Epoch Escapes

Time tore like tissue paper. 

One moment the group stood in the climate controlled Orientation Dome sipping cucumber water, listening to a peppy guide with too-white teeth explain chrono-safety protocols; the next, they were swaying on their feet in a world that hummed with ancient heat and impossible birdsong. 

The honeymooners clutched each other—matching safari hats, nervous fingers, sunscreen from head to toe. She wore a locket with his face inside. He wore a locket with her face inside. Their lockets whispered to each other while they embraced.

“Everyone stay close,” barked the patriarch of the family of four, like it meant anything. His wife, their two children’s mom, asked the kids if they were okay a dozen times. The kids said “Uh huh,” the first few times, then returned to silence when their mom stopped asking if they were okay and, instead, started telling them that they were okay, that they’d be okay, and that, in fact, they’re all okay and will continue to be okay. Obviously, she was not okay.

The three bachelor party bros whooped as if they’d just landed in Jurassic Ibiza. One of their name tags read Brosaurus Rex. Not to be outdone, another’s said Iguanadaddy. The third: Tricera-topless.

Dr. Reed stared at the horizon like it was the antidote to some long withstanding ailment. She’d all but dragged her daughter, Cora, here alongside her despite Cora’s full-throated attempt to stay behind; she even went so far as to attempt to convince the entire group not to go. Which, for Cora, meant speaking in front of more than zero people. That’s growth, Dr. Reed convinced herself. This is why they were here, she continued silently. They were here. This is what we needed, Dr. Reed thought, daring to hope. It hadn’t gone right any other time before, sure, Dr. Reed countered, arguing with herself as she watched the sunrise bloom over this ancient world full of ancient things, including the deeply worn pattern of Dr. Reed’s and Cora’s relationship. But without hope, Dr. Reed asked her other self inside her head, what’s left? 

Cora craned her neck anxiously, always on the lookout for trouble and how to avoid it. She knew her mom hoped this little jaunt back in time would allow her to allow herself to be on the lookout for a bit more than that, maybe even have some fun, get so far away from the usual that Cora will have to embrace the unusual. Maybe. Cora knew that’s what her mom hoped, anyway. But Cora was 12, after all. Fun is cringe. The unusual is social suicide. Cora was sick of standing out. She was more concerned with understanding how to be part of… anything, really. A herd. Ankylosauruses. Cora watched a massive herd of them migrate across the savannah steppe. 

Above the safari group, the tour drone pinged their Epoch Escapes™ wristwatches: Welcome to the Late Cretaceous. Please remain within visual range of your assigned Prehistoric Safari Guide, or PSG, at all times. Remain on the outlined path and adhere to your provided itinerary. Epoch Escapes™ is not liable for any and all temporal anomalies, causal disruptions, or paradoxical events (hereafter referred to as Chrono-Complications) incurred before, during, or after your journey. Participation in all time tourism activities constitutes acceptance of inherent risks including, but not limited to: ontological destabilization, identity disassociation, historical displacement, predator-induced injury, and loop entrapment. Epoch Escapes™ is not responsible for repeated timelines, recursive fatalities, or the failure to return to your original continuum. All tours are final and non-refundable, while loop entrapment may incur additional penalty charges. Epoch Escapes™ reserves the right to alter, terminate, or retroactively deny the existence of this experience at any time. All rights reserved across all applicable timelines.

They scrolled through it without reading. They all accepted the agreement. What else could they do? It was the hundredth or so time they’d done so just this morning. Their watches showed them a live feed of the drone sweeping over dense forest that faded into a vast stretch of swampy bog, then that paradisal grassland savannah in the distance, far to the North. Upon accepting, the watch pinged them: Enjoy your time! 

The dad laughed boisterously, letting the rest know he got the pun. His kids vibrated anxiously behind him. Their mother patted the dad’s round shoulder.

One of the three assigned PSGs stepped forward with a calibrated smile and a tranquilizer rifle slung casually over one shoulder. Her name tag read Cambria, and everything about her was just a little too practiced. She made brief, but intense eye-contact with Cora before she spoke. Like when your towel accidentally falls and all of a sudden you’re naked. All of a sudden, in the span of that look, Cambria was exposed and so, too, was Cora. Cambria’s mask reformed just as quick. Cora remained expressionless as Dr. Reed ushered them nearer the front, following Cambria. Cora attempted to cover up, to shield herself in some way, so she crossed her arms. It didn’t help.

“Welcome, Time Travelers,” Cambria said, arms wide like a magician revealing their illusion is, in fact, real. “This is what Earth looked like sixty-six million years ago. Untouched. Unspoiled. Unaware that anything as ridiculous as some silly, hairless apes would ever come along and take it over.” She paused for effect. The effect was silence. “Okay. Few things to remember. Stay hydrated, watch your step, and if you get caught around anything with more than three horns, do not run. It will chase you!” She paused again. Again, there were no laughs. Not even a chuckle. “But seriously, while we all are shielded and we carry these for your protection,” indicating herself and the other two PSGs with their own tranq rifles, “please remember: right now, here and now, you are no longer the apex predator on Earth. They are,” she said, unfurling her arms awkwardly, again. She continued, “If you give ‘em a chance, they’ll take it. And by it, I mean a bite. And then you’ll be seeing them from the inside out until their stomach acid finally destroys your shield emitter and you drown in a dinosaur’s gut. So, stay close to us, stay on path, and follow our lead so that doesn’t happen. Now that that’s out of the way, how about we see some dinosaurs!”

