James Smith - The Flock

"It's ugly. That was self-loathing. I've seen it before, in others. But, I'm stuck on you, so I have to forgive you, don't I?"

They looked at one another, their eyes full of desire and growing love. Ron moved toward Mary again, to embrace her for another round of kissing that he hoped would lead them to the bedroom. But before they could begin, Mary pushed him away.

"Um." Mary cleared her throat. "I don't know if I should mention this, and I don't think you've heard, since one of the reporters I've been working with told me…" she trailed off.

"What?" Ron sat straight and looked at his host. "What is it?"

"That number, Kate Kwitney."

"What about her?" He blinked.

"She's going to be chief administrator at Holcomb's research center. Seems she knows more about these damned birds than anyone but Holcomb. So she's eminently qualified."

Ron covered his face. "God. Give me a break."

Mary reached over and gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. "Well, don't look too depressed," she said. "Look what came out today. Have you seen it, yet?" Mary reached beside the couch and produced a newspaper. Unfolding it, the paper rattling loudly, she presented it to Ron. "Ain't it a gas?"

Ron looked while Mary began to chuckle.

It was the National Inquirer. The front page was a grainy photo of the head of a Titanis walleri. GIANT DINO-BIRD LIVES, it said. UTTERS THE NAME OF JESUS.

Along with Mary, Ron found himself laughing.

"Now, then," Mary said. "Where were we?"