Jack fired three times, hitting her twice. One bullet tore through her shoulder and spun her around, the other punched through the side of her head.
“So am I," he muttered with regret, remembering her human fingers strumming an acoustic guitar.
With one last glance at the dead creature, he grabbed up the second nine millimeter he had placed on the shelf earlier. When he turned, he saw Bill lift the Alpha over his head and slam him hard against a bookshelf. Wood cracked and books tumbled down. With that eyeblink of a respite, Jack glanced over toward the windows. The sheriff was there, shielding Molly from the new onslaught from outside as he fired four quick rounds at the monsters silhouetted in the windows.
“Tackett! Let's go!" Jack shouted.
The sheriff glanced back quickly, but hesitated. Molly did not give him a choice. She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. Jack caught her eye, saw the iron courage there, and knew they were going to be all right. They had to be.
“Bill!" Jack shouted. “Get us the hell out of here!"
“Let's go!" Bill roared.
The enormous Prowler led the way, bounding powerfully for the door. Jack and Molly followed, with the sheriff bringing up the rear. Tackett fired twice more into his office as they ran out into the corridor.
Then the sheriff swore. He was out of ammunition.
Jack was barely paying attention. Down along the corridor, the front door was wide open and six or seven Prowlers were already inside. The animals froze a second when their prey lurched out into the corridor. Then they started forward. A snarl started low, building as it was joined by each of them in turn until they formed a savage harmony.
Molly stopped short, leveled the shotgun, and blew a hole in the one second from the left. The one in front reached them, but Bill was there. With a single, darting motion, his claws tore out the monster's throat. Blood fountained from the wound as it went down.
Jack slapped one of his guns into the sheriff 's hand, then reached around to snag the third nine millimeter he'd clipped to his belt.
With a gun in each hand, he fired at the Prowlers even as they rushed in. Two of them were hit, wounds popping open in their chests like firecrackers.
“Back there?" he snapped at the sheriff, tilting his head toward the rear of the building, where the cells were.
“Not that way," the man replied quickly, firing into the crowd of monsters as even more slipped in through the front door. “Follow me."
“Bill!" Jack cried out to his friend.
Molly had fallen back beside them. She pumped another round into the shotgun's chamber, and almost as one, the four of them surged forward, toward their attackers instead of away.
But only for a heartbeat or two.
The side corridor they turned into was narrower and seemed to dead-end at the door to another office. As they ran down it, the Prowlers screeching and calling out in triumph as though they believed their prey cornered, Jack felt fear spike up inside him. Unlike the sheriff 's large office, or even the main hallway, there was no room to fight here.
His heart raced. His throat went dry and he gritted his teeth as he hustled after Molly and the sheriff. Bill was bringing up the rear as they ran past multiple doors on both sides of the hall.
Jack stared ahead at the door at the end of the hall, and a horrible certainty filled him, that the door would not open. That they would be cornered.
Then the sheriff slammed into the door, twisted the knob and nearly tore it off the hinges. On the other side was a kind of conference room with a long wooden table in the center and a broad picture window on the far wall.
The sheriff glanced back at Jack.
“Got it!" Jack shouted. “Bill, the door!"
They were all inside the room and Bill slammed it shut, twisted the lock on the door, and threw his weight against it. It splintered as Prowlers crashed into it from the other side, hard enough to shake Bill.
The sheriff was already at the table and Jack joined him. He tossed his guns onto the wood and bent down to push. The legs scraped the floor, but it slid grudgingly across the room to slam against the wall right under the window.
“Molly!" Jack glanced around to see her leveling the shotgun at the six-foot-wide, multi-paned window.
“Got it!" she shouted.
The shotgun roared.
The picture window exploded out into the night, leaving jagged edges of glass jutting from the frame.
But it was enough.
“Go, go!" Bill yelled behind them.
Molly went first, scrambling up onto the table and leaping out into the darkness. Jack said a silent prayer that there were no Prowlers waiting. As the sheriff followed Molly, Jack grabbed up his guns.
“Bill!" he snapped.
The Prowler let go of the door and in three long strides had leaped up on top of the table. He grabbed hold of Jack, hauled him up, and then the two of them dove out through the jagged maw of glass side by side.
They tumbled on the grass.
Molly and Tackett were already up, guns aimed into the darkness. Inside the conference room they could hear the door give way with a crash of breaking wood. Jack hesitated.
“There are too many of them, Jack," Molly said quickly. “We need room to breathe."
It pained Jack to do it, but with a single glance back at the sheriff 's building, he ran. All four of them went together, sprinting around the front of the building, where at least a dozen Prowlers milled about, battering at windows in a kind of animal fury that was irrational, savage, and inhuman.
Beasts, Jack thought. That's all they are. Not evil.
But they seemed so evil.
Mainly 'cause they want to kill us.
The sheriff 's patrol car was all the way around the other side of the parking lot. The Jeep was
