“I could watch your back,” Doug said, pressing. “I feel I owe you something.”

Nadia wanted to kill him. The only hunting Doug had ever done was on a computer screen.

Jack finished tightening the cap on the last bottle.

“I appreciate the offer, but this is a one-man operation.” He glanced at her and winked. “Good man.”

“I know,” she said, clutching Doug’s arm. And I want to keep him good and alive.

Jack gently placed the six gasoline-filled bottles back into the canvas shoulder bag and worked sections of newspaper between them to keep them from clinking, then threw the pieces of T-shirt on top.

“What you can do for me is drive,” he said, moving into the passenger seat.

Doug scrambled around, leaving Nadia alone in the back. They drove north through the New Gretna toll, then turned around and came back south through the toll again.

“We’ll be stopping soon,” Jack said. He seemed to be eyeing the mile markers closely. “After you drop me off, head back to the rest area and wait inside where you can hear the public phones. I’ve got the number of one of them. When I’m done I’ll call you on my cell phone and tell you where to pick me up.”

“How long do you think you’ll be?” Nadia said.

“Can’t say.” He tapped the dashboard clock. “Just about two A.M. now. If you don’t hear from me by six… go home.”

“Without you?”

He cleared his throat as he scribbled on a scrap of paper. “If you don’t hear from me by then it means things have gotten complicated. Go back to the city and call this number. A guy named Abe will answer. Tell him what you know. He’ll take it from there.”

Doug said, “But what—?”

“Whoa! Here’s my stop.”

Doug pulled over and Jack jumped out. He slipped the straps of the bag onto a shoulder and pulled the flashlight from a pocket.

“See you later,” he said.

Nadia noticed how he limped as he hurried down the slope toward the trees.

I hope so, she thought as they pulled away. She felt a cold weight growing in her stomach. When she looked back, Jack had disappeared into the tall shadows.

3

Jack trained his flashlight beam on the scrub at the base of the slope, looking for broken branches. He found them. Lots of them. Something big had torn through here not long ago.

He stepped through and followed the path of destruction. He was glad he’d kept the boonie cap; without it the branches would be tearing at the sutures in his scalp. Already had a throbbing headache and a banged-up hip. Didn’t need to start bleeding.

When he was sure he was out of sight of the highway, he stopped and pulled out the electronic locator. He was facing west and the blip was at the top edge of the screen. Had to move. Scar-lip was almost out of range.

He pressed forward until he came to a narrow path. A deer trail, most likely. Flashed his beam down and saw what looked like deer tracks in the damp sand, but they weren’t alone: deep imprints of big, alien, three-toed feet, and work-boot prints coming after. Scar-lip, with Hank following—obviously behind because the boot prints occasionally stepped on the rakosh tracks.