Closing Cretaceous Caucus

Furlow glanced into the azure sky, another perfect day in Utopia.

My party'll return to their constituencies, thought Furlow; instructed to store food for two years, burrow deep into the earth, ride out the storm.

The Council were so set in their ways, refusing to believe the scientists' forecasts. Three million years of species harmony, following 300 million years of strife, how could Paradise end?

A tyrannosaurus munched on a manufactured protein bar, chattering amiably with a brontosaurus, left the Meeting, passed close by.

Furlow shook his head. No more consensus. When that asteroid strikes, it's every mammal for himself.