He wasn’t sure what he was seeing. It was like the drawing she did of the mound of bison except . . .

Joe.

Jackson tore out of the cabin and ran as if everything in his world depended on his speed . . . because, at that moment, it did.

<Help!> he called.

<Wolf? Wolf?> Replies from the Ravengard, Hawkgard, Eaglegard.

<The Intuits are going to be attacked. We’re going to be attacked. Watch the road. Give warning if any humans head our way.>

<Jackson?> That was Grace.

<Hide the pups! Warn the Wolves. Get away from the settlement!>

<Where are you?>

<Have to warn . . . > Who? How many?

Reaching the communications cabin, he flung himself inside, shifting to human as he walked to the table that held the telephone and the computer.

“Jackson?” The Hawk minding the cabin stared at him.

Jackson stared back, then picked up the phone and called the number he had for Prairie Gold. Getting a busy signal, he hung up and called Howling Good Reads. No answer.

As he stood there, he smelled Hope and urine.

“The Hope pup was here?”

The Hawk nodded. “She used the telephone. She said ‘Meg, run, hide, death,’ and then she ran away.”

Jackson wrote a phone number on the pad of paper next to the phone. “Call this number. Keep trying until someone answers. Tell whoever answers, even if it’s a human, that the Wolves have to hide. They have to hide or they’re going to die.”

“Where are you going?”

“To warn the Intuits. Hope saw their village burning.”

Shifting back to Wolf, Jackson raced down the road. It wasn’t just Intuits who needed help in that village. There were the four surviving prophet pups living there too.

CHAPTER 35

Firesday, Juin 22

Joe pushed for all the speed he had. <Wolves! Wait!>

<They’re killing our meat!>

Too angry. Not listening. He’d been chosen as leader of the terra indigene settlement because of his contact with Simon and the Lakeside Courtyard, because they needed someone now to actively deal with the Prairie Gold humans. But being the leader of the settlement wasn’t the same as being the dominant Wolf. The pack had just proved that by ignoring his command. <The sweet blood says it’s a trap!>

That slowed the other Wolves who had been racing toward men so focused on shooting bison that they didn’t seem to notice the angry Wolves bearing down on them.

<Sweet blood?> The pack’s dominant enforcer slowed to a trot.

<Simon’s prophet, Meg, called Jesse Walker to warn us that this is a trap.>

More Wolves slowed down. The hunters among them were more reluctant to let the humans continue killing the meat the pack would need, but the enforcers, who had the job of protecting the pack, turned away from the humans standing in the beds of the pickup trucks and headed toward Joe.

Then they stopped, took a step back. Like them, Joe felt the thunder that meant only one thing: bison stampede.

Gunshots and shouts behind him. Behind the bison. Humans were driving the bison toward the pickup trucks, and the Wolves were caught in between.

<Run!> Joe shouted. The Wolves turned and ran toward the trucks and the bison that were already dead. Big bodies. Pressed against the belly, a Wolf might escape being shot—might escape being trampled. They had no chance in the open.

They ran toward the trucks and the men. Had to reach the dead bison before . . .

The men stopped shooting. Moving swiftly, a man lowered the tailgate of one of the pickup trucks while another man pulled a tarp off something that looked like a heavy rifle mounted on three legs. What . . . ?

The hunters, who were at the head of the pack, were the first to fall as the heavy rifle spit bullets that thudded into bodies too fast for the Wolves to change direction. And behind them, the bison thundered closer and closer, driven by other humans.

Now some of the men raised their rifles toward the sky, aiming for the Ravens and Hawks.

<Get away!> Joe yelled at the Ravens and Hawks. <Warn—> He felt the thud, thud, thud. His front legs slipped and he tumbled. Had to get away from the stampeding bison. Had to . . .

He got his hind legs under him and tried to leap, gain some distance between him and those hooves.

More thud, thud, thud that hit a hind leg and his side.

He tumbled again, one of his hind legs now useless. Still struggling to move, he managed to crawl until he was partially hidden by one of the dead bison.

So hard to breathe. So hard to . . .

He didn’t really feel the hooves as bison trampled his back legs. He barely heard the triumphant shouts of the humans or the gunfire that turned the bison away from the trucks.

He didn’t notice the silence.

How had Meg, so far away in Lakeside, known this was a trap? What would she have seen?

Could barely hear. Could barely breathe.

“This one’s still alive.”

“Not for long. Throw the carcass in with the rest.”

Being dragged by his forelegs. Then lifted and tossed.

What had Meg seen? How had she known one Wolf from another?

She had seen me in Lakeside. She would remember my face.

Couldn’t shift all the way to human. He didn’t have the strength for that. But if Simon and Jackson saw him somehow, if Meg saw him now, they would know, would be . . . warned, could . . . escape other traps.

He made strange sounds as he tried to breathe, tried to change from Wolf to human form. He saw his hand, mostly human now at the end of a furry foreleg. He felt his face changing.