Omar laughed, looking up at them. That's kind of special, he thought. Like a twenty-one-g*n salute.
He whirled around to face forward—and saw the rex's twin-clawed hand swoop down out of nowhere. It looked like a twisted, dead tree branch; all black and spidery against the searing blue sky. He died instantly as the flashing talon flayed away his face, sending it spinning through the air like a swollen-eyed Frisbee.
The handlebars jerked sideways and the blood-splashed Harley tumbled end-over-end. Omar landed at the foot of the gas-pumps. He also landed at the far end of the lot. Roger grimaced and fought back the nausea. He wondered how some unsuspecting paramedic might react upon rolling over the body.
And then he laughed bitterly, for the Dusty Moths had become the Three Musketeers in
