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Brie

Hawser says something Brie can’t understand. “What?” she asks impatiently, tired of carrying the pack. “Help me up!”

She takes the hand he offers, kicks up the side of the ledge, and as her head comes over the rise she sees splintered light. The sun glitters on a thousand yards of plastic, glass and steel.

“That’s–is that?” she gasps. “It is!”

“The Secret Telephone Booth Burial Ground,” says Hawser gravely. “And we found it, Brie.”

“So many still look intact,” she whispers. “Just think. You could fit twenty-five people in each one…”

“And then,” says Hawser, nodding, “to outer space!”

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