Stuck in the Stone Age

by The Story Pirates

  “Oh, sure. Because the people who poop where they sleep NEVER make bad choices.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “YES! Please, Tom. You have to help me talk to Dug about this. I have a plan for defending us against a tiger attack. But I need help!”

  Tom sighed. “Do you have to talk to Dug right this minute? His team is on deck. And he doesn’t like to be bothered before a big game.”

  “Please! I’m begging you! Our lives are at stake here!”

  Tom thought that was a little exaggerated. But he nodded. “Okay. Just as soon as somebody scores a header.”

  Twenty yards downfield, a caveman hurled a rock at a second caveman’s head. It bounced off his skull with a dull thunk, knocking him out cold.

  “There we go.” Tom stepped onto the field waving his hands and making a “T” sign. “Time out! Marisa talk!”

  The cavemen all groaned. Marisa hurried across the field to Dug, who glared at her.

  “Dug. Problem! Tooka.” It was the one word in the caveman language she was sure she understood.

  Dug shrugged. “Tooka?”

  “Tooka. Eat. Us!” Marisa pantomimed a tiger eating a human.

  Dug nodded. “Tooka eat us.”

  Marisa’s eyes widened. They understood each other! This was real progress.

  “Danger,” said Marisa. “Tooka eat us! Must protect!”

  Dug’s eyebrows scrunched up a little. He wasn’t quite following her.

  Marisa pointed to the ten-foot-deep pit. “Idea. Tooka. Pit. Trap.”

  Dug un-scrunched his eyebrows and nodded. “Tooka. Pit. Trap.”

  Marisa beamed. Were they on the same wavelength? She headed over to the pit, beckoning Dug to follow. He rolled his eyes, but reluctantly joined her at the edge of the pit.

  Marisa pointed at the bottom of the pit, ten feet below them. “Sharp. Stakes.” She pantomimed driving stakes into the ground inside the pit. “Cover. Pit. Branches, leaves?” She pantomimed spreading things over the pit to hide the hole. “Decoy. Bait?” She gestured to the far side of the pit. “Tooka. Run. Fall. Pit. Stakes. Sharp. Die.” She pantomimed the tiger falling into the pit and getting impaled on the stakes. Understand?”

  Dug nodded. “Tooka. Pit.”

  Marisa was thrilled. They understood each other!

  “Great! So…Get stakes! Sharpen!” She pantomimed gathering wood, then sharpening an edge. “Yes? Help?”

  Dug frowned and shook his head. “Rockball.”

  The n he turned around and walked away.

  Marisa’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Tom tried to cheer her up. “I think he got what you were saying, though. That’s a plus, right?”

  “He definitely made the connection between Tooka and the pit. Maybe that’s why they dug it in the first place—to trap Tooka. But it’s too shallow. If Tooka fell in, he’d just jump out again. So we need to put sharp stakes in the bottom. And I need the cavemen to help me find wood for the stakes. And then sharpen the ends.”

  “That’s going to be tough. They kind of just want to play Rockball right now.”

  “But this is urgent! We have to make a tiger trap NOW. Could you use your phone on them? Please? If you flash the lights and play the do-dee-doot-doot music, they’ll pay attention.”

  Tom grimaced. “There’s kind of a problem with that.”

  “What is it?”

  “My battery died.”

  “WHAT?! How? Last night, it was at 40 percent!”

  “I know. But I got up early, and there was nothing to do, so I thought I’d play a little Fruit Fight. Y’know, just to kill some time until everybody woke up—”

  “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

  All the cavemen turned to stare at Tom and Marisa. She lowered her voice.

  “Tom! That phone was everything! It was the only reason they didn’t kill us!”

  “I know! But things are different now. I taught them Rockball! And I’m, like, the fourth best player in the clan. So I think we’re in a pretty good place. Although you should probably stop yelling at them about stuff. ’Cause I don’t think that’s going over too well. They’re getting a little mad at you.”

  “ROCKBALL!” Dug yelled at Tom from across the field. The cavemen were impatient for the game to start again.

  “I gotta get back to the game,” Tom told Marisa. “Are you cool with finding the wood and sharpening the stakes yourself for a while? I’ll help you as soon as my team gets knocked out of the tournament. Okay?”

