Verity would never have left the camp so soon after such a devastating attack had there been any other choice. A further seven men had died, a half dozen more were injured, and with the smell of blood in the air London would surely attract other dinosaurs on the hunt. Three separate species had now attacked, all of them deadly in their own ways. The latest was arguably the most dangerous of all-its silent approach and small, agile shape gave it an immediate advantage over anyone trying to survive among the Westminster ruins.
“Them were dromaeosaurus-pack hunters from t’ late Cretaceous Period.” Billy scanned the page in his book. “We should correct that last part, shouldn’t we? The name means ‘running lizard’. First ’un were discovered in 1864 durin’ a Leviacrum-sponsored expedition to Canada. Dromaeosaurs were mainly scavengers but sometimes brought down much bigger prey.”
“As we saw.” Embrey, wearing only long-johns and a vest, stepped into the canvas diving suit, his chiselled, sensational upper body on display for Verity and the rest of the crew. She evaded his glance. “What are those fliers called again, Billy?” he asked. “Hat shops? Jodhpur tricks?”
The boy laughed. “Hatzegopteryx.”
“That’s the one. And its fossils were found in Romania?”
“Yeah. 1902.”
“A mite far from their nest, wouldn’t you say, Professor?”
Reardon looked up from his notebook. “Not necessarily. Migratory birds often cross oceans and continents, and we don’t know where the Hatzegopteryx goes to nest. Just because a pterosaur fossil was found in one place doesn’t mean the species is endemic to that region. For all we know, they’re Londoners like us.”
She frowned. Londoners. But for how long? This handful of crumbling buildings would not protect Polperro’s posse indefinitely. So why on earth were they being so stubborn? Verity had invited them to reside on the Empress indefinitely, under armed protection. But the insufferable schoolmarm and her lickspittle cronies had opted to stay behind during this crucial flight. It made no sense, and yet “Miss Polperro, what do you plan to do in the event of another attack?” Verity asked.
The de facto lady Prime Minister stood at the ladder next to Kincaid, the elderly statesman who appeared to be advising her. “We were just discussing that, Lieutenant. If you would be so good as to lend us five or six of your men, we could-”
“Regretfully, no. I’m sorry, but we will require every spare hand to man the capstans and the winch. The diving bell is a tremendous weight, and we are already under-manned.”
Miss Polperro closed her parasol and, nose upturned, looked askance at Verity. “As many rifles as you can spare, then? Woe is us indeed if we can’t defend London at all in your absence. I understand you have a sizeable arsenal on board?”
“Sufficient, nothing more.”
She’s plotting something. First she refuses the safety of the ship, now she wants our weapons? How daft does she think I am?
“You can have two rifles,” Verity offered reluctantly, “but I strongly urge you to reconsider moving into the fo’c’sle. It might be cramped down there, but at least you will have a crew of armed aeronauts watching over you. We can always make other arrangements upon our return. What do you say, ma’am?”
“We will take the rifles, thank you.” Miss Polperro’s instant smile was too polite, too pleasant for the occasion. The woman had just made a life-or-death decision and had erred on the side of risk. What did she and her cronies have up their sleeves? Did it have anything to do with the pious whisperings Mr. Briory had reported?
“Very well. But before we leave, might I enquire as to your position on the spider web phenomenon? Rumour has it some of your people are opposed to any further time travel attempts, that they would even try to prevent Professor Reardon from restoring his machine. Is this true?”
Kincaid stepped forward, chest-first. “We believe Reardon is meddling with primal forces beyond his ken.” His voice shook with old age, and Verity felt a little sorry for him. “The spider’s web is a message from the Almighty, of that there can be no doubt. But the purpose of that message is ambiguous, and therefore we must not be dogmatic. As for undoing Reardon’s folly, I uphold your right to at least try. But that is my opinion, Miss Champlain, and I am neither scientist nor priest.”
Verity nodded appreciatively. “And you, Miss Polperro? Where do you stand?”
“Where the wind changes, as always.” She turned sharply, handed Kincaid her parasol, and climbed down the ladder without another word.
Icy bitch.
Kincaid bowed to Verity. “Good day, miss, and good luck to you.”
“Thank you, sir. I wish our situation were more amenable. Would you like assistance climbing the ladder?” She called Tangeni over but winced when the Namibian hobbled on his sprained ankle.
