Chapter 7: Old Home Week

Light brown eyes watch Naneck sneak along a rocky ledge, and a young woman exhales. Kate Butler treads water in what she assumes is the Black Lagoon. She suspects that a dame is back in the Valley of the Dinosaurs, for Naneck is not new to her. She met that little lizard long ago when a big flightless bird called Tundoor incessantly chased the small reptile for food (E4).

This small pool circumscribed by sheer cliffs is not new to Kate either. It cannot be new to her, for she has envisioned it for twenty years, over half her young life. A time ago, the Butlers bobbed bewildered in the Black Lagoon. Around them, extinct behemoths ambled about the vicinity. Dad's rationality and Mom's steadfastness could not quite master the situation. Katie's humor could not either. And, even her little brother's imagination could not likely reconcile the sights with supposed scientific reality. Who knows what Digger was thinking?

Treading water like today, Katie tried to stay calm. Tiring like today, John's daughter considered survival floating like her dad had taught her to conserve energy. "You can learn all about water safety. It's the smart thing to do" is what she would tell kids, were they watching right now.

Within, Kate wishes that she were in that past moment instead of the 1990s. On that fateful day, Gorak threw down a lengthy rope to the disoriented, drowning Butlers. That lifeline started a beautiful friendship—and also a wonderful captivity that captivates Katie to this day. It shaped the family's future forevermore, and it saved them in that moment. Katie wishes that such a connection would come save her now.

Right on cue, a rope ladder cascades down the cliff face. It halts perfectly before Katie's surprised visage. Some call such devices Jacob's ladder, such as the one that took a man to Heaven. Some call such contraptions a monkey ladder instead.

"Well, I'll be a monkey's aunt," muses Katie. She seizes the life saver and strains her neck to see who stands at the escarpment's summit.

The sun obscures the assistant's identity. He is but a silhouette with a similarly shaded figure beside him. Fate willing, Gorak and Gara are up there. Encountering unknown, contentious cavepeople would suck. Anyway, whoever hauls the hemp and wood upward has huge strength. He manages to draw the stairway at a quick clip. His female companion need not even assist. Big, bare-chested "Alley Oop" provides a boost just fine.

Closing in, Katie discerns, in profile, a wispy beard such as Gorak's, and she is glad to see it. This person could be he. However, in the heliocentric illumination, the helper's halo of hair does seem lighter than Gorak's mane. Of course, Gorak could have gray hair at this point in time. When simultaneously in the last Ice Age and other even earlier epochs, who knows what year it is? This is the Valley of the Dinosaurs.

Vertical distance closes. Once directly overhead, the stone-age knight in shing ardor appears clearly on the overhang. His identity rocks Kate, and she nearly keels backward. But, a sure arm reels her in, and rude hands raise her by the armpits onto the bluff. A bearded Lok—about Kate's current age—beholds her with likewise shock. His blond head shivers with interim amazement—eyes wide and mouth open. Hopefully, he is surprised and delighted to see her. Dr. Butler knows that she is dazed and confused—but ecstatic—at this odd moment.

Then, things get significantly stranger and awesomely awkward.

Lok leans in close as though to lock lips with his long-lost lady friend. Katie anticipates. His limber left limb wraps her waist, still wet with water beneath her clinging blouse. And, the hardy he-man directs her as he will. Specifically, he pulls her safely to his side, and he points to the other woman with him. Astoundingly, she ain't mom Gara or sis Tana.

"You ain't Gara or Tana," Prof. Kate takes the vernacular. Wilma Flintstone would produce less wonderment right now.

Light brown eyes lock in equally befuddled faces. Across from each other, the ladies look at mutually leery expressions. They notice the other's left arm hanging loose but right hand leaning on hip. Each has the same heel lifted. Each has a lean, but healthy, physique alike down to the last ligament and lineament. One woman wears cotton linen and the other furred leather, but each outfit has the same low-cut bustline. One gal has a lighter complexion than the other, but she has perhaps had less tropical sun. Otherwise, the two are living dead ringers before each other.

