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By the time I’d established a camp in the covered breezeway of the Luxor obelisk—“Cleopatra’s Needle” it was called, at least according to a bronze placard on its wall—and bound her hands and feet, the sun had set and a slight rain had started to fall; something I fully welcomed after so much time in the desert. As to whether the girl welcomed it also, who could say. For even though I set her near the opening (as well as the fire) and provided her my own bedroll to sit on, she only continued to glare—probably due to us eating in front of her; for I had decided, though you might think it cruel, that I would starve her into speaking, if necessary. Which, of course, she finally did—speak, that is—although only after a considerable time, saying, hoarsely, yet clearly, assertively, “Is this some kind of torture? I mean, don’t you have to feed prisoners before killing them? Isn’t that what the Geneva Convention says?” I looked at her through the flames, saying nothing, even as Kesabe snarled. At length I carved a piece of meat from the spit and dropped it on a paper plate, which I carried around to her—but didn’t hand over. Instead, I knelt and sliced off a single bite-sized morsel—then held it close to her nose. “Trade,” I said, matter-of-factly. “One bite per something about you. It can be your name. Where you’re from. How you’ve survived ... Just talk.”
Wordless graphic novel.
Welcome to the Big Empty, the world after the Flashback ... a world in which most the population has vanished and where dinosaurs roam freely. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere and all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same--for this is a world whose very purpose is to change you: for better or for worse. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood ... and beauty. Do it today ... before the apocalypse comes. * * * “You’re a fool, Nick Callahan. A fool. But I suppose you already knew that.” I allowed my hand to drop before plunking down in the fir needles and just staring into space. “There was nothing. I saw nothing. It—it was like he didn’t even exist.” She sat down next to me and exhaled, tiredly. “He’s an animal—what did you expect?” She picked up my glove and offered it to me, but I didn’t take it. “You said it yourself; it’s like they see memories. The eyes. I don’t imagine a dog has a particularly long one. Do you?” I sighed. All I knew for certain was that I felt numb and more than a little tired. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I expected. Or what I was looking for. An incident, maybe. Some kind of clue.” She laid her head on my shoulder and stared at nothing, same as me. “What kind? A clue to what?” “That’s just it—I don’t know. A clue to what might wake him up, I guess. Something I could say. Something that was important to him.” “His butt was important to him,” she said. “A source of endless fascination.” I had to smile. That’s when it happened. That’s when he yelped, ever so slightly, and his paw twitched. I looked at Lisa and she looked back. And then my hand was on him and we were running—Puck and I—down cobblestone lanes lined with streetlamps and through pools of foggy light; through tides of rusted Maple leaves, which leapt and swirled as we passed. “What is it?” I heard Lisa say, her voice growing smaller, more distant. “What do you see?” I turned to look at Puck as we ran and saw his tongue loll and his eyes shift—as though he wanted to look behind himself—behind us—but didn’t dare. “Fear,” I said. “Confusion.” An image entered my mind of a dug passage beneath the rear wall of the T.J. Maxx; of the turkey-like thing crawling through it with Puck hot on its heels. “He escaped from beneath the wall and now he’s lost somewhere in the fog. And he’s terrified … but of what I don’t know. It’s almost like—wait a minute. Wait a minute.” I looked behind him—having heard something huffing and snorting—and saw a fully-grown therapod dinosaur (colored orange and black, like a Gila monster) bounding after us in the dark, gaining rapidly. “There’s something coming—some kind of predator. An allosaur, I think. Whatever it is, it’s closing, and I mean fast.”
Geared towards a broad variety of students, Dinosaurs: The Textbook, sixth edition, is a concise and lucid presentation of the biological and geological concepts of dinosaur science. It clarifies the evolution, phylogeny, and classification of the various species while modeling the best approach for navigating new and existing research. Revised to reflect recent fossil discoveries and the current consensus on dinosaur science, this text moves through the major taxonomic groups—including theropods, sauropodomorphs, ornithopods, ceratopsians, pachycephalosaurs, stegosaurs, and ankylosaurs—and concludes with updated chapters on the behavior and extinction of the dinosaurs, their biological relationship to birds, and their representation (or misrepresentation) in art, literature, film, and other forms of popular culture. The sixth edition represents a major revision of the leading text for an introductory course on dinosaurs, including comprehensive updates based on the latest scientific discoveries, research, and literature. With an extensive art program revised by leading paleoartists that features cutting-edge illustrations, it is a complete reader-friendly pedagogical package with extensive end-of-chapter summary tools, review questions, a detailed glossary, a dinosaur dictionary, and a comprehensive index. Please visit our supplemental materials page (https://cup.columbia.edu/extras/supplement/dinosaurs-the-textbook-sixth-edition) to find study and teaching aides for both students and teachers using Dinosaurs: The Textbook, sixth edition in class.