“Thank you kindly, no,” Kincaid replied. “I’ve scaled plenty of rigging in my days. Eighty-one and still going strong-”
She didn’t catch his last remark and instead whispered to Tangeni, “Sod them if they think I’m giving them weapons. And we’ll send four men to guard the factory, not two.”
“And leave ourselves shorthanded?”
“We’ll manage. I just don’t trust that Whitehall rabble, not after the lynching party. Send four.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Watching Billy, Reardon and Briory potter around the diving equipment laid out for Embrey’s instruction on the quarterdeck, hearing them joke and laugh at the marquess’s ungainly appearance, was a little disconcerting. Little did they know how dangerous deep sea diving was without the prehistoric factor. The only other qualified diver in her crew, Tangeni would have been her only choice as diving partner had he not been injured-a sprained ankle was one of the worst possible handicaps under all that weight-but Embrey was a fine athlete and an excellent swimmer, or so he claimed. How would he fare in her domain, where charm meant nothing and life or death could be decided by a single twitch upon the thread?
Tangeni and Djimon would prepare him well, at least. And he had given them this chance with arguably the most crucial shot in the history of gunfire.
She shrugged and then ordered the pilot, “Northeast heading. Kibo saw where the bird fell. He will relieve you presently.”
“Yes, Eembu… Captain.”
“Embrey,” she shouted. “After you, sir. It’s time we took a dip.”
“What the deuce…? Upon my word, this thing would sink Poseidon to the depths.” He had never worn anything so ridiculously heavy in his life. The combined weight of his diving suit, boots, ballast weights and helmet was the equivalent of wearing another man on his back-an especially fat and bone-idle one at that.
In her unflattering, custom-sized waterproof suit and her smaller boots, Verity appeared calm and professional. Too much of both. Embrey’s nerves were already frayed, his knees aquiver whenever the bell groaned under the rising pressure. How deep were they now? Two hundred feet. Maybe more. No longer a light sapphire, the water in the moon pool and through the porthole windows was grim, blue-green and littered with plankton.
“You ready, Lord Embrey?” Djimon madly wound the dynamo until the hull lights blazed on. “Remember, keep your helmet upright at all times. Think of it as an empty cup filled with air, held upside down in the water. Tip it too far to the side and-”
“I get the general idea, old boy. How do we return to the bell afterward?”
“Tug your tether line.” Verity demonstrated with her own. “And whatever happens- whatever happens-for God’s sake, follow my lead.”
“Yes, ma’am. ”
Her grave head shake killed his nervous humour. He peered into the moon pool and glimpsed a four-foot-long fish dart undercover behind a forest of lithe, giant fronds. The lake bottom, neither sandy nor silty as he’d hoped, instead rose and fell craggily, a kind of volcanic rock sharp enough to cut him to ribbons should he slip. Muted colours dotted the shelves and crannies, while a school of spotted eels, each over a fathom’s length, slithered up from a crevice and shot away from the bell’s descent.
The scale of this prehistoric underwater world dawned on him in blunt jabs to his sense of the absurd. He recalled the startling creatures young Billy had described from his book-leviathans with names he couldn’t remember, didn’t want to remember. Their measurements were enough.
Verity sat on the moon pool’s brass rim and tapped his shoulder. “Embrey, before we go…” her unblinking gaze appeared softer somehow, more exposed, “…I’d like to thank you for volunteering. Very brave.”
Well, well.
“Be careful down there. I…we’d all be glad if you made it back in one piece,” she added hurriedly.
“So would I.” He rested his shivering hand on hers. So cold. So soft. So…unexpected. A thrilling wave curled through him. He felt he could shrug his gear off with a single breath if he should see her in peril, as though it were no more than a rain cloak. He’d never thought of her as vulnerable before. On the contrary, she was the flintiest woman he’d ever met. Where had this sudden urge to throw himself in harm’s way for her come from?
“ Enda nawa, Djimon,” she said.
The cool African handed her a helmet. “Hurry back, Eembu.”
“Drinks are on me later,” Embrey said feebly.
Djimon clanked Embrey’s helmet into place and knocked on the dome to signify it was ready. The sudden isolation slivered, as though his brain were physically imbibing a new experience. He’d skin dived in the Mediterranean before, even sat in a prototype moon rocket in its hangar as a youngster, but he’d never felt quite so…encapsulated. As Djimon helped him slide into the moon pool, the quickening whuh, whuh of his breaths seemed as alien to him as the seascape below.
