One Of Our Dinosaurs Is Missing by David Forrest

ahead of diem. “It must be a guard,” she whispered. They all pressed themselves against the wall. The light glowed for a few minutes, then disappeared. They heard the man cough in the distance.
    “Surely there was a ladies’ on the dinosaur floor,” said Emily, clutching the duffel bag to her bosom
    “The only one I’ve noticed was on this floor,” whispered Melissa. “It was near the elephants.“
    Just ahead of them, in the darkness, the herd of pachyderms lumbered and trudged, in frozen action, with their trunks bellowing soundlessly, and their eyes glinting blindly.
    “Maybe it’s somewhere here,” breathed Susanne. “Use the torch again.”
    Hettie switched it on. Susanne jumped. “A man,” she squeaked in a horrified voice. “A naked man. I thaw him. Disguthting.”
    “Shhh. It’s only a model, lassie. We know the one. It’s a Montana Indian, shooting birds. The toilet’s away over there.”
    The guard’s cough, close at hand, startled them. Una grabbed Hettie and pushed her into the plastic undergrowth of the Indian display. They crouched near the Indian. The others scattered.
    Una glanced up at the figure, and felt her nose tingle. Don’t be foolish, she told herself, it’s a model, not a man. You can’t be allergic to it! It didn’t seem to matter. Her nose still threatened to sneeze.
    The cough sounded closer. A flashlight illuminated the display. Then the beam swung downward as the guard hung the torch on a hook on the wall. The man leaned back against a cabinet, fished a paper bag from his pocket, and took out a sandwich. He munched for several minutes. From another pocket he produced a hip-flask. He removed the stopper with his teeth, and gulped at the brandy.
    “A noisy eater,” whispered Hettie. “Bad upbringing.”
    “Shhh,” hissed Una. She was suddenly embarrassed as she realized on what part of the Indian’s anatomy she was resting her head. She blushed unseen in the darkness.
    The guard swigged again at his brandy flask and started another sandwich.
    “Och, he might be here for hours,” murmured Hettie, her legs beginning to feel cramped. There was a slight scuttering sound behind her. “Shhhh,” she said.
    The leaves of the jungle display surrounding the Montana Indian rustled. In the reflected light of the guard’s torch, Hettie and Una watched his jaw stop its champing. The man listened. The plastic leaves rattled again. To Una it seemed the guard was staring straight at her. He rested his sandwich and flask on the cabinet, and unclipped the flap of his gun holster. He pulled out the pistol and pointed it at the display. Una gulped. The guard then reached for his torch and swung the beam toward them.
    Out of the foliage of the synthetic forest marched, a strange, diminutive nightmare. Its ten-inch tall body was nude, apart from a neat crimson waistcoat around its middle.
    “Oh, no! Tarzan.” Una covered her face with her hands.
    The small figure continued its swaggering march, like a clockwork barbecued chicken, straight at the muted guard. Hettie could see the beam of his torch quiver as his hand began to shake. Meanwhile, Tarzan goose-stepped on, until he was only three feet from the man. Then he unleashed his normal welcome.
    “Ahhhhheee, ahhheeeee, aaaaaah ...”
    The ape-man scream echoed round the museum halls. The guard dropped his flashlight and pistol. The nannies heard his feet thudding across the polished floors. There was a crash as he collided with a display. Then a door slammed. The footsteps faded into the distance. Another door banged and there was silence.
    “Och, my goodness,” gasped Hettie. Susanne giggled. Emily chased after Tarzan on her hands and knees, and scooped him back into the duffel bag.
    “Quick,” said Hettie. “We’ve no much time. Into the toilet, and back upstairs again before we’re invaded by the police. And for heaven’s sake, Emily, keep a tight hold on that beastie.”
    Moments later, they were hurrying up the stairs