[b]Location: The North Ridgeline[/b]

Harvey led the others to where he'd been earlier that morning.  The group studied the map and the surrounding terrain in an effort to match them up. They came to two conclusions: first, the terrain did indeed appear to match the map perfectly; and second, there was no way in hell that that could be true because there should have been homes, highways, and so much more throughout the lower elevations both to the north and south of the ridge.

As they descended to the crash site once again, a heated and sometimes comical conversation erupted about time travel into the distant past, a past before Human Beings lived in this area. No one believed it was possible; well, no one wanted to admit that they believed it was possible at least. Some even asked if maybe they'd been casted into the future, one in which humans were no longer here. But the lack of debris from a long, lost civilization made that option even more fantastic.

The first clue that they may very well have been in the prehistoric past came when barely audible screams for their attention began coming from the forested area to the east. Looking that direction, [color=ed1c24]Shari Sampson[/color] recognized her son, [color=ed1c24]Cliff[/color] running her direction at top speed. He lost his footing on the uneven ground, toppled, rolled, popped back to his feet, and kept on as if the mishap hadn't even happened.

Shari and most of the others headed Cliff's direction as well, and when they all met, the 17 year old was too out of breath to initially explain himself.  When he could finally put the words together, he managed, "It got him ... it ... it attacked him ... it killed him ... and ... dragged him away."

"What, Cliff?" his mother asked with concern. "What got who?"

The teen fought for some more air, then looked into his mother's eyes and with all the seriousness he could muster, he told her, "That guy, Harold. He was attacked and killed and dragged away ... by a Saber-toothed cat."

Shari just stared into her son's face, unsure of how to respond. His fear was genuine, but really?  Then laughter broke out amongst some of the others, as they began teasing about young men and their imaginations. Shari snapped at them, shutting them up for the most part. She looked to Cliff and demanded, "Tell me what happened. Every detail."

"Harold and I were over there, at the edge of the woods," he said, pointing. "We thought we saw rabbits, and I told him I could make snares and--"

Someone interrupted harshly, "What happened?"

Cliff stood tall, drew another deep breath, regained his composure, and continued, "We heard something just inside the trees and went to see if it was rabbits. Then ... so fast that I almost missed it ... it got him."

There was a pause before someone asked incredulously, "A Saber tooth tiger ... ate your friend ... ate, what was his name, Harold?"

There were some more snickers and laughs, as well as comments about how they didn't have time for this; a couple of the men even turned away to return to the crash site. But when his mother pressed for more details, Cliff said, "I'm telling you the truth, mom. It was a Saber-toothed cat. I know what one looks like. It was no normal lion or tiger. It wasn't a mountain lion either."

Mountain lions, cougars, or pumas -- regardless of what you wanted to call them -- were the only large cat living in Oregon's Willamette Valley in the 21st century, of course, and most of them had moved to the deepest of wilderness areas due to habitat destruction and vengeful hunting of them for their killing of domesticated animals in the urban-wilderness interface.

Cliff went on to describe the animal's appearance, including its large size and long fangs. Shari looked to [color=ed1c24]Harry Timms[/color], who had been quiet so far, and said with all seriousness, "If my son says he saw a Saber-toothed cat..."

She gestured to the area around them as she looked at the other men and women still standing there and asked, "I mean, seriously, look around you and ask yourself, is my son's story any more outrageous than all of this?"

"Take us to where this happened," Harry instructed, breaking his silence.

"Fuck no!" Cliff said, dropping the F-bomb as was not his nature at all. After his mother admonished him, Cliff said, "I'm not going back over there unless we got ten guys armed with elephant rifles."

Harry thought on the subject, then agreed, "He's right. Whatever attacked Harold, be it a mountain lion or a Saber tooth lion, we need protection. Maybe we can fashion something from the wreckage. You know, like, spears or clubs."

The smaller group called to the others that they were heading back to the crash site. Back at the wreckage, they began pillaging around for anything and everything that might be used as a weapon. Harry couldn't help but point out the irony: "TSA does all it can to keep weapons off planes, and now here we are looking for some."

[color=ed1c24]Javier Flores[/color] had been sitting alone near the fuselage, trying to figure out how he was going to inconspicuously get to his hard sided suitcase full of guns and ammunition without being spotted. There were people all over the wreckage now as -- under the direction of the other Flight Attendant, [color=ed1c24]Connie Flanagan[/color] -- they located, identified, and distributed checked baggage to their owners.  Those bags that belonged to the dead were put aside to be opened later, their contents distributed as appropriate.

Javier's own case had only just been pulled out and muscled to his feet when the weapon-seeking people arrived. He watched and listened as they found objects, contemplated their use, and chose to keep them or discard them. Finally, after the group had come up with only a handful of pitiful weapons, Javier invited them over for a discussion.

