Dusty air scraped its way into my throat while I ran. The scales covering the herd’s bodies blended with the ground, except where blood spattered around claw and tooth. They hunted in herds, using the rough sandstone outcroppings as camouflage. It wasn’t fair.
The reverse scriptease experiment had worked too well. Too many genes were reverted too far back. In two weeks our peaceful flock had morphed to a 65 million year old ancestor. They were not prey, and we were fit to be fried.
The rooster cawed through its dinosaur mouth. I ran faster, wondering what I’d taste like.