Welcome to the Big Empty, the world after the Flashback ... a world in which most the population has vanished and where dinosaurs roam freely. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere and all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same--for this is a world whose very purpose is to change you: for better or for worse. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood ... and beauty. Do it today ... before the apocalypse comes. * * * I looked at the nearest mount, a triceratops head with a broken horn (and a frightful visage), wondering what the circumstances of its death had been. Had it been charging—with the Flashback in its eyes, perhaps—and thus aware that it had an opponent? Or had it been unaware, just mulling its soft grasses, until the bullet entered its brain? “No,” I said, finally, turning my attention back to him. “Can’t exactly say as I am. It—it’s never seemed like a fair contest to me.” I jerked my leg against the chain—twice—to make a point. “Does it to you?” “Pshaw,” he protested. “You speak as if we’re enemies. As though this were some contest between you and I, personally. On the contrary, Mr. Hayes. It’s a collaboration.” I’m afraid I just stared at him. At last I said: “Okay—why not. I’ll bite. What are you talking about?” “I am talking, Mr. Hayes …” He stood and began pacing the length of the table. “—about legend. About myth and memory—and the securing of one’s place in the natural order of things.” He withdrew something from his housecoat as he walked—a pipe; but didn’t light it. “Posterity is what I’m talking about. A place at the table of the gods. That, and endings. Inevitabilities.” He paused and struck a match. “One last and penultimate hunt.” He lit the pipe and waved out the match, then turned, slowly, regarding me through a cloud of smoke. “Atatilla, is what I’m talking about. Queen of the Mammoths. The, ah, Leviathan of the Steppes, as they say. I intend to kill her. And you, my lost and wayward friend, are going to help me. By acting as my driver.”
First came the time-storm, which erased half the population. Then came the Dinosaur Apocalypse … How did it all begin? Well, that depends on where you were and who you ask. In some places it started with the weather—which quickly became unstable and began behaving in impossible ways. In still others it started with the lights in the sky, which shifted and pulsed and could not be explained. Elsewhere it started with the disappearances: one here, a few there, but increasing in occurrence until fully three quarters of the population had vanished. Either way, there is one thing on which everyone agrees—it didn’t take long for the prehistoric flora and fauna to start showing up (often appearing right where someone was standing, in which case the two were fused, spliced, amalgamated). It didn’t take long for the great Time-displacement called the Flashback—which was brief but had aftershocks, like an earthquake—to change the face of the earth. Nor for the stories, some long and others short, some from before the maelstrom (and resulting societal collapse) and others after, to be recorded. Welcome to the Lost Country. From “The Primeval World”: I stood abruptly and raised the back of my hand—but was restrained by Linda, who had inserted herself between us. “That’s enough! Please—Chris. Enough. She’s not going to tell us.” She backed me away from the girl. “But I have an idea … if you want to hear it.” I yanked away from her and began pacing, furious at the stranger but really angry with myself—for losing my cool in front of my crush, whom I’d liked since the moment we’d met (at the Coke machine in the Community Room, about a month before the Flashback). And for sending them—Penny and Fred—to the food mart in the first place, ostensibly to save time but really just so I could be with Linda. “I—I’m sorry. Jesus. It’s just that—” She came to me and put a finger to my lips. “Shhh. Forget it. All right?” I tried to look away but she forced me to look at her. “All right? Listen. We know which direction they went. So … why don’t we just—take Valerie here—and go looking for them?” She turned to face the young woman. “She’ll point us in the right direction—won’t you, Little Miss Sunshine?” She glared at her menacingly. “If she ever wants to see home again.” And she was right, of course; I knew it and the girl knew it. And so I reconfigured her bonds so she could travel and we doused ourselves in rex urine— including Valerie (for who knew how far we’d have to go or how long we’d be exposed to potential predators), and we headed out; walking up South Union Avenue toward the capitol even as Compies watched from the undergrowth and I thought I saw a face: simian yet strangely human, animal, and yet somehow not—peeking at us briefly from between two fronds. Staring at us, passively, almost meditatively, like a great ape behind glass; or a manatee through green, hazy water.
Scenes & Interludes ... From an Improbable End | A New Series in the Flashback Universe ... “And here they go! They’re on their way down the stretch. The break was good; every animal got a clean shot out of the gate. And as they come down here to the eighth pole, it is Mesozoic Nights and Caligula …” I peered at the announcer’s booth, wondering once again what they were using for power, and so much of it—the stadium lights alone would have overwhelmed most generators. But then Maria nudged me and I focused on the action—seeing, to my horror, that Bromtide had already fallen behind; Bromtide, whom we had unanimously voted to support. “Caligula is trying to force his way to the front and doing a good job of it as they pass the stands. Here on the outside comes Lovely Bones, in a good position. And as they go by me it is Caligula on the lead by one length. Caligula has the lead and then comes Mesozoic Nights in second place right along beside him. Going into the first turn is Caligula by a length. Mesozoic Nights is second and on the outside of him is Lovely Bones. Far back in the crowd, on the inside, in about fourth place, is Bromtide. They’re going into the stretch; they’ve gone about half a mile …” “Jesus,” I said, even as something like thunder rumbled and a flash of light illuminated the stadium. “What’s wrong with him, you think?” “Might be the T. rex piss,” said Luther, leaning in, and chuckled. “Had to spray him down with it—otherwise the allos would be all over him. Guess we forgot to tell you that.” I glared at him before shifting my gaze to Maria and Caleb and finally to De Santo, at the very end, who looked like a kid on Christmas. “Oh, Caligula!” he cried, and clasped his hands above his head. “Beautiful! Beautiful!”
