Cover

THE PULLER

Publishing Details

Published 2021 by Pyr®

The Puller. Copyright © 2021 by Michael Hodges. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a website without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover illustration © Shutterstock

Cover design by Jennifer Do

Cover design © Start Science Fiction

Inquiries should be addressed to

Start Science Fiction

221 River Street, 9th Floor

Hoboken, New Jersey 07030

PHONE: 212-431-5455

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ISBN 978–1–64506-052-9 (papaerback)

ISBN 978–1–64506-068-0 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

For Sarah, and the compassionate amongst us.

The Beginning

THE BEGINNING

The school bell rang, startling Matt Kearns with its cold metallic rattling. He slammed his biology book shut and hurried out of the classroom. As the last chaotic notes faded down the hallway, he felt something was wrong. There was no specific image to latch onto, he just knew.

The big glass doors at the end of the hallway beckoned him, leading him from the concrete tomb that was Walnut Grove High. He kicked open the doors, sunlight flooding onto his skin. Relief.

“Hi Matt,” Amber Lynne said. She was leaning against the brick wall and chomping watermelon Bubblicious. He could smell the gum from where he stood.

“Hey,” he said.

“Did ya see the big ruckus over at the athletic field?” she asked before blowing a bubble.

Pop!

“Lots of shouting,” Amber said. “Prob boys fighting. You know how guys are.” Amber rolled her eyes.

Matt bent down, pulled his jean cuff from the lip of his right boot, and leaned his biology book against the wall. As he jogged over to the athletic field, a small crowd gathered on the trimmed grass, mostly lacrosse players in full gear. Many of them were shouting. After reaching the group, Matt nudged his way into the center.

“Get that SUCKER!” Abe Johnson shouted.

“Haha it doesn’t know what to do!” shouted another male voice.

Then Betsy Armstrong chimed in, her angsty voice as shrill as ever. “Watch out for its teeth! It’s got a lotta teeth!”

As Matt inched forward, something yipped and whimpered from the middle of the group, a sad, pleading vocalization that immediately drew him further into the mix. When he reached the inner circle, Mike Armstrong loomed there in full lacrosse gear, jamming his lacrosse stick at an object on the ground. Matt sided up to Mike and followed the end of the lacrosse stick to the netting.

A coyote.

A big coyote with a beautiful, thick coat.