The cold hit. He clenched from head to toe, but the fear of where he was going to land held his eyes wide open. He watched the sharp terrain as he sank. A few feet that way, no that way… Being lowered like a worm on a hook wasn’t quite how he’d imagined it beforehand.
His boots settled on a solid ledge. He stumbled forward but remembered to hold his head upright. Verity landed several yards to his left and immediately pointed him toward an hourglass-shaped crevasse ahead. The Empress’s spotters had glimpsed something resembling a wingtip on the other side of that gap. It might be a long shot-the lake bed was murky at best, tough to discern when viewed from the surface-but he was certain the Hatzegopteryx had sunk in this vicinity.
He overstepped his first stride and ended up hopping sideways to keep balance. Verity wagged her finger at him, then demonstrated the correct walking posture-to lean forward, head ever-so-slightly bowed, and take unambitious, almost shuffling steps. He copied and gained proficiency in no time.
They leapt across the neck of the hourglass and, barely lit by the bell’s lights, pressed on across a flat ledge. Towering stalks appeared on the edges of darkness, their bulbous fronds wavering as though to some ancient aquatic rhythm. Embrey’s pulse hammered when he realized his own shadow was blackening his path. He tapped Verity on the shoulder, then pointed to the pack of flares in her belt. She lit one and tossed it at the forest.
A colossal form blazed into view among the shoots less than thirty feet ahead. Embrey saw its sharp teeth first-big and curved as Persian daggers. Endless rows of them. He recoiled too quickly and head butted the back of his helmet. Shock, not pain pulsed wetly through his skull. The creature didn’t move from its place of ambush and neither he nor Verity shifted a step to encourage it. Christ, it’s crocodilian jaws alone, partially agape and waiting, had to be well over ten feet long. Resembling a shorter-and-thicker-necked plesiosaur, it had four large paddle-like limbs and a short tail. But that mouth-unhinged-appeared ready to swallow the flare’s light entirely.
Who moves first? Who dares?
Billy would have a name for this leviathan. Billy had the dinosaur bible. Well, Embrey had a name for it too. Several unrepeatable names hurtling around with hot gasps inside his helmet.
The cold seeped into him anew while they stood. A school of small fish flittered close, swirling twice around the flare before they seemed to sense danger and dashed for the cover of darkness. Still the dinosaur waited, its tail wafting gently. Several tiny fish picked at its giant teeth and gums-the brashest scavengers Embrey had ever witnessed. But the predator didn’t seem to mind…rather, it appeared to enjoy the attention, its paddles twitching as though it were ticklish.
Its tail swatted to one side and he flinched, fearing the giant was about to rouse. He spied a metallic glint on the rock behind it instead.
Reardon’s clock!
He nudged Verity and she acknowledged the discovery with a scowl and a nod.
Your move, Captain.
The flare faded and died before Embrey had a chance to swallow. A net of nightmares descended upon the lake bed. He tried to make out the monster’s shape but couldn’t. Through the blackness, dread in the deep grew both infinite and intimately close.
Verity?
Suddenly, their dilemma intensified tenfold. If they retreated now, the waiting giant might change its mind and kill them. If they stayed put, hoping it would leave, they may not see it come or go, and the wait might be indefinite. Would that he could hear Verity’s thoughts right now. This was her domain after all.
She lit a second flare and tossed it away to their right. Heart in mouth, he watched her creep in the opposite direction, over twenty feet to one of the massive stalks. Thereon she flanked the leviathan under cover, inching toward the mechanism from shoot to shoot. But her oxygen hose pulled tight against the stalks. It scraped away a lather of green mulch, and he feared either the monster would react or the action might saw through the delicate plants, toppling them onto the beast.
Still the predator didn’t move. Embrey ducked under Verity’s hose as it pulled tight across him. She was at the end of its tether. Had she reached the clock mechanism in time? Indeed, could she even see it?
Another flare blazed inside the forest, near the dinosaur’s hind paddle. Please know what you’re doing, Verity. She tossed it away from the monster.
Before it landed, the lake burst to life. Dozens of large coin-shaped fish, each almost ten feet long, wrenched the stalks apart, barely avoiding Verity’s taut hose. Embrey kept low but found himself wheeling backward in the wake of a stupendous current.
