Gone

Diazepam or maybe three or maybe ten. Her hands shook. Her insides churned. She needed to go to the bathroom, but she needed to stay with the children, too.
    Her brother, John, was changing a diaper, no different from usual, except that John’s mouth was an upside-down “U” of trembling lips.
    Mary read, “I would not eat green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-am.”
    And in her head, going around and around like a crazed merry-go-round she could not stop, was the question: What do I do? What do I do if…What do I do when…What do I do?
    A boy named Jackson raised his hand. “Mother Mary? The dogs stink.”
    Mary kept reading. “I will not eat them in the rain. I will not eat them on a train…”
    It was true, the coyotes did stink. The smell of them was suffocating, the heavy scent of musk and dead animals. They urinated freely against crib legs and tables and chose the corner with the dress-up clothes to defecate.
    But the coyotes were not at ease, far from it. They were jumpy, nervous, unused to being in an enclosed space, not used to being around humans. Pack Leader maintained order with snarls and yips, but even he was jumpy and unsettled.
    Only Drake seemed at ease. He lounged in the glider that Mary used to rock the tinies to sleep at night or feed them a bottle. He was endlessly fascinated by his whip hand, kept holding it up for inspection, coiling and uncoiling it, reveling in it.
    Save the kids? Save John? Could she save anyone? Could she save herself?
    What do I do?
    What do I do when the killing starts?
    Suddenly a girl was there. Taylor. Just there in the middle of the room.
    “Hi. I brought food,” she announced. She held a plastic McDonald’s tray. It was piled high with uncooked hamburgers.
    Every coyote head snapped around. Drake was too slow to react, caught off guard.
    Taylor flung the tray against the common wall shared by the day care and the hardware store. Meat slid down the gaily painted cinder blocks.
    Drake’s whip hand cracked.
    But Taylor was gone.
    The coyotes hesitated only a moment. Then they lunged toward the meat. In a flash they were snarling and snapping at one another, pushing, jostling, climbing over one another in a feeding frenzy.
    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 timethe 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