Lull concluded, the two simultaneously launch into the Twilight Zone theme. Possibly, each even watched "Mirror Image" on the same night years ago.

Cave-Katie adjusts her animal skins, "Are you my twin? You have aged exactly as I have, whoever you are. Talk about a tale of two Katies!"

Dr. Butler chortles at "her" own joke, "I don't know. Are you a clone? I have Scottish colleagues working currently on mammalian cloning."

"Mama mia," Cave-Katie shows concern, "That is a scary thought. Outside of this valley, Earth's intelligentsia have cloned lower lifeforms, like frogs, since the '50s. However, a cloned mammal, such as a sheep or a human, would be revolutionary and worrisome. It would be a 'paradigm shift' to reference Thomas Kuhn's recent work."

"That book came out in 1962," scholar Butler smirks.

"Oh right, I've been here awhile," the cavewoman chuckles. Her laugh duplicates the doctor's.

Not laughing, Lok suddenly shields his mate. With stormy and suspicious look, Lok asks, "Are you a witch?"

"What?" asks Kate.

"A witch," repeats Lok.

"Which witch would one be?" Kate makes clear.

"The witch which wanders waywardly wielding real woe. A dirty deceiver. A lying lamia. A trickster. A wolf in Kat's clothing!" loquates simple Lok, "Did Dino Boy send you?"

"Don't call Todd that, dear," Cave-Katie interrupts, "At this point, he is Dino Man."

"Dynamite," Dr. Butler discourses, "Send me from where? Swim laps at the Laff-a-Lympics?"

"No, the Lost Valley," voices Lok.

"Where's that?" queries Kate.

"I don't recall," shrugs simple Lok. Scholar Butler smirks. (It's the "lost valley"; get it?).

Cave-Katie's skins skirt past her partner, "Okay, we know who and what you are not. Could you please tell the two of us—um—Katie. Who are you? We really want to know. Who? Who? Who?"

The respondent professes, "I'm Kate Butler. My family lived here—for years—until we escaped."

Her mirror informs, "But, the Butlers have never entirely butted-out of this valley. I have lived here for many moons. About nineteen lunar years, if I'm correct."

"But, we did leave," befuddled Katie claims.

Calmly and concernedly, Lok lays a hand upon his Katie's shoulder. He gently presses her to sit, and his posterior joins her.

The simple man suggests, "Sit and tell us your tale, strange woman. My wife is wise. We wish to know who from where did what to somehow get here, for whatever reason, today. After listening, we may take you to our camp or throw you from this cliff. Speak."

Cross-legged, the trio sit in a circle. The ground is a hotseat thanks to the severe sun, and Katie wonders how her bare-legged companions can stand the scorching surface. But, cavepeople are stoics by necessity. And, Katie Butler—whether in pants or pelts—is pretty tough herself.

So, wiping perspiration, the professor imparts, "My family left the Valley of the Dinosaurs in four phases, really. Our flight began when an airplane fortuitously flew over this secluded land [E10]. We assumed that it used a new air route. . . . ."

The sweltering air seems to get wavey and steamy as Katie reminisces.

Katie recalls her crew gathering rudimentary radio components after Tana spotted a strange bird—actually an airplane. By Katie's suggestion, the Butlers built a windmill to power the transmission device. By parental suggestion, the family also assembled sizable shells to spell "S.O.S." in some sure shore sand. Shortly after completion, the contrivances contacted a cargo liner cruising overhead at its set time. Genius jury-rigger John even tapped a message in Morse code.

Then, tempest winds—of which Gorak had warned—toppled the windmill upon the radio and wrecked it. Initially, and for a long time, the Butlers never knew that the aircraft's crew had gotten their signal.

