I carefully reached behind me and pressed the emergency button on my radio. “Here’s where we find out if Mr. Fantastic is right ...”
I glanced at Shawna, who looked back at me questioningly.
“About their vision,” I said. “Predatory dinosaurs. About it being movement-based.”
To the others I mumbled: “I just alerted Mr. Fantastic; we gotta give him time. He’ll hear it and then arm the .50 cal. Just hang on. And keep your horses steady.”
“Here it comes,” said Sam, indicating the allosaur.
And it came—but did not attack; striding instead to a nearby trough (or rather a bathtub on blocks) and beginning to drink—deeply—before plopping down in a cloud of dust and beginning to yawn and stretch ... after which it laid its chin flat and just stared at us—as though we were friends. As though we
