So. Like. Your memory lies to you.

You can't help it, it just happens.

Think back to that low-trauma thing that happened to you. That one time when you were in that low-speed car accident, when you thought a fight was about to break out, when you realized that you would have to lean forward and bark out your fast-food order when you sat in the passenger seat of a car and your friend (Who knows your order) decides that you should just do it yourself.

Okay, maybe that last one is traumatic only to me (Brenda sucks everyone, she is a fake friend and is always throwing me under the bus to watch me squirm). But think back to what low-trauma event you have, and tell me details. You will have lots of details. What the other driver's facial expression was. What the pizza guy in the back was saying. The color of the car. The mood of the crowd. What the people involved looked like.

And you are wrong.

There was no way you could have seen the other driver's facial expression to that extent unless you had a drone on them like a movie. There was no way you know what the pizza guy in the back was saying, you don't even remember the title of this chapter (except you Greg, I know you got me covered). What did the bad guy look like? Talk to your friends, and they will remember vastly different details, which means someone (or everyone) remembers some of the details incorrectly.

Which is why I know I remember incorrectly.

Let me start at the beginning.

There we were, standing on a steampunk glass house, dinosaurs prowling beneath.They had no problems tearing into the former shelter below. Mr. Prattalike watched. "I have a bad feeling about this folks." he said, seeing something I didn't see through the swirling mist of the forest. Someone had turned up the fog machine.

I took a small step toward them, which led James to take a step away, eyes drilling holes at the canister in my hands.

There was kaw, kaw, sound that did not come from a bird. They were too deep to ever come from a bird.

I felt vibrations of heavy steps, and the steam in my canister shook and trembled.

I could feel the eyes of something huge in the forest.

"They did it. Those rat-bastards did it." Mr. Prattalike said, voice low. "They brought it here."

Then a roar came across, sweeping like a wave through the forest. The pressure of the exhale clear the mist of the forest, and I could see the outline. Big. Dangerous. Primal.

I looked at the shelter beneath my feet. Standing at the top of the curved dome, it elevated me about 40ish feet in the air, enclosing a large courtyard around a cottage, like some kind of theme park attraction.

And listening to the sound and seeing the outline, and knew that it was too large to ever fit inside.

"History shows again and again." I whispered. "How nature points out the folly of man." I swallowed.

"Ms." Prattalike said. "How good is your aim?"

"Not great."

He nodded, like he had already made that assumption "James. You know what to do."

James came forward, looking completely uncertain, his bowl cut hair pushed back by the wind. "You can't do it by yourself."

"I won't be. Just follow the plan. James, you better be fast. Faster than you have ever been. If you don't make it back to the train, you will not survive in the forest, not with so many traps laid out."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

James wiped a tear. Rock Lee wasn't supposed to cry like that.

"Miss, please take care of him. He's...stubborn. But he isn't a bad kid. Please make sure he doesn't end up alone." Um...I didn't want to ruin the moment, but I felt like I couldn't promise anything because all my friends were back on Earth and I just got here.

"I don't know what I can do. But I'll do my best."

"Remember the plan. Miss, um. Just don't drop the canister until I leave. Count to 10, then drop it.

I nodded. I was becoming increasing aware that I was probably holding tnt or poison.

And Chris Prattalike jumped into the shelter below, landing on the still standing chimney the middle of the barneys. My poor heart couldn't take much more of this. I don't know why the idea of falling

This is were I know that I misremember. Because I can remember much more detail than I should of what Prattalike was doing. Beneath us was not only barneys, there had been a couple other kinds. Prattalike stretched his arms, and watched.

The barneys were tearing into shelter house, going all creepy on steam, but the few other dinosaurs seemed more aware of the danger outside, and were looking uncertain. Prattalike made a roguish smile, a raised a hand to his lips and whistled.

It was high pitched and sharp. The barneys ignored it, but a few that looked more like raptors shifted.

"Oh my gosh. He's going to do the thing." I whispered.

They shifted and twittered, focusing on him.

He whistled back.

Then my alarm went off, and they focused on me. Bad timing.

I felt the glare of Prattalike.

But I did not drop the canister. I had seen too many of those dash cam videos were the person driving the car forgets they are driving as they look at their phone or yell at their kids in the back seat.

I kept the main thing the main thing.

I did not drop the suspicious blue steam. I really should have left the lid on it.

The last alarm. Bug out time. The people on the train would be, well, fleeing. If they hadn't already.

We needed to get the part to them.

But we also couldn't let this pack of barneys loose, and whatever that big bad thing was in the approaching distance...Prattalike needed to handle that.

So I carefully held the suspicious canister in my left hand while I removed my smart phone with my right. I tried to hit the dismiss button on the phone. I think I hit the snooze. But I didn't fall into the mass of barneys below, and the noise stopped.

There was another massive roar, and the terrible outline drew closer, becoming darker and darker.

The raptor-like dinosaurs flickered their heads, clearly more aware of the danger.

Chris Prattalike held his hands together, and formed a whistle.

The raptors whistled back to him.

Still standing on the chimney, he held out his hand.

They hissed, clearing having seen Jurassic world as well. Or maybe it really was a way of establishing authority.

The roguish man whistled one more time, gesturing with his head toward the oncoming distaer.

And they looked. He had communicated with them, and they had looked where he had told them.

Three of the raptors moved to the door. Prattalike sailed over the mumbling hoard of barneys (which were looking more and more awful, moving from horror movie rejects to franchise setting horror icons now that they had acquired a rich source of steam). He barely touched the ground before several raptors came up to him. He held up his hand again.

"Back." he said.

And they did.

The ground shook as the behemoth drew closer.

Without looking at me, I could tell that Prattalike had a serious expression. I really wish I had gotten the man's real name, because I had a feeling that I would not see him again for a long time, and in that moment of self-sacrifice, I realized that he had arranged everything to give his student, me, and everyone on the train the best shot he could.

"Time to go." And he started running. The raptors followed him out of the shelter. He was heading toward the huge creature.

I counted to ten.

One. Two. There was another roar from the massive creature.

Three. Four. Five. There were more raptor songs of Chris Prattalike and his hunting party.

Six. Seven. What was he going to do? Was he on a death mission?

Eight. Was I watching someone go to their death to save his friend, a random girl, and train full of people he didn't know?

Nine. What would happen to all the barneys? Had we rounded up all of them?

Ten.

Would we get to the train in time? We had already missed the deadline.

Or were we already too late, and it overrun with zombies?

I let go of the final canister with blue steam.

I watched it tumble, in that unreal place where it feels like times slows.

I watched the canister spiral, like the material inside it affect its descent.

James seized me, fast, leaping over the jag in the shelter top, briefly touching the other side, and sailing over the gap toward the tall forest trees.

The canisters spiraled faster, contents inside agitated.

James barely touched the tree's branches before he was moving toward the next branch.

My field of view was blocked, but again with the remembering details that you can't possibly have seen, I swear I saw the blue steam touch the exposed steam below, amidst the horror movie project barneys and the other dinos that didn't leave with Prattalike.

And then there was an explosion.