By Robert W. Caldwell

Mark wondered if the old Toyota could make it. It rumbled and jolted as it struggled up the dirt road, its tyres slipping as it went up a hill. The strip mine loomed ahead, a jagged scar in the landscape. He pulled off the track and into a tangle of weeds, cutting the engine.

Mark opened the window just enough to keep the car from becoming an oven, grabbed his water bottle, and stepped outside. Weeds tugged at his jeans as he circled to the back and popped the hatch. He retrieved his rock hammer and a flat cardboard tray, ready to store any treasures he might find.

The strip mine was a sea of grey rock, the terrain shaped by bulldozers into tall crests and deep valleys. Scattered across the site, like splashes of colour on a dull canvas, were other fossil hunters. He chose a spot and got to work, prying apart flat stones, hoping to find the delicate imprint of a prehistoric leaf or footprint.

Fifteen minutes passed under the relentless sun. Sweat trickled down his back, and his hammer struck only empty stone.

“Any luck?”

Mark looked up to see Andrew, one of the experts. He was hard to miss: bald head, long beard, wide-brimmed hat and a safari vest with matching khaki pants.

“No. So far I've found nothing,” Mark admitted.

“I’ve found a few ferns,” Andrew said, shrugging. “Nothing to write home about.”

Before Mark could respond, a voice cut through the heat-drenched stillness.

“I don’t believe this!”

Paul, the resident astronomy enthusiast, was pointing skyward. Mark followed his gaze and froze. A shimmering sphere, like an enormous soap bubble, was floating toward them, its surface rippling with faint hues of light.

“It’s a warp bubble!” Paul exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I didn’t think it was possible, but there it is!”

Without hesitation, Paul grabbed a slab of rock, jumped into the bubble, and vanished. Moments later, he reemerged, holding the same slab.

“Look!” he said, beaming. “It’s a fossil of my footprint, isn’t that cool?”

The bubble was shrinking.

Mark had an inspiration. He snatched a slab of grey rock and leaped into the bubble.

The world twisted. Colours blurred, sounds warped, and then he landed — squelch — in mud. Mark dropped the rock. It flew off as if it were being guided and turned to mud as soon as it hit the ground nearby.

Towering ferns and giant cattails surrounded him, and the trees looked like oversized palms, some with sprawling, umbrella-like canopies. The air was thick and humid, filled with the hum of life.

A small creature crawled past — a Cincosaurus, its body glinting in the dappled light. In the shallows of a nearby puddle, a fish wiggled and splashed.

He bent down, gently scooped up the squishy Cincosaurus, and placed it where the slab had vanished.

The creature scurried away. Mark glanced around for the bubble and saw it, now no larger than a helium balloon, drifting upward.

He sprinted toward it, leaping just in time. The sensation was like squeezing through a hole of icy gelatin. The pressure built, but with some effort he managed to push himself through, and he tumbled back onto the hard grey rock of the strip mine, a slab now in his hand.

“You all right?” Andrew’s voice brought him back to reality. The older man’s face loomed over him, a mix of concern and curiosity.

Mark blinked, then scrambled to his feet. He wondered if he might have altered time. But no, Andrew looked just as he remembered him — that distinctive sharp beak, and three orange feathers on his head. 

Mark’s chest heaved as he dusted himself off, his free hand brushing against the feathers on his arms.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Andrew asked.

Mark looked down at the slab. Deep, precise tracks marked its surface, as though something had run across it.

“It’s a fossil,” he said, forcing a smile. “Cincosaurus footprints.”

Andrew examined it closely, his eyes lighting up. “Incredible! The depth, the detail — it’s almost like it just happened, it looks like the Cincosaurus jumped. Very unusual. This has to be donated to a museum.”

Mark nodded, carefully placing the slab in his tray. 

“Finally, after so long I found something good,” Mark said, heading back to his hovercraft. He hoped that the vehicle was good for one more lift. He'd hate to get stranded here.

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