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It took Quinn a few minutes to beach the boat and climb up the rocks to reach Sam.
“Brah,” Quinn said.
Sam nodded. “Yeah. I look pretty bad. How…”
“I was fishing. I saw the fire.” Quinn knelt beside him, obviously unsure what he could do to ease his friend’s suffering.
“I look bad, and my head isn’t exactly on straight,” Sam slurred.
“I’ll get you back to town,” Quinn said.
“No, brah. Get a car.”
“Sam, you can’t…”
“Quinn.” Sam took Quinn’s arm and gripped it tight. “Get a car.”
“Back off, doggies,” Dekka growled.
The coyotes moved closer, circling, always circling. Each circuit just a little closer.
“Which one of you is Pack Leader?” Dekka demanded. Desperate. How could she stop them circling closer and closer? “I have an offer. I…I can help you. I want to talk to Pack Leader.”
One of the coyotes stopped moving and turned his intelligent face to her. “Pack Leader me.”
The voice was high-pitched, strained, as though the act of attempting speech was painful.
Dekka had only seen Pack Leader from a distance, but she knew this wasn’t him. Pack Leader had a nasty-looking face, a scar on his muzzle. He was old and mangy. This coyote was obviously younger.
“You’re not Pack Leader,” Dekka said.
The coyote tilted his head quizzically. “Pack Leader die. Pack Leader now.”
Pack Leader dead? Maybe this was an opportunity. “If you hurt me,” Dekka warned, “my people will kill coyotes.”
Pack Leader—the new Pack Leader—seemed to consider this. His eyes were bright and focused, but almost seemed to contain a trace of humor.
“Pack eat dead human,” Pack Leader said in the eerie, grating voice of the mutated coyotes.
“He’s not dead,” Dekka said.
“Pack eat,” Pack Leader said.
“No,” Dekka said. “If you try, we will—”
There was a flash of tan and gray fur and something bowled Dekka over. She rolled and came up into a squat. Three coyotes were on Edilio. Blood was pumping freely from his chest.
“No!” Dekka cried.
She raised her hands and suddenly Edilio was floating up off the ground, along with three panicked, scrabbling, yip yip yipping coyotes.
Pack Leader bounded away to a safe distance.
And there came the sound of a car approaching at high speed.
“Almost there!” Drake cried, ecstatic.
The night wind whipped their faces as the torn-open Escalade bounced and flew. Overhead the fuel rod was like a cruise missile, keeping pace. Caine stood braced against the seatback, hands held high.
