"Excuse me," one of the first-class passengers, a large and inordinately sweaty man, said. "Are you telling me that we've gone back in time?"
"I didn't say anything of the sort," Hector replied. "I just said that, wherever we are, there are Pteranodon here, too."
"Maybe some rich guy cloned himself some dinos," suggested one of the flight attendants.
"That wouldn't explain how we got from the North Atlantic to here," Captain Tippett replied.
"If we're back in time," said a red-faced man in an expensive suit, "let's look around for people. We can't be long before the Flood."
"We can if it never happened," Maya Warren muttered under her breath.
Hector rolled his eyes. "The Flintstones was not a documentary," he said.
"Enough of this," Captain Tippett said. "We can worry about where and when we are later. Right now, the clock is ticking."
"What clock?" Sweaty asked.
"The survival clock," the captain replied. "On average, people can survive three hours without shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food. Let's work on hitting the reset button on those numbers; then, if we really want to, we can take up your little discussion."
"How about we check those mountains over there?" asked the leader of the garage band. "Might be some caves we can use, at least for a while."
"Good idea," the captain said. And the band mates set off, leaving me to think, I live just down the road from at least one of these guys; and, if they save my life, I don't even know what their names are.
About an hour later, they returned. "There's a good-sized cave up the mountainside," said the boy. "And there's both a stream and a river close by."
"Good men. We'll use the stream for our drinking water; the river water may have silt in it. Lead on, boys; let's see what you've found us."