“What are they?” Kady shouted.
Jake swallowed hard. “Velociraptors.”
Kady gawked at him and raised her sword. Even she knew the name of that dinosaur. “Like in the movie.”
After returning from Calypsos, she had watched Jurassic Park fifteen times and now considered herself an expert on the subject of dinosaurs. But the movie got those raptors wrong, doubling their size to make the film scarier. Such movie trickery was not really necessary. Though small, velociraptors were vicious predatory dinosaurs. They hunted in packs to bring down far larger beasts. They were the piranhas of the prehistoric world.
Kady’s sword would never be enough.
Jake pointed down the far side of the ridge. “Run!”
No one had to be told twice. As a group, they took bounding steps and skidded to reach the bottom. But they still had a long way to go. The pinnacle of rock lay the length of two football fields away.
Jake struggled to think of a way to get the pack off their trail and searched for some weapon. He had once used a dog whistle to chase off a tyrannosaurus, but he’d given the whistle to Pindor as a gift. And considering the state in which his friend had arrived here—naked as a jaybird—Jake was sure he didn’t have that whistle. He wished he’d thought to pack another one.
But what did he bring?
Jake took mental inventory.
In his vest pockets he had crammed matches, a lighter, beef jerky, a Swiss Army knife, extra batteries for the flashlight in his backpack, water-purifying tablets, packets of sugar, aspirin, some antibiotics, bug spray, suntan oil, lip balm. He ran through all he had, trying to think if anything could be used as a weapon.
The yipping grew louder behind him.
Ahead, another dune blocked their path, its slope dotted by desert flowers that looked like blue daffodils. At least this sand hill wasn’t as high as the first. He risked a glance behind him, allowing the others to go ahead.
So far the raptors hadn’t cleared the ridge back there.
Maybe those buzzards will give up….
He wasn’t that lucky. The first of them burst into view, a scout for the others. The sickle-clawed reptile stopped at the top, eyeing the landscape below, again cocking its head from side to side to survey the terrain.
Jake’s friends had already cleared the top of the smaller hill.
Jake slowed at the foot of the slope. As his group vanished over the dune, he knew they’d never reach that pinnacle of rock before being overtaken by the raptors.
Jake came to a grim conclusion.
He turned toward the reptilian scout on the ridge, shrugged his backpack into his hand, and twirled it above his head. The scout’s gaze snapped toward Jake. Jake’s only hope was to lure the pack away from his friends.
That’s right. Here I am.
Jake took off running, sprinting along the bottom of the long dune, away from his friends. He had to get the beasts to follow him. A look over his shoulder revealed the scout already bounding after him. More of the pack followed.
Jake ran faster, searching for somewhere to hole up, somewhere to hide; but the landscape was featureless. The yipping grew sharper—and closer.
He’d never make it.
Movement on the dune’s slope drew Jake’s eye.
One of the blue daffodils turned toward him. He caught a glint of sunlight reflecting from the heart of its petals.
Like glass.
Surprised, he missed a buried rock in the sand. His right leg slipped, and he went sprawling on his belly. It felt like sliding for home plate across broken glass. But that was the least of his problems.
He rolled onto his back.
Four yards away, the pack’s scout leaped up in the air, sailing high. Its scimitar hind claw flashed in the sunlight. A hunter’s scream burst from its throat as it cocked its head at its prey—
—and dove straight for Jake’s belly.
8
PRINCE OF THE SANDS
Jake rolled as the velociraptor fell at him. He also swung out with his backpack and hit the beast in midair. The weight and impact knocked the monster’s leg to the side.
Claws hit the sand beside Jake’s head.
Jake scrambled up the neighboring slope on his back, avoiding the blue daffodils.
The raptor whipped around and snapped at him. Jake shoved his pack between himself and the beast. Razor-sharp teeth tore into the backpack and ripped it open with a toss of the raptor’s head. The contents spilled out: Jake’s flashlight, his Nintendo DS, an extra roll of toilet paper.
The distraction of a roll of Charmin unraveling down the sandy slope allowed Jake to scramble another few yards uphill. He found himself eye to eye with the raptor, close enough to spot the tiny openings of its ears. Other members of the pack gathered below, ready to share in this meal. Tails swished in anticipation of the kill.
Jake lifted the remains of his shredded pack like a shield.
The scout grinned, its jaws gaping wider, teeth glinting.
It stepped toward him.
Suddenly a warbling trill rose all around.
The raptor froze—so did Jake.
The blue daffodil to his right exploded like a geyser. But rather than plant roots, a skinny shape leaped out of the sand. A cloak billowed, showering sand over Jake’s head. From under the cloak, a small man or a boy appeared, landing on his feet, bearing aloft a long spear. Down the slope on both sides of Jake, eruptions of sand produced more cloaked figures.
The first one shook back the cowl of his cloak. Most of his head remained hidden beneath a hooded leather mask that covered head, eyes, and nose. The hunter was equipped with a set of goggles fitted to a periscope—a scope camouflaged to look like a daffodil. He spit out a breathing tube that ran up the stem of the scope. The periscope must allow the hunter both to see and breathe while buried.
With a war cry, the small hunter lunged at the raptor with his spear.
Others hurled what looked like ripe tomatoes at the rest of the pack. Where the fruits hit, they detonated with loud bangs. A few exploded into flashes of fire. The pack of raptors—already skittish after the ambush—leaped in surprise and fled.
The cloaked hunter and the lead raptor were left, circling each other. The fighters looked evenly matched. The hunter would thrust out with his spear, but the raptor would dodge and snap, catching only air.
As they continued their deadly dance, the other hunters chased after the pack, yelling, lobbing more firebombs.
Below, the small hunter continued his solo battle with the lone remaining raptor. Had the ambushers trapped this one beast, separating it from the pack on purpose?
By now, Jake’s friends must have realized he was missing. Or maybe they heard the commotion and bomb blasts.