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Everything that creeped and crawled and swam—tasty or disgusting on the hoof—totally off-limits, though. Meanwhile, the expedition walked around with swagger and strong intent, breathing the ever-loving air that could be contaminated, too. Why not pluck a fucking woodpecker from the air and chow down?
It was an anthropological nightmare, this festering need to hold on to the foundations of your vision, your prior frame of reference.
Don’t be disgruntled or discouraged by what it looked like—if a thing camouflaged itself, that was nothing to do with him.
the Changeling wasn’t trying to stop Area X but to just make sure everything happened as it had already happened. That the Area X Lowry had fucking experienced was the best possible outcome. That Area X would never not happen.
There was no off switch, there was no other time in which it faded away or was not activated. But if it colonized the past, then everything would get worse, worse, worse.
He kept close vague memories, said nothing he’d learned aloud, for fear it would escape like the dust into the air and be lost to him.
