Pain. Abdomen, back, legs. Remembering training images of people injured in car accidents, Meg’s vision grayed, and she screamed, “Nathan, stop him! Stop him!”

Footsteps pounded overhead as Nathan hurled himself out the door and caught Robert when the boy was just two steps away from the street—and brought him down in a way that guaranteed skinned elbows and knees. Then Pete Denby was there too, and the girls were crying because Pete was angry and Nathan was snarling... and the phone kept ringing and ringing.

The pain in Meg’s body faded again, leaving her feeling weak, but the skin along the right side of her jaw began to burn.

Focused on Pete and Nathan squaring off, she grabbed the receiver and said, “What?”

“Meg?”

The voice shook so much she wasn’t sure she recognized it. “Hope?”

“Meg... run... hide. Death.”

“Hope, what...?”

“Run!”

“Hope? Hope!”

The girl wasn’t there anymore. Meg listened to the dial tone, then dropped the receiver back into the cradle. She rushed into the sorting room and locked the Private door.

Whatever vision she might have seen about Robert... That was done. She still felt weak and sick, but there was no prickle or buzz in her lower body. The pain was along her jaw now—the spot where she had dreamed of making a cut.

Run. Hope’s screamed command burned under her skin. But run from what? The cards hadn’t supplied the answer.

Meg opened her silver razor, laid the blade against the right side of her jaw, and made a long cut. Setting aside the razor, she braced her hands on the table and swallowed the agony as well as the words in order to see this prophecy.

Images piled up like a stack of photographs being seen so fast she could barely understand. Wolves. Blood. Death. That was common in all the images. But the land... Similar places but not the same places. A sea of grass. Cabins built near mountains. More places that became a backdrop for death. So many more.

For a heartbeat, she saw Simon at the Wolfgard Complex, one side of his face covered in blood. Then she saw... she saw...

Turning away from the table, Meg bent over and vomited on the floor.

Run. Hide the pack.

“Sam,” she whispered.

Turning away from the mess, she spotted the phone on the counter. She had seen... She knew that face.

The address book, recently purchased at the Three Ps, sat beside the phone. Meg flipped to the W section and called the number.

“Walker’s General Store. Jesse speaking.”

She forced the words out. “This is Meg Corbyn.”

“Meg?”

If she didn’t get out of there soon, something inside her would break. Still she struggled to lay out the images in a way that Jesse Walker would understand. “Bison. Rifle. Death. Wolves. Trap. Death. Bodies. Bodies. Joe’s face. Fire, fire, fire.”

“Meg?” Alarmed now.