Footsteps pounded overhead as Nathan hurled himself out the door and caught Robert when the boy was just two steps away from the street—and brought him down in a way that guaranteed skinned elbows and knees. Then Pete Denby was there too, and the girls were crying because Pete was angry and Nathan was snarling . . . and the phone kept ringing and ringing.

The pain in Meg’s body faded again, leaving her feeling weak, but the skin along the right side of her jaw began to burn.

Focused on Pete and Nathan squaring off, she grabbed the receiver and said, “What?”

“Meg?”

The voice shook so much she wasn’t sure she recognized it. “Hope?”

“Meg . . . run . . . hide. Death.”

“Hope, what . . . ?”

“Run!”

“Hope? Hope!”

The girl wasn’t there anymore. Meg listened to the dial tone, then dropped the receiver back into the cradle. She rushed into the sorting room and locked the Private door.

Whatever vision she might have seen about Robert . . . That was done. She still felt weak and sick, but there was no prickle or buzz in her lower body. The pain was along her jaw now—the spot where she had dreamed of making a cut.

Run. Hope’s screamed command burned under her skin. But run from what? The cards hadn’t supplied the answer.

Meg opened her silver razor, laid the blade against the right side of her jaw, and made a long cut. Setting aside the razor, she braced her hands on the table and swallowed the agony as well as the words in order to see this prophecy.

Images piled up like a stack of photographs being seen so fast she could barely understand. Wolves. Blood. Death. That was common in all the images. But the land . . . Similar places but not the same places. A sea of grass. Cabins built near mountains. More places that became a backdrop for death. So many more.

For a heartbeat, she saw Simon at the Wolfgard Complex, one side of his face covered in blood. Then she saw . . . she saw . . .

Turning away from the table, Meg bent over and vomited on the floor.

Run. Hide the pack.

“Sam,” she whispered.

Turning away from the mess, she spotted the phone on the counter. She had seen . . . She knew that face.

The address book, recently purchased at the Three Ps, sat beside the phone. Meg flipped to the W section and called the number.

“Walker’s General Store. Jesse speaking.”

She forced the words out. “This is Meg Corbyn.”

“Meg?”

If she didn’t get out of there soon, something inside her would break. Still she struggled to lay out the images in a way that Jesse Walker would understand. “Bison. Rifle. Death. Wolves. Trap. Death. Bodies. Bodies. Joe’s face. Fire, fire, fire.”

“Meg?” Alarmed now.

The images swam in front of her eyes, too horrible to bear. “Run. Hide the puppies. Hide the children. Run. Run!”

Fear spurred her, and Meg followed her own warning. She snatched the BOW’s key out of her purse and ran out the back door, colliding with Vlad but unable to stop, unable to speak. She flung open the garage door, leaped into her BOW, and barely missed running over Simon as she backed out.

“Meg!” Simon yelled.

She looked at him, trying to find words, and could find only one. “Run!”

She stomped on the power pedal, careened around the corner, and headed for the Wolfgard Complex as fast as the little vehicle could go.

CHAPTER 32

Firesday, Juin 22

Jesse Walker ran into the middle of Prairie Gold’s main street and screamed, a sound that was part fear, part battle cry. People working in nearby stores ran out, but it wasn’t humans who could help her now.

Hearing caws, she looked up and spotted several Ravens circling above her. And when she looked toward the other end of town, she saw smoke rushing toward her.

“Meg Corbyn says the Wolves are heading into a trap! Sound the alarm! Stop them!”

The Ravens flew away. The smoke continued to rush toward her. Just before it reached her, it rose into a column and shifted into human form.

“Did Meg say anything else?” Tolya asked.

“She saw Joe’s face. She said . . .” Jesse swallowed hard. “She said ‘bodies’ twice and ‘fire’ three times. She said to hide the puppies and children.”

“Joe made a special arrangement with . . . Well, that doesn’t matter. What matters is there is a hiding place in the hills above the terra indigene village. Did he tell you?”

“Yes.”

“Then grab only what you need and take the females and all the young to that place.”

“But—”

“Do it, Jesse Walker. Neither of us has time for words now.” Tolya shifted to smoke and raced toward the open land beyond the town.

Neither of us has time. Gods above and below.

“Jesse?” Phil Mailer started walking toward her.

She shook her head. “Ring the alarm bell. We have to get out of here.” She ran back into her store and stared at the two wire crates on the counter that were already filled with jars of peanut butter, boxes of cereal, chocolate bars, cans of fruit. For the past hour, she’d been feeling uneasy without knowing why, had started packing emergency supplies for something to do.

“What’s going on?” Shelley Bookman asked, running into the store.

Jesse shoved an empty crate into Shelley’s hands. “Bottles of juice. Anything else that might quickly feed children. Get moving!” She dropped a box of flatware into one of her crates and two loaves of bread into the other. Rushing to the display of kitchen utensils, she grabbed a can opener and tossed that in the crate.