Betsy’s a good dog—after having access to her innermost thoughts and feelings, you can make that judgement comprehensively—and you’ll be damned if you’re going to let her wind up as a snack for some Jurassic reject. (Technically you’re in the Cretaceous period, which along with the Jurassic and Triassic form the Mesozoic era, but this is no time for paleontology, damnit. You’ve got a dog to rescue!)
You settle back into the familiar environs of the Labrador retriever, which would be nice and cozy if it weren’t for the overwhelming sense of abject terror. You spot a clump of low bushes that might offer some cover, but it’s on the far side of seven tons of apex predator. Is there any chance you could get past the thing? I mean, something that huge can’t be terribly maneuverable, right?
Behind you is nothing but open plains and a nasty-looking prehistoric river. If you run your little canine legs off, you might make it there before the T. rex runs you down. To be honest, though, you’re not sure your chances of survival are any higher in the raging rapids. But at least the water doesn’t have nine inch teeth.
If you run toward the river and hurl yourself in, turn to page 50.
If you try to scoot past the dinosaur and find safety in the shrubbery, turn to page 82.