  Marisa looked horrified. “Tom, this is life or death—”

  “It’s probably not, though! Don’t worry! We’re going to be fine!”

  Tom gave her an upbeat smile, but when he turned away from her to go back to the game, the smile faded. In spite of himself, he was starting to get concerned. It had been almost two whole days. Why hadn’t they been rescued by now?

  Wherever you are, Dr. Vasquez, Tom said to himself, please stop and think about me and Marisa. And come back for us.

  At that very moment, exactly twelve thousand years later, Dr. Vasquez actually WAS thinking about Tom. In fact, everyone at CEASE was thinking about him.

  Unfortunately, that was because they were holding his memorial service in the cafeteria. Shortly after Dr. Palindrome’s review of the building’s security cameras found nothing (at least, according to Dr. Palindrome), yet another mini black hole showed up in Dr. Palavi’s office. This led everyone to conclude the worst: that Tom had suffered the same fate as so many CEASE janitors before him.

  Dr. Vasquez stood at a podium, next to a large framed portrait of a smiling Tom in his janitor outfit. Her fingernails were painted a somber black to match her dress, and her voice quivered with emotion as she spoke to the mournful crowd of fellow scientists (plus Doris the receptionist, who had taken the news especially hard).

  “There will never be another janitor who touches our lives like Tom Edison did,” Dr. Vasquez declared. “There was nobody on earth more fun to be around, more knowledgeable about Star Trip trivia, or more dedicated to the pursuit of science—even when he didn’t really understand any of it.”

  She turned to Tom’s portrait and spoke to it as if Tom himself were standing there. “Buddy, if I could fly my time machine into that black hole and bring you back, I would. But black holes don’t work that way. And that’s why today, there’s a black hole in my heart.

  “But from now on, your portrait will hang in the CEASE hall of fame—the only nonscientist of below-average intelligence who we’ve ever honored in this way. And alongside your portrait, in memory of all those Stump the Janitor games we enjoyed, I’m going to personally hang this vintage Star Trip poster.”

  She reached under the podium and pulled out a framed original poster for Star Trip II: Excelsior’s Revenge, widely considered to be the best of the Star Trip movie adaptations.

  “I bought this on eBay just for you, Tom. It was surprisingly expensive. But you’re worth it. Tomorrow morning, we’re holding a press conference to announce my time machine invention to the world. I wish you could be there. But since you can’t, I’m dedicating it to you. From now on, I’m not going to think of it as a time machine, but as a TOM machine. Informally, of course. I don’t really expect other people to call it that. It’d be very confusing for them. But in my heart, it’ll always be a Tom machine. Good-bye, friend.”

  The scientists applauded wildly as Dr. Vasquez left the podium. Then Dr. Overtree got up to speak.

  “There’s SO MUCH I want to say about Tom Edison. First of all—”

  WWHHHHZZZZZZHHHHHH!

  Dr. Overtree’s words were drowned out by the deafening white noise of an industrial-strength floor buffer. All the scientists turned in their chairs to see the new janitor, Jason, pushing the massive machine across the floor at the back of the room.

  Jason had started work the day before, and he had very strong opinions about what the janitor job involved. Many of these opinions were not shared by the CEASE staff. But because h
e was the only person Dr. Palindrome could find to do the job—and because he was six-foot-five, rippling with muscles, and enjoyed showing off the tattoos he’d gotten while in prison—the scientists hadn’t yet found a way to successfully challenge Jason’s opinions.

  Even so, interrupting Tom’s memorial service with an industrial floor buffer was a bit much. Several of the scientists stood and waved their arms in the air, trying to catch Jason’s attention.

  “Excuse me. EXCUSE ME!” Dr. Overtree bravely placed himself in the path of the floor buffer, forcing Jason to stop the machine.

  “Dude. I’m buffing here.”

  “Which we appreciate! We do. But we’re holding a memorial service for our departed friend. It’s a highly emotional and deeply important—”

  “Buddy,” Jason talked over him. “We got rules here! Floor gets buffed at three. No exceptions.”

