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road toward them from the north. One hand gripped the mane and the other waved madly in the air.
    “Grover?” Miriam said. “What the devil is he doing?”
    Grover pounded up. “They’re here. Run! Hide!”
    A black speck of movement overhead caught Jacob’s eye. A turbofan engine whirred. A military drone dove from the sky like a giant, swooping bird of prey. Then came a flash of light and a hiss. A missile raced toward the ground.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Eliza stared in horror as the missile raced toward them. She barely had time to throw herself to the ground before the air split with a terrific explosion. A wave of heat and pressure rolled over the highway.
    She lay flat while flaming pieces of wood showered down. Her ears rang. For a moment she couldn’t move, as if a giant fist had punched her to the ground and knocked the air from her lungs. Her head swam, and it took a moment to regain her equilibrium. She struggled to her feet, thinking only to get off the road. Find a boulder or a gulley and cower until the attack was over.
    The two pickup trucks from Blister Creek blazed. One of the refugee wagons had simply disappeared, and dead and dying animals lay strewn across the road. A horse screamed. People called out. A few feet away, Stephen Paul lay on his belly, groaning, with what looked like a shard of wood sticking out of his back. Where was Jacob?
    The bus had avoided the destruction and now inched into motion. It was driving off, trying to escape.
    “Eliza, stop them!”
    It was Jacob, struggling to his knees behind her. His eyes looked glassy and dazed. Blood trickled from his nose.
    The missile. It must have been a warning shot.
    The drone had blown up one of the wagons and killed several animals. Destroyed the trucks. But no people. How easy to target people walking on the road. Or the school bus. Then it would have been a massacre.
    Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, a young drone pilot sat behind a video monitor, watching them, trying to decide whether to fire a second missile. Eliza had spent months thinking of those pilots, imagining what was going through their heads, what they would do in certain circumstances. Were they growing resentful of Blister Creek, of its peaceful, isolated location, its plentiful food, while their own hometowns fell apart? And hoping that Blister Creek would test the limits they’d imposed on it, so they’d have a chance to pull the trigger?
    She was suddenly certain that if the bus made a run for it, all those people would die. Trost was on board. Dozens of innocent refugees.
    Miriam had also regained her feet and seemed to understand Jacob’s warning at the same moment. Together, she and Eliza ran after the bus, crying for it to stop.
    Grover, still on his horse, galloped past the two women. The boy was unharmed; he must have been far enough away to avoid the attack entirely. The bus was heavily laden and accelerating sluggishly, but it had already picked up enough speed that Eliza and Miriam would never catch it. Only Grover had a chance.
    He pulled his horse alongside the front door of the bus, which still lay open, and grabbed for the side mirror. With an impressive feat of agility, he swung from the horse and into the bus. His mount veered away, tossing its head. Shouts came through the open windows, together with the sound of struggle. The bus slowed on the road.
    “Go,” Miriam said from behind Eliza.
    Eliza reached the open door and swung herself inside. Kemp was driving, the wheel in one hand and a pistol in the other. Grover struggled with him for the gun. Trost lay on the ground, wrestling with two men who fought to keep him from drawing his own weapon. Eliza reached over Grover and grabbed at Kemp’s wrist in an attempt to wrench away the gun.
    Miriam climbed in. “Put it down!”
    Kemp ignored the command. He kneed Grover back, who in turn fell into Eliza. She backed into Miriam and almost knocked her out of the bus.
    “Move!” Miriam told them as she righted