Shaking his head, Lok remembers that episode. His family needed a dam to capture a spring's waters during a time of drought. However, the Butlers continually rebuffed the rustics' requests for help, for they thought their escape from here more important. Eventually, the aforementioned storm destroyed the incomplete dam, and the outsiders realized their affront to their allies. In his head, Lok uses simpler lexicon than the above. The Butlers rebuilt the windmill to run a water pump. And, a good lesson was learned by all.

Lok offers his raconteur some water from his (giant) clamshell canteen. She cups her hands and takes two servings. The aqua eases her dry throat under the slowly setting sun.

Katie continues. Soon after the first experiment, John Butler assembled a glider (E14) that he assured everyone was just as good as any made from Maryland to Maine. Dad and Mother had often flown sailplanes in their aviation club. Upon the Valley's air drafts, John would scout for a route out. And, he spotted one some sixty-five miles overland to an alpine pass. The pass at least led out of the Valley. Beyond that, there was perhaps almost all of Amazonia to still hike.

"Ha-ha" goes Lok.

Gorak's son still remembers when that glider crashed with John and him in it. He has to laugh now. That was the last time that the caveman ever flew. Near him, "heh-heh-heh" chuckles Cave-Katie. She remembers crazy old times in the Valley. Sometimes, those memories seem like the land of the lost.

Licking her dry lips, Katie considers her linen shirt, now dry (except for sweat). It sure is hot out up here on the outcropping. The tale-teller clears her throat and recounts one more known yarn. Soon, she must yet communicate how the Butlers escaped the Valley of the Dinosaurs.

It was around the Feast of Plenty, the cave-dwellers' harvest festival. Around that time, Katie's father had thought about producing some gas. Specifically, the astute and resourceful scientist suspected that natural gas lay beneath a nearby, narrow canyon passage (E16). To that purpose, family and he had constructed a primitive drilling rig. The good tribe, normally very gracious, would not assist efforts, for they feared the Tamurs, a rival tribe who sometimes raided from the other side of the canyon. Long story short, the rig did open the methane well, and a torch magnificently lit it into a huge plume. Butlers benefited by creating a possible beacon to any aircraft flying overhead. The tribe triumphed by gaining a literal firewall within the raiders' usual route.

Reaching for her heart, Cave-Katie nods. The towering flame still burns. Occasionally, she goes to visit it, and it reminds her of Dad.

Current Katie concurs. Dad is a great guy. For example, his efforts extracted the family from the Valley; those efforts at least initiated things. Light brown eyes can behold it now. . . . .

The rain has a remarkable rattle when it is this heavy. And, its collective weight has razed the trail's surface soil—creating a rumbling mudslide. To the side, the Butlers cannot recollect if they have ever encountered one of those before in their Valley exploits. The Earth's surface impressively shoots by after torrential weather snapped it like a sheet. Raised rocks and soil rapidly wreck the trail's end just when Butlers had the end of their ordeal in sight. From their position, they can see the canyon pass that possibly leads to the outside world and Pará state, and they need "only" hike a steep, strenuous one-mile incline to freedom. However, a tropical storm, not unexpected in Brazil, has abruptly flooded the narrow gap as though to flush the Butlers back into the Valley of the Dinosaurs, there to forever stay.

Under a big palm tree, three Butlers do not entirely rue the respite, however. Kim, Katie, and Greg are half-grateful to cool their heels after sixty-five miles in two-and-a-half days. In the kids case, they are shoeless, and their dogs are barking, as are hound Digger's. The trio appreciate the cooling pooled precipitation. They even sit in it a spell. As for Mom, if her feet are a bloody mess in her boots, she maintains a disciplined decorum and stands by her family, stoically studying the situation and her husband. John stands under canopied vegetation closer to the roiled road.

"Well," he shouts over his shoulder, "We can't complain. After sixty hours, we still have our supplies and our lives. Gorak and his group design animal purses and water sacks well."

"Yeah, it's as if a caveman's life depends on them," Katie quips about the equipment.

"And," Dad deems, "The salted and smoked boar has beautifully sustained us when. . . . ."