The mom clapped for Cambria. The kids started to wander. She herded them back. The dad had his head on a swivel and made sure to tell everyone, “Gotta keep your head on a swivel.”

The bachelor bros chuckled—one of them clapped the other on the back and mimed being gored. 

Cora noticed, attempting to avert her eyes as soon as she did, but not quick enough. He mimed blood spurting everywhere, then dying. His bros loved it. Cora didn’t laugh. She didn’t know what to do. So she stared at the tree line. Something large moved just a little too quickly and just a little too quietly. Her mom followed her gaze, but the leaves stilled. A flock of distant birds—not birds, but something older, leaner—cut across the sky, their wings like stretched membranes. One of them cried out; it sounded almost human, familiar, and unlike anything Cora had ever heard, all at the same time. Her skin prickled with goose bumps.

The group moved out, boots crunching over fossil-rich soil that hadn’t yet become fossil-rich. Cambria led them down a ridgeline path flanked by wire-thin, nearly imperceptible UV fences and subtle scent emitters (meant to keep the biggest, most territorial dinosaurs away, or, at least, disorient them long enough for the extraction protocol to complete). 

Dr. Reed walked beside Cora, a hand resting gently on her daughter’s shoulder. “You good?” she asked. Cora nodded, too quickly. “Exciting,” Dr. Reed said and rubbed Cora’s arm, attempting to smooth her goosebumps away. “We’ll be okay,” she assured Cora, and herself.

The dad turned to take a selfie with the valley and his long-suffering family. The girl yawned, the boy blinked. The mom’s head was cut off. It was all out of focus, anyway.

The honeymooners hung back, whispering in their native Korean, not quite smiling, more in awe of each other than the world around them. 

One of the bros broke into a sprint, chasing a dragonfly the size of a dinner plate. Cambria didn't stop him. She just muttered into her mic: “Tracker, be ready. Guest 4.” The dragonfly spun in midair, now chasing all three bros. “Never mind,” Cambria muttered again. The other two PSGs brought up the rear. The drone, Tracker, corrected course, continuing to circle above. The dinner-plate dragonfly attempted to latch on to one of the bros with its sticky, barbed legs, pinching its mandibles together, aiming for the bro’s soft, pulsing neck. The personal shield emitters they all wore on their chests blocked the dragonfly’s strikes with electrical resistance that enveloped their whole bodies, extending a few inches beyond the skin, protecting everyone’s bodies, and, right now, especially the bros’ bodies, from physical injury. The dragonfly, effectively negatively reinforced, finally flew away. The bros laughed nervously among themselves. One of the bros sneaked a nip from a hidden flask to shield his mind.

The group descended into a shallow valley where the air thickened—warmer, wetter. The scent of crushed ferns and something metallic clung to the breeze. Cambria raised one hand to slow the group. The second PSG, a barrel-chested man named Luis with a permanent sunburn and mirrored wraparounds, continued ahead. 

Luis moved deliberately toward a clearing. He bent down, studying something. He motioned them toward the clearing where the grass thinned into a broad patch of mud. 

“Footprints,” he said.

The dad stepped closer, already snapping photos. “Whoa. These real? Kids, get a look at this. Hun, you seeing this?”

Dozens of prints, three-toed and deep as soup bowls, trailed off toward the brush. The scale of them turned the air heavy. One was so fresh, it still held clear water. Cora moved closer to the edge of a smaller print, hypnotized. Her eyes traced a path from the prints to where the tree line broke open, slightly sunken, like something had pushed its way through.

“It’s our lucky day. Looks like we might see some babies this time,” Luis said.

A branch cracked. Everyone froze.

Then came the low, rhythmic rustle of underbrush and territorial bellowing—closer, deliberate. The air shifted again, suddenly awfully still. Birds—or whatever passed for birds here—took off in a shrieking burst. A second later, something massive snorted from beyond the tree line, thirty yards ahead. One of the kids whimpered. The dad patted his head condescendingly. The honeymooners stiffened, clutching each other like their bodies might fuse. Cambria raised her hand again, slowly this time, as if pleading before an ancient god. “Eyes up. Stay still. Don’t run.”

The bushes parted. First came the head—beaked, ridged, and staring. A Pachycephalosaurus, maybe nine feet long. Its domed skull was speckled with old scars. It emerged with a curious grunt. Its amber eyes scanned the group of humans like it was working through a math problem. Usually, the equation was simple: threat or no threat. Humans complicated the math.

“It’s herbivorous,” Cambria said, meaning to calm them. “Luis, and, uh, Marvin—safeties off,” she said, making them all immediately more tense. “Confirm offspring?”

This particular herd had had more interactions with humans than most dinosaurs on the planet, but, still, they were dinosaurs, the group were humans, and when there’s offspring involved, prediction is impossible. 

“There,” Cora pointed at a small, toddling pachy peeking through the brush. It was pulled quickly away by its mother. The baby was the size of a cow. 

