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.