"Yeah, we haven't been bored with that," Katie contributes.

"When," John rejoins, "Greg hasn't been generously gathering fruit."

"For sure," says big sis, "Far out. And, near the trail too."

An elder gives the evil eye. Sometimes, he has had enough from his daughter the cut-up. Any audience might. But, the cutesy card is the comic relief in this suspenseful series of scenarios from 1974, so smart John Butler understands the science of it. Besides, Greg also provides precocious comments and precious moments, and Digger the dog routinely does some slapstick. So, things stay light and alright, one supposes. Normally, being surrounded by multi-story great beasts would totally scare the granola out of a rational person.

Mother backs her man's morale boost, "We have been lucky—statistically. Large scaly friends have surveyed us from a distance, but they have never taken us for lunch. Konga, the t-rex, ravenous carnivore, has consumed other creatures off-screen. Plateosaurus has stuck to his plants. Overhead, Ardoc, the Pteranodon, has been present but has not peckishly picked us off. Similarly, no hostile humans have tried picking us off. We have not been pestered by the Sky-People [E12], the Jebo hominids [E4], the Tamur raiders, or robber Gondor and his greedy gang [E11]."

"Gee, gangs of the groves by troves," Katie guffaws.

Greg adds, "And, we have encountered no insatiable army ants, a.k.a. Tagas, either. We sure were lucky the last time [E2]. Those amazing buggers can consolidate into sheets on flowing water such as this downpour. Scientific fact."

"Yeah, we would have been a picnic to those ants," callow Katie can't give it a rest. In later years, she sticks to college instructor cracks.

Keeping the conversation on-track, Kim utters, "I'm glad that we all spotted the coming cloudburst. You kids read those red skies well." Proudly, all four Butlers are adept scientists and able survivalists—even the ham. She merits Mom's compliments too.

"Now, we just need to wait for the storm to abate," Greg reckons.

The future ranger reticently reconnoiters the raging channel beyond his safe spot. He reasons rightly that, once the rain stops, the upheaved earth will readily resettle into something traversable. Tropical terra tends to absorb rain readily. Granted, Greg knows that the Butlers will still have to trek over a sloppy, slick, unstable surface into which they may likely sink. However, his family's sharp minds find impressive engineering solutions like magic.

Suddenly, the deluge ends as jungle downpours often do. It just stops in a snap, and the remarkable rumble of rain ceases.

Suddenly, and shockingly, the Butlers hear a helicopter! How are those blades for a sharp engineered solution? The family may finally be saved—if only their ears be accurate!

"Alleluia," Kim expresses optimism first.

"I told you, Mom," Greg announces then, "I mentioned that a chopper could get into the very vegetated Valley even if a plane couldn't [E3 & E10]."

At the Valley's rim, a U.S. Navy Huey comes over the ridge and rises slightly! Its sight is utterly unexpected. Its roar awakens electric optimism in five outlanders. Castaway John cups his hands and calls "over here!" although he knows the crew cannot hear him. However, even an artful intellectual is ebullient on such occasion.

Still, John Butler dresses in khaki, from shoulder to shoe, for a reason. In the mid-century, he is a man's man. Thus, the family's head quickly regains control of his emotions and replaces them with intellect instead. You see, men manage stress and meet challenges. Dads always save the day and their families.

Therefore, John Butler is not a stupid or silly man. He knows. When in the woods, one always keeps a waterproof match—not on the raft—but on his person. Plus, a prudent pop gathers the means for his eventual rescue. For example, he might amass select components—magnesium, sulfur, urine—from salt flats, volcanic lava, and the latrine. They can make a flare. How is John and other eggheads' little secret. But, his method does work whether in the Valley of the Dinosaurs or beyond. He pulls forth a cylinder from his side pants pocket.

Striking a spark on some sheltered tree bark, John smoothly swings a light (of hope) to a tight-wound reed wick, well-made by his woman Kim. The long fuse leads to a hollowed sorghum stalk. Butler prepares to fling it like Brooklyn Dodger Dazzy Vance.

