• • •

The fire funnel raced over the land, and everything burned in its wake. Wind whipped the flames that consumed fence posts and grass—and cattle—as the funnel headed for the ranch buildings still in the distance.

• • •

As they neared the crossroads, Daniel Black saw lightning strike the lead pickup’s cab with a marksman’s accuracy as a sudden gust of wind hit the pickup with enough force to shove it off the road.

The other trucks pulled over and men ran to help their comrades.

Black stepped out of his pickup. “They hurt?” he called to the men.

They backed away from the lead pickup.

“They’re dead.” One of the men, who had looked so triumphant a short while ago, looked frightened now.

Shouldn’t be dead. Rubber tires. Grounding. That was supposed to protect a person in a lightning storm, wasn’t it? How could his men be dead?

Then Black saw the funnel that appeared out of nowhere, and felt the first shiver of fear.

“By all the dark gods,” he whispered.

“Boss?”

He looked at his foreman. Then he reached into his truck, pulled out the camera, and handed it to the man. “Tell the sheriff about this. Get someone out here to deal with . . . the men. Then get those pictures to the newspaper. You got that?” He waited until the foreman pulled away with reckless speed before turning to the rest of his men. “Come with me. We have to get to the ranch ahead of that thing and save what we can.”

The men looked at the funnel, then at him.

“Move!” Black scrambled into the pickup. The men piled into the cab and into the bed, their only choice if they didn’t want to be left behind.

He put the truck in gear. Then he hesitated. They couldn’t outrun that twister. He wouldn’t get to the ranch house in time. He should go the other way and finish his assignment, burn out that town of freaks.

“What the fuck . . . ?” one of his men shouted moments before hail the size of his fist struck the pickup, hammering metal and glass. The windshield cracked. His men riding in the pickup’s bed cried out in pain as they tried to shield themselves.

A warm day in summer. No storm clouds. No clouds of any kind. And yet there was that damn funnel heading toward everything he’d built, and now this storm.

He looked at his side mirror and thought he saw a horse and rider racing toward him, taking no notice of the punishing hail. As they passed his truck, he saw a shape so shrouded by the storm he wasn’t sure if he’d just imagined seeing figures. And yet the storm turned with no rational explanation and headed for the freaks’ town, filling the road with hail. Then it slowed, stopped moving.

Waited.

If he headed for Prairie Gold, his men might be exposed to that storm the whole way and would be injured and useless by the time they reached the town. Of course, if they got caught by the twister or the fire, they wouldn’t be much good either. But at least they’d be trying to save something.

Black headed for his ranch.

• • •

Jesse followed a wide game trail. By the time her people had reached the terra indigene settlement, the Ravens and Hawks had already spread the news about the humans killing the Wolves. Surprisingly, the adults in the settlement had no objection to her taking the Wolfgard young with her to the hiding place Joe Wolfgard had arranged. In fact, all the young from the settlement were with her. Fledglings from the Owl, Raven, Hawk, and Eagle gards were riding on human shoulders or on the backs of juvenile Wolves—or were balanced on the packs they’d loaded onto two burros.

When she had time—if she lived—she’d ponder the oddity of Wolves keeping a handful of burros as pack animals, and what it said about the Others that the burros knew they didn’t need to fear these predators.

“Jesse?” Shelley gasped behind her. “Jesse? We need to stop. We need a rest break.”

“We’ll rest when we get there.” Couldn’t be much farther. Joe had said a couple of miles beyond the terra indigene settlement. Water. Shelter. A spot that could be defended.

Which could mean it was also a spot that, if overrun by an enemy, wouldn’t give them any way out. The humans, anyway.

“Arroo,” Rachel said softly, suddenly trotting ahead of Jesse.

The youngster had stayed close to her throughout the journey. Jesse wasn’t sure if Rachel was helping to act as a scout or if the Wolf wanted to be near any adult she recognized.

The only adult Wolf who had been left at the settlement was the pack’s nanny. The rest of the adults had gone out to deal with the humans and had died.

The pups are orphans now, all of them, Jesse thought.

“Jesse?” Abigail Burch this time. “Can’t we stop a minute? The children are tired.”

Tired was better than dead.

Jesse hesitated when Rachel rushed back to her. But the Wolf seemed excited, relieved. A couple of minutes later, Jesse shared that relief. Water flowed into a pool before the creek continued down the hills to the settlement. There were rocks that provided shelter, and trees that would provide shade. Couldn’t make a fire here because they were in the wild country. Joe had warned her about that. But they could huddle up in blankets to keep warm if they had to stay up here overnight.

Once they had set up camp, she would figure out where they could set up the latrine—and where to picket the burros.

“We’re here,” she said, moving aside. “Step lively, now. Everybody in.”