There must be a couple dozen of them—no, more. Damn, they're fast! You leap down. The ground shakes almost as much as your fingers and your voice as you call Brett on the walkie-talkie.
"Heads up. We got trouble."
"What's that noise, Guth? I just got the jugs topped off. I'll be back quick as I can."
"No. You'll never make it, Brett." A pang of fear roils your innards as it sinks in that this is true. Already, the horn-heads have gotten close enough that you have to raise your voice to be heard. You quickly fill her in, making sure she understands that the triceratopses are headed at her, too.
"Then come get me." Desperation underlies her matter-of-fact tone.
"Don't know if I can reach you in time. Listen. You've got to take cover. Somewhere. Anywhere!"
"There's an overhanging embankment. Or I can swim downstream. Can you try and turn them, Guth? My rifle's in the Land Rover. No, wait. Focus on saving yourself…and our ride home."
Closer and Closer