By her second day traveling, Morgan spotted the shadows of mountains on the horizon.

She had been walking steadily east—or at least what would be considered east on Earth. In any case, she walked in the direction where the first sun rose every day. (The second sun rose a little north of the first and about two hours behind.)

That was the direction where she had seen the cluster of lights by the ocean while the dome had descended. On Earth, most of the population lived near the coasts, so it made sense for the same to be here. She hoped.

There was no sign anyone had followed her from the village. The only other large creatures she spotted were deer and elk. Once, distantly, she thought she saw some sort of leaping antelope. The herd vanished through the trees before she could get a good look.

While traveling back and forth between the stream and the village, she hadn’t realized how alike the meadows were. Now, she had crossed over a dozen, all similar. Planned. It would be either a field of wheat or rice-like stalks about the width of two football fields, broken by stands of fruit and nut trees. Sometimes the meadow would have a stream running through it. Sometimes a pond teeming with fish. Those that had neither instead had a cylinder to dispense the alien cakes.

It made Morgan feel like she was walking in circles. She began cutting gashes in the largest oak she saw at the beginning of every stand of trees. The marks would help her find her way back when (not if, she couldn’t let herself think of if) she got help.

Lucas’s bruised, battered face swam in and out of her thoughts. Her mood swung between guilt for leaving him, and fear that she wasn’t traveling fast enough. What if an infection set in while she was gone? What if she found help only to realize she was too late?

Her pace quickened until her calves burned as she reached the beginning of another meadow. There was always another meadow.

Things will be different when I get to the mountains, she thought. Their distant shadows had grown deeper as she traveled closer. Through the heat haze of the two suns, she thought she saw snowcapped peaks.

I’m going to have to cross that, somehow. And all I have to wear are jeans and a T-shirt.

She would think of something. Maybe, if she could catch an animal and skin it—

The attack came out of nowhere.

Morgan was hit from behind, hard enough to drive her forward to her hands and knees. A guttural animal growled, and fabric tore—her backpack.

Morgan brought her elbow back and struck something downy soft. She half-rolled, feeling the weight of her attacker fall to the side. It still had a dragging hold on her backpack, threatening to pin her.

Tucking her arms in, she slid out of the straps and crab-crawled away. The snap of golden wheat stalks told that her attacker was doing the same. Morgan whirled around.

It was an honest-to-god velociraptor.

The animal stood a few inches below her height, with a sinuous S-shaped neck, long rod-like tail, and wickedly curved three-toe claws which were currently entangled in one of the loose straps of Morgan’s backpack. Unlike in the movies, it was covered with mottled white and black feathers all over its body, shading to brown in places. The top of its head had a crest of vivid yellow and blue feathers, like a cockatiel, with a matching yellow fan at the end of its tail.

The raptor backed a step and opened large jaws that showed teeth that were pointed at the front and had molars on the back.

The backpack was still entangled in its claws and slid with the step. Growling, the raptor tried to shake it off to no avail. Its yellow, slit-pupil eyes never left Morgan’s face.

She should run, but she needed that bag.

“Hey!” she yelled, lifting her arms to make herself as big as possible. That’s what you were supposed to do to scare off big predators, right?

The small part of her mind that wasn’t gibbering in amazement reminded her that if she couldn’t outrun a bear, she probably couldn’t outrun a freakin’ dinosaur.

And weren’t raptors supposed to be pack hunters, too? Crap.

Sucking in a breath, she made her voice come out as fearsome as possible. “Go away!”

The raptor opened its mouth in a hiss. The three fingered front hands, tucked in close to its chest, clenched and relaxed to show straight, needle-like claws.

Then a second pair of wings flared out from its body, where its ribs should be; stunningly large and patterned white and black like a magpie.

Okay. Definitely not an Earth dinosaur.

The wings spread wide in an obvious threat display. It worked. Morgan was plenty threatened. If she were anywhere near a tree, she would be halfway up it by now.