Unbeknownst to awaiting evacuees, the copter pilots have a conversation. Years later, Katie kens not what they said. It remains confidential—but consequential.

"Cap. Majors, we are at the coordinates that the cavepeople gave us," the co-pilot conveys, "According to Gorak, the Butlers go for that canyon crevice."

"Okay, Lt. Murphy," Majors comments, "But, I don't currently see them. Should we land and camp here?"

"Criminy no, sir!" cries Murphy, "That collapsed incline looks calamitous. Conditions would quickly crash our craft."

"Kidding. I'm kidding," Carl Majors confides.

"A c.o. can con a second-in-command," Mike Murphy concedes.

"Cheer up, chum," the captain encourages, "I'm confused too."

"Okay?" Mike murmurs.

"Yeah, crack this conundrum," Carl carps, "How do we have completely clear skies a couple klicks from this locale and then collide with a cluster of cumulonimbus along the same compass point? What cause conjured a cloudburst?"

"Crazy, man, crazy," the lieutenant confirms, "But, this whole search and rescue mission has been a kooky trip."

From the craggy crest, Majors cants the cockpit and descends. Once a little lower, he levels the craft and cruises along the trail's upset crust, the mudslide. Cautiously, he slows the clattering, chattering blades to a crawl and considers parties possibly concealed in the jungle. Unfortunately, such cognizance is old habit for a "sea wolf", a naval combat pilot. Fortunately, Cap. Majors flies an evac, not a sortie, today. Although, this Huey does have certain capabilities.

Clearing his craw, the captain corroborates his colleague's last comment, "Yeah, this rescue has been cock-eyed. Months ago, a Colorado company's cargo plane catches a distress call from one Cap. John Butler, an ex-frogman apparently capable of conquering any cursed conditions. The savvy man even manages to provide a colossal flame plume, a combusting beacon, for subsequent planes to see. Out of courtesy, Brazilian capital Brasilia cooperates with us and allows the U.S. Navy to extract our comrade. We carry out our quest from the Pará coast, Visiting the transmission site, we encounter a crude crowd resembling Cro-Magnons."

"Yeah," the lieutenant cuts in, "Our helicopter creeped out our contacts too. I could tell."

"They hadn't seen one before. The Xingu has its secluded groups," Majors contends, "I am just glad that Gorak conversed with us and disclosed the Butlers' path. He composed a good map with coal and canvas."

"True, her certainly did," Murphy certifies, "At the juncture of the Xingu and the Iriri, we came to the map's indicated rocky tor. Now, we can follow the drawn country path all the way back to the cavemen if need be."

The pilot communicates, "I can see the natural course carved across the caldera, the collapsed volcano."

"Crater," the co-pilot corrects, "I conceptualize that a meteorite, a cosmic body, created this concealed landscape. Something big crashed here like it did in the Caribbean. My budding career has me kibitzing with esteemed oceanographers." Someday, Cap. Murphy commands Sealab 2020.

"Keep your attention on the present, not prehistory," Cap. Majors currently curtly commands his cocky subordinate, "I want to carry Robinson Crusoe and his kin to more comfortable quarters come nightfall. I keep canvassing the canopy, but I don't see any signal fire."

Right on cue, a fat firecracker flies forth. It explodes like on an Independence Day. Coruscation lights the copter cabin. Coolly, Majors cuts speed further and hovers over the settling earth and subsiding water. The helicopter's downdraft pushes flooding aside, for Cap. Majors is so low. However, the rescue pilot dare not risk landing in the muck. And, he does not have to, for flight crews are very used to aerial evac in this era. Without orders, Murphy makes for the rescue basket. He clips the carrier to the hoist's cable. The rig is ready for anything, and so is he.

