“Our agreement with the government is that we can perform experiments on Absolom, but we are strictly prohibited from using it on any objects with a mass over twenty-five grams. That’s not massive enough to really help us.”
“You said there were two issues?”
“The second problem is that your dad was sent to the past with an untuned prototype of Absolom Two.”
Adeline shook her head. “No, he was sent with the main machine.”
“We switched out the control module,” Hiro said.
Adeline smiled. “Which enables you to target his timeline.”
“That’s right,” Elliott said. “But the second problem is that the version of Absolom Two we used isn’t completely done. It’s not capable of targeting specific times and locations.”
“Are you serious? You don’t know exactly what year he’s in? Or where?”
“Correct.”
“Then he’s effectively lost in time. And you’re guessing when you send things back to him.”
“Yes. We are.”
THIRTY-NINE
The dinosaur lunged forward, its head easily slipping through the ribs of the skeleton where Sam was hiding. But thankfully its shoulders were too wide. It was stuck. That enraged the creature. It thrashed back and forth, jaws snapping a few feet from Sam’s face, its tiny arms clawing at the skeleton’s ribs. Sam felt like he was trapped in a bony cage, an angry, miniature T. rex outside desperate to get it. And it probably would, eventually. But the seelo wasn’t his only problem.
The creature’s screams were like fireworks in the serene desert. They would draw other predators. Maybe bigger ones.
Still facing the creature, Sam stepped away until his back hit the rib bone behind him. The cut there pulsed with pain when he made contact.
The seelo reversed out of the skeleton and swiveled its head left and right, up and down, its tiny Triassic brain trying to devise a way to get to the tasty human snack that was Sam.
Like a prowler searching for a break in the fence, the seelo shuffled right, eying the ribs jutting up from the sand.
It was just a matter of time before it found an opening and slipped through.
Sam turned and reached back through the rib bones, trying to grab the wooden spear. He didn’t like his chances against the seelo. But he also didn’t like being eaten alive. Or going down without a fight.
His fingers brushed the spear. He risked venturing outside the skeleton, grabbed the piece of sharpened wood, and returned to the safety of the rib cage （he liked his chances inside, against one hungry dinosaur, more than his odds outside, against the stragglers from the herd）。
The seelo finally found a break in the rib cage and burst through, instantly turning to Sam, mouth open.
Instead of jabbing with the pointy end, Sam brought the stick down from overhead, holding it with both hands, swinging like a sledgehammer. The blow connected midway down the beast’s long head, between the eyes and nose.
The creature reeled back and screeched. Sam swung the stick sideways, like a baseball bat, connecting again. He wasn’t going to kill the beast this way, but it was buying him time. And maybe it would convince the dinosaur that he wasn’t easy prey.
He was so consumed with the fight that he didn’t hear the rhythmic pattering to his right—the sound of strong hind legs digging in the sand as another theropod galloped across the desert.
Sam looked up just in time to see the dinosaur. It had the same body type as the seelo attacking him, but it was over twice as large. When it reached the skeleton, it slowed, bent, mouth open, and reached down through the opening where the ribs ended and sank its teeth into the seelo’s back. It lifted the smaller dinosaur in the air and thrashed left and right, its sharp teeth tearing into its victim.
Sam staggered back and fell to the ground, watching in horror as blood soaked the sand and the two creatures clawed and bit at each other.
The picture of the larger beast in Daniele’s book hadn’t been completely accurate. The head was different. But this was definitely a Chindesaurus, and it had just saved Sam’s life. For now. But would he be next?
Yes. He would.
Sam got to his feet, grabbed the spear, and backed away, keeping his eyes on the fight—or bloodbath, more accurately.
He retreated to the end of the skeleton, where the ribs were shorter and deeper in the sand, the clearance so low he couldn’t even stand. That was good. Standing up—and making noise—was deadly out here.
On his hands and knees, he sank his fingers into the sand and began to dig.