Or maybe not. Her backpack had everything she needed to survive.

Heart pounding, she stood her ground. “Go away!” she yelled again. “That’s my bag. Bad raptor! Shoo!” Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter what she said, as long as she sounded really fierce about it.

The raptor made a high warbling sound deep in its throat that ended in a growling cough. It didn’t budge an inch.

“Oh, to hell with this.” The soil was a little rockier here than back at the villager. There were visible stones peeking out of the grass. Morgan snatched one and threw.

It missed the raptor by a good three feet.

The raptor twisted to watch it sail by, then turned back. Morgan could swear it had a look of derision in its yellow eyes.

Then it picked up its own stone in a three-fingered hand and lobbed it at her. Morgan ducked, but it hit her shoulder with a solid thud.

“Ow! Damn it!” It might have been funny, except the raptor used her distraction to advance, wings flicking back to rest tight against its body, but the arms up and claws on display.

Morgan backed, despite herself.

Then the raptor stumbled, steps fouled by the backpack still caught in its toe claws. It snarled, frustrated.

Except… there was a cadence to the noise. A complex rise and fall of sound. Was it… speech?

“You’re not a dinosaur.” As soon as Morgan spoke, the creature—she was still going to call it a raptor because it was the closest Earth equivalent—froze and stared back at her. “You… You’re not from around here, are you? Are you one of the aliens that brought us here?”

The raptor cocked its head.

Swallowing, Morgan pushed the words through her dry mouth. “Did you… Uh…” She didn’t dare take her eyes off the thing but pointed up at the sky. “Did you bring us here? From Earth? Earth!” she repeated louder.

The raptor blinked—the eyelids moved sideways across its eyes, which was creepy. Then it pointed upward, too.

As Morgan gaped, the raptor’s other hand pressed against its own chest.

Then it said… something. The noise was so garbled and low that Morgan couldn’t catch the syllables. The skin around the raptor’s lips didn’t move very much. Most of the sound seemed to come from the back of its mouth.

The raptor stared at Morgan for a few moments, then repeated the sound.

“That—that’s your name? Or what your species is called?” Morgan shook her head and tried her best at repeating the noise. “Alphonzikk?”

It—Alphonzikk?—cheeped and swiveled its head and shoulders in a sinuous movement.

Morgan figured it was her turn. She pressed one hand against her chest. “Morgan.”

“Oorrgan,” growled Alphonzikk.

Close enough.

Figuring they were on a roll, Morgan opened the palm of her hand and gestured to the bag still tangled in Alphonzikk’s very large, steak-knife-like toe claws. “That’s mine. I know you don’t understand what I’m saying, but I need that back.”

She took a careful step forward, keeping her hand open and outstretched.

Closer up, she saw that the raptor wasn’t just covered with feathers. It had what looked like flat leather straps crossing and recrossing its body, leaving room for the wings. These straps were half buried in the feathers and seemed more functional than decorative, as most ended in pouches. It was like a very complex tool belt.

After a little more gesturing, Alphonzikk bent and untangled the strap from its toe claws. It stepped back and Morgan collected her bag. There was a rip along the top, though nothing had fallen out.

Alphonzikk raised and lowered his crest of feathers as Morgan slid the pack over her shoulders. Then it coughed something out she couldn’t understand.

“Um, I’m headed to the mountains. That way.” She pointed to the horizon. When that got no answer, she made finger walking motions across her palm and pointed again. “Have you seen people like me over there?”

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She could draw a picture on a bare patch of ground, but that would be putting herself below the level of the raptor for a good length of time. That… didn’t sound like a good idea.

Alphonzikk looked toward the mountain, swished its rod-like tail. Then it jerked its snout to Morgan’s right, the direction she had started to think as south.

“Oh. Okay. I’m going that way.” Again, she pointed.

