“A place to eat and a place to sleep,” Jackson said. He thought of Hope. “Someplace you can buy books and music and pencils and paper for drawing.”

“A clothes store, unless the general store is going to carry basics along with shoes and books,” Tobias said.

Jackson thought, If the Tobias was a Wolf, he’d be panting and whining. <Why are you asking, Tolya?>

<I was asked to consider how many humans would need to be replaced to maintain the buildings and essential businesses.>

<Are the humans in Bennett going to be replaced?>

<I don’t know, but I don’t think this is an idle consideration.>

<Could the Intuits here take over those businesses?>

<Not easily. They have only the people they need for their own settlement. Besides, Intuits or not, they’re still human, so I don’t think it would be wise to ask it of them. Not at first.>

That sounded ominous. What had he walked into?

They circled the town square a second time, but no one had further suggestions beyond a barbershop or similar place.

Tobias breathed a sigh of relief when they drove away from the town. So did Jackson. Tolya didn’t seem concerned, but he could turn into smoke and outmaneuver almost any adversary.

They didn’t speak. If Simon wasn’t expecting him, if he didn’t want to talk to Meg Corbyn in person about the Hope pup, Jackson would have shifted to Wolf and headed home on his own four feet, despite the distance.

•••

Daniel Black swore fiercely as the wind slammed against the pickup. The dust that covered the road and filled the air was as thick as a mean bitch of a blizzard.

“Mr. Black?”His foreman braced a hand against the dash. “We have to stop. We’re not going to make it to the crossroads in time.”

“We damn well will make it,” Black snarled, fighting to keep the truck on the road. Fighting to see any part of the road. “The longer that community receives supplies, the longer they’ll hang on, and until they’re gone, we won’t have a way into those hills and the riches they hold.”

The men riding in the pickup’s bed pounded on the back of the cab.

“They can’t breathe in this dust,” the foreman said. “We have to stop.”

“We’re not—” A wall of fence posts and barbed wire suddenly appeared in front of him. Black slammed on the breaks and yelled, “Fuck!” as the truck became tangled in the posts and wire.

He threw the truck into park, then slammed his fist against the dash, over and over.

The wind died. The dust settled. Black listened to the men in the back struggling to sit up, struggling to breathe.

Should have been as easy as the last time, he thought as he saw the dust of at least one vehicle driving down the road to Prairie Gold.