The leviathan shot out after the coin fish and vanished.
He pressed his hand to the iron weight over his heart. “Verity, where are you? What have you done?” A part of him knew it hadn’t been an accident-she had to have tossed the flare deliberately at the fish, to incite this chase-but it was no less reckless, and he would give her a piece of his mind when they returned to the bell. “Whatever happens, follow my lead”, she’d told him. Bloody stupid.
He took her advice and guided himself using her line. She almost bumped into him carrying Reardon’s kaleidoscope, her blase wink reminding him that while he was out of his depth, Verity Champlain most assuredly wasn’t.
Thank you, God, on all counts.
To his surprise, she tugged him back into the forest and bade him follow her to a small glade where the latest flare had landed. She lit another.
As it fell, a flat rectangular shape glimmered on the jagged rock. Overgrown and a little discoloured, it appeared to be made of…but no, that was impossible.
He looked at Verity. She gazed back with no answer. But there had to be an answer.
Where the deuce had a metal panel that big come from?
“Another six! Luck smiles on me today.” Reardon moved his counter up the Snakes and Ladders board, barely missing the head of a big serpent that would have taken him back to square one.
“Bloody rigged, I reckon,” groaned Billy-the poor lad hadn’t reached past the second row. He rolled a two, which got him nowhere. “So how’s about your machine, Cecil?”
“What’s that? You want to know how my machine’s doing?” Cecil had grown extremely fond of the boy, but sometimes his regional brogue was hard to decipher, especially for a man who’d never even visited northern England.
“Yeah. I mean apart from t’ missin’ piece, have you figured it out yet? Why it brung us so far from ’ome. ’Ave you fixed it?”
“Bugg…darn it.” Cecil’s three landed him on the next snake head and sent him four rows down to Billy’s level. “Oh, not yet. There’s still something I can’t quite get my head around.”
“’Ave you told it to Garrett? ’E’s a right good ’un wi’ knowin’ what to do in a tricky spot. I reckon there’s no one like ’im.” The lad’s eyes glazed and he looked down, trying to blink the dampness away. Cecil’s urge to take Billy in his arms and reassure him that he had nothing to worry about triggered a sore memory. His own son’s tendency to cry when he’d been very young had led to the lad being picked on at school, and Cecil had raised hell with the headmaster when nothing had been done about the bullying. A sharp echo of that livid quarrel made him wince. Billy needed a father figure, someone to look up to. And he had chosen an excellent role model.
“Indeed. Lord Embrey’s a rare fellow. I daresay he’s the best of us in a tricky spot. But I’m afraid he hasn’t solved our problem yet. Nor has Captain Champlain. It’s something beyond our understanding…for the time being.”
“My mam always said lookin’ for t’ simplest answer first were usually t’ best way. She said my dad were always makin’ things complicated when they weren’t really.” The boy’s next throw landed him at the foot of a ladder, taking him up five rows.
“That’s good advice. Your mother was wise.”
“Yeah.” Billy sniffled, then wiped his nose on his sleeve. His amusingly sheepish expression suggested he’d often been chided for not using a handkerchief. “My mam taught piano.”
Taught-past tense. Cecil handed the lad his own handkerchief. “That notion of the simplest explanation is a big one in science, Billy. It’s often the most straightforward connection that…we miss…”
“Eh? What’s the matter? Cecil? It’s your go.”
Straightforward connection…simplest explanation…
The boy tugged at his waistcoat and stared at him as though he wasn’t sure Cecil was still breathing.
“Billy, can I ask you something important?”
“I reckon.”
“It’s about your book.”
“Yeah? What about it?”
Let me get this straight in my mind. 1908…the storm…the ice cream vehicle on the embankment…
“Billy, what were you thinking about when the time jump occurred? At that precise moment when the storm vanished and sunlight appeared.”
Retrieving his book from the deck behind him, Billy opened to a double-page illustration depicting several dinosaurs in their natural habitat. The coloured pencil sketch was well-drawn but the backdrop appeared somewhat tropical and idealized.
“It were this picture. I were frightened by all t’ chasin’, an’ I went an’ hid in my dad’s coat. All them bright lights from t’ factory made me think of that comet-you know, that big ’un that killed all t’ dinosaurs off. That were t’ last thing I thought about.”
