During the twenty-minute flight to the habitat, I do a ton of thinking. I'm aware of the seismic activity in the last six months. I know how the earthquakes affected the native wildlife, pushing the creatures over the edge, driving them out into the open, making them more dangerous.

We fled, but that may not save us.

With the talk about Jude, and Abraham's opposition to him, Eve and I sit on a fence, and I don't know which side we'll end up on. I trust Abraham, and I think Eve does to a degree, but she's growing weary of hunkering down in a perilous environment. Jude awaits a message from us, our decision to stay or go. Run or hold on tight. And I fear my news about the caldera lake will push Eve in a direction I'm not ready for yet. I feel like I'll have a fight on my hands, and I don't know if I can sway her once she decides. That's something I'll have to face when I get home. I have to get there first.

I departed home five and a half hours ago, and I promised Eve I'd be back before sundown. Having left mid-morning, it's now three o'clock in the afternoon. At the dawn of spring, the sun is staying out later but I'll push it with my four-hour flight home to Mount Joffre. Especially after I stop at the habitat.

The tracer craft flies past the tree line, marking the end of this section of the vile forest. As I slow to a hover near the hab's back door, the turbines shift to vertical, waves of hot air blasting over the tall grasses of the open plain.

I turn my attention to the habitat's rear door, built from forest timbers. Seeing the enormous structure straddling the Yellowstone River like a bridge makes me second guess any thoughts of returning. It never dawned on me how dangerous the hab's position looks. When we lived there, it was home. Now, it appears treacherous to even venture inside. Eve was right. A powerful earthquake could knock that thing into the river.

However, I can't help making a sweep through the hab to see if there's anything useful for home. With the tracer hovering, I glimpse swift movement out of the corner of my eye. I twist my neck and spot a pack of vile wolves charging out of the forest. It's a replay of the last time I was here. Except now there aren't any juvenile rhino-bears—there are only two full-grown adults chasing the smaller wolves. And then there's something I've never seen before, a flock of giant birds. As the flapping creatures make their approach, I realize their wing span stretches as wide as the tracer craft. They look like eagles or condors. I remember before the flood when Eve was studying the largest predator birds of the world. The Andean Condor was the biggest, weighing in at over thirty pounds, its wing span almost ten feet from tip to tip. But that would measure only a third of the tracer's size. These birds weigh more than me and can knock my craft out of the sky. With a giant swat.

Moments before they reach the tracer—a loud, mechanical beast in the air—one of the giant birds swoops down and latches its talons onto the back of a vile wolf. It lifts the canine off the ground as it howls and lurches to get free, but to no avail. The pterodactyl-sized condor soars high, hundreds of feet straight up, and releases the wolf. The startled canine plunges toward the ground and smacks it with a sick wallop.

More birds sweep down and feed on the dead animal.

Distracted by the carnage, I'm surprised when a rhino-bear plows through the middle of the feeding frenzy, snatching a bird by the neck and flopping it around like a rag doll. As soon as the bear clears the chaos with its prey locked in its jaws, the rest of the birds rush back in on the wolf.

My gaze whips up to see another flock of the vicious... enormous... vile condors coming straight for me!

I swivel the turbines to horizontal and spin the craft around. I'm intent on roaring in the opposite direction, but a giant wing slaps the fuselage from the other side. A foot-long beak punches through the sphere-shaped fuselage, fracturing the polycarbonate in every direction.

The vile condor tries to wrench itself free, but its beak won't break loose.

The size and weight of the bird drags the tracer's port side toward the ground, turning my world into the deck of a sinking ship.

I power up the left turbine, countering the drag, but the violent flapping of wings rocks everything around me. I see and hear feathers crashing and talons scratching at the bottom of the craft.

The shoulder straps of my seatbelt dig into my chest as the port wing shifts toward the ground, the creature's beak lurching back and forth, caught in the polycarbonate. The sample kit and my rifle, and other loose objects bounce around the interior like shrapnel.

