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and silent, the last of the daylight spread as thin as watercolor on the rooftops. Kelley was hunting on the opposite side of the hill where the uglier businesses had been built, away from the quaint charm of downtown. Danny thought to look at the map and find out what this place used to be called, but it didn’t make any difference. Call it Deadville.
    She had her elbow out of the open window, relishing the ice-cold air; if anything wanted to attack, she’d hear its feet on the broken pavement. So it was that she felt the sound before she heard it. The door panel was vibrating under her arm. She pressed her one finger against it and felt the rumbling in the sheet metal. Then the sound reached her ears: engines. A lot of engines, very far away. Was it the Tribe? Could they have come after her, for some reason? But no; they’d be on the other side of the hill. This sound was coming from outside the town. She permitted herself another minute of listening, until she was certain: motorcycles. A lot of them. It sounded like early morning on Bike Day back in Forest Peak, when the Harleys started coming in big groups up the mountain roads, audible ten minutes before they came into view.
    Is it the Vandal Reapers? Danny wondered. Maybe not worth finding out.
    Then there were gunshots—some single, some rapid-fire, punctuating the rise of the engine sounds. She dropped the interceptor into neutral and rolled backward away from the rim of the hill, lights out. Then she turned around and drove down the road she’d come up, maintaining darkness until she was among buildings at the bottom of the hill. She had to be sure she wouldn’t light up the sky. Artificial illumination caught the eye in these times.
    It took her half an hour to backtrack to the place she’d left Kelley to feed. She wasn’t there.
    Danny honked the horn a couple of times, then zipped up her jacket and retrieved the snub-barreled shotgun from the passenger foot well. Best not to remain in the vehicle in case it attracted unwanted attention. She checked the immediate area outside the warehouse for signs of other zeroes, then ran across the truck lot to a security booth. There wasn’t any glass in the windows, but it would protect her from a rush, at least. She waited. After a couple of minutes that felt like days, Danny saw something move on the far side of the rubbish piled up outside the warehouse. It might have been Kelley. She waited, holding her breath. The light was poor. But she saw it again: a distinct human figure, hunched over, moving between the buildings. Then it was out of view.
    She didn’t think it was Kelley she’d seen; maybe a hunter. But any hunter would have fled at Kelley’s scent. So if it was one of the wolf-smart zeroes, that meant Kelley was nowhere nearby.
    Then Danny saw the pale ripple of the muumuu coming out of the warehouse itself. Kelley had been in there. Who—or what—had been nearby?
    She tabled that aspect of the problem; her sister had reached the interceptor and was looking around. Or, to be precise, scenting the air. It disturbed Danny to think the thing that had been her sibling now operated more by smell than sight.
    “Kelley!” Danny whispered, as loudly as she dared. The thin neck swiveled around. Danny saw Kelley’s bandages were smeared with blood. She would have to change them before they returned to the Tribe. Kelley walked toward the interceptor and looked inside, then again scented the air with her nose tipped up. Danny emerged from the security booth, but kept most of her mass behind it, opposite where she’d seen the unknown figure move out of sight.
    “Over here,” she said. Kelley came swaying toward her, and Dannyfelt the same thrill of horror she experienced every time: All her instincts cried out that the enemy was coming. That she needed to destroy this thing.
    “Whenever I come near, you hold your breath,” Kelley said, when she was close to Danny.
    “Because you stink,” Danny lied.