Hunger (Gone 2)

Quinn pulled the truck up in front of the McDonald’s.

But just as Quinn was pulling up to park, he spotted something. He turned the truck around to aim the headlights at town hall.

There, spread across one wall, in letters two feet tall, was spray-painted graffiti. Bloodred paint on the pale stone.

“‘Death to freaks,’” Quinn read aloud.

TWENTY-EIGHT

16 HOURS, 38 MINUTES

THE PICKUP TRUCK’S battery was dead. It had been sitting for more than three months.

But Hermit Jim was a prepared guy. There was a gasoline-powered generator and a charger for the battery. It took an hour for Lana and Cookie to figure out how to start the generator and hook up the battery. But finally Lana turned the key and after several attempts the engine sputtered to life.

Cookie backed the truck up to the gas tank.

It took some hard, sweaty work to shift the tank into the truck’s bed.

By the time they were done, so was the night. Lana cautiously opened the warehouse’s door and looked outside. In the shadow of the hills it wasn’t possible to speak of true dawn, but the sky was tinged with pink, and the shadows, still deep, were gray and no longer black.

A dozen coyotes lounged in an irregular circle, a hundred feet away. They turned to stare at her.

“Cookie,” Lana said.

“Yeah, Healer?”

“Here’s what I want you to do. I’m taking the truck, right? You should hear an explosion. Wait ten minutes after that. I’ll be back. Maybe. If not, well, you need to wait until the sun is all the way up—coyotes are more dangerous at night. Then walk back to the cabin, and from there head home.”

“I’m staying with you,” Cookie said firmly.

“No.” She said it with all the finality she could manage. “This is my thing. You do what I say.”

“I ain’t leaving you to those dogs.”

Lana said, “The coyotes won’t be the problem. And you have to leave. I’m telling you to. Either the explosion happens or it doesn’t. Either way, if I don’t come back, I need you to get to Sam. Give him the letter.”

“I want to take care of you, Healer. Like you took care of me.”

“I know, Cookie,” Lana said. “But this is how you do it. Okay? Sam needs to know what happened. Tell him everything we did. He’s a smart guy, he’ll understand. And tell him not to blame Quinn, okay? Not Quinn’s fault. I would have figured out some other way to do it if Quinn and Albert hadn’t helped.”

“Healer…”

Lana put her hand on Cookie’s beefy arm. “Do what I ask, Cookie.”

Cookie hung his head. He was weeping openly, unashamed. “Okay, Healer.”

“Lana,” she corrected him gently. “My name is Lana. That’s what my friends call me.”

She knelt down and ruffled Patrick’s fur the way he liked. “Love you, boy,” she whispered. She hugged him close and he whimpered. “You’ll be okay. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

Quickly, before she could lose her resolve, she climbed into the truck. She fired up the engine and nodded to Cookie.

Cookie swung open the creaking door of the warehouse.

The waiting coyotes got to their feet. Pack Leader ambled forward, uncertain. He was limping. The fur of one shoulder was soggy with blood.

“So, I didn’t kill you,” Lana whispered. “Well, the day is young.”