FOUR THE TRAILER
She woke her children, pushed them into the hallway closet, and gave her daughter the phone.
“Call Uncle Eli if you get a signal. If you don’t, stay low.”
The steps paused above the hall.
Then the ceiling came down.
A hairy shape dropped through insulation and wiring. It was too large for the trailer, forcing its shoulders sideways as it entered. Dara fired the twelve-gauge from four feet away.
The blast drove it back. The creature looked down at the ruined fur on its chest, then at Dara.
It was not angry yet.
Dara fired again.
This time it smiled.
She ran. A hand caught her hair and lifted her clear off the floor. She struck backward with the empty gun and hit bone. The grip loosened. She crawled under the kitchen table as the creature tore the table apart above her.
Her back door shattered inward.
Cawley fired from the yard. The .30-06 punched through the creature’s ribs. It turned toward him, and for one second he saw Chenoa strapped across its shoulder, conscious and reaching.
Then the creature crashed through the side wall and vanished into the dark wash.
Dara was alive, her shoulder broken, her hearing gone in one ear. Her children were alive too.
Cawley climbed into his truck and followed the tracks until they reached the mine road. There, he saw Arlo’s headlights coming fast.
“She’s got the girl,” he said.
Arlo looked at the blood on Cawley’s sleeve. “Then that changes the job.”