The crater that had been my high school football field was filled with water and the water was roiling with dolphins. Or what I thought were dolphins, but turned out to be dolphin-size salamanders, the kind with frills on their cheeks.
“Gila Monsters!” I shouted and ran inside the school. I’d meant Komodo Dragons, not Gila Monsters (and definitely not salamanders), but I was frantic. It’s the Komodo’s bacteria-laden slobber that kills you, I’d read somewhere.
An assembly was gathering in the auditorium and my old headmaster was there to introduce me. “Gila Monsters!” I shouted again. “In the crater!”
I’m sketchy on what follows. My flight to the parking lot and down the long country road. My car dying as it tends to do.
Then waking up to the sensation of Acadia’s hind-paws pressed reassuringly against my butt.