65

Thankfully, everything seems to be in good working order. You spend some time loading and sighting in one smooth motion.

Once that's done, you decide to break camp and pack up. You're in the middle of doing so when the ground under your feet starts to tremble. That's oddly disconcerting. An earthquake maybe? Then a low rumble comes from the distant horizon. Uh-oh. This can't be good. At first, all you can make out is a little cloud of brown dust hugging the sparse prairie, headed your way. Wiping sweat from your hands and forehead, you climb on top of the Land Rover. The rumble builds.

Through binoculars, the dust cloud resolves into a herd of bellowing brown beasts—bigger than buffalo—stampeding toward you and the Way Way Wayback Machine. Their feet tear up everything in their path. Their massive heads protrude as though mounted on bony platters, bearing a distinctive trio of horns: two above the eyes and a third on the snout. Those horns point straight at your encampment.

Thundering Triceratopses