“Help!” I scream to the empty hills. I turn back, but my attacker is no longer the Warden. It’s Clay. “Help me!” I plead.

I lock onto Clay’s blue eyes. I watch in horror as a sulfur green seeps into his blue irises. Clay opens his mouth and reveals rows of dripping fangs.

I wake up screaming.

My room is dark. My heart pistons out of control. I place my hand to it and try to breathe. Across the room Ethan lies under a mound of tattered blankets. There’s my boots where I left them beside my bed. On the nightstand, Ethan’s comic book flaps in the breeze from the window. I lie back in bed and try to relax.

My brain begins to separate nightmare from reality, but my skin still crawls with sweat. I stare up at the vein-like cracks in the plaster ceiling. I’m fine, I tell myself. I clutch the sheet around me. I don’t feel fine.

A puff of night air traces my sweat-drenched skin, sending shivers up my arms. My comforter lies in a wad on the floor. I stand up and cross our window to get it. Outside there’s a delicate crunch of gravel.

What was that? I hear it again. Footsteps on the gravel outside. My pulse skyrockets. I take a step toward the open window and peer into the darkness.

Sheer, ratty curtains hang limp over the opening to discourage bugs; through them I scan the moonlit yard. The dead apple trees are dark gnarly slashes in the distance. The outhouse is the rectangular shadow to the right. I clutch my arms around myself and shiver. If the coyotes are prowling this close, we’re going to have a big problem. I reach around for my hunting knife on the nightstand. When I’m turning back to the window, I see the moving shadow.

It’s a lean, dark figure slinking from the outhouse to the barn. It’s too tall for a coyote. Only one thing can make a shadow like that and he walks on two legs.

The fear in my dream is nothing compared to my fear now.

“Riley.” A voice behind. A rough hand that slides over my mouth. I jab an elbow backward. My attacker oomphs and the hand falls away. I turn and raise my knife.

Arn’s hunched over, his hands wrapped around the bandages that circle his middle. I’ve elbowed him in his broken ribs. I start to apologize, but he snaps his fingers to silence me.

“Get your brother and get in the cellar. Don’t come out no matter what you hear.”

The gun in his hand paralyzes me.

“What’s going on?” Ethan asks groggily from his bed. He’s propped up on an elbow looking at us.

Arn doesn’t answer. He strides to Ethan’s bed, leans down and hugs him. If Arn is hugging, this is serious. I can’t think with the terror screaming through my head.

“Take him now, Riley.” Arn slips out of the room and down the hall.