“Yeah, aren’t we lucky,” Cambria said sincerely, though her face said otherwise. “Not every time that we get babies. This does tend to increase their natural, territorial behaviors—”

The large, exposed pachy stepped forward as if following an Epoch Escapes™ script, nostrils flaring—drawn to the group. Its legs were built for sudden, terrifying bursts of speed. And it was eyeing someone. One of the bros. The one who’d mimed the goring. He was mid-swig from his bro’s flask. The flask shined like a laser pointer. The pachy spotted it like a cat, tilting its head from side to side. This pachycephalosaurus was the matriarch of her herd. Threat or no threat, she calculated… She stepped closer, tilting her head side to side, swaying, assessing. The bro waggled the flask, making the light dance in front of the dinosaur. They tilted their heads, mimicking her, dancing with the dinosaur—

Luis stopped the bro with a large, rough hand. “Stow it,” he said. The bros rolled their eyes. Luis turned away. Tricera-topless grabbed the flask from his bro and sucked some more down in defiance. The light reflected right into the pachy’s eye, causing it to stutter-step backward. Luis spun and grabbed at the flask as the bros played hot potato with it.

The other members of the herd paced behind their matriarch, still shrouded by brush. The dinosaurs’ claws dragged soft arcs in the mud. For a second, the group held still enough to become part of the forest. Then a sneeze—sudden and sharp—burst from one of the kids. The dinosaur jolted, eyes locking on the boy.

Luis finally caught the flask and stowed it in his pocket.

The dad reached out, maybe to pull his son back, maybe to take another photo, but, like a first domino, something about the movement triggered it. 

“Watch out!” Cora yelled seconds in advance. But nothing had happened, so no one did anything. “Cambria!” Cora tried again. But now it was too late. 

The pachy launched forward, fast and violent, a blur of scale and muscle and bone.

Cora screamed. The mother shrieked, wrapping herself around her children as their father sprinted away from them. The boy stumbled backward into his sister, the children and their mom tumbled down the ridge, rolling together, thankfully in the opposite direction of the amassing pachy herd, ready to fight alongside their matriarch.

Cambria moved like she’d trained for this her whole life, despite having only trained for this for one, single weekend about nine months ago. “Luis—engage!” she shouted, dropping to one knee and firing a dart in one clean, fluid motion. “Marvin!”

The tranq hit high, lodging in the beast’s flank—but it only seemed to piss it off. The pachy’s momentum propelled it forward. The third PSG—he’d just started yesterday—shoved the dad out of the pachy’s path and took the full brunt of the charge. The dinosaur’s skull struck his chest with a sickening crack—the shield emitter, itself, and his ribs—launching him backward like a crash test dummy. The shield held, but crackled against such force. The electrical resistance pushed the pachy back with a jolt, sending her stumbling.

The pachy paced and spun, readying another charge.

Cambria fired again, this time at closer range and right into the pachy’s pulsing neck. Luis moved to the opposite flank and pulled a handheld subsonic speaker from his belt. A shockwave of subsonic vibration swept the clearing. The pachy staggered—once, twice—then collapsed sideways with a seismic thud that rolled through the group’s feet like thunder.

The herd of pachys in the brush stampeded away.

The matriarch pachy pushed itself up, snorted, and trotted off behind her herd.

Luis disengaged the speaker.

Silence followed. No one breathed.

A couple of them threw up. Maybe from the subsonic sound, maybe from the dinosaur attack, maybe both.

The dad finally spoke, dazed: “Did… did you get that on video?”

Cambria didn’t answer. She was already kneeling beside the injured PSG, blood soaking his khaki vest like a flash flood. Cora stared, frozen. The honeymooners clutched each other even tighter. One of the bros was gone, just off-trail, still throwing up. The other two were filming. They nodded to the dad. The dad opened his mouth, starting to ask if they’d send him their videos, but then those bros threw up, too.

Luis kneeled beside the injured PSG as Cambria unzipped his vest. Luis shook the half-empty flask at Cambria, “It’s always something.” 

Cambria pulled open the injured PSG’s vest and checked the vitals panel glowing faintly across the shield emitter’s cracked chest plate. “You remember your name?” she muttered, trying to keep him conscious.

He blinked up at her, eyes unfocused, blood in his mouth, “Do you?”

“See, you’re fine. Marvin’s just fine,” Luis said to Cambria.

“It’s Marlon,” he said, with a grimace that might’ve been a smile.

“It is?” Cambria asked, keeping him engaged.

“I don’t want to die a Marvin,” Marlon said incoherently. 

Cambria tore open a clotpack and slapped it onto Marlon’s ribs. “Might’ve punctured a lung. Not to mention, looks like you’re going to need some help getting out of your PSE. We need to evac him now. How’s your breathing feel? Can you make it back to the starting line?”

“Should it feel bubbly?” Marlon asked, knowing the answer.

They worked fast. The drone, Tracker, hovered low, emitting a directional pulse. Cambria tapped her watch to trigger emergency return coordinates and synced with Marlon’s tether

“Protocol says one of us stays with the group. They’ll send replacements.” Her eyes met Luis’s. No emotion, just duty. She grabbed two sticks off the ground and snapped them into her fist. “You pick.”

Luis sighed. “Gimme the short one.” He took a stick without looking and cast it aside behind him. “You get him back. We’ll keep walking. Tell whoever they’re sending to catch up. Nothing we haven’t done before, right?”

Cambria explored Luis’s face, but could only see her own reflected in his sunglasses. 

Cora watched from the perimeter. It’s like Cambria new exactly where she was. Cambria and Cora made eye contact, again, but spoke to Luis, “Nothing we haven’t done before.”