  “I’m sorry, whose rules are these?”

  “THIS GUY’S.” Jason put up a massive fist, thumb out, and pointed at himself. “Take a hike. Cafeteria’s closed. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

  Everyone looked at Dr. Palindrome, who shrugged meekly. Disappointed but unwilling to challenge a man who weighed twice as much as they did and had a long criminal record, the scientists began to file out of the room.

  “Take your chairs with you!” Jason yelled at them. “Your mom doesn’t work here! Gotta clean up after yourselves.”

  Dr. Salaam bravely piped up. “Excuse me, but technically speaking, isn’t cleaning up a janitor’s job—”

  WWHHHHZZZZZZHHHHHH! Dr. Salaam was no match for the floor buffer.

  Moments later, as the scientists milled about the hallway, carrying chairs they weren’t quite sure what to do with, Dr. Vasquez approached Dr. Palindrome.

  “Excuse me, Doctor—”

  “Yes, Doctor! May I just say, that was a wonderful tribute to Tom. And I’m SO looking forward to your press conference tomorrow! It’s going to be SUCH a thrill to see you instantly become the most famous scientist in the world. What an invention!”

  “Thank you so much! But speaking of inventions, I was wondering something.”

  “Yes?”

  “The scientist who did that Show and Tell right before me—Marina, was it?”

  “Marisa, actually. Marisa Morice.” Dr. Palindrome had no trouble at all remembering Marisa’s name, because he’d spent the past two days carefully erasing it from every notebook, document, and patent application in her lab, then writing the name “Emo R. Palindrome” in its place.

  “I’ve been trying to track her down to invite her to lunch,” said Dr. Vasquez. “I thought her solar panel invention was brilliant, and I wanted to apologize for spoiling her announcement with my time machine.”

  “That is SO very kind of you! But unfortunately, Dr. Morice is no longer working at CEASE.”

  “Really? Where did she go? And did she take her invention with her?”

  “It’s a rather long story.” And one that Dr. Palindrome had spent hours carefully making up. “You see, the solar panel project was actually mine. Dr. Morice really wasn’t much more than a glorified lab assistant. But I offered to give her all the credit for the invention because, well, to be honest, she had absolutely nothing else going on in her life. No friends or family—did you know she was an orphan? Very sad story.”

  That part of Dr. Palindrome’s story was actually true. Marisa WAS an orphan. The rest of it was nonsense, especially what came next:

  “I thought I was doing her a favor by giving her all the credit,” Dr. Palindrome continued. “But she was racked with guilt over it. And after the Show and Tell, she decided she couldn’t live a lie, no matter how much fame or money it might bring her. So she left the next day to join a Buddhist monastery in the Himalayas, where she plans to spend the rest of her life in silent meditation.”

  “That is the strangest story I’ve ever heard,” said Dr. Vasquez.

  Dr. Palindrome nodded enthusiastically. “It really is! It’s very, VERY strange.” But unlike the other stories he’d considered making up to explain Dr. Morice’s disappearance—fatal car accident, incurable disease, legal problems involving an international car theft ring that she’d masterminded, etc.—the Buddhist monastery story was almost impossible to disprove.

  “So then…the solar panel invention was yours?” Dr. Vasquez asked.

  “That’s correct,” said Dr. Palindrome. “I’ll be announcing it in a week or two, once all the hoopla has settled down after your big time machine announcement.”

  “Well, then congratulations!” said Dr. Vasquez. “And thank you SO MUCH for solving mankind’s energy needs in an environmentally friendly way! That is amazing. I do feel bad about Marisa—we seemed to have so much in common, and I was hoping we’d become friends. But I’m really looking forward to seeing you get all the credit for the invention. Not to mention the money. I’m sure it’ll make you fantastically wealthy.”

  “Fingers crossed!” said Dr. Palindrome with a smile.

  Then he excused himself and went back to his office to finish erasing Marisa’s name from her life’s work.

  Back in the Stone Age, the next morning dawned bright and sunny. It was perfect weather for the finals of the Rockball tournament. The entire clan gathered along the sides of the clearing to watch Dug’s team play Edd’s team in human history’s first organized sports championship.