“The dinosaurs?”
“Yeah, I reckon.”
Could that be the answer? As far-fetched as it sounded, it was frankly the only theory he’d come across even remotely linking 1908 with the Cretaceous Period. And with the advent of the perfect spider web in his factory, this metaphysical can of worms had already been flung open. But what actually, physically linked the two phenomena? Somehow, a boy’s imaginings had veered the most advanced machine ever created millions of years off course?
How in the name of “So you think I were to blame for all this?” Billy’s inscrutable stare bored deeper and deeper into Cecil’s flimsy reasoning.
“Not at all, lad. Of course not.” He could never let the boy think that. And this grave line of questioning had lasted long enough. “It’s one of a hundred theories I’ve had that doesn’t hold up. There’s no scientific basis…any more than there is for why your sarsaparilla tastes better here in the time of the dinosaurs than it ever did back home.”
“Yeah. I always liked that an’ all. Garrett said it were good too. I say. ” Billy’s imitation of Embrey’s posh accent was spot on. The deck rocked a little as Cecil laughed. Commotion among the crew at the stern lasted only a moment and then all went silent. A second shimmy sent Kibo dashing across the quarterdeck, and a faint splash in the distance drew telescopes from pockets. But no one appeared unduly alarmed.
“All right, here we go…” Cecil blew into his fist as he shook the die, “…no more snakes for me. From now on, I’m the snake charmer. ” He rolled a five and climbed another ladder to dizzy heights.
Billy folded his arms and pouted. “See, I told yer it were bloody rigged.”
Their bubbles columned into the bell’s fading light. Verity tugged hard on her lifeline, signalling she was ready for Djimon to hoist her back up. Still no response. She’d already yanked the line over a dozen times to no avail. But now, with darkness smothering the lake bed, Embrey sensed things were getting desperate.
Where the hell are you, Djimon?
She lit another flare and he breathed easier. Though the bell hung a mere several fathoms above them, it might as well be a nautical mile because the weight of their deep sea diving suits anchored them to the bottom. He anticipated her next gesture-to cast off their weights and swim up-as quickly as he feared it. The pressure at this depth was considerable, and without helmets, they would have to exhale as they ascended slowly, to avoid gases building up in the bloodstream. If they didn’t, a potential air embolism might prove fatal.
He shut his eyes and tried to remain calm.
Verity jabbed his shoulder to get his attention. Her harsh gaze yanked him back to immediate obedience. She mimed what she was about to do and then raised her eyebrows, as if to ask, do you understand?
Embrey gave an emphatic nod.
Oh, God, please let this work.
First, he clumsily unbuckled his heavy boots. Verity then sliced his ballast weights free with her knife. Finally, he took a deep breath and she unfastened and lifted his helmet. The flood of icy water seized his skull. She pointed up. He began kicking and clawing his way to the bell as though it was the last pocket of life anywhere in existence. He exhaled a few bubbles after every few strokes. The fog of spores and plankton made him think he was lost in a giant pea soup. Progress seemed glacial until he spied a not-quite-circular shape in the gloom. Lines dangled from it like distended veins. One last spurt brought him to within arm’s reach. He gripped the rim and his momentum lifted him into the bell with surprising grace.
The first thing he noticed in the dim light was a dark stain on the metal floor. God help us. Has Djimon “Here! Take it!”
While coughing his guts up, he took the kaleidoscope from Verity and then helped her climb in and somehow wrapped her in a blanket. She wound the dynamo handle until all the lights blazed on. Shaking uncontrollably, she spied the pool of blood. The rim of the moon pool, too, had buckled. Something large and powerful had to have broken through, snatching poor Djimon.
She collapsed onto the floor and stared at the damaged brass rim.
“I’m sorry, Verity.”
She brushed his hand away. They sat in stunned silence. The gentle echo-popping sounds of droplets on lapping water, the whir of the dynamo, and Verity’s quiet sniffles conspired to deafen his thoughts. Finally he rose to his knees. “Okay, we did what we set out to do, so where do we go from here?”
“To hell, I hope.”
“All right, but then where?”
“Remind me to kill that pompous bastard when we make it back.” She thumped the copper wall.