Cambria helped Marlon to his feet. Marlon’s blood-slick vest shimmered against his crushed, malfunctioning personal shield emitter, interfering with Cambria’s. Cambria deactivated Marlon’s shield. “Keep them alive,” she told Luis. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she said to the rest of the group. 

“Plan on it,” Luis grunted.

“What a way to start the week,” Cambria said, finally. She darted one last look at Cora, nodding slightly. 

The group watched in stunned silence as two of their three PSGs walked away, back the way they’d come, away from them. The drone zipped upward, refocusing on the rest of the group, like that was that. Back to normal. The group’s silence felt anything but. 

Luis adjusted his rifle and turned to face them, letting the silence settle a bit longer before he spoke. “All right,” he said. “Here’s how this is gonna go. You’re gonna stay in a tight goddamn group. You’re gonna respect the animals, respect this land, and respect that you’re lucky enough to see any of this without immediately being eaten. You are not here to get content. You’re not here to poke or prod or try and score some kind of prehistoric virality. You’re here to observe. This is real life. You’re here to take it in. You’re here to feel small. Understand? Like sheep in a church made of teeth.”

He let that land, exceedingly satisfied with himself.

The bros shifted, sheepish now. The dad tried to stand up straighter, pulling his family closer as they tried to push themselves away from him. Cora looked at him with pity. Dr. Reed had grabbed Cora’s hand ten minutes ago and had not let go since. She squeezed Cora’s hand in rhythm with her heartbeat like she’d done since Cora was a toddler, helping them both slow down and breathe and be present. It worked more for Dr. Reed, these days, than Cora. 

Even the honeymooners nodded, listening. Or maybe they were just still quivering.

“We’ve run this route more than three hundred times for more than triple that amount of people,” Luis continued, softer now, walking as he spoke, encouraging the rest to follow, herding them toward a narrow incline. “Same year, same window, same terrain. You know how many times we’ve had a problem with the pachys?” He held up two fingers. “Twice. Including today. Today, there were baby dinos. Bit out of season, but there’s no controlling nature, is there? Something’s shifted in the field. It happens. That’s time travel, for ya. But here’s what it doesn’t mean. It doesn’t mean the whole tour’s compromised. It just means you all need to pay a little extra attention, because when we come back, we always change things. Just a little. Ripples and shit. You all, well you’re just lucky, I guess. You caught a rare ripple. Not too many people can say they’ve survived a genuine dinosaur attack. But now, all of you can. Let’s keep moving.”

This seemed to fill them with just enough courage to continue. That and the no cancellation, no refunds policy agreements they’d all signed. And that the only ways back home were behind them, where they started, or ahead, where they’re meant to end. What Luis failed to tell them, however, is that the way out behind them was, by now, already gone. Cambria and Marlon used it to get back. And once it’s gone, it’s gone. But maybe they would send replacements, this time, like Cambria told Luis. Epoch Escapes™ was always eager to dole out emergency pay, Luis joked to himself.

Cora watched Luis laugh to himself. She watched them all like she was seeing them for the first time. Or the thousandth. Or the first time after a thousand first times before it.

They crested the ridge. Below them, in a shallow, open basin, an old hadrosaur meandered through the grass—huge, leathery, swinging its head like a wrecking ball on a neck, sloshing its duck-bill through the water, hunting on the perimeter of its sizable herd. 

Behind it, mostly hidden in the trees, a Tyrannosaurus watched. Its chest moved slow. Then fast. Its muscles rippled, stretched, contracted, tightened, coiled.

Luis pointed it out to the group silently, urging them to remain silent, too. They’d all already seen it and decided independently that silence sounded like a good idea.

Then it moved. The attack happened in a blur of instinct and violence. The hadrosaur turned too late. The T. rex broke through the trees like a tank through drywall. The screams were guttural, low and bellowing and pained. Then, suddenly silent. The violence was surgical. Teeth punctured spine. The healthy herd of hadrosaurs scattered. The T. rex held on to the herd’s elder.

Cora turned away. Her mom held her close. Cora looked back. She couldn’t look away.

Luis let them watch for a long time while the T. rex gorged. No one said a word. 

“This,” Luis said quietly, “is why we don’t stray from the itinerary. Almost missed it.”

They moved on quietly, the sound of the hadrosaur’s death still wet in the air behind them. Luis guided them toward a low canyon ridge, taking the long route around. The air cooled slightly here, the shade denser, the ground beneath their boots softer and richer with moss and decay.

Luis slowed his pace. Something had changed in the wind.

“Next zone’s a feeding station,” he said, half-turning. “Safe contact. Smaller herbivores only. If the drone signals yellow, freeze. If it signals red, hit the dirt. If it plays music, relax, enjoy yourselves. That means they’re used to us and all is well. Helps keep them calm. And us.”

“Used to us?” Dr. Reed asked, brow furrowed.

Luis nodded. “Epoch runs cycles of behavioral patterning or something or other. And we’ve been here a lot. Small grazers know the schedule, know the relative safety, know the benefits. Animal’s an animal. It’s not domestication, but it’s close. Closest we’ll get, I expect.”

“What happened to untouched, unspoiled, unaware…?” Cora asked.

Luis ignored her. The dad rolled his eyes. Dr. Reed beamed.

The group arrived at a slight clearing marked by two smooth stone obelisks—clearly artificial, anachronistic set design. Unnecessarily tacky. Tracker descended and began to pulse an ambient harmonic tone. It sounded like a lullaby played underwater. Their watches played it, too.

