A few feet away, rising up from the white rock, was a small, wiry shrub. It had green fruit-like pods that looked like faded olives.
Sam ran to it and jerked one of the oval pods off and split it open. There was a hard, textured seed inside. Sam discarded the seed and lifted the plant to his nose and inhaled. There was no odor except for an earthy scent.
He stretched out his left arm and placed the split pod against the inside of his elbow, where blood might be drawn, letting the plant flesh touch his skin. He held it there, waiting for any reaction—skin irritation, itching, burning, or numbness.
A breeze barreled through the clearing, bringing with it a cloud of spores like dust in an Old West town. Insects followed the cloud, zooming in and out.
Sam inspected his skin where the plant had been. It was fine.
It would be best to boil the green pod, but there was no time for that. He held it to his lips and waited again for any reaction. He really needed a watch. Without it, in his hungry, exhausted state, it was hard for him to judge the passage of time.
Finally, when his lips made no reaction, he stuffed the fruit in his mouth and held it there, using his last bit of self-control to keep from swallowing it whole. It had a slightly bitter taste, but it didn’t seem rotten. There was no irritation in his mouth, but it soon filled with saliva.
His mind screamed for him to eat, and finally, Sam swallowed the fruit down. He told himself to wait before eating any more, to see if his body rejected the potential sustenance. But he couldn’t.
He snapped the green pods off the shrub, threw the seeds on the ground, and chewed and swallowed like a robotic farm drone as he moved around the rocky expanse. With each gulp, life flowed back into him.
His mind unfroze. As he munched on the green balls of life-giving food, the name came to him: a ginkgo. That was what he was eating—a ginkgo, a type of nonflowering seed plant common in the Late Triassic.
The name of the dinosaur he had seen occurred to him too. It was a Coelophysis. Daniele had pronounced the C like an S, the first part of the name pronounced like “seel,” the middle like “oh.” He was amazed that his mind worked like that—he could remember the tiniest details that fascinated him （like dinosaurs）， but most days he could barely remember what he did the day before.
He decided to call the dinosaur a “seelo.” If he ever saw one again.
He hoped he didn’t.
Sam moved to the next ginkgo bush and began picking the fruits and stuffing his mouth. They needed a name too. Green pods. That worked. It wasn’t exactly inspired, but it would do.
That’s how his mind worked: he liked to name things and order them. That may have been what made him a successful physicist.
Almost against his will, Sam laughed at that. Successful. Yeah right. What a career he’d had: faking enthusiasm for a time travel machine he thought was baloney （in order to make money to save his dying wife）， then accidentally helping to create that supposedly fake time travel machine, and finally being banished from his own universe with the machine he had faked enthusiasm for in the first place. There were disasters, and then there was his life.
The question was: what was the next step to turning it all around? Surviving the night. That was the answer. And to do that, he needed shelter. A better way to protect himself would also help. The small stick wouldn’t be much protection against a major predator. A fire would do. It might draw the other prisoner, but Sam felt that was a risk he’d have to take.
He moved across the rock outcropping, picking the green pods and filling his pockets and his mouth. One thing struck him: there were no bite marks on the plants. The dinosaurs hadn’t been feeding on them. Why? Were they not ripe yet?
By the time he had circled the perimeter of the rocky area, his pockets were full and so was his stomach. Fatigue was catching up with him, and all of a sudden the sun seemed achingly bright. It was sinking faster now, diving in the sky like a roller coaster racing down its finale.
Shelter.
And fire.
Those were the priorities now.
Sam moved toward the interior of the rocky area, leaning on the stick. With each step, it was harder to keep his eyes open. The exertion from the day, mainly the journey from the beach, seemed to have caught up with him all at once.
Or was it something else?
He hadn’t been stung by an insect. He didn’t think. Couldn’t remember it. How long had he lain on that beach?
Near the middle of the rocky expanse, a large stone rose into the air. At the base was a hole about waist high.
Sam planted his feet and extended the stick into the mouth of the small cave and pushed into the darkness, half expecting a creature to burst out and maul him.