“I know you don’t,” Rector said, still afraid that one loud word would shatter the fragile moment. “Let’s go, us three. Let’s go back to the jail, and find Angeline. Let’s leave while that thing’ll let us.”

But now Zeke hesitated. “Look at him. He’s in real bad shape, same as the fox was.”

“We’re none of us in tip-top condition, kid. Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait,” the younger boy said plaintively.

Houjin climbed to his feet, using the wall to brace his back as he scooted to an upright position. Rector held out a hand to him, and Huey took it—and it was only then that Rector saw that his shirt was torn, and his chest was covered in long scratches where the creature had seized and absconded with him. If they didn’t hurt now, they’d hurt later. The Blight would see to that.

Rector pulled Houjin over, helping him step across a fallen slab of brick and drawing him back, farther away from Zeke … who still hadn’t moved.

Huey found his voice. “Zeke, let him alone. We’ll find Angeline and come back.”

“You two go without me.”

“Nothing doing,” Rector said. “We’re all three leaving.”

“Be patient. Just be patient,” he urged. “He didn’t hurt Huey. Not bad, and not on purpose if he did. He could’ve hurt him, and he didn’t.”

The sasquatch had eaten the innards and had moved on to the fins, picking them apart and gnawing the chewy, tough flesh as if he’d consume every part of the fish—even the parts that should not be eaten. The fins were tougher than they looked, but he scraped them between his teeth, nabbing every stray sliver of nutrition.

And then he was finished. His hands were empty—licked clean, even—and there was nothing else to distract him. He turned his attention to Zeke, who was standing closest. The ax was still head down on the street, threatening no one and nothing.

The sasquatch lifted his massive head and grunted.

Zeke swallowed hard. “Your eyes,” he said to the sasquatch. “They’re going gold, like the crows.”

“Maybe his eyes have always been gold. Zeke, I swear and be damned…” Rector complained.

Zeke ignored him. “We want to help you,” he said to the creature. “We want to help you feel better, and go outside where your lady friend is waiting for you. You want to go back outside, don’t you?”

“He don’t understand you!”

“He understands what I mean. He knows I’m not—”

Whatever else Zeke planned to say, it was lost to a moment of terror when the sasquatch jumped smoothly to his feet. He leaped and squatted like an oversized ape, his legs shorter than its arms and his posture far top-heavier than a man’s.

Zeke let out a squeak and dropped the ax handle.