The jungle around me is lush, thick, bright green flora and fauna like I've never seen before. I walk, mesmerized by the colors, the oversized flowers and the primitive howls and hoots that encircle me.
It's hot and humid, and I begin to roll up the sleeves of my shirt, realizing that it won't do in this heat. I pull it off, tying it around my waist.
I begin to walk, taking in the scene. Maybe if I get to a higher point, I think, looking at the mountain ahead, then I'll be able to get my bearings.
Trying to think, I open my backpack and grab my emergency radio, placing a call. "Purple Junction, this is Special Op 443, Sergeant Maguire. Can anyone hear me? Anyone at all?" I wait for a signal. Spend ten, twenty minutes messing around with that damn radio, not getting a sound, which makes no sense. This is a high-powered device meant to connect me with the higher-ups no matter where I am, any time, any place.
Fuck, maybe something happened to it when I was in the caves, but that doesn't make sense. As a Special Op, I’m trained to move through land and sea. Nothing should ruin my equipment, but this is ruined all right.
By the time I get to the top of the mountain, I'm exhausted, hungry, angry, growly. I don't know what happened to my team, but I'm pissed that they're not here with me, that we’ve been separated like this.
But when I look out at the top of the mountain, at the valley below, my heart sinks deeper and the fear? Fuck, it begins to grow because somehow in Mexico there are woolly mammoths roaming the woods, there are giant bears growling in the distance. And while I don't see a goddamn dinosaur, the birds that fly overhead are downright Stone Age shit.
I don't know what happened when that cave began to crumble, but wherever I've ended up is sure as hell not 2021.
This land? It's prehistoric.
2
Skylar
With a cardboard box in my hand, I walk the six flights up to my apartment. To say I've had a bad day is an understatement. I reach for the keys in my oversized purse, then grunt in frustration as the key gets jammed. Kicking the bottom of the door, I scream to no one in particular, or maybe to my boss, who just fired me.
I know it's a cliché to say it wasn't even my fault, but it wasn't my fault. I'm not going to stand around and let men talk shit to me while I'm working the register, making them their supersized smoothies filled with pea protein powder and cocoa nibs.
It's ridiculous. These ripped guys come into the smoothie shop next door to the CrossFit gym acting like they are God's gift to the earth. They aren't. Thankfully, I'll never have to see them again because I don't work at Jumbo Juice anymore.
I finally get the key to work and shove open the front door of my childhood best friend Tori’s apartment. She’s let me crash here the last few months after my Craigslist roommate turned out to be a little bit shady. And by shady I mean she was selling her toenail clippings to random men on the Internet.
I should be stressed that I was fired, but honestly, it’s a relief. I've been frustrated with the trajectory of my life for the past two years and this is the kick in the ass I need. Of course, it's not going to help me get an apartment of my own.
"Skylar?" Tori calls out as I enter the apartment, locking the door behind me. It's a safe building, but if you don't keep the doors locked, you're in trouble. Mostly because our annoying next door neighbor Geoff will be coming over, asking if we have any beer. I'm not interested in seeing him today.
In fact, I'm tired of men altogether. They all suck as far as I'm concerned. I've never met a real nice guy in my life, it feels like. My dad was an asshole and a deadbeat. The guys I've dated? All pieces of work. Maybe I have a terrible dick detector. How does one improve their ability to gauge what guy is a good one?
I look at my roommate. She isn't one to ask. She's been blissfully dating Sarah for the last six months.
I need my own place, which is not going to happen, all things considered. Mostly the fact that I don't have a job.
"What's in the box?" Tori asks.
I groan, "Everything that was in my locker at work."
"What happened?" She's pouring herself a glass of pinot grigio from the box that's in the refrigerator. She lifts her Mason jar filled with ice-cold wine. "Want some?"
"Need some," I tell her, taking the proffered glass and taking a sip. I drop the box on the couch. "I got fired."