Moments later, a small group of leaellynasauruses emerged—plum-colored, two-legged, feather-fringed, eyes like glass marbles. They approached slowly, warily, sniffing the air.

“They’ll come close,” Luis said. “But do not touch them unless they touch you first.”

Cora crouched instinctively, her palm open at her side.

“And please, do not crouch,” Luis said.

Cora stood up instantly. One of the creatures—a juvenile, barely waist-high—stepped forward and bumped its snout to her fingers. Her breath caught in her throat. Cora touched its forehead warily. The dinosaur pushed its head into her palm. Cora smiled. Her mom smiled, too. The tension cracked, if only slightly.

One of the honeymooners suddenly gasped.

A leaellynasaurus had one of their lockets in its mouth. 

The leaellynasaures rose their heads aloft on up-stretched necks, looking for the surprise that gasp foretold.

The honeymooners checked their necks, but both were still wearing their lockets.

Cora scanned. Off to the left, half-buried in a wash of silt and roots, was a mangled chrono-pack—its status light long dead, its strap torn open and caught on a knot of twisted wood. Nearby, a helmet. Cracked. Still housing most of a skull. Cora stepped closer. Others followed.

Luis moved fast, pushing through the group. “Don’t touch that,” he snapped, grabbing the helmet without looking inside first. He dropped it. He stopped. He stared.

Because it wasn’t just gear buried in the silt wall. It was their gear. Same Epoch logo. Same brushed chrome polymer. Same backpack, smeared with the same obnoxious sticker one of the bros had applied that morning: Brosaurus Rex. All still attached to his body.

Then another body. And another one. Torn open at the ribs. Dismembered. Decapitated. One of the kids began to cry. The mom consoled him, crying silently herself. His sister clamped both hands over her mouth, hyperventilating. The dad dug his hands into the wall, excavating himself. He had bites taken out of his stomach and half of his face was missing.

Brosaurus Rex knelt by the debris. His hands trembled. “This… that’s… That’s my face,” he said. He reached out and turned the half-preserved skull gently. One eye socket stared back. A loose tooth dangled, gold. “I—I got that filling last year.”

Cora backed away. Her mom pulled her closer. Cora pulled her mom away with her. But Dr. Reed stepped forward, eyes scanning the scene. “These… remains. They’re days, maybe weeks old. Maybe only hours.”

Cora tried to pull her mom away, to get away, to go anywhere else, but they remained.

Luis was pale now, and very quiet. “No one’s reported any—” He stopped himself.

“You’ve done this tour before,” Dr. Reed said, stepping in front of him now. “Same route. Same terrain. Same time window. That’s what you said, right? What if… What if something about this cycle went wrong before, and we’re not here to tour it? I mean, we think or thought we were, but really… we aren’t. Is what I’m saying even possible?”

The dad frowned. “What are you saying?”

Cora answered for her, voice small: “We’re here to stop it from happening. Again.”

Luis didn’t argue. Neither did anyone else. Not because they understood, let alone agreed, they were all too transfixed on the bodies in the canyon wall. Their bodies. The more leaellynasauruses that arrived, the more they rooted through the silt of the wall, exposing more bodies. Each of their bodies. All of them. All of them, dead.

Except for Cora. 

Her body wasn’t there with the others’.

No one really seemed to notice. If they noticed, they didn’t care. 

“We should go, right?” Cora finally said. “This can’t happen if we aren’t here.”

They kept moving.

Luis didn’t bark orders anymore. He didn’t posture or lead. He just walked, fast and tense, glancing at his watch like it might change its mind. The drone lagged behind for the first time, its gentle hum now a wheeze, flickering, flitting along its flight path, struggling to hold signal as the group continued to walk out of ranged, passed itinerary stop after itinerary stop. Tracker pleaded with them to stop, turn around, and behold the majesty of the Alamosaurus pruning the tops of the trees with its long, snake-like neck. Don’t you want to see the Parasaurolophus migration? It pinged, hesitated, then pinged again, questioning Luis, asking if he made a mistake. He’d given up pressing I’m sure. He wasn’t.

“I—I’m done,” said Iguanadaddy. He backed away from the group, unstrapping his gear, sloughing it off like it was burning him. “I’m not just going to keep going. I’m going back the way we came. At least we know what’s back there. Maybe the new guides are there, waiting, you know, with more guns and, like, help—”

Luis stepped forward. “They’re not sending anyone. Stay with the group.”

“Nope. Nah. Fuck that. I’m not some fate meat.”

“Don’t—“ Luis reached for him, but the bro twisted free and took off through the underbrush.

They heard the scream less than thirty seconds later. Sharp. Short. Followed by a much longer silence.

Luis knew they were being stalked. It’d been following them since they left their own bodies behind like an all you can eat buffet. Staying together was the only thing keeping them alive. More of them than it. Something heavy finally moved, whatever dinosaur had been stalking them. A squelching crunch as it readjusted its grip on Iguanadaddy. The patter of feet running away. Then more silence.

They stood there for a long time listening to that silence. Too long.

Finally, Luis bent down and picked up what the bro had dropped—his wristwatch. It flashed red. CONNECTION LOST.

“They’ll see that, right? They’ll be notified, it’ll be reported—” Dr. Reed started.

All of their watches flashed red. CONNECTION LOST.

