It stopped. The silence rang.
Slowly Caine opened his eyes. Diana looked at him like he had gone crazy. Drake stared incredulous, on the edge of laughing. Jack merely looked worried.
They hadn’t heard it. That inhuman, irresistible roar had been for Caine alone.
Punishment. The gaiaphage would be obeyed.
“What is going on with you?” Diana asked.
Drake narrowed his eyes and smirked openly. “It’s the Darkness. Caine is no longer running things. There’s a new boss.”
Diana gave voice to Caine’s own thoughts.
“Poor Caine,” she said. “You poor, screwed-up boy.”
For Lana each step seemed too loud, like she was walking on a giant bass drum. Her legs were stiff, knees welded solid. Her feet felt each pebble as though she were barefoot.
Her heart pounded so hard, it seemed the whole world must be able to hear it.
No, no, it was just her imagination. There was no sound but the soft cornflake crunch of sneakers on gravel. Her heart beat for her ears only. She was no louder than a mouse.
But she was convinced it could hear her. Like an owl listening and watching for prey in the night, it watched and it waited, and all her stealth was like a brass band to it, him, the thing, the Darkness.
The moon was out. Or what passed for the moon. The stars shone. Or something very like stars. Silvery light illuminated tips of brush, the seams of a boulder, and cast deep shadows everywhere else.
Lana picked her way along, holding herself tight. The gun was in her right hand, hanging by her side, brushing against her thigh. A flashlight—off for now—stuck up from her pocket.
You think you own me. You think you control me. No one owns me. No one controls me.
Two points of light winked in the shadows ahead.
Lana froze.
The twin lights stared at her. They did not move.
Lana raised the gun and took aim. She aimed at the space directly between the two points of light.
The explosion lit up the night for a split second.
In that flash she saw the coyote.
Then it was gone and her ears were ringing.
From back down the trail she heard a wooden door creaking, slamming. Cookie’s voice. “Lana! Lana!”
“I’m okay, Cookie. Get back inside. Lock the door! Do it!” she yelled.
She heard the door slam.
“I know you’re out there, Pack Leader,” Lana said. “I’m not so helpless this time.”
Lana started moving again. The explosion, the bullet—which almost certainly had missed its target—had settled her down. She knew now that the mutant coyote leader was there, watching. She was sure the Darkness also knew.
Good. Fine. Better. No more sneaking. She could march to the mine and take the key from the corpse. And then march back to the building where Cookie waited with Patrick.
The gun felt good in her hand.
“Come on, Pack Leader,” she purred. “Not scared of a bullet, are you?”
But her bravado faded as she drew near the mine entrance. The moonlight painted the crossbeam above the entrance with faintest silver. Below it a black mouth waiting greedily to swallow her up.
Come to me.
Imagination. There was no voice.
I have need of you.
Lana clicked the flashlight on and aimed the beam at the mouth of the cave. She might as well have pointed it at the night sky. The beam illuminated nothing.
Flashlight in her left hand. Pistol heavy in her right. The smell of cordite from the shot she’d fired. The crunch of gravel. Limbs heavy. Mind in something like a dream-state now, all focus narrowed down to a simple task.
She reached the mine shaft entrance. There above it, perched on the narrow ledge, stood Pack Leader snarling down at her.
She aimed her flashlight and swung the pistol to follow the beam, but the coyote darted away.
He’s not trying to stop me, Lana realized. He’s just observing. The eyes and ears of the Darkness.
Into the mine entrance. The beam searched and stopped when it found the object.
The face was like a shrunken head, yellow skin taut against bones that waited patiently to emerge. The rough, patched denim seemed almost new by comparison with the ancient-looking mummy flesh and sere-grass hair.
Lana knelt beside him. “Hey, Jim,” she said.
She now had to choose between the gun and the light. She laid the gun on Jim’s collapsed chest.
She found his right front pocket. Wrangler jeans. The pocket loose. Easy enough to reach in. But the pocket was empty. She could reach the hip pocket easily enough as well, but it was also empty.
“Sorry about this.” She seized the waist of his jeans and rolled him toward her, exposing the other hip pocket. The body moved oddly, too light, too easily shifted, so much weight evaporated.
Empty.
“Human dead.”
She knew the voice instantly. It wasn’t a voice you ever forgot. It was Pack Leader’s slurred, high-pitched snarl.
“Yes, I noticed,” Lana said. She was proud of the calmness of her tone. Inside, the panic was threatening to engulf her, just one pocket left, and if the keys weren’t there?
“Go to the Darkness,” Pack Leader said.
He was a dozen feet away, poised, ready. Could she reach the gun before Pack Leader could reach her?
“The Darkness told me to pick this guy’s pockets,” Lana said. “The Darkness says he wants gum. Thinks maybe Jim has a pack.”
During her time as Pack Leader’s captive, Lana had come to respect the coyote leader’s ruthless determination, his cunning, his power. But not his intelligence. He was, despite the mutation that allowed speech, a coyote. His frame of reference was hunting rodents and dominating his pack.