Persia scowled at the announcement, which included a map of the proposed location of the expansion. She traced the West Washakie River until she reached Little Blind Bear Creek and froze. The proposed site would cover not only both sides of the river, but it would encompass all of Blind Bear and Little Blind Bear creeks, decimating the fossil site she’d been guarding for millennia.

“No. No fucking way.” She brought out her phone and took a photo, then headed down the sidewalk toward the little café that had the best peppermint tea this side of the Cretaceous.

Once she had her tea, she headed out to the little sitting area in the front and claimed a bench that could take her full, but muted weight. She set her tea down beside her and pulled out her phone. She hadn’t spoken to Professor Nozomi Shimizu in a couple of months since the end of last year’s field season, but she’d kept the professor appraised of anything going on near the site. She dialed the university and waited to be connected.

Persia sipped her tea and watched the community awaken around her. Fortunately, she had time to organize people to speak up for both the community and the fossils under her care. There was no way they could let this development go forward, despite what the mayor wanted. She was well aware that Mayor Blatherton was best buds with Krassobaki—everyone was. Blatherton had made it a point to show their connection—so the townspeople would be facing a huge advocate of Krassobaki’s development.

But there are more of us than there are of them.

The phoneline clicked over and started ringing. Persia waited until someone picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Nozomi, it’s Persia. Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Persia! Good to hear from you. Yes, I’m in my off hour. What’s going on?”

“Have you seen the announcement of a public meeting here in Deadman over a resort expansion? I’ll send you a pic.” Persia put the call on speaker and opened the text app. “It’s scheduled for this Thursday at six thirty pm. Do you think you could make some time to gather a few of the grad students and come down to Deadman for the meeting?”

There was a short silence as Nozomi absorbed the image. “Yeah, I could do that. Why do you need me there? This seems like a Deadman town issue.”

“Did you see the map of the proposed expansion? It straddles the West Washakie River to mile marker seventy-seven on Highway 91.”

“Mile marker seventy-seven?” Nozomi was silent a bit longer. “The expansion includes all three of our sites as well as one of the Anthropology department’s sites.”

“Yup. And if they put that awful resort in there, all those sites will be destroyed for a rich man’s vanity and friends.”

“Oh hell no. That’s not happening. I’ll gather who I can, especially Professor Campbell, and we’ll be there. Six-thirty on Thursday, you said?”

“Yup. I’m going to let the folks at Friends of Deadman Paleo know as well. I figure if we get enough people there, the project will be dead in the water.”

Nozomi sighed through the phone. “I hope so, but as you’ve said many times, people are very susceptible to money.”

“Yeah, but they also like the preserve things and this expansion will hurt their livelihoods and shove them out of their homes. A spark is all it takes to get the community to stand up for their natural resources and way of living.”

I hope. She’d seen humans vote against their basic needs because of a promise of money. But she also saw humans cave to a minority when it got loud enough. We’ll just have to be louder.

“I hope you’re right. Okay, let me make some calls and I’ll text you when we’re on our way on Thursday.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Nozomi.” Persia’s gullet settled for the first time that morning. “Talk to you on Thursday.”

She ended the call and shoved the phone into her back pocket as she let her shoulders relax. There was hope. Not all the humans were money-grubbing, backstabbing bastards. She’d met quite a few who were great beings over the millennia. But she didn’t truly trust them until they stood up for things. But Nozomi Shimizu had earned her trust over and over again with her patient and careful exhumation of Persia’s sisters from the mudstone near the West Washakie River.

Persia’s throat closed as she thought of the members of her herd who’d perished in the mudslide that had come off the hills after several days of rain inundated the area around the watering hole. The clay had been sticky that day and Persia hadn’t wanted to stand in it, so she’d retreated into the Gingko trees with several others in her herd to sip water off the leaves of the low-lying shrubs. That was the only thing that had saved them—they were just outside the reach of the wall of mud and vegetation churning in a massive flood. She hadn’t realized her sisters were buried until the roar of the muddy maelstrom had filled the river.

And I kept watch over you all these millennia.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as the sorrow hit her again. Usually she carried it with aplomb, not too bothered by it. But the idea that her sisters’ resting place would be desecrated by the humans’ earthmoving machines to make way for a sunning patio called Dinosaur Reach or something was abhorrent.

Nope, nope, nope.

Persia swallowed the last of her tea and pulled out her phone. Time to call the Friends of Deadman Paleo and the Fossil Beds B&B to set aside some rooms for the folks from the university.