Luis didn’t look at her. “No, it won’t.”

“What do you mean?” Cora asked.

Luis turned toward them, sunken behind his wraparound shades. “If extraction compromises the timeline—if the loss is too big—they don’t send replacements. They don’t risk destabilizing the pocket any further.”

“What do they do?” asked the dad.

Luis hesitated. “They close the loop,” he admitted.

“I don’t think I quite understand,” the dad said, stomping forward, chest out.

Then, Tracker fell out of the sky and crashed in the distance, somewhere between the Gallimimus murmuration and the three-horned Chasmosaurus mating display.

“What exactly is happening right now?” Dr. Reed asked.

Finally, their shield emitters shut down. The low hum that had been protecting them from exposure and injury was now a silent, useless brick on their chests. 

No one spoke. Even the dad didn’t have a quip ready.

The red glow of the wristbands flickered once, then went dark completely. The canyon was suddenly louder—wind through reeds, insect chitter, something bigger moving somewhere deeper, then something even bigger and deeper than that. Closer. Always right behind you.

Luis ripped the emitter off his chest and tossed it aside. “Gel packs. Now. One per pair. Mask your scent and pray that whatever finds you doesn’t like trying new food.” He dug into his supply pouch and began passing out vials of translucent green gel, each one sealed with a peel tab and stamped with the Epoch Escapes logo like a souvenir. “Apply it to exposed skin, especially neck and armpits. The sweat glands.”

“We only have four,” said Dr. Reed, checking the pouch.

“Five, including mine,” Luis said, then immediately handed his to Cora. “Use it all.”

“But—” she started.

“Use it, all of it.”

They rubbed the cold gel onto their trembling skin when they heard the first screech. It wasn’t close. But it wasn’t far.

Something in the trees trilled in response—higher-pitched, faster. Then again. A third. A fourth.

“Pack,” Luis muttered.

“Wolves?” the dad asked, hopefully, as if that would make it better.

“Raptors,” Luis said. “Coordinated. Smart. Excited. They can smell your breath if you panic. So don’t. Or just try not to breathe.”

That’s when Tricera-topless took off. Full sprint. No warning.

“I’m not dying in a fucking novelty tee!” he shouted.

They barely had time to process the words before they heard the first scream. A wet, tearing scream that ended in a gurgle.

A few seconds later, something hit the tree next to them. Hard. It was his arm and half his torso, part of that novelty tee still attached, still wearing the name tag: Tricera-topless.

Cora didn’t turn away this time. Dr. Reed did, and held Cora tight anyway.

Luis stared into the trees, waiting. Nothing came.

The dad backed away from the rest of the group. “We need to move. Come on, kids. Come on, come on.” His voice cracked. “We can go that way, through the gulley—maybe make it to the lowlands, find Cambria’s return point—”

“There is no return point,” Luis said flatly, “they’ll have deactivated the return platforms just like they deactivated our watches and Tracker. They’ve stranded us here.”

But the dad didn’t hear him. Or wouldn’t. He grabbed his kids’ wrists and started toward the brush. “Stay if you want,” he snapped. “I’m not just waiting here to be picked off like some, you know, like—“

The jungle exploded.

A juvenile predator. Maybe a young Gigantoraptor. Whatever kind it was, it was big enough to knock down a horse already. Its fluorescent feathers gleamed as it shot from the undergrowth and clamped down on the mother’s leg, dragging her down. The kids screamed. The dad fell trying to pull her up. The creature whipped her sideways into a tree with such force her body cracked like thunder.

Luis fired twice. The first shot missed. The second hit the predator in the throat. It stumbled, gargled, and fled. One of its pack members, even larger, caught up to it in stride and pulled the tranq dart from the shot raptor’s neck with smooth, capable efficiency. Tender and caring, like a mother.

The mother didn’t move. The dad crawled to her. One of the kids collapsed on top of her, sobbing. The other just stared at the blood smeared down the bark. The dad whispered nonsense.

Luis crouched beside him, dropped the rifle into his lap. “You’ve got one shot left. Make it count.”

Then he stood. Turned. Walked away.

Dr. Reed followed. Cora stayed for one more second, staring at the ruined family, before following them up the path. Cora nodded for the kids to follow her, but they stayed.

The wind picked up. Something answered it.

In the distance, through a curtain of heat haze, more raptors gathered, their silhouettes bobbing like predatory birds. The family had become statues of grief. The honeymooners held each other, watching the horizon with vacant eyes.

Cora felt a tug at her elbow. Luis was guiding her and her mother up a narrow incline, away from the path.

"Where are we going?" Dr. Reed whispered.

"Somewhere they're not," Luis replied.

“We can’t just leave them!” Cora pleaded.

“We have to. It’s every person for themselves, now,” Luis said flatly.

“I can hold ‘em off,” Cora heard the dad say.

Then, they heard nothing at all.

They climbed in silence, the sounds of the forest below growing distant. Cora's legs burned. The air thinned. The prehistoric sun beat down. The sounds of the others being eaten crept behind them like specters of shame.

“What are we doing? Where are you taking us? If we’re stuck here, if we really can’t get home, what are we doing? What’s the point?!” Dr. Reed pleaded. Cora held her hand and squeezed it in rhythm with her heartbeat until they synced. 

“I got something to show you, I don’t think I’m supposed to know about it, but circumstances as they are, I’m thinking I don’t really care, anymore, and maybe you’re smarter than I am and it’s something good for something. If it’s not, well, like you said, what’s the point,” Luis vented.

