BY THE TIME ROMAN HAD finished mopping up and landed the Apache, we’d covered Sam with a tarp from Gargantua (Mr. Fantastic had parked it next to the Hollywood sign) and I’d closed the allosaur’s eyes—having said a prayer for him first in appreciation of his sacrifice (for he’d surely saved us from the saber-toothed cat, which also lay dead) and even piled stones.
“I don’t know why he took to us like that,” said Lazaro, walking over to join me, “but I’m sure glad he did.”
We looked down at the beast as the sun continued to sink and everything took on a golden hue.
“You were right, you know. About not killing him.” He looked at me as the breeze tousled his hair. “And I’m sorry.”
I stared at the allosaur, which looked oddly at rest, oddly peaceful, and thought about Sam. “Yeah. Well. I w
