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“Game over, Sam,” Caine said.
Something blurred behind Caine and he reeled. He clutched his skull.
Brianna stood over him, brandishing her hammer.
“Run, Breeze!” Sam yelled, but too late. Even as he staggered backward, Caine fired at point-blank range and Brianna flew backward into the wall, through the wall.
Caine jumped after her through the opening.
Sam fired into the wall, burned a hole. Through it he could see Caine blowing away the next wall.
Sam felt the floor buckle beneath him.
The building was collapsing.
He turned and ran, but all at once the floor was gone and he was running in midair, falling, and the building with him, all around him, on him.
He fell and the world fell on him.
FORTY-FIVE
14 MINUTES
QUINN WATCHED IN frozen horror as the coyotes attacked the children.
He saw Sam fire and miss.
He saw Sam agonize for a terrible moment as Caine attacked the church.
Sam ran toward the church.
Quinn shouted, “No!”
He aimed.
“Don’t hit the kids, don’t the kids,” he sobbed, and squeezed the trigger. Aiming at the mass of coyotes. So many more than before.
The coyotes barely noticed him.
One fell, twisting, like it had tripped, and didn’t get up.
Then he could shoot no more, the beasts were in with the kids. He ran for the ladder and slid and fell and landed hard in the alley.
Run away, his brain screamed, run from it. He took three panicked steps away, toward the beach, running toward the beach, but then, as though some invisible force had taken hold of him, he stopped.
“Can’t run away, Quinn,” he told himself.
“Can’t.”
And even as he said the words, he was running back, into the day care, pushing past Mary shielding a child in her arms, past her out to the plaza, wielding the gun as a club now, running and screaming his head off like a lunatic, swinging the gun butt to a sickening crunch on a coyote’s skull.
Edilio was there and kids were shooting and Edilio was shouting, “No, no, no,” and then blood was in Quinn’s eyes and blood was in his brain and blood was everywhere and he lost his mind, lost his mind swinging and screaming and hitting, hitting, hitting.
Mary clutched Isabella to her and huddled with John, and the kids cried hearing the madness outside, the screams and snarls and guns.
“Jesus, save us, Jesus, save us,” someone was repeating in a racked, sobbing voice, and Mary knew in some distant way that it was her.
Drake heard the coyote howl in the night and knew in his black heart what it meant.
