He moved through the arched doorway into the dining room, where a spray of wildflowers stood in a vase on an ornate old table. The flowers were fresh, brilliant blue and yellow blooms and tiny red ones. But how fresh? He touched a petal, rubbing it between his fingers. Mom had picked these at sunrise, from the wildflowers in the front pasture.

He took three long steps to his right and into the front hall. An odor here. He sucked it in. Hybrid? His eyes went to the understairs storage. Was it coming from there, and if so, would the pistol be fast enough?

He wasn’t concerned about his own reaction time, it would be adequate. The question was, could the mechanism of the gun keep up with the speed of his hand? Maybe he should go to his knife.

He pulled the door to the storage open. Inside, a strange object. What the hell was it? He leaned in, wary. But—oh, hell, it was just an accordion. Images flashed before him of family nights, of singing. Killed happiness.

In quick succession, he did the kitchen and the family room. No joy. Then he listened. Even an empty house never stops moving, but an occupied one is filled with sounds, the pop of wood under weight, the creaks caused by shifts, even from one foot to another. His nostrils dilated as he sought again for that characteristic hybrid odor.

But what the hell, somewhere close by was a lot of raw meat. Not down here, though, and since the place was built on a slab, there was no basement.

He took the stairs three at a time, into a hallway with three doors, all closed. He checked the first bedroom, the master. It crossed the front of the house and contained only furniture, a neatly made bed, a dresser, a couple of chairs. The closet door was half-open. He went to it and kicked it all the way back, but nothing was inside but clothes. Not only that, up here, the odor of hybrids was less. He didn’t do the other two rooms, he didn’t need to. His careful senses told him they were empty, too.

Back downstairs, he returned to the front porch. To his surprise, he found the odor stronger out here.

His people must see him, but nobody appeared. Being careful. He motioned to them to come out. Now there was a sound, the distant cry of a hawk. His heart quickening just a little, he stepped down off the porch. Still, nobody emerged.

He’d been doing extreme operations too long not to know, right now, that there was trouble. His reaction was to reduce his exposure, and he backed up to the wall of the house. Now he gauged the situation. There was a light breeze out of the woods, and the smell was coming from that direction, and it wasn’t only hybrids, it was—well, it was raw blood.