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The note I’d left was vague, and would provide no comfort. I could imagine Kit at that moment, terrified, pacing our boarded-up kitchen, unable to comprehend my decision.


Dear Kit,

The boys and I have to do something right now. It’s extremely important. We’re taking Sewee into the city and will shelter at a police station. PLEASE DON’T FOLLOW!!! I’ll explain everything in a few hours. Promise. Don’t worry, we’re being very, very careful.


Love, Tory



PS—Don’t hate me. I swear to God this is important. Please trust me.

PPS—Don’t follow!



I’d scrawled a second message in my notebook and tossed it on the dock: “I have Coop!”

Best I could do.

I knew it was terrible. What parent could read those words and not panic? We’d set sail for an evacuated city, on an open sixteen-foot boat, with a Cat Four hurricane breathing down our necks. A bad action movie, starring his daughter.

I’ll make it up to you, Kit. Somehow.

Despite the early hour, the sky was darkening fast. The gusts were growing wetter, stronger, heavier, and more frequent. As if sensing landfall, Katelyn thundered and hissed. Tense minutes passed before the marina finally hove into view.

Ben cut our speed and we glided up to a row of quays. He chose a berth well away from the handful of other boats still at dock. Then we wasted twenty precious minutes tying Sewee down with every available rope in the Lowcountry.

Finally satisfied, Ben led us up to the street. Coop’s tail wagged in happiness at being back on dry land. That went for everyone.

No more distractions. We had a psycho to bag.

Walking quickly, we crossed Lockwood to Calhoun, turned left onto Courtenay Drive, and headed north through the medical district. The streets and sidewalks were empty. Houses and businesses were boarded with plywood, or protected by metal storm shutters. Few lights burned in the gloom. The city had a creepy, abandoned feeling, like a war zone or a postapocalyptic future.

A blast of sodden wind slammed me from behind and nearly sent me sprawling. An early taste of the nightmare to come.

Katelyn must be entering the harbor. We don’t have much time.

As we reached Spring Street, rain began falling in bands. Fat droplets smacked my forehead, face, and cheeks. I leaned forward for balance as a series of gusts ripped down the sidewalk. Head lowered, I scrunched my hood tight.

“This is the southern boundary of zone G.” Hi was shouting to be heard. “It’s small, like Tory said. If the Gamemaster lives here, his F-150 should be parked on one of the next three blocks.”

“Unless he’s got a garage,” Shelton griped. “Or left town with the sane people.”

“If he has a garage, why buy a street permit?” Hi countered.

“This is pointless,” Ben yelled. “Let’s go look.”

“We’ll walk up Norman,” I said, “then cut back and forth, working a grid until we locate the truck.”

“Should we split up?” Ben gestured left, then right. “Spread out to cover more ground?”

Before I could answer the sky opened up, drenching us in a salty deluge. Visibility shrank to a few dozen yards. Coop whined and shook furiously.

“Let’s stick together.” I scratched the wolfdog’s ears. “The Gamemaster is armed and dangerous. We shouldn’t separate the pack for any reason.”

“Should we light ’em up?” Hi glanced at the angry sky. “We might need our flare strength sooner than you think.”

“Not yet.” Though I was tempted. “We can’t risk burning too soon. We’ll need our powers when we corner this snake.”


“Any plan for that bit?” Shelton asked dully. “You keep glossing over how we’re actually gonna make the citizen’s arrest.”

“Of course.” I chucked his shoulder. “We’ll improvise.”

“Great. Well thought out.” Shelton pulled his hoodie tighter around his face.

A burst of wind barreled up Spring Street, fluttering streetlights and rocking stop signs. Rain blew horizontally, needling my skin and stinging my eyes. This time the velocity held steady, refusing to die back down.

Hurricane Katelyn had arrived.

Hi circled a finger above his head. “Move out.”

With Ben leading, we hurried up the block and turned left onto Ashton. Pacing down a line of row houses and modest residences, we checked every driveway, carport, and curb. No black truck.

At block’s end we turned right, advanced a street, and worked our way back. Coop trotted at my side, alert but uncertain, pausing now and again to shake rain from his coat.

Cheap duplex apartments lined the left side of the road. A small grocery store sat midway up on the right.

I slogged to the store and stepped under the awning. Gusts tore at my windbreaker, forcing the hood back and filling it with rainwater. I gave up trying to keep the sodden thing on my head. Hand-shielding my eyes, I squinted down the block.

And saw it.

My heart began thumping triple time.

“What now?” Hi shouted.

“Now we break in.”

I pointed at a wooden row house a dozen yards from where we stood.

At the black F-150, parked in its backyard.