Caveman Jack wanted the great cave bear's hide more than he wanted anything. That hide would mark him as the tribe's greatest hunter. But the bear denned inside the mountain, and Jack's only weapon was a wooden club. He gripped that club now, crouched at the dark mouth of the cavern, and knew the truth. Wood would splinter against a skull like that. He would swing once, and then he would die. He had seen the beast three nights past. It stood taller than two men. Its skull was thick bone, wider than Jack's chest. The tribe laughed when he swore he would kill it. Now, staring into the black opening, Jack understood their laughter. He needed something that could bite deep, past hide and bone, before the bear ever reached him. Jack backed away from the cavern and sat on the cold stones. He turned the club in his hands. A club crushed by luck. He needed a weapon that reached first. He needed a point. He worked all day. He found a straight branch and stripped the bark with his teeth and nails. Then he searched the loose rock near the water for flint. He struck stone against stone until one piece broke sharp on both edges. His palms bled. The flint kept slipping from the shaft. Vine after vine snapped when he wrapped it tight. By dusk, he wanted to hurl the whole thing into the dark. Instead, he tried once more. He cut long strips of tough cord from the sinew in his fur cloak. He notched the wood so the flint sat deep. He bound the head with cord, wrapped it twice around, and pulled until his arms shook. The flint held. He jabbed the spear at a fallen log. The point sank in and stuck. Jack pulled it free and stood. He had a spear now. A sharp flint head, bound tight to a carved shaft. Long enough to strike before claws could reach him. His club lay forgotten on the stones. He carried the spear to the cavern mouth and listened. Deep inside, something breathed slow and heavy. The sound rolled out of the dark like wind through a cave. The bear was home. Jack's grip tightened on the shaft. He had the weapon he needed. But the weapon only mattered if he walked into that black hollow and used it. He stepped forward. His foot crossed into the cavern's shadow. The breathing stopped. Somewhere in the dark, claws scraped stone, and the sound moved toward him.