Bone cracked as Philip’s head recoiled in a spray of red. The linebacker hit the ground like a sack of cement, his arms extended stiffly skyward, the girl’s pink rain hat clenched in his fist.

The child fell away, unharmed. She scurried backward on hands and feet, her cries ringing out through the wind.

As soon as the shot was fired, the rest of the Jackrabbits halted their pursuit and turned toward Cole.

Cole’s eyes remained fixed on the tip of the smoking barrel until the girl’s parents reached her. Her father took her in his arms, and the three of them rushed back into the house. The door slammed shut.

Phil Meekin’s arms finally fell to the ground. He rolled over and came to his feet on unsteady legs. Steam rose from the gaping hole in his head. He stumbled around like a lost child, rubbing forcibly at the wound as though he were scratching an itch. In time he ambled back and rejoined his huddled teammates.

The rifle fell from Cole’s trembling hands. He doubled over at the waist, struggling to slow his racing heart.

A horn blared, startling him. He jerked upright and turned back toward the road.

The Jackrabbits’ bus was idling on the weedy shoulder just outside the busted fence.

Behind the wheel sat Coach Hickham.

“How’d you find me, anyway?

“Heard the shot,” Hickham said. “Just luck, really, that I was so close. I’ve been driving around in circles for twenty minutes.”

“Savannah sent you out here?”

“She thought maybe you could use some help … not to mention transport. Looks like she was right.”

“Did she tell you . . .”

“She told me everything, Logan.”

Cole looked at him. “Listen, Coach, I want you to understand—”

“I understand it all, Cole. I don’t quite believe it, but I do understand it. And in case you’re wondering, you and I are square as far as I’m concerned. Right now I just want to finish this thing.” His eyes moved to his players. “If such a thing is even possible.”

It had taken them fifteen minutes to get the Jackrabbits off the field, and another five to get them lined up alongside the bus. They’d burned up more time than Cole could afford, but he was relieved to see that the players still followed his orders with no visible hostility.

So far, such deference had extended to the coach as well.

Cole stepped up to Hickham’s side. They stood before the team, both with their arms folded across their chests. Mud and gore caked the players’ faces beyond recognition. Cole no longer doubted Savannah’s description of Coodles, following the so-called change. If the cat had looked a fraction as horrific as the Jackrabbits did now, it was no wonder she had been scared out of her wits.

“Think maybe you oughtta say a few words?” Cole said.