Murphy espies a man in a massive tree overhanging the mountain trail. Dressed like Jungle Jim, the man hangs over a bough and swings hand-over-hand like a simian. Gray John Butler huffs, puffs, and perspires, but he makes fast progress toward the deliverance. Dad has an unflappable demeanor with brains, heart, and guts underneath—all for his loved ones. He hangs forty feet over a fatal fall for family.

John's family also make an enthused move on—until they abruptly don't. Kim and Katie, in concert, call Greg to get to the chopper. Signaling "follow me", the little man dashes through dense growth with Digger at his side. But then, an unexpected predator appears.

Neebra the sabretooth screams one second before bounding through breaking brush. The broad body biffs the boy aside before he can react. Digger barely dodges. Caterwauling, the crazed carnivore circles speedily through the scrub, stalks snapping staccato. Seemingly, it would play with its prey a sec before consumption. On the ground, Greg gapes at the blurring beast approaching.

Bold Katie steps between her brother and her bowser; briskly, she bends back a solid branch and rapidly releases it. The wood bats the cat right in the puss, putting the hunter off its game. Big sis grasps Greg and pulls him upright. They bolt with the beast barely a fragment from their exposed feet.

"That tactic would only work in fiction," Kim declares. She dashes toward danger, toward the kids and the big cat.

The tiger, oh my, easily outpaces the fleeing duo and their little dog too. In stride, the sabretooth leaps the distance to the scampering siblings. Neebra knocks Katie flat at the rainforest's fringe. She falls face-down into filthy saturated soil—that then gives. The ferocious cat and flummoxed Kat slide flailing down a slippery slope to the soggy escape route. Fortuitously, Katie catches a stone (in the embankment) that stops her. Unfavorably, force flings Neebra across the unstable muck where the tiger spins-out separated from an attractive snack. Not mucking around, Neebra clops claws like cleats back toward Katie Butler.

Like a funny Flintstone, Katie raises her froth-topped mug, and she flicks the foam from her face. "Hey, Smilodon gracilis, a tiger won't catch this girl by the tail," she teases. The cat doesn't have Katie's tongue yet.

The fuming feline fights the fudgy fairway floor. Incensed eyes and bared incisors progress ominously at Katie. But, from above, a pork piece pings the puss and gets its attention. Greg pitches hard jerky at the horrible beast. Perhaps, the apex predator will prefer an easier meal. And, besides, the food's salt could choke a horse or, hopefully, a prehistoric horror. The killer kitty does catch a few bits with its mouth like a home mouser.

Desperately, Kim hurtles herself to her daughter. Impressively, she surfs the slight slope while staying upright. At Katie, her eyes and index indicate "go!" up the trail's edge to rescue. Right nearby, Neebra flexes its powerful legs, and the frightful feline threatens the imperiled women. Flying through the air, daring Digger drops upon the beast's back and nastily bites its neck nape. Apparently, the hound would have them death-defyingly fight like cats and dogs. Digger has developed courage since their last encounter (E15).

A height overhead, John Butler hears nothing over the Huey's hefty hum. He cannot heed the hue and cry of inaudible hubbub. Otherwise, John would certainly help in a hurry. Instead, he hauls heinie for the helicopter.

Before Butler, he sees a young lieutenant looking concerned. In the aircraft's open side, the fresh-faced rescuer hectically lowers a litter from a hoist. The long line delivers a basket to which Butlers may bolt. John smiles broadly, but he notices the officer chewing his lip. The clan leader looks over his shoulder. The sight disquiets him. Staring southwest, sweat seeps down his scared face.

Then, all Hell breaks loose on the helicopter's other side, the east. Godon the Super-Rex arises (E3)! Up from the jungle, twenty-meters-high, head and shoulders in the sky, Godon crashes through the forest canopy. Lumber, fruit, and small arboreals go flying! The leviathan lets loose a raucous and reverberating roar. The super-rex must have been squatting and still all this time. Godon must have migrated up here from the Valley of the Three Giants over time.

