She looked at me as if for help.
“Beats me,” I said. “I’m color blind. Red-green color deficiency. Either way, I suggest we make contact—if we’re going to. It’ll be too dangerous after dark.”
She seemed to come out of it, whatever it was. “Is that a good idea? I mean, with just our knives?”
“No,” I said, studying the darkened house. “But—whoever they are—they’re using something for power.” I lifted my gaze to the rotating lamp. “Enough to turn and illuminate that thing. And I’d like to know what it is.” I looked at her across the cab, which was bathed in golden light. “Wouldn’t you?”
And we just stared at each other: there by the lighthouse at Granite Point on the Oregon coast, after the time-storm—the Flashback, as someone had called it at the beginning—the dinosaur apocalypse. After