Alphonzikk snapped at her outstretched hand, teeth clicking a bare centimeter from the tips of her fingers.

She snapped her hand back to her chest. “Watch it!” She did not want to lose her freakin’ fingers in first contact.

The raptor snarled, showing pearly fangs.

Hastily, Morgan backed, and Alphonzikk followed her—she swore it was making a parody of the ‘shooing’ motion she’d made earlier. Then it stepped to the side, still shooing, this time herding her south.

“Is this what you want?” She took a few steps south and the raptor calmed down, walking behind her.

* * *

Every time Morgan turned to walk east toward the mountains, the crest on Alphonzikk’s head would rise in warning like an angry cockatiel.

When she insisted, she would get snarled and snapped at.

Once, in a bit of frustration, the raptor actually head-butted her. Although it stood nearly Morgan’s height, it was a lot lighter. More like being hit by a large dog than a person almost her size.

Hollow-boned, maybe? It made no attempt to fly, and she would have noticed if there was something as big as a velociraptor in the sky. The wings might be for show, like an ostrich.

Whatever else Alphonzikk was, it was probably human intelligent. She saw it digging through the pouches on the leather straps and snacking on whatever was in there. So it wasn’t a collar or a harness, like what would be on a pet.

And despite all its pushing and snarling, it didn’t outright attack her again.

Maybe it did understand her, and it was leading her to other humans. Somewhere she could find help. Or… it was bringing her to more of its kind and they were going to have Morgan-stew tonight.

She kept a sharp lookout, but no other raptors showed up.

And somehow, despite the raptor’s bad attitude, she didn’t feel a sense of danger. Traveling east had been her best guess. If this alien was trying to bring her somewhere or show her something… well, it was the best lead she’d gotten so far.

Are the raptors responsible for the lights I saw?

Morgan pictured a city full of them. Some driving cars, others sitting in raptor coffee shops…

… The suns must be getting to her head. She should stop to eat soon.

The meadows, broken by stands of trees, were in the same order going south as they were east to west. While walking through one orchard, Morgan spotted the woody bark of an orange tree. Sure enough, ripe fruits hung just out of reach.

Alphonzikk noticed her hesitation and coughed low in its throat. The crest of feathers rose in warning.

“Hold up a minute,” she snapped. Sliding her backpack off, she jumped to catch the lowest branch of the tree. She’d gotten pretty good at climbing for food over the last few weeks.

Alphonzikk stared up at her from the ground, jaws parted and wings half spread. It was hard to tell, but it looked alarmed.

Morgan laughed down at it. “You’re practically a bird. Don’t you roost in trees?”

The raptor danced in place, extending its long neck to watch her carefully. She guessed the answer was no.

Definitely more “ostrich” than “hawk” then.

Morgan reached out to an orange. It dimpled under her touch. Perfectly ripe. There were a few more within easy reach.

She dropped them—Alphonzikk scurried back in alarm—before she leaped down, herself.

“Here,” she said, picking one up and holding it out. Time to make friends. “Do you eat fruit? It’s an orange. Or-ange,” she repeated.

Carefully, Alphonzikk extended its three-fingered claws. She handed it over and grabbed an orange of her own, digging out her box cutter from the backpack.

The raptor’s eyes fixed on her as she used the cutter to start the peel. From there, she stored the cutter in her pants pocket (a good excuse for having it within reach) and peeled the rest with her fingers. “There are seeds in the middle, but you can just pop those out. Here, see?” She demonstrated, then popped a segment in her mouth.

Alphonzikk growled and looked down at its own fruit. The three-fingered claw hands were at least as dexterous as human fingers—maybe even more so. Alphonzikk had its orange peeled in half the time it took Morgan.

From there it removed a section, dealt with the seeds, and tossed the remainder in its mouth, chewing with half-squinted concentration.

“I guess you aren’t just a meat-eater,” Morgan observed, watching the raptor swallow. “Maybe I should be thinking of you as a flightless parrot.”

