Free Jake Ransom and the Howling Sphinx by James Rollins

right leg slipped, and he went sprawling on his belly. It felt like sliding for home plate across broken glass. But that was the least of his problems.
    He rolled onto his back.
    Four yards away, the pack’s scout leaped up in the air, sailing high. Its scimitar hind claw flashed in the sunlight. A hunter’s scream burst from its throat as it cocked its head at its prey—
    â€”and dove straight for Jake’s belly.

8

PRINCE OF THE SANDS

    Jake rolled as the velociraptor fell at him. He also swung out with his backpack and hit the beast in midair. The weight and impact knocked the monster’s leg to the side.
    Claws hit the sand beside Jake’s head.
    Jake scrambled up the neighboring slope on his back, avoiding the blue daffodils.
    The raptor whipped around and snapped at him. Jake shoved his pack between himself and the beast. Razor-sharp teeth tore into the backpack and ripped it open with a toss of the raptor’s head. The contents spilled out: Jake’s flashlight, his Nintendo DS, an extra roll of toilet paper.
    The distraction of a roll of Charmin unraveling down the sandy slope allowed Jake to scramble another few yards uphill. He found himself eye to eye with the raptor, close enough to spot the tiny openings of its ears. Other members of the pack gathered below, ready to share in this meal. Tails swished in anticipation of the kill.
    Jake lifted the remains of his shredded pack like a shield.
    The scout grinned, its jaws gaping wider, teeth glinting.
    It stepped toward him.
    Suddenly a warbling trill rose all around.
    The raptor froze—so did Jake.
    The blue daffodil to his right exploded like a geyser. But rather than plant roots, a skinny shape leaped out of the sand. A cloak billowed, showering sand over Jake’s head. From under the cloak, a small man or a boy appeared, landing on his feet, bearing aloft a long spear. Down the slope on both sides of Jake, eruptions of sand produced more cloaked figures.
    The first one shook back the cowl of his cloak. Most of his head remained hidden beneath a hooded leather mask that covered head, eyes, and nose. The hunter was equipped with a set of goggles fitted to a periscope—a scope camouflaged to look like a daffodil. He spit out a breathing tube that ran up the stem of the scope. The periscope must allow the hunter both to see and breathe while buried.
    With a war cry, the small hunter lunged at the raptor with his spear.
    Others hurled what looked like ripe tomatoes at the rest of the pack. Where the fruits hit, they detonated with loud
bang
s. A few exploded into flashes of fire. The pack of raptors—already skittish after the ambush—leaped insurprise and fled.
    The cloaked hunter and the lead raptor were left, circling each other. The fighters looked evenly matched. The hunter would thrust out with his spear, but the raptor would dodge and snap, catching only air.
    As they continued their deadly dance, the other hunters chased after the pack, yelling, lobbing more firebombs.
    Below, the small hunter continued his solo battle with the lone remaining raptor. Had the ambushers trapped this one beast, separating it from the pack on purpose?
    By now, Jake’s friends must have realized he was missing. Or maybe they heard the commotion and bomb blasts.
    Kady yelled from a distance. “Jake! Where are you?”
    Jake feared hollering back, afraid it would distract the hunter from his deadly battle with the raptor. Only yards away, human and beast circled, mixing feints and attacks, parries and blows.
    Then the hunter made a misstep. He danced back, and his heel hit a loose rock—the same one Jake had tripped on earlier. Losing his poised balance, he fell hard onto his backside. The butt of his spear jarred deep into the loose sand of the dune.
    The raptor lunged, jaws wide.
    Jake slid down the slope and screamed with all his might.
    The raptor’s attack faltered. The hunter retreated, abandoninghis spear. Jaws