And in that instant, something landed on his chest like a hard punch.
Stan swung at it and missed.
Stump. No hand.
He pulled his other hand free of the blanket and grabbed hard onto whatever had hit him.
A sharp yip of surprise and pain. For a brief instant he held a handful of struggling fur.
Fur far softer than Lucy’s.
A puppy’s fur.
He let go and could hear it scrambling away across the cabin.
Shit! Stan struggled up from the bedding. The cabin was still warm. He hit the flashlight and checked his watch.
It was one the same wrist as the hand holding the flashlight.
Twenty-two hundred. The dream had given him less than an hour of sleep this time.
But he could see the cabin without tipping his head like the goddamn dog. No explosion apparently meant no afterimage. That was a fi