"You guys seriously think that maybe we're in the Ice Age and there's a Saber tooth tiger out there eating people?" he inquired. The responses were mixed. Javier said, "Whether we're in the past or not, you're saying that we're in danger maybe ... that maybe something out there is hunting us ... some giant killer kitty cat."

The responses were again mixed, but Cliff Sampson was adamant about what he'd seen. Javier listened to the description of the attack, and a chill ran up his spine as he recalled his own encounter with a cougar when he was a child in Northern Baja; the memory made the scars on his right calf and thigh tingle and itch.

[color=yellow]*****[/color]  "I can help you with the whole weapons situation," Javier said, looking between the last of the survivors who were paying him any attention at the moment, Harry Timms and Shari Sampson. "But I would require two assurances."

When he hesitated, the other two looked between each other as if unsure of just what exactly was taking place. Harry finally asked, "What help can you offer, and what assurances do you want?"

Javier stood from the case on which he'd taken a seat, entered the combination on the case's locks, and lifted the lid. Inside were a dozen or so obscure tools -- all safely contained in shock absorbing foam -- that only a person in the wood working industry might recognize. 

Harry asked, "We're gonna what, drill or miter the cat to death if it attacks us?"

Javier looked around for prying eyes, then unfastened a secret catch and lifted the layer of tools to reveal the case's true treasure: neatly arranged, again in foam cut outs, were 16 semi-automatic Beretta 92FS 9mm pistols, as wells as 6 boxes of ammunition for the weapons, 50 rounds per box. Both Harry and Shari's faces showed expressions of shock. 

"This is what I can offer," Javier said quietly, lowering the tools again as a wandering survivor got too near. After the three of them were again alone, he continued, "The assurances I need are twofold. First, this case and its contents remains a secret between the three of us. I'll give you two of them, and a couple of extra clips, loaded of course.  You can tell the others that you found them in someone's checked bag--"

"Four," Harry interrupted. When Javier only stared at him in silence, Harry said, "Four guns. And a full box of ammo in addition to the loaded clips. I'm not going big game hunting without some of the others backing me up. Me and Shari, of course."

The woman beside him seemed to appreciate her inclusion. Shari had never been a gun fan, but she did know how to use one. 

Javier didn't like the idea of giving up so much of his hardware. The guns were worth over a grand each on the streets, maybe twice that to a man or woman desperate enough to get an unregistered firearm. But then, here and now, there were no streets or, it seemed, anyone to sell the guns to.  Regarding the ammunition, the difference between a couple of extra clips -- 30 rounds total -- and a box of bullets -- 50 -- wasn't nearly as significant. Javier negotiated, "Four Berettas loaded, two extra but empty clips, and a full box of ammo."

Harry thought it over, nodded, then asked, "You said your assurances were twofold."

"If we are in fact in some prehistoric nightmare, these guns are going to be very valuable to you, to all of you," Javier said. "I want that to be remembered, that I gave you the weapons you needed to survive, assuming that you end up using them to survive, I mean."

Harry stuck his hand out toward Javier, whether to shake on the deal or accept a weapon was uncertain to the gun runner. He didn't take the hand, though, instead continuing, "Not done yet."

"You said twofold, not threefold," Shari said.

"The second part has two parts," Javier continued. "If we are not in the ice age and we find out that we're just crashed in some wilderness area with a big, hungry mountain lion ... the guns are still mine. You give back the four I loaned you, and you tell no one about this case, its contents, or me personally. I was never here, nor was the case."

Harry and Shari looked between themselves, with the latter saying, "I have no concern one way or the other about whether he gets caught and arrested for gun smuggling. I only want to find out what happened to Harold. My son ... Jesus ... I've never seen him that scared in all his life."

Harry's hand had dropped to his side, but now -- after a moment of thought and agreement with Shari's statement of apathy about what happened to Javier and his guns -- he reached his hand out again, this time to shake. "Agreed. We will help you find a safe place to hide your guns, and you'll give us what you offered. And if we find out this is all just a big misunderstanding, we'll give you the guns back."

Javier took Harry's hand, and the later quickly added, "But...! If at some point we find that we need more than just four guns and a single box of ammo ... you'll give us more."

The gun runner contemplated a moment, then reminded the flight attendant of the obvious: "When we run out of bullets, these guns become nothing more than paper weights. You understand that, right?" 

Harry nodded his acknowledgement, and the two finished their handshake.  The only remaining male crew member located a bag into which the four weapons and box of bullets could be transferred, and that transfer was inconspicuously made. Shari stepped up closer to Javier, offered her own hand, and as they shook, she told him, "Thank you, Javier."