“Who? Reardon?” No reply. “Granted, but how-”
“How the buggery did you think we were going to get back?” Verity’s shout pierced his already aching ears. “For God’s sake, get out of my way.” She pushed him aside and snatched up what looked like a hollow telephone receiver on the end of a hose. She spoke into it, waited for a reply.
“And they’ll haul us up?”
“Uh-huh.” She rolled her eyes. “Shut up and don’t speak to me again.”
Embrey waited until her face was downturned and then flicked her a mocking salute. He drank a few cupped handfuls of fresh water from the moon pool. It tasted crisp, marvellous.
Then he recoiled, remembering what swam down there, and what might appear again at any moment…
Over twenty minutes later, with no reply from the Empress, Verity leapt up and turned her back to him. “Help me off with this thing.”
Words he’d give anything to hear under any other circumstance.
“We’re swimming the rest of the way?” he asked.
“No choice, I’m afraid.”
The chilling finality hit him. Something had happened on the surface, and if it worried someone like Verity… “We could wait a bit longer, see if they-”
“No. We’ve waited long enough,” she said.
“But what if it’s just a problem with the communication cable? Say something bit through it. They’ll hoist us up after a set time has elapsed without word, surely.”
Verity’s dripping hair appeared almost gunmetal brown in the dimming light. “Yes, and that time has elapsed.” She wound the dynamo once more. “The auxiliary diver checks in every five minutes. After fifteen without contact, the deck crew automatically begins hoisting. Trust me, Embrey, we are on our own. Whatever happened to Djimon may have happened to the Empress as well. Now get this thing off me.”
He obeyed, but the thought of finding an empty deck-he’d left Billy and Reardon up there, for Christ’s sake-turned his stomach. Even the sight of Verity in her underwear served only to remind him of how vulnerable they were and how much he needed this ordeal to be over. He wasn’t Garrett Embrey right now-he was simply another creature in the primordial soup, snatching at survival. Nothing else mattered.
She helped him out of his clingy suit and they both peered into the moon pool.
“Remember to exhale steadily all the way up.” Her words were soft, distracted.
“I will.”
“I’ll take the clock part.”
“No, the strongest swimmer should carry it.”
Verity blinked at him, her pink-and-white face elfin and beautiful. “Embrey, I do this for a living.”
“But I haven’t done a damn thing to help on this dive. At least let me take this risk for you.” He picked up the kaleidoscope and slid into the water, gauging her reaction.
Verity shook her head slowly.
He sighed, then handed her the clock part. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
“Crazy fool. You’d never have made it like that anyway.” She cut a length of rope, tied one end to the gadget and the other to her ankle.
“Ah.”
She gently splashed his face. “Don’t look back, omafimbo odula. Whatever happens, kick until you taste home. I’ll be with you all the way.”
“Promise?”
After her quick nod, he took three deep breaths and submerged. He kicked away from the bell, confident that he could swim the breadth of an ocean if Verity were beside him. He climbed with a muscular stroke, never doubting, never looking back. The cream umbilical cable stretched forever upward. Lighter hues flickered above him like an emerald stampede on a glass ceiling.
He finally surfaced, gasping for his life on the starboard side of the Empress. Verity sprang up beside him, equally spent. But no one greeted them from the open hatches across the bulwark or through the porthole windows.
“Remember, we’ve surfaced far too quickly after such a long dive,” she said. “It’s dangerous. If you should start to feel sickly, use the oxygen canister or drink plenty of-Look! The bow!” She pointed him to a dent in the iron plane, then to several harpoons floating near the stern, still attached to their lines. “They’ve been attacked all right. Ahoy! Kibo! Anyone aboard? ”
Embrey yelled with her but they received no response.
“Come on.” She urged him to swim after her. “They may have abandoned ship.”
“Yes, and it must have been for a good reason,” he called after her, but she didn’t stop. “Hey, wait for me.”
As they climbed aboard, spilling streams as they crept, the empty ship groaned. She set the kaleidoscope down on the quarterdeck. Blood speckled the deck around two of the open starboard hatches and one of the port ones as well. One of the two lifeboats was also missing.
Embrey noticed a V shape floating off the starboard bow. It appeared heavy, as it didn’t bob with the undulating lake. He glanced at the erect davits that had lifted the lifeboat over the side, then at the V shape again. “Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”
She gave a deep sigh. “I’m afraid so.”
“How many would it have held?”
“All of them, Embrey. God help us, I think we’ve lost them all.”