  Edd and his teammates were a little nervous. Since Rockball had only existed for two days, and this was the first-ever tournament final, they still had some unanswered questions about the rules.

  Their biggest question was this: If you beat the clan leader’s team in the finals, will he kill everyone on your team?

  No one could say for sure. They couldn’t ask Dug himself, because they didn’t want to give him ideas. They’d tried to ask Tom, who’d not only taught them the game, but also was refereeing the final after his own team had been knocked out in the semis. But unfortunately, Tom didn’t understand a word of what they were asking.

  Ultimately, Edd and his team decided it might be wise to lose the game, just in case.

  Meanwhile, the only person in the clan who wasn’t playing, refereeing, or watching the final was Marisa. She’d spent the rest of the previous day scouring the forest for tree branches that were exactly the right size for sharpening into tiger-trap stakes. Then, after the rest of the tribe had gone to sleep, she’d stayed up until dawn using a rock to sharpen one of the branches into a stake.

  Marisa had meant to sharpen a dozen of them, but using a rock to sharpen a tree branch turned out to be long, slow, painfully difficult work. In ten straight hours of sharpening, she’d only managed to finish one stake. In fact, it was only her years of experience working long, slow, painfully difficult hours alone in her lab that had given her the strength and focus to do that much.

  Now she was exhausted, frustrated, and bleeding from several blisters on her hands. Taking her one sharpened stake with her, she went to join the others at the Rockball final, hoping that when the game ended, she could finally get help sharpening the other stakes and fixing them in the ground at the bottom of the pit.

  For the life of her, Marisa couldn’t understand why no one else was worried about defending themselves against that tiger. How much more time did they have before it came back? She had a nagging feeling that it could show up at any minute.

  Marisa was right. At that very moment, Tooka the tiger was emerging from his lair. After two full days of sleeping off his berry poisoning, he was finally ready to eat again.

  As he took a long, lazy stretch in the morning sun, he wondered who he’d end up eating first. The human who smelled of Floral Essence? Or the other one, Cool Breeze All Day?

  Of course, the cavemen might offer him a different choice of meal. He’d been eating members of their clan for a long time now, and they’d worked out a pretty good system for deciding on the menu. But Tooka had already made up his mind.

 
He was going to have his dinner and his revenge all at once.

  Tooka trotted to the top of the hill above his lair. He took a deep breath, intending to let out a fierce, earsplitting roar.

  Then he belched instead.

  His stomach still wasn’t quite right. Those berries had really done a number on him. It was annoying, but it made him all the more eager to settle his stomach by putting a nice, juicy meal of Floral Essence–flavored flesh in there.

  He took another deep breath, then roared so loudly that every bird within five miles suddenly took flight.

  Back at the clearing, the Rockball final was about to start when the sound of the tiger’s roar reached the humans’ ears. Everyone froze.

  “TOOKA!” yelled a caveman. In an instant, the entire clan turned and ran for the cave, right past a frightened-looking Marisa.

  She looked down at the sharpened stake in her hand, carefully weighing it.

  Could they make a tiger trap with just one stake? Was there time to stick it faceup in the bottom of the pit, cover the pit opening with leaves, and create some kind oflure to get the tiger to step over the pit and fall in?

  Almost definitely not.

  But what choice did they have? This was an emergency.

  Marisa looked around for Dug. He was calmly making his way toward the cave. A frightened Tom was right behind him.

  “Dug! Make trap! Kill Tooka! Help!” Marisa yelled, pointing first at her stake and then at the pit.

  Dug shook his head. Then he pointed to Tom.

  “Tom kill Tooka. Do-dee-doot-doot.”

  Tom froze. “Wait—WHAT?!”

  Suddenly, Marisa understood the cavepeople’s strange lack of fear about the tiger.

  “They think it was your phone!” she told Tom. “They don’t realize we poisoned him! They think you used the phone to make the tiger throw up!”

  “Oh! No! Nooooo. No-nee-no-no!” Tom grabbed Dug by the arm. “Tom no kill Tooka!”

  “Do-dee-doot-doot,” Dug insisted. “Do-dee-doot-doot magic rock. Magic rock kill Tooka.”