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the rifle, but he crouched, cocking his head, hands flat on the dirt. “Don’t make me—”
    Darting forward with eerie speed, the boy leapt into the fire. My garbled exclamation didn’t stop him, and I sat there with Oscar moving weakly against my knees as the kid turned in the flames as if he was taking a shower.
    And remained unburnt.
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    Oscar twitched. The bite on my leg throbbed, still welling. It hadn’t hit an artery, thank God. The kid stepped out of the fire and shook himself, smoke spattering like water. Then he darted for us, and I lunged for the rifle.
    â€œYou’re one of them!” I got the gun and whirled, socking it to my shoulder, the bite on my leg tearing and sending another hot jolt all through me.
    Huck knelt next to Oscar. His hands vanished into the dog’s thick pelt, and his eyes rolled back inside his head. The trigger halted, because…
    Oscar twitched.
    My dog’s ribs made creaking sounds, snapping out, and he took a deep breath. His eyes opened. He whined, and Huck folded over sideways, curling up like a pillbug.
    My dead dog leapt to his feet, blue eyes wide, and barked, sharply, his old familiar what’s up, alpha? He turned in a clockwise circle, as if chasing his nonexistent tail, danced a few steps, and shook himself. Blood and muck whipped away.
    All the air left me in a rush. I eased off the trigger, just a little. The chunk taken out of my thigh throbbed, and now that I was thinking I probably couldn’t fault the kid for biting me.
    But still.
    Huck whined, way back in his throat, and stretched out on the ground right next to the fire. Curled up again, and sagged. His eyes closed. Oscar nosed at him, and began to lick at the boy’s smoke-filthy skin.
    That’s impossible. I took a step back, my wounded leg threatening to buckle.
    Everything was impossible these days. It started with the news getting weird and ended with the cities becoming hunting grounds, and then the smaller towns getting visits from the things in the night.
    What are you gonna do, Lydia? Adrenaline jitters whipped through me, and a fresh trickle of hot blood slid down my shin. I had a short while before the fight-or-flight hormones wore off and I got tired, and I had to use it.
    Oscar sat down next to Huck and whined, looking at me. Make it better, alpha. Decide what to do.
    The boy began to snore.
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    I built up the fire, got them both into the trailer and reasonably cleaned off. Huck was heavier than his skinny ass should have been, but it was probably all muscle. He curled up in my narrow bed, and Oscar hopped up to settle next to him.
    â€œTraitor,” I told him, but not very harshly. I petted him a lot and even gave him a Greenie I’d hit a pet store two towns back for.
    The slapdash bandage I’d put on the bite stuck to clotted blood; I peeled it away and rinsed the wound with a bottle of water, hissing through my teeth. The shape of the bite was human, but it was…weird. The toothmarks cut too deep. He could have taken a much bigger chunk out if he’d wanted to.
    A human mouth wouldn’t do that.
    I poured peroxide on the punctures, smeared the whole bite with antibiotic, and did a proper bandage even though it was probably too late. Then I went outside, propped myself against the trailer’s step, the sharp edge against the middle of my back likely to keep me awake if I slumped, and eyed the woodpile. We had enough.
    I pulled my shearling jacket closer around me, kept an eye on the lights rippling to the north, and waited for dawn.
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    By the time the sun peeked up over the far horizon in a glory of gold-and-red morning—sailors take warning—I was shaking and sweating with fever. The fire was a low glow blurring in front of me, but at least the thing hadn’t come back. When the sun was a safe hand’s length above the rim of the planet, I got up.
    It took me two tries. My wounded leg pretty much