pagenumberAs graves go, you’ll take watery over disembowelly any day. You make it to the river’s bank just ahead of the rampaging tyrannosaur and take the plunge, discovering immediately that prehistoric rivers are the worst. The rapids toss you around like a rag doll as you try desperately to dodge massive chunks of jagged rock and keep your head above water. This is some serious Land of the Lost business, and you don’t even have the benefit of a tiny raft.

As expected, it culminates in a terrifying drop off a sheer cliff (since you pass out long before you reach the bottom, you’re unable to attest to whether it plunges you fully a thousand feet below). You’re halfway across Pangea by the time you regain consciousness on the banks of a much calmer tributary. You did it! Ha! Take that, tyrannosaur!

You locate a warm, hollow spot beneath the roots of a fallen tree and settle in for some much needed recuperation. That whitewater adventure messed you up pretty good. Also, your visit to the late Cretaceous has apparently coincided with the astronomical event that triggered the dinosaur extinction, because later that day all hell breaks loose. There’s a massive explosion over the horizon, and subsequent earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and blankets of ash further complicate your recovery.

Days turn into weeks as you slowly nurse yourself back to health amid the geological chaos. Progress is excruciatingly slow—even as you regain strength, odd things seem to be happening to your physiology. You find yourself getting tired easily, and your belly is increasingly sensitive, particularly around the…

Nipples? Son of a bitch. Betsy’s pregnant.

You were concerned about the history-changing impact of releasing a single dog into the prehistoric wilds, much less an entire litter! Still, what’s the alternative? You’ve worked incredibly hard to keep Betsy alive, and the very idea of putting her children at risk is utterly abhorrent to you. Granted, that might be the canine pregnancy hormones talking.

When you decide to find somewhere else to park your consciousness and ponder your options, you’re treated to another surprise. Whatever temporal mechanism usually connects you to your native time period is also responsible for your ability to jump hosts. The Labrador retriever’s body is now yours, permanently.

Aw, crap. You’re going to have to throw yourself off a friggin’ cliff for the sake of the universe, aren’t you?

If you make the ultimate sacrifice to prevent potentially catastrophic damage to the timeline, turn to page 126.

If you chill the hell out and let the poor dog have her puppies, turn to page 209.

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