By dusk wed crossed over a chunk of Pennsylvania, and a thin spit of ocean twined below us, between New Jersey and Delaware.
I was tired. We were all tired. So when I did a automatic 360 and saw a weird dark cloud heading torward us, my groan was deep and sincere.
"Fang! What's that? Behind us, at ten o'clock."
He frowned, checking it out." Too fast for a storm cloud. Too small, too quick for choppers. Not birds--- too lumpy."
"Trouble," I said grimly." Angel! Get out of the way. Guys, head up! We got company!"
We swing around to face what ever was coming.
"Flying monkeys?", The Gasman called out a guess," Like The Wizard Of Oz?"
It dawned on me then." No," I said tersely." Worse. Flying Erasers."