Welcome to the Big Empty, the world after the Flashback, a world in which most the population has vanished and where dinosaurs roam freely. You can survive here, if you're lucky, and if you're not in the wrong place at the wrong time--which is everywhere and all the time. But what you'll never do is remain the same, for this is a world whose very purpose is to change you: for better or for worse. So take a deep dive into these loosely connected tales of the Dinosaur Apocalypse (each of which can be read individually or as a part of the greater saga): tales of wonder and terror, death and survival, blood and beauty. Do it today, before the apocalypse comes. He hesitated before peeling off a wedge and placing it in his mouth, at which he closed his eyes and seemed to melt, hanging back his head, working his jaw in a circular motion, reopening his eyes—pausing suddenly. “What?” I asked. “What is it?” He tilted his head, peering into the branches. “Isn’t that strange?” I followed his gaze into the tree but, alas, saw nothing. Which, of course, was precisely the problem; there was nothing—no oranges, no leaves, no uppermost branches, it was as though someone or something had picked the treetop clean. “Someone has a helluva reach,” said Maldano. I looked around the lot: at the lichen-covered Public Market and the Jersey Mike’s Subs with the Prius in its window, at the Vietnamese Nail Salon and the El Buzo Peruvian Restaurant. “We should split up, canvas the area. Make sure—there’s nothing else.” “Yeah,” said Maldano. “I think you’re right.” I headed for the Public Market. “Make a sweep of the strip mall. I’m going to check out that grocery store.” He laughed a little at that—which caused me to pause. “Orders—Hooper?” I half-turned, but didn’t make eye contact. “Sorry?” “I mean, in all this? This Big Empty? This ‘world tenanted by willows … and the souls of willows?’” There was something in his voice. Something subtle, something contentious. “Call it what you like,” I said, and continued toward the market.
In a galaxy far, far away a geek was born. So begins the real-life hero's journey of Jedi Knight wannabe Tony Pacitti. In this hilarious coming-of-age memoir, Tony shows how Star Wars has served as a source of comfort, guidance, and wisdom in his life. From the first thunderous boom of John William's score, seven-year-old Tony takes on Star Wars as his moral compass, his mentor, even his psychologist. Like his hero Luke Skywalker, Tony must then overcome Stormtrooper bullies, Lando turncoats, and Emperor Palpatine authority figures and embrace his own geekiness to grow into a man worthy of riding shotgun with Chewie. With the sense of humor of Han Solo, the willpower of Luke Skywalker, and the wisdom of a (much younger) Yoda, Pacitti uses the Force to follow his heart, overcome obstacles, and live a life worthy of a Jedi knight, endearing Star Wars fans everywhere in the process!
Roadkill ... A funny thing happened to Roger and Savanna Aldiss on the Interstate. They hit a dinosaur. But that's nothing compared to what awaits them down the road ... for something is at work to reverse time itself, something which makes the clouds boil, glowing with strange lights, and ancient trees to appear out of nowhere. Something against which Roger, Savanna, and a handful of others will make their final stand. From Flashback: The cop was just standing there, staring at the trees. And staring at the rex, too—though he clearly didn't know it. “My God,” Savanna pleaded. “You can't just let him be ripped to pieces …” Omar raised an eyebrow. “No?” He slid off the table and approached her. “And why not?” She hesitated. His face hovered in her own like some foam-latex Halloween mask—Uncle Pervis, perhaps, or Baby Stinky. “You, you just can’t,” she stammered. He cocked his head to one side and smiled broadly, wickedly. “You ever been to prison, sugar-muffin?” His teeth seemed covered with a yellow, pussy substance which reminded Savanna of that gummy liquid SPAM was packed in. She shook her head. “That's too bad …. they'd like you there.” He stepped closer and Savanna felt his coat pressing against her breasts, the reek of liquor-sweat and pitted-out leather seeming to radiate off him in waves. “You ever heard stories about what goes on inside?” Again, she shook her head. The glass of the window was cold against her back, as if it had frosted on the inside. “They stick you in a little room to rot,” he said, and with the word rot came an invisible cloud of stale barley which made her eyes water and her throat want to close in on itself. “But the trick is, they don't put you in there alone. No, they always put you in there with some shifty-eyed S.O.B. who's crazier even then you are …” His voice had become a quavering hiss, like sparks running along a fuse. “They put you in there with some poetry-writing faggot, or some jittering crackpot who's so hard-up for a cigarette he picks butts out of the toilet, or some darkie …” He glanced sidelong at the cashier and menaced him with molten eyes, but the stout black man was unmoved. “… who's built like Mike Tyson and wants you to be his joy-boy. And if that's what he wants, that's what he'll get … because you're not going anywhere. And don't think the guards will help you, sister. Because they won’t. They’ll just walk right by whistling and swinging their keys. You're helpless, just like you’re helpless now …”