She supposed it was what theyor at least Sting of The Policewould have called synchronicity: that twangy guitar and soft-pedaled keyboard emanating so clearly from the RV's speakers as she ascended the vehicle's aluminum ladder. All she knew was that the song matched her mood perfectly, absurdly, as Karen Carpenter sang, Such a feeling's comin' over me / There is wonder in most everything I see
She gained the RV's roof and looked around: at the motor homes being corralled in the parking lot of Bluebeard's Cove, at the velociraptors gathered like spectators outside the fence, at the brontosaurus mulling its cypress leaves nearby and the pterodactyls circling in the blood-red sky and the volcano spewing lava not thirty miles away. Not a cloud in the sky / Got the sun in my eyes / And I / Won't be surprised if it's a dream