“Oooorange,” Alphonzikk agreed.

* * *

The suns had set by the time they walked out from under the trees.

This next meadow had a pond instead of a stream. Morgan sat on a rock and used the small fishing kit she had in her bag with no luck. Either this pond was empty, or her cheap-ass lure didn’t look enough like a tasty bug in low light.

Alphonzikk seemed to think the day was over, too. It perched on its own rock across the pond like a goose settling down on a nest.

After removing the straps and pouches, it preened itself, paying special attention to the long feathers along its wings.

Morgan watched with fascination, and at first, she didn’t register a tug on her line. A bite! She reeled it in by hand and was rewarded with a good-sized trout.

She had her MREs in the bag but wanted to save those for emergencies. Besides, Alphonzikk seemed more relaxed after sharing the orange. She had no idea where the raptor was leading her, or why, but it wouldn’t hurt to extend the olive branch a bit further.

“Alphonzikk,” she called, but the raptor didn’t look up. Well, she already figured she was destroying its name with her pronunciation. “Hello? Al? Al!”

For some reason, that got the raptor’s attention.

Morgan grinned, deliberately showing teeth, and held up the trout. “Do you eat fish?”

* * *

They ate their shared meal over a fire. Or at least Morgan did.

She didn’t know what Al’s problem was, but it chirped and coughed as Morgan impaled her half of the fish on a stick and put it over the fire.

Crest rising and falling, Al crept closer to watch the process with fascination.

Morgan had no idea where Al’s portion had gone to. Maybe it was a fan of sushi.

The raptor made no comment as Morgan ate her portion cooked; she wasn’t in the mood for tapeworm.

They spent an uneasy night camped out.

Morgan slept lightly, startling at every sound, one hand gripped around the box cutter in her pocket. Just in case.

Al stayed on the other end of the campfire, though once or twice she swore she saw the gleam of eyes watching her.

Morgan woke just before dawn to a crunching sound. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around.

Al had somehow managed to capture a rabbit and was chewing the head between its jaws. Raw.

Spotting Morgan awake, it stopped and held the half-eaten rabbit out in invitation.

“No thanks,” Morgan said. “I’ll have a piece of fruit or something.”

Apparently, rabbit sat well with Al’s stomach, though Morgan did see it picking fur out of its teeth for an hour afterward, with a look of raptor disgust on its face.

“You don’t have rabbits where you come from? Or… you don’t know how to deal with the fur, maybe?” she guessed.

That would make sense. This place was so Earth-like and Al… clearly wasn’t.

What if the animals wherever the raptors came from didn’t have fur? Just feathers.

“That’s why we skin our rabbits,” Morgan said, just to fill the silence as they continued to walk south. The mountains were again out of sight. There was no point in turning east. “Also, the fur can be used to make clothing… which you don’t use, I guess. How do you make those leather straps…”

They had come out of a stand of trees and were about to cross into another meadow.

Abruptly, Al’s head went up, feathered crest raised to full height.

Morgan stopped. She couldn’t see whatever had grabbed its attention.

Al took a deep, gusting breath. Then, with a look at Morgan, it charged straight ahead.

Morgan hesitated, but followed.

They passed through a thin line of trees into yet another meadow (big surprise). Only this one was different.

The field stopped halfway, like a hot knife had carved a line through the grass. Beyond lay bare, sandy dirt.

“What the hell?” Morgan scuffed the dirt with the toe of her shoe, then bent to touch it.

The soil was hot and sandy and glittered with unfamiliar minerals. The land that lay beyond was utterly featureless. No trees, plants, or animals. Just bare soil as far as the eye could see.

She looked at Al who was watching her, unsurprised. So, the raptor knew this was here.

Morgan spread her hands, palm up. Hopefully, the expression of, “I don’t understand” was a universal one.

Al copied her exactly. Then it crouched in that goose-settling way and dragged the tip of one claw into the soil. With a coughing-growl, it stepped back.

