Nightrise

of white as the supervisors returned fire.
    The three of them pushed the door open and slipped out into the warmth of the night, crouching down in case anyone saw them. Daniel was next to Jamie, who put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him close.
    Joe Feather rose up and called out in a language that neither of the boys understood. It was almost like a high-pitched war cry, his voice echoing across the compound, above the noise of the shooting. A moment later, someone answered back. There was the sound of an engine starting and renewed firing as a pickup truck came hurtling over the sand, making toward them.
    "Now, we go!" Joe said.
    The truck slid to a halt. Jamie caught sight of a driver and a passenger, leaning out of the window with a rifle balanced over his arm. They were both young — only a few years older than him. Quickly, Jamie helped Daniel into the back, then climbed in himself.
    "Hold on to the back!" Joe told them. He was the last in. No sooner had his feet left the ground than they were on the move again.
    There was a bar running across the back of the driver's cab. Jamie found himself standing up, clinging on to it for dear life. Daniel was lying down, being bounced around on the wooden floor as the truck lurched forward. The ground suddenly seemed to be pitted with holes — maybe it was a result of all the explosions. More bullets were fired. One of them smashed into the side of the cab, ricocheting off with a loud clang. Whether it was a lucky shot or deliberately aimed at them, Jamie couldn't say. They were heading for the fence, a few feet away from the gate that had been opened, less than a week ago, to allow Jamie in. The gate was still there but the fence had been blown apart. He could see the track and the guards' houses on the other side.
    They drove through. Jamie ducked down, afraid of being gashed by a piece of dangling razor wire. The driver fired a shot through a window, and a guard spun backward in the sand, wounded but not killed.
    The other vehicles were also leaving the prison. Looking back, Jamie saw half a dozen of them, following not far behind.
    The wind — warm and welcoming — rushed over his shoulders and through his hair. He almost wanted to laugh. He still didn't know who these people were but they were on his side and they were taking him and Daniel out. He would contact Alicia, and the prison would be shut down.
    And surely someone there — one of the supervisors, a nurse or an administrator — would know what had happened to Scott. There would have to be a record somewhere in one of the files.
    They passed a jeep parked next to the track. Jamie saw it and assumed it was empty. He didn't see the man rise up next to it. Nor did he see the gun aimed at his back.
    Colton Banes had been waiting for him. He had realized that there was no point entering the battle inside the prison. Everything there was dark and confused. It would be better to wait just outside the compound. If they were going to bring out the boy, they would have to come this way. And he was right.
    He could see Jamie, standing up, holding on to the bar in the driver's cab for support. He was a perfect target, almost like one of those paper cutouts Banes had used for practice at the range.
    He fired.
    Jamie heard the shot and felt the bullet smash into his back, high up, next to his shoulder. It was like being stabbed with a white-hot knife. All the strength went out of him. His legs folded under him and he fell, sprawling, on top of Daniel. He hadn't closed his eyes, but suddenly everything was black. He heard Joe call out, but before the Indian had reached the end of the sentence, the words had faded away. He couldn't feel the floor of the truck. He couldn't feel anything.
    Colton Banes hadn't finished yet. He had seen the boy go down but he still had time for a second shot.
    Although he was fairly sure that the first bullet would have done the job, this one would make certain. A smile spread across his lips as he brought the gun up, taking careful aim.
    But he never pulled the trigger. He heard something come whistling out of the darkness and jerked back, wondering what had happened. He looked down and was surprised to see an arrow, complete with feathers, jutting out of his chest. Had it just been fired into him? Had one of these people really brought along one of their ancient weapons and used it against him? A car sped past. The young man with the war paint was leaning half out of the window,