawlers on a Saturday night.

For the moment, the big rex was in charge, and the others would follow, according to a simple hierarchy, based on the fairest system in the world – anyone who could kill him got to be in charge.

There were no 'betas' in T. rex socio-biology – once any one of the young males reached sufficient size, they would try for the alpha spot.

It was not even a real choice – just pure instinct – and because there were very few non-lethals in a rex-fight, they would either be the new alpha or they would be killed.

But until then, they would follow the rogue – always at a safe distance – and he would tolerate them.  Smaller rex were good for rustling up prey, similar to the strategy of modern lions, where the smaller, faster females corralled big herd animals right into the claws of the larger, heavier males, who killed them.

All this structure had evolved over the hundred and fifty million years it took therapods to get to T. rex.  And any violation of these strictures would be met with full-on ferocity, whether the transgression came from giant carnosaur, or tiny scavenging lizard.

Satisfied his court was in order, the rex bent to the carcass and began to feed, the massive jaws, calving out massive chunks of flesh, biting cleanly through bone, and swallowing mouthfuls whole.

On the hillside around him, the pack waited patiently.

At the perimeter, a few T. rex normals also waited in the wings – likewise spoiling at their own wounded rex-pride – 'Tyrant Kings' reduced to scurrying around a giant's ankles.

When the rex had eaten its fill, it stood from the much-diminished carcass with a carrion-belch that echoed in the basin.

Along the ridge, the others all paused to see if the rex would guard the carcass, as he had done in the past, sometimes curling to sleep right up next to it – practically daring anyone to wake him.

But instead, the big rex slowly turned, staring off in the direction of the coast, its nose curling as if with that sulfur whiff once again.

Now that its hunger-urge was momentarily appeased, its simple-behavior now directed it to follow its next instinctual impulse.

In this case, a territorial instinct.

T.