In the chopper, Cap. Carl Majors gawks despite his usual discipline. A shipman sometimes spots whales, and a sub-mariner occasionally encounters enormous octopi. However, maritime Majors has never gazed upon an extinct gargantuan still extant in 1974. The incredible sight enthralls, intrigues, inspires Majors to no end. And, he must tell good colleague Dr. Quinn Darien about it soon. If he survives. Someday, they will serve on the Calico together—associating with Godzilla.

However, Cap. Carl Majors does not know his future. He only knows the thrilling present before him.

Similarly, Godon knows only the exciting gift presently before him. A mere moment before, a mass of mastodons moves past the monstrous meat-eater—inactive and immobile as an unassuming mound. The herd peacefully moseys west—until elephants alert. Enormous ears hear a tremendous threat arise and crash its vast mass through the treetops. It trumpets like Typhon the Titan and takes after its mammoth meal. The "longnose Gondos", as Gorak would say, stampede through the forest. Wood breaks by the panicked pachyderms' passing. Ten trunks "timber" in the collective terror. Godon's running feet shatter trunks and trees too.

From a hundred feet up, Cap. Majors observes the tremulous timber with something extraordinary beneath it and something incredible above it. Charging Godon looks like grim news. So, Majors grits his teeth and consults his instincts (actually ingrained training). When in doubt, sea wolves should. . . . .

"Murphy!" Majors clamors as from a crow's nest, "Man the gunner position now!"

Murphy grumbles to himself. Normally, an evac crew is two pilots, one crew chief, and a gunner. The two sailors are doing double-duty on this special mission, and that deficit could cost civilian lives. Where is G.I. Joe when you need him? Probably on Army assignment somewhere.

Unhappily, the lieutenant halts the hoist and leaves the Stokes basket hanging near the ground. (Safety first when operating equipment, kids). The evacuees may just be able to reach it. Murphy rushes to the eggbeater's opposite side. He slides the door. He undoes the safety sear on the machine gun.

Murphy kvetches in his headset, "Captain, we could acquire the Butlers right now. And, they need us to. You wouldn't believe what I'm seeing over there. A sabretooth tiger!"

Majors coughs into his radio and points to clue in Murphy.

The lieutenant looks. He is convinced, "Okay, I wouldn't believe what you're seeing." He raises the M60.

Then, ten things occur sequentially.

Cap. Majors estimates that the rescue basket rests too high to help Butlers, so he abruptly drops a little altitude. The Stokes basket smacks in the slop and the line goes slightly slack in the slowing slough stream.

This action appallingly affects Murphy's aim. Even automatic fire cannot be accurate after the adjustment. Bullets buzz the beast, and bright tracers tantalize the t-rex who stops bedazzled. Blazing ammo abuses the canopy around the colossus. But, not one lethal round hits home. It is as if the animal exists in all-ages animation or something.

In turn, Godon turns to go home.

Holding hands, Kim and Katie clop into the road glop, gooey and slick. They prop each other up and wish that they could merely hop across the sopped soil. Plop-by-plop, they plod and slip-slide forward. Growing impatient, Katie drops her grip. She belly-flops atop the oozy mud crop and attempts swimming chop-by-chop. Kim says stop and throws a leather strop. Katie cops the strop and opts to pop her mom to her in the slop. They swap looks. They are about to shop ideas when the ground popples with approaching trouble.

Treetops topple toward the muddy trail, and mastodons stampede over the slippery slope. Suddenly on super-slick ground, the herd splits, spins, spills, skids, and shoots like pinball played with 12,000-pound objects. Six-ton tipsy titans—in a tizzy—threaten to take-out three valiant souls and one vicious tiger. And, a useful, life-saving litter too.

Kim plucks and pulls Katie to her. The mom prays over her daughter. Promptly, an errant elephant plows plush mire before it, and the pile plashes over the huddled pair like wet plaster. Nigh providentially, the prodigious beast skates overhead without falling like a pancake press.