Morgan stared down at a simple drawing of a large circle set on top of a fatter trapezoid. “That’s… nice?” She looked at the raptor. “I don’t know what this is.”

Kneeling, she drew a stick figure man. “Human,” she said.

“Ooorrgan,” replied Al, massacring her name.

“No, I mean, yes. I’m human. Are there more humans around? Have you seen more of us?” She started to draw more, but Al growled and tapped its own drawing with an impatient toe-claw.

“Rahganarrr.”

Then Al butted Morgan in a friendly-like fashion before setting off, following the border of the meadow to the south.

Apparently, they were on the move again.

* * *

The boundary line continued on like an invisible hand had taken a straightedge to the landscape. A perfect division between meadows, trees, and the desert beyond.

Even the streams ended at the line, sinking into the soil as if the water was falling into an invisible underground cavern.

Today was much hotter than the previous day. By the time the second sun rose, Morgan was a sweaty mess.

Al was worse off. Its jaws were open and panting. It took every opportunity to drink at a stream. Finally, when they reached a stand of trees, it sank down, mouth agape and wings spread as if to press itself into the cool earth.

I could head back east now, Morgan thought, leaning against the trunk of a tree. Al looked completely worn out—apparently, raptors didn’t handle heat as well as humans. She was sure she could get a head start.

But she had come this far, and she had become convinced Al was trying to show her something.

No. Whatever this was, she would see it through.

Al stirred again toward the later afternoon. A cool breeze sighed through the trees and dropped a few ripe walnuts around their feet.

Morgan offered a couple to Al, who turned up its nose. Not a fan of nuts, then. Well, they were high in calories. She stored a few in her bag.

“Rahganarr?” she suggested.

“Rahganarr,” Al growled, rising.

Now, if only she knew what that meant.

* * *

They found Rahganarr as the second sun was setting.

At first, she thought it was another cake dispenser. It was an alien device that sat straddling the boundary line between meadow and desert: A globe of smoky gray sitting on top of a fat trapezoid base.

Al’s feathers perked up. It circled the device again and again, bobbing its head excitedly.

Morgan was less enthused. She approached cautiously, arms crossed. “This is the… Rahganarr?” She dropped her bag to get a closer look. There was no port or switch or button.

Al chipped again and swished its tail. Then, eyes bright, it placed both claw hands on the surface of the globe.

It looked at Morgan expectantly.

“You want me to touch it? Like this?” Carefully, she placed her palms upon the globe. Was it going to show her something, or—

A tingling electric current raced through her arms and up, directly into her mind.

* * *

Morgan woke, lying flat on the ground.

Am I hungover again? she thought. What the hell am I laying on? Sand?

Then she remembered. Wincing, she tried to move. A bolt of pain shot through her head.

“Gods, my head hurts,” groaned a voice. “They never said it hurt.”

Only that voice was definitely not human. And it—he—had definitely not been speaking English.

“What?” Morgan asked.

“What?” Alphron’zikk replied, again not in English.

Only Morgan had totally understood him.

Gingerly, Morgan sat up. It felt like someone had taken their fingers and stirred around in her brain.

It was full-on night now—she must have been out for hours. They both had.

She stared over the top of the Rahganarr—the knowledge transfer device—her brain helpfully supplied, at the raptor who was picking himself up off the ground.

“What did you do to me?” she rasped.

“What else was I supposed to do? Keep miming everything?” Al grabbed at his own head. “Ugh, don’t answer that. Talking hurts. Listening hurts. Thinking hurts.”

Morgan had spoken in English. Al replied in the language of the Yellow Crests, his people, and she’d understood him.

The fact that she knew all this… her head spun… and she sort of wanted to throw up her own brain.

Sinking down, Morgan rested her cheek on the cool sand. Al was right. Thinking hurt. She was going to take a break from it for a while.