Elodie skips cheerfully across the street to the location in the email. She stops and surveys her surroundings to confirm that yes, it is a river. She can tell this because it is full of flowing water and that water is very wet. This is completely expected and not evidence of an apocalypse of any kind, so she sniffs the air. Toffee and fear. Also dog. It must be the right place after all.
Between where she stands and the river are 13 of her schoolmates, buried neck-deep in pudding-filled pits. She recognizes Rika, Staniford, Gil, Drusilla, Barth, Shelly, and a bunch of vaguely familiar faces she doesn’t know the names of. One of those pits has no person inside. It must be hers.
The source of the dog-smell is napping on a somehow-solid cloud about four feet over the heads of the pudding pits. It has become a thing much less puppulent than its smell. It looks simultaneously exactly like a wildebeest, a giant squid, a school bus, a badger, and a hurricane. To Elodie, a great relief.
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