After twenty more minutes of climbing, Luis stopped abruptly.

“Look. You see it? Right there,” he said.

Ahead of them, nestled between two ancient rock formations, a patch of air shimmered like heat rising from asphalt. But it wasn't heat, it was something else. The light bent wrong around it, colors shifting, distorting.

"What is that?" Dr. Reed asked, moving closer.

"Temporal anomaly. I mean, I think, anyway,” Luis said, pulling off his wraparounds to reveal tired, bloodshot eyes. “They send me early, usually. Used to have to be sent in pairs, but, you know, budget cuts. So they send me in alone, hour or two or three, sometimes a day before groups like yours arrive. I string the fences, set the scent emitters, get everything all set. Doesn’t take me long, so I got time to explore. The more times I’d come back here, I started noticing something shining up here. I think they show up when you hit the same spot too many times. Like a hole wearing through your favorite sweater. Too much pressure on the same thread. You’d think there’d be more of these thin spots around for how many times they’ve sent people here.”

Cora stepped toward it. “You think we can use it? To get home?"

“Maybe. I don’t know, I’m asking you,” he said. 

Dr. Reed considered it. ”There's no telling where or when it leads."

A shriek erupted from the tree line below. The raptors had picked up their trail.

"We don't have much time," Luis said, checking his rifle. "One shot left."

Dr. Reed pulled Cora close, studying her daughter's face with an intensity Cora had never seen before. "Cora, you need to go through."

"What? No, I'm not leaving you!"

Dr. Reed gripped Cora's shoulders tighter. "Listen to me. There's a reason your body wasn't with the others back there. There has to be.”

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been here before," Dr. Reed said, her voice suddenly steady. “If what we saw is true, and it looks like it is, we all have. Many times.”

“I know,” Cora said. 

They both fell silent, eyeing each other like the other just shouted a thought they hadn’t dared to say out loud.

The raptors were closer now. Luis positioned himself between them and the incline.

"I didn't bring you here for fun, Cora. Not this time, anyway. I don’t know why I brought you the first time, I can’t remember why… this,” she gestured to the prehistoric world around them. She collected herself, continued, “I brought you here this time because, this time, I’m going to watch you escape. You’re going to live.”

"Escape what?" Cora's voice cracked.

"The loop." Dr. Reed's eyes filled with tears. "I've watched you die seventeen times. Each time, I've tried something different. This is the furthest we've ever made it. And all it took was for me to do… nothing. To let you figure it out…”

Cora stared at her mother. "You... remember the other times?"

"Not at first. But each cycle, a little more comes back. Flashes. Like these spots, thin areas in my mind. Like déjà vu, but stronger, more vivid, usually out of order.” She glanced at the anomaly. "This is the first time we've found this before—”

Luis fired his last shot. A raptor screeched in pain, but others followed.

“Then that’s why I’m not with the others… I’m the only one who can get out…” Cora attempted to make sense of it, of anything.

"Go," Dr. Reed said, pushing Cora toward the anomaly. "If I'm right, you'll find a way to break the cycle. Then we can all get out.”

"But what about you, now? This you.”

Dr. Reed smiled sadly, but her eyes welled with hope. "I'll always be with you, Cora. Every version of me, no matter when.”

“But where am I going? When?! I can’t do this without you!” Cora sobbed.

“Yes you can,” Dr. Reed said. It was the whole truth. “And if this… anomaly, if it stays open, I’ll be right behind you,” she lied.

Cora knew it was a lie. But when the first raptor crested the ridge, her instinct took over. She backed toward the anomaly, feeling its strange energy prickling against her skin.

"Mom, please—"

"I love you, Cora. Remember that. No matter how many times we do this. I love you.”

“I remembered,” Cora said, finally blurting it out. “Before we left, that was the first time, but I remembered. I remember. I was afraid I’d mess something up if I said something, if I did something different. I tried to get us to not go, I tried… I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, I’m sorry I couldn’t do it,” Cora cries.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” Dr. Reed cries.

The ridge behind them cracked under clawed feet, closing in with terrifying speed.

Cora wiped tears from her mom’s cheeks. Suddenly realizing, she said, “I think you did. That’s why I remember. You saved me. Now it’s my turn.”

The world exploded into chaos. Luis lunged at leaping raptor with his empty rifle, swinging it like a club. “Get her through!” Luis shouted.

“I—” Cora couldn’t finish. Dr. Reed pushed her hard, sending Cora stumbling backward into the anomaly.

The last thing Cora saw was her mother turning to face the raptors, arms spread wide as if embracing them. 

Then, darkness.

Light. Halogens. Antiseptic air. The hum of climate control.

Cora gasped, her lungs burning as if she'd been underwater too long. She was standing in the Orientation Dome, right where it had all begun. A peppy guide with too-white teeth was handing out cucumber water.

"—and remember, Epoch Escapes is not liable for any temporal anomalies or paradoxical events incurred during your journey," the guide was saying.

Cora spun around. The group was all there. The family of four, intact and oblivious. The honeymooners holding hands, excited and nervous. The three bros with their stupid name tags: Brosaurus Rex, Iguanadaddy, Tricera-topless.

And her mother—Dr. Reed standing by the refreshment table, checking her watch, alive. Cora ran to her, grabbing her arms. "Mom! Mom, we can't go! We have to get out of here!"

