Plague

coyote squirming and yowling in midair. But at last it let itself go limp.
    “Why are you attacking us?” Sam asked. “Does Pack Leader know you’re trying to kill humans?”
    “I Pack Leader,” the coyote said in its strangled, weird voice.
    Sam stepped closer. Humans were not the only creatures to have evolved in the lawless universe of the FAYZ. One of the earliest had been the coyotes who served the gaiaphage. Some had mutated to develop the shorter tongues and flattened muzzles that allowed them a mangled sort of speech.
    “Look,” Jack said. He was coming closer, pointing. “He has them, too.”
    Sam walked cautiously around Pack Leader to see the other side. There were the insect jaws protruding from the matted fur. Two, maybe three of them.
    “I came for hunter kill me,” Pack Leader said.
    Sam knew this was not the original Pack Leader. Lana had killed that Pack Leader. But whether this was the second coyote to hold the title or some other coyote, he didn’t know. This one had slightly better powers of speech than the first.
    “Hunter’s dead,” Sam said.
    “You kill.”
    “Yes.”
    “Kill me, Bright Hands.”
    Sam had no sympathy for the coyote. The coyotes had participated in the town plaza massacre. There were bodies buried in the cemetery that had been so badly ripped by coyote teeth that they were unrecognizable.
    “The flying snakes cause this?” Sam asked, pointing at the awful parasites.
    “Yes.”
    “Where are they?”
    Pack Leader made a purely coyote growl deep in his throat. “No words.”
    “Then show us,” Sam said. “Take us to them.”
    “Then you burn me?”
    “Then I’ll burn you.”
    At first Brittney was confused. She wondered if she was dreaming. Dreaming of fresh, cool air and a sky overhead.
    But no, she was not in the basement.
    Drake had escaped!
    She had to do something. Had to warn someone. Even if it meant being returned to the basement. If Drake was loose in the world, he would do evil.
    But to be locked away again . . . Surely she could take just a moment to be free. Just a moment . . .
    She realized she was not alone.
    “Who are you?”
    “Jamal. I . . . I work for Albert, kind of. A bodyguard, like.”
    The boy stood stiff, rigid, hand gripping the stock of his rifle too tightly. His other arm had been hurt.
    “Why are you here, Jamal? Are you here to catch Drake?” She noticed a few feet of rope coiled and hung from Jamal’s belt. “I don’t think you can tie him up. He’s very dangerous.”
    “I know that,” Jamal said. He was tugging the rope free.
    Brittney suddenly understood why Jamal was there. She bolted.
    Jamal ran after her.
    “Don’t run or I have to shoot you,” Jamal cried.
    He was faster than she was. Everyone was faster than Brittney. But he was fumbling one-handed with the rope and had to sling the gun over his shoulder. All Brittney had to do was run.
    She burst into the town plaza. Not knowing what she was looking for, not consciously. But she found herself running up the stone steps toward the ruined church.
    Jamal caught her on the steps, grabbed her hair, and yanked back. Her legs went out from under her and she fell hard on her back, slamming onto sharp-edged granite.
    But Brittney no longer felt real pain. She had long since gone beyond pain.
    Jamal tried to straddle her, but he tripped on the rope and she pushed away from him.
    “Stop it!” Jamal yelled.
    Brittney rolled down a couple of steps, climbed to her feet, and plowed straight back into Jamal. She knocked him aside and dashed past him.
    The church roof had collapsed long ago. But a path had been cleared to the inside. The cross had been propped back upright, leaning a bit but still there, silver in the moonlight.
    Brittney ran toward the cross, tripped on debris, and slammed into a pew.
    Jamal was on her in a flash, cursing, fumbling, trying to grab her, swat away her punching hands, trying to get the rope around her.
    “No! No! No!” Brittney shouted.
    Jamal punched her in the side of the head.
    Brittney blinked and punched back. She kicked and flailed and punched as well as she could from her position half beneath a pew. And Jamal kicked her back viciously.
    But Jamal could still feel pain. He backed away suddenly, eyes wild and dripping sweat. He leveled the rifle at her.
    “I don’t want to shoot you,” Jamal pleaded.
    “You can’t kill me,” Brittney said and got heavily to her feet.
    “I know. Drake told me you’d say that. But I can