Drake jumped to his feet and yelled, “Pack Leader, get a grip on them.” But Pack Leader had joined the frenzy, laying about him viciously to establish his dominance and his share of the sudden bounty.
Two things happened at almost the same instant. The wall shuddered and cracked and the coyotes nearest to it suddenly floated upward, their paws scrabbling in midair.
“Dekka,” Drake snarled.
There was a blinding flash of green-white light and like a butane torch cutting through tissue paper, a hole two feet across appeared in the cinder block. The hole was high up on the wall, well above the heads of the children but right about where the suddenly weightless coyotes were floating. One of the coyotes caught a straight blast. The beam of light cut it in two. The segments floated, spraying weightless globules of red.
The children screamed and John screamed and Drake backed away from the wall, away from the zone of weightlessness.
Edilio’s head appeared in the hole. “Mary. Down on the floor.”
“Everyone get down!” Mary screamed, and John threw himself onto a runaway toddler.
Edilio yelled, “Sam, go!”
A new hole burned lower down, chest level, and this time the beams of light scoured the room, blasting walls covered in faded art projects, burning through coyotes, setting them alight to float like flaming Macy’s parade balloons.
“Okay, Dekka,” Edilio yelled.
The coyotes hit the ground hard, some dead, some alive, but none with any desire for a fight. The door flew open, yanked by some unseen hand, and the animals ran over one another trying to escape.
“Pack Leader!” Drake bellowed. “You coward!”
The annihilating beam of light swung toward him. He hit the floor, cursing, and rolled out toward the door.
Quinn felt as well as heard the wall between the day care and the hardware store rumble and crack.
A few seconds later he saw the coyotes pouring in a panicked jumble into the alley and racing off this way and that.
And then Drake appeared.
Quinn shrank down behind the parapet. Brianna rushed boldly to look over.
“It’s Drake. Now’s your chance.”
“Get down, you idiot,” Quinn hissed.
She rounded on him, furious. “Give me the gun, you wimp.”
“You don’t even know how to shoot it,” Quinn whined. “Besides, he’s probably already gone. He was running.”
Brianna looked again. “He’s hiding. He’s behind the Dumpster.”
Quinn nerved himself to look, just a peek, just enough to see. Brianna was right: Drake was behind the Dumpster, waiting.
The back door of the hardware store opened and Sam emerged alone. He looked left and right, but was unable to spot Drake.
Brianna yelled, “Sam, behind the Dumpster.”
Sam whirled, but Drake was too quick. He snapped his whip, slashed Sam’s defensive arm, and ran straight at and over Sam.
Sam landed on his back and rolled over quickly, but not quickly enough. With inhuman speed, the whip hand sliced the air and cut a bright stripe across Sam’s back, right through his shirt.
Sam cried out.
Brianna began hauling the aluminum ladder to the edge, but her speed betrayed her. She lost control of the ladder and it clattered down into the alley.
Drake had his whip around Sam’s throat now, choking, squeezing. Killing.