Page 2

CHAPTER 1

THE KIDS COME crashing out of the eastern Idaho woods like someone’s chasing them. They’re filthy. Barefoot. They dart across the highway, quick as deer. An old Toyota 4Runner honks and swerves, missing the boy by inches.

“What the hell?” the driver shouts after them. “You lookin’ to be roadkill?”

The teen boy and girl tumble down the berm and sprint across the parking lot of the Grizzly Grocery and Bait Shop. The boy flings himself at the glass door, pushing it as hard as he can. It doesn’t open. He snarls and spits in anger.

He pushes the door again. Snarls louder when it doesn’t move.

Suddenly he bends down, picks up a rock, and smashes it into the glass. A spiderweb of cracks fans out. He hits the glass another time, shattering a small hole in it. He hits it again and the hole gets bigger. Glass daggers rain down onto the asphalt. He’s about to land another blow when the girl pushes him aside.

She pulls on the door.

It opens.

For a second, the boy looks shocked. Then he cackles with wild glee. He throws the rock aside and runs barefoot over the glass into the store. The girl follows right behind him.

“Hey!” the store clerk yells. “Hey! What the hell’re you doing? Get back here! I’m calling the cops!”

They ignore his spluttering fury. They burst into the candy and chips aisle, laughing maniacally. The girl swipes a bag of cheese puffs from the shelf and tosses it to the boy, who catches it in his mouth like a dog. He whips his head from side to side until the bag bursts open. Cheese puffs go flying. The girl grins and catches one midair with a snap . She grabs a handful off the ground and shoves them into her mouth. The chili-lime-spiked flavor makes her cough.

She pops open a can of Coke and guzzles it down. Then she bats cookie boxes off the shelves. Rips them open and shoves four Oreos in her mouth at once. The boy jumps up and down, jaws chomping on tortilla chips, eyes wide and wild-looking.

The store clerk appears at the end of the aisle. “Hey, you!” Dale Wilson yells. “Stop! Get out of here! You crazy shits!”

The boy twists the cap from a Gatorade. Red fruit punch flavor goes streaming down his face and onto his filthy shirt.

“Quit that!” Dale practically screams, his voice going girl-high with panic.

The boy turns and grins at him, and Dale’s jaw falls open. The kid’s got freaking fangs !

The girl starts laughing again as she shoves more food into her face. She’s having the time of her life.

An old man makes the mistake of turning into the aisle with his cart full of prune juice and wet wipes. He goes white as a sheet when he sees two filthy kids in tattered clothing going nuts on the junk food. He leaves his cart where it is and runs gimpy legged out the door.

The kids can’t stop laughing. The food’s still flying every which way. The floor’s a mess of crumbs and juice, dirt and glass and blood.

Dale’s moved farther away, but he’s still yelling at them. “Is this some kind of TikTok challenge bullshit? Because it’s not freaking funny! ”

The boy turns to him again. The kid’s eyes have gone darker than midnight. They don’t even look like human eyes anymore. His lips curl back from his mouth. And a low, bone-chilling growl rumbles up from his throat. It rises in volume and pitch as the kid comes toward him.

Moving on all fours.

Dale feels his bladder go slack, and the warm piss running down his leg. He turns around and runs.