I pushed myself the remaining thirty feet to the rocky refuge. Just as I reached it, a burst of wind slammed me into the stone outcropping. Stunned, I fell, throwing out my arms. On the ground my groping hands found a recess, a furrow in the base of the rock. Behind me, just a few feet away, I saw the shadowy image of the ground beast, its great head still roaring up at the sky. Was I the gazelle and this the lion about to claim from the hyena its meal? I reached farther into the recess, pulling my body along, but was still exposed to beasts and elements.

I lay flat on my face, embracing the stony ground. I tried to get a grip, to move myself farther, but I couldn’t. My body didn’t work, but my mind did. I’m a realist, a skeptic, I reminded myself. The dinosaur couldn’t be real, the prowling brute couldn’t be real. But my stinging neck and pounding heart and the roars of wild beasts said otherwise. I willed myself to wake up, but I couldn’t. I pressed my eyelids shut and longed for the relief of dreams or consciousness, whichever I wasn’t already in.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself in damp darkness. I spit out sand and heard an echo. Beyond my feet, the barest light came from a two-foot opening. I must have crawled farther than I thought—into a cave. I couldn’t remember.

I was spent, twisted and lying in a heap, too sore to move.

My mind slowly grew more alert, despite a torturing headache. I felt paralyzed in this utterly unfamiliar place. All I’d known was far away. Here, there was nothing else besides me and raging beasts and nature gone mad.

I reached into my jacket pocket, feeling the wet fabric for the box of matches I’d picked up at the cabin. I counted them and swore. Only four. Carefully I struck one against the wet box, three times, then once on the side of the cave. Finally a spark. I blew lightly on the flame, and it came to life.

The back wall was only an arm’s length away from me, while the cave’s height was maybe six feet.

I looked down and saw in the thin ashen dust a boot print larger than my own. Had I blacked out? Had someone pulled me in here from the storm and the beasts?

A gust of wind forced its way into the cave, blowing out the match. I lit a second one and looked at the ground. The print had disappeared. I stared at where it had been just a moment before. Nothing.

I must have imagined it, or maybe it was my own. Yes, I had pulled myself into this place. I had rescued myself, like I’d always managed to do. I was alone—Nick Seagrave, alone again.