Concurrently, a whirling jumbo skids beneath the whirlybird's skids and downdraft. The blasted beast tangles in the hoist line! Skiing backwards, the "darned" Dumbo drags the sea wolf sailors downhill. Pilot Majors struggles to perfectly ply the propellors without plummeting. Partner Murphy, pupils wide, prepares to perish. But, with plethoric luck, the pulling creature brings the basket exactly to Kim and Katie's position. Pretty good, eh? The problematic passenger unwraps its trunk and almost placidly pads from slippery paste to firm forest perimeter. And, it passes placidly into the jungle.

That mammoth's mates manage greater mayhem. But, to the Butlers' benefit. Like Browns blockers on a Bengal, the hurtling hulks knock Neebra about down field. No dummy, Digger dislodges his bite and leaps clear. Snarling, Digger seemingly smiles (self-satisfied) at the Smilodon, unsuccessfully in sating its stomach. A mass of mastodons slams the screeching cat, stifle any escape of the truculent tiger, and smother the savage sabretooth as the whole dog-pile tumbles to dicey incline's denouement.

Digger daintily turns as the helicopter's downwash harshly directs dirt and water at him. He sees master Greg at the mudslide's margin, for the boy has descended the hill to his dog. Awash in spray, the faithful cur carefully fights a furious crosswind. A nudge north, an exclaiming mastodon stands mired in mountain road. Greg and Digger both see and hear it. It struggles madly to free itself—until it abruptly does. Like a baying hound, the hairy horror rolls over and wends wild-eyed over ground. The brash boy boldly goes. Greg glissades to Digger, and they both dodge the great beast barreling by.

By chance, John Butler sits overseeing the scene. He shall scold his son momentarily. However, presently, Mr. Butler balances his ballast on a long, bendy branch and dips himself to Greg and Digger. He secures them. Although, he knows that the bough won't nicely rebound to the same safe height, not with all this weight.

But, John need not wait long for rescue. The chopper's rotors roar forward and upward. The force raises the buried litter and its occupants. Majors pulls the madams from the mud, and Murphy activates the hoist equipment.

Coughing crud, Katie the constant quipster cracks, "Now that's what I would call women's liberation." She will be okay. And Kim too.

At the lift's twelve, the basket briskly approaches the other evacuees. Their escape plan is uncertain. Perhaps, Murphy can raise the rescued gals fully, and Majors can then circle back.

But, John Butler quickly calculates. His internal abacus assesses the odds for his engineering mind, an intellect often essential in the Valley of the Dinosaurs. It will save his family one more time.

Sans hesitation, John throws Digger the shortening distance between the basket and the branch. Next, he tosses Greg to deliverance. Digger is lighter than Greg and will travel farther, and he is also an animal, less important in experimentation (although the senior scientist never later expresses this thought to his sentimental son). As the stretcher passes, John smoothly steps onto it and stolidly surveys his saved loved ones. The straining set-up should take six hundred pounds. Mr. Butler hopes. Lt. Murphy hopes too for the whole heap. And, may no ravenous Pteranodon swoop in for snacking at the last minute, by Murphy's law.

Aloft in the sky. Elated to be free. Optimistic for the horizon. After extended adversity, the excited Butlers ride off into the early afternoon heavens.

At sunset, twenty years later, Cave-Katie claims, "I'm a little skeptical of some details, especially at the end. The narrative slides slightly from sci-fi toward tall tale. But okay."

"You are convinced that all's copesetic?" current Katie inquires.

"No contest," the double confirms.

Lok moves to leave the outcropping and lead the stranger, now befriended by the cave-dweller, back to the village. He knows that his Katie is clever and that he can trust her.

All stand. Cave-Katie claps her hands once and cordially smiles. "Alright," she coos at Kate, "I have an escape story too. I shall share it while we ride to our rustic residence."

Dr. Kate Butler looks bewildered. How this cave chick has an escape story—when she is right here—is beyond Dr. Kate Butler.