He stepped inside. The living room was ransacked. Muddy footprints clotted the carpet. Fist-size holes pocked the walls. Matt Lauer’s face fluttered in static on the overturned television. An antler had been stripped from the trophy elk above the fireplace. One of its points now poked out of the backrest of the La-Z-Boy. A smashed cuckoo clock hung on one wall. The cuckoo itself dangled limply from a warped spring. Kitchen utensils and appliances littered the area.

Cole followed the trail of footprints toward the kitchen. Cheetos crunched under his boots with every tentative step.

He saw blood before he even rounded the corner—five narrow streaks of it raked in parallel lines across a lower cabinet. Finger trails. The window above the kitchen sink was shattered. More utensils were strewn across the floor and countertop.

He whispered Thedford’s name again.

Getting no response, he took a breath and willed himself to take the final step around the corner.

There was movement in the side mirror. Savannah turned.

Cole tumbled down the stairs.

He rolled when he hit the ground and made it to the side of the car in a mad crawl. He came up on his knees next to her open window, his eyes wild with terror.

“Go!”

“Cole, what’s wrong—”

“Just go!”

“Logan, just slow down, what’s the matter?” There was a rifle in his hand. The barrel glistened red. “Where’d you get that gun? Is … is that your blood?”

He shook his head, struggling for breath. “Thedford Blunt is dead.” He buried his face in the crook of his arm. He tried to be sick, but could only manage a few dry heaves.

“What do you mean he’s … how?”

“Same way as the cows. Same way as the horses!”

“But you said—”

“They’re dead, Savannah! All of them. The Jackrabbits killed them and they ate them.” He wiped spittle from his lips and brought his head back up. Rage had replaced the terror in his eyes. Before she could question him further, he slammed a palm against the car door. “Goddamn it! The hell with all of this!”

“Cole, calm down . . .”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! I’m walking away. Right fucking now! It’s over!”

“You can’t do that . . .”

“Why not? Why should I stick around? So I can see a few more people die on my watch? I mean seriously, why do I need any of this shit? Tell me, please! What the fuck is keeping me from getting on my bike, heading out of town, and never looking back . . .”

“You mean like your father did?”

He glared at her, his lips pressed white. She braced for a violent reaction, but to her surprise the comment seemed to deflate him. His shoulders slumped. His chin dropped to his chest.