The coyote crossed the road’s double yellow line, closing the gap between us quickly, when I heard the noise again. The coyote heard it, too, and stopped, its ears rotating like satellite dishes. It wasn’t a broken twig or an errant footfall.

It was the sound of someone chambering a round.

A moment later, there was a faint whisper followed by a cacophony of gunfire. The coyote did the Bonnie and Clyde ketchup dance, dropping to the ground and jerking around as the gunfire went on for several seconds. Finally, the shots slowed to one here and there, like popcorn finishing up in the microwave.

After all went silent, a squad of soldiers came out of the woods. They didn’t look my way. They were focused on the dead coyote.

One man had a tank of something on his back connected to a long metal tube, and he stepped forward to point the tube at the furry red carcass on the pavement. Flames burst from the tube, engulfing the coyote, and this went on for, I kid you not, five whole minutes. They were cremating this thing.

Afterward, a soldier carrying a collapsible olive-green shovel scooped the remains into what looked like a large black garbage bag with a zipper on top. When that task was done, the flamethrower guy blasted the ground again, melting any traces that might’ve been left. Then the soldiers disappeared back into the dark woods, not a word exchanged among them.

How ’bout that?

I didn’t move. I don’t know how long I remained frozen, crouched in the embankment, but as much as I hadn’t wanted to go face-to-face with that coyote, I also wasn’t keen on getting anywhere near the dude with the flamethrower. Those military guys sure weren’t animal-friendly, and they didn’t strike me as human-friendly, either.

What was the point of that demonstration of literal firepower? They shot that animal to pieces, so why then did they feel compelled to obliterate it? What needed to be reduced to ashes? Was another metal octopus-like thing in the remains that they swept up? How would it have gotten into the coyote in the first place? It’s not like the military was giving vaccination shots to wild animals.

I hadn’t reached the power plant, yet this bike ride already was making my head spin.

CHAPTER 24

Jordan

THE PLANT CAME into view, and I slowed down to look for guards. Before me, looming in the dark, were the two immense cooling towers, with a cluster of other buildings to the north and a large parking lot in front. Although it held some cars, most of the lot was taken up with the same kind of shelters we had at the evacuation camp, perhaps for workers such as my dad who had to live here.

Serving as the plant’s backdrop was the enormous peak that gave our town its name. It rose four hundred feet into the air, a massive outcropping of rock just above the Sweetbay River.