I spear marshmallows on sticks. The ember fox watches as they toast above him.
He yips and gobbles one. I don’t mind. I share from the bag until it’s empty.
Then he curls up, nose under his fire-plume tail.
I sleep too. Beside a friend’s warmth. It’s magical.
He dug his own grave at gunpoint. But as the firing squad snickered at the old rebel leader, a 500-pound silverback leapt from treetops.
A close, brutal fray obviated the soldier’s firepower.
The ape winked freeing the stunned old man. “Gorilla warfare.”
“How do we even start opposing this usurper?” the duchess asked.
“He must do two things to maintain power,” the knight answered, counting off with his fingers. “Have an army, and pay said army. As we can’t attack the former, we keep him from doing the latter.”
He looked at the last world map. At the many craters where cities had been.
“Did the aliens nuke us, Dad?”
“No. No radiation. These were kinetic strikes with asteroids.”
“No nuclear winter?”
“No… radiation,” he repeated. “Get your coat, Sweetie. And your mother. We, need to go.”
“It’s a parasaurolophus, a young one,” the boy scout said.
It tilted an inquisitive look at the time traveling pair. The cave girl held out ferns.
Like a loud, hungry foghorn, it hooted and munched.
“I hope the t-rex didn’t—”
There was a roar.
Text is Copyright © 2020 by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
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