The vile condor rips its beak free and falls away.

The sudden loss of drag combined with the increased power surging through the port turbine, sends the tracer spiraling left wing over right, corkscrewing toward the ground. I fight to counter the swift plummet, but I can't overcome the momentum.

The craft hurls downward and smashes into the tall grass with a thunderous crash.

My head and body lurch toward the fractured polycarbonate, but my seatbelt jerks me backward, my arms and legs stressing at the joints. A hard object lashes across my forehead and my vision blurs. The craft comes to an abrupt halt, leaving me hanging upside down, my awareness spinning in a dizzy circle.

When my eyes open, my view sways like a ship on an angry sea.

Something warm and wet runs through my hair and pain knifes through my forehead, radiating over my skull.

I don't know how long I hang upside down, maybe several seconds or minutes, but the more blood rushes to my head, the worse it hurts. With a groan, I fumble for the seatbelt latch, missing it once, twice, three times. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my subconscious makes me aware of what will happen when I click the latch free. But the crash has delayed my reaction time, and when it pops loose, I drop like a rock. My hands shoot out to break my fall, but my arms bend under my weight and momentum, my forehead crashing into the splintered fuselage. I strike the tracer's ceiling and pain rips down my head and neck as I roll over and come to rest on my back.

The movement draws attention to me.

A huge beak slams into the weakened polycarbonate like a sledgehammer. It gives me a sense of how large the bird is. It's big enough to bite me in half.

I lurch into action, my vision wobbling as I turn over and rise to my hands and knees.

I search the cabin for my rifle, but spot the sample kit with the vials inside. The metal case rests next to the hole where the vile condor had punctured the fuselage. I reach for it, but the beak jabs through the hole, stabbing the space where my hand used to be a split second before.

The beak juts through the hole again, and I time my grab as it pulls away, finding the case and yanking it to safety, tucked under my arm.

The rifle.

My eyes dart about the upside down craft.

I spot the weapon, but as I start for it, the giant bird nudges the tracer with its head, twirling my world like a spin top.

I tumble away from the weapon and land on the hole. The breach is large enough to stick my arm through. Thankfully, the creature stands on the cabin's opposite side as I collide with the other; the spin forcing me away from its vicious beak.

Growls, howls, and roars claw at my ears as rhino-bears and vile wolves battle for supremacy. Mixed with the chaos, screeches and flapping wings larger than my body slash through the air in every direction. But my focus returns to my escape.

With my back against the hole, the bird—resembling a condor—lowers its head to peer down at me. It narrows its eyes, like dark slits, desiring to cut me in two.

That's when I spot the stock of my rifle, laying between me and the bird.

With the sample case pinned against my side, I dive for the gun and secure it as the condor bumps its head into the wing. The collision spins the craft and sends me crashing into the upturned seat. I ricochet off and fall back against the fractured shell.

When the tracer comes to a stop, the bird stands perched on its massive talons, which are large enough to squash my head or rip my guts out. It stares down at me, having twirled me around closer to its savage beak and the gaping feeding hole next to my body.

The creature rears back and stabs its swordlike beak through the breach, missing my ribs by inches. I roll to the other side. For an instant, I struggle to find the door handle in my inverted environment.

There it is!

I paw at it, but it doesn't open. After a few precious seconds, I realize why. I'm upside down, trying to open it as if I were right side up.

Instead of pulling down, I yank up and the canopy door swings out. It bounces off the farthest limit of its hinges, slamming back in my face. As the condor pokes its beak through the hole behind me, jabbing, shaking its head back and forth, trying to widen the breach so it can get to me, I claw up at the inset handle. This time, on my haunches, I leap through the opening, landing in a tumble, case under my arm, rifle in my other hand. When I come out of the roll, I stumble, my world tipsy from being spun around by the bird.

But I'm free and running, glancing back, seeing the vile condor swoop over the upside down craft. It lands on its talons, slinging dirt up as it pursues me with a glare that a predator gives its prey moments before it tears it apart.