Zeke wasn’t much farther ahead in the planning process, and when he drew up short, Rector collided with the back of his head, nearly knocking his chin straight up into his skull. Dazed, he stumbled backward as Zeke stumbled forward. He caught himself on a splintered crate, then bounced over to a wall and held a corner of it until the stars that speckled his vision could be persuaded to die down.

The stars died down. The Blight gas thinned.

And Rector saw them.

The sasquatch was facedown in the last of the salmon, ignoring the needle-thin bones and slurping the scales, blood, and juices as if he was half-starved—which he probably was. How long had he been inside? Weeks, at least. What was there to eat within the wall? Nothing, except for rotters. And how good could they taste?

He hunkered forward, and even in that position he looked bigger than Captain Cly, heavier than three or four men put together. He was covered in hair the color of tobacco and cherry pits; his hands were long enough to play two octaves at a stretch on the piano in Maynard’s. As the creature ate, his body quivered and the ratty, clumped locks of his fur trembled and swayed.

Houjin was seated against the same building that Rector held for support. He did not look hurt, but his arms were curled around his knees and he panted, trying to catch his breath inside his mask. Zeke was between Houjin and the sasquatch, his fireman’s ax held up in warning. The weapon shook in his hands, too heavy by half, but he planted his feet and dared the creature to take a step toward his friend.

The sasquatch didn’t care. Yet.

Rector kept his voice as calm as he could, and said, “Fellas, come on. While he’s eating. Let’s go. Zeke, put that thing down. Huey?”

Houjin turned his head to see Rector, but he didn’t otherwise move.

“I’ll … I’ll help you,” he said, in case Huey was too scared to move, or in case he was hurt and Rector couldn’t see it. “I’m coming,” he added. Still clinging to the wall’s edge—purely because he believed it was stronger than the long-armed brute before him—he followed it to the stunned or injured boy and bent down to reach him.

Neither of them looked away from the sasquatch.

But Rector whispered down, “You all right?”

“Yes,” Huey whispered back. “Zeke? Zeke, let him go. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t want me. He just wanted the fish.”

“And he’s almost out of fish,” Rector warned.

Zeke seemed glad for the excuse to lower the ax. It swung from his hands like a clock pendulum, until it knocked against the ground. “I don’t want to hurt him, anyhow.”