the building. She heard it slow down and swore at herself for not paying attention. She’d crept up along the side of the damn bank! But after that moment’s hesitation, the car continued a few more yards and stopped in front of her store.
Made sense. Money was all well and good, but even bank robbers needed to eat, and supplies were now a different kind of wealth.
Jesse risked a look around the corner. Car still running for a quick getaway. She was about to retreat and tell Rachel to stay put when she spotted Phil Mailer—and he spotted her. Before he could raise a hand or shout a greeting, she shook her head and put a finger to her lips.
Phil looked at her, then looked at her store. He retreated inside the post office. She hoped he was calling other businesses to tell folks to stay inside and not trying to gather a posse.
Maybe it was because Rachel sensed something. More likely, it was because the memory of what had happened the last time human enemies had come to Prairie Gold was still too sharp, too raw. Whatever the reason, the young Wolf howled. Jesse didn’t know if it was a warning or a cry for help. Either way, whoever was inside her store and waiting in the car had to have heard it. They might ignore a single howl, might not react with alarm—or something worse.
Then they all heard a howl that couldn’t have come from anything as small as a terra indigene Wolf—a deep, savage sound that was much too close for comfort. That howl raised the hair on her arms and the back of her neck—and taught her what the word “bloodcurdling” meant.
Peering around the corner again, she watched a man run out of her store and race around the hood of the car to the passenger side. He yanked the door open, threw a sack on the floor—and looked up. Smiling fiercely, he drew his revolver, aimed skyward, and shot twice. Then he jumped into the car and the driver burned rubber as the car raced down the street, heading out of town.
The Eagle fell out of the sky and hit the street right in front of her.
“No!” Jesse shouted as she rushed over to help. Falling to her knees, she dropped her rifle in order to reach for the bird, knowing it was too late.
“Jesse?” Phil Mailer crouched beside her. “Is it … ?”
“Dead? Yes. Fetch one of the flat bedsheets from the store.”
As soon as Phil hurried to the store, Rachel, in Wolf form, rushed to her side and licked her face. Jesse thought the gesture was as much to receive reassurance as to offer it.
Had the Eagle been flying over the town for a reason, or had this been plain old bad luck? Would the man have taken those shots if the howl of something that was so much more—and worse—than a Wolf hadn’t given him a reason to flee at just that moment?
“Rachel, honey, I’d like you to call for Morgan and Chase so they can tell me what needs to be done now.”
Rachel howled again. Jesse didn’t know if a Wolf howling in Prairie Gold could be heard in the terra indigene settlement, or how far the Others could communicate using their special form of communication. She just hoped that Morgan and Chase would respond so that other forms of terra indigene wouldn’t.
When Phil returned, she wrapped the Eagle in the bedsheet, took it back to the store, and set it in a laundry basket. Phil picked up her rifle and followed her, sucking in a breath when he saw the store. It wasn’t the open register and empty cash drawer that had him swearing. It wasn’t seeing how many boxes of ammunition were missing that had her own temper simmering. It was the gratuitous destruction of supplies. The thief had taken what he’d wanted; then he’d thrown bags of flour and rice and noodles on the floor, breaking the packages open by stomping on them, leaving a mess for her to clean up. Leaving the people of the town with a little less to eat.
She had plenty stored in the back room. She’d bought supplies because she’d had a feeling the town would need them—and Tolya had bankrolled those expenditures because he’d agreed with her. But that meant …
Jesse hurried behind the counter, jerking to a stop when she saw the box of kitchen matches on top of a wad