Dr. Reed looked startled. “Not this again— What's wrong? Cora, what’s wrong?”

"The tour—it's a disaster. Everyone dies. The shields fail, the raptors—"

"Whoa, honey, slow down." Dr. Reed put her hand on Cora's forehead. "Are you feeling okay? We haven't even started the tour yet."

Cora pulled away, frantic. "You don't understand. We've done this before. You told me yourself! You remembered! Do you remember?!”

Dr. Reed stared blankly at Cora. She didn’t remember.

A staff member approached, a concerned smile plastered on her face. "Is everything okay?"

“I think my daughter's just a little nervous," Dr. Reed explained. "First time-jump jitters."

"Perfectly normal," the staff member said. "I can assure you our safety protocols are—"

"I need to speak to Cambria," Cora interrupted. "She's our guide. Where is she?"

The staff member's smile faltered slightly. "Cambria? Let me check." She tapped her tablet. "Yes, PSG Cambria is assigned to your group today. She's just finishing her pre-tour preparations."

"I need to see her. Now."

Dr. Reed looked embarrassed. "Cora, that's enough. You're being—”

But Cora was already pushing past them, scanning the dome for Cambria. She spotted her by the equipment check station, adjusting her tranquilizer rifle.

"Cambria!" Cora called out.

Cambria turned, her practiced smile already in place. But when she saw Cora, something changed. Her smile dropped. Her eyes widened slightly.

"Cora?" she said, so quietly only Cora could hear.

"You remember," Cora breathed. "You remember, we’ve done this, we’ve gone, do you remember? You left and we all, they all died. We keep dying. I don’t know. My mom said she remembered, now she doesn’t. But last time, maybe that changed things, maybe—”

Cambria grabbed Cora's arm and pulled her behind a display of prehistoric fauna models. "How many times?" she asked urgently.

"I—I don't know. My mom said seventeen, but this is the first time I remember. Or maybe it’s the second, I don’t know. And now she doesn’t. But you do. None of this makes any sense. Did you know, before? Last time?” Cora couldn’t catch her breath.

Cambria closed her eyes briefly. "It's my forty-third cycle."

"What's happening to us?"

"Time fracture," Cambria explained. "A malfunction in the quantum entanglement field. We keep getting sent back to the same starting point." She looked over Cora's shoulder at the gathering tourists. "Same people. Same time. Same location. Different outcomes. Infinite possibilities. Infinite combinations. Sometimes some of us remember, other times none of us, sometimes we all do, sometimes it’s like it’s our first time all over again…”

“How many times have we done this? Why us?” Cora asked softly.

Cambria shrugged.

“But you didn’t die this time. You shoved him in front of that dinosaur, the pachy, on purpose. So you could come back, so you could get out.” 

“Look where that got me.”

“And I didn't die this time. I went through some kind of anomaly, a thin spot or something.”

Cambria's eyes lit up. "You found one of the rifts? Where?"

Cora described the location. Cambria nodded.

“Let’s hope it’s still there," she said. "But we need to be careful. Change too much too quickly, and the timeline tries to correct itself—usually violently.”

“Can’t we just not go?” Cora asked hopefully.

“Tried it,” Cambria said, resigned.

"So what do we do?"

"We need to get to that anomaly again,” Cambria said. "But this time, we need to bring something to stabilize it. If we can get our arrival platform to it, rig some power, I think we can stabilize it. Maybe widen it.”

“Which means, what?”

"If my hypothesis is right, it should lock the anomaly open long enough for everyone to pass through."

"Everyone?" Cora asked. "We can save them all?"

Cambria's face darkened. “As many as we can. Each time I've managed to save someone who died before, someone else takes their place. Like I said, infinite possibilities. Doesn’t just go for the dark shit, you know.”

"My mom," Cora whispered. "She sacrificed herself for me."

“Maybe that changed something," Cambria nodded. "You got out. You got back here. Maybe…”

The overhead speakers chimed. A computerized voice announced: "Tour group Epsilon-7, please proceed to the departure chamber."

Cambria quickly nodded to Cora. “I’ll make up some excuse, me, you, your mom, we’ll stay behind, disassemble the arrival platform. Don’t tell anyone else. I don’t want them to panic like I did the first twenty times. Luis and Marlon, they’ll keep them safe. When we get to the ridge where you found the anomaly, we assemble the platform and…”

“Hope,” Cora finishes.

“Sure, I’ll try anything, at this point,” Cambria said. “Then we all come home.” Cambria nodded like ending punctuation. She walked away, back into her role, her practiced smile returning. "Welcome, Time Travelers," she announced, arms spread wide. "Ready for the adventure of a lifetime?"

Cora looked at the group gathering around Cambria. Dr. Reed sidled beside Cora, wary. Cora looked up at her mother. They held hands, squeezing each other’s in rhythm.

“You okay? Ready for this?” Dr. Reed asked.

This time would be different. It had to be, Cora thought. Cora hoped. Cora willed.

“I’m ready,” Cora said.

As the group moved toward the departure chamber, Cora felt a strange sensation—like being watched by something ancient and patient. Like time, itself, was watching. Somewhere in the Late Cretaceous, through the shimmer of a temporal anomaly, a way home beckoned.

The tour began, again, just as it had begun last time. 

This time, however, Cora knew how it was supposed to end. She refused to let it.