“There might be a few who got away," Bill warned him.
“If they're smart, they'll keep running."
“Wow, I guess you've got it covered," Molly said softly.
Tackett pushed away from the wall. “I will if I can make the calls I need to make before I pass out."
She helped him into the office and over to his desk. The place was a shambles, dead Prowlers and shattered glass all over the floor, along with what appeared to be every book that had been on the sheriff 's shelves. They were strewn about, some of them torn up.
Tackett picked up the phone and began to dial.
Which was when Jack noticed that Tina's corpse was not where he had left it. He had shot her between the desk and the door, but now her body lay on the other side of the room beneath a broken window. It had to be her, for she was the only female Prowler they had killed in the office.
Curious, Jack stepped over a dead beast and made his way through the books that had been tossed all over the place. A trail of blood led to where she lay, face to the wall. Her fur was matted with it and it pooled all around her head.
Jack stared. The bullet to the head had not killed her instantly. Somehow she had found the strength before she died to crawl all the way across the room.
What he didn't understand was why.
Carefully, he reached down and turned her over.
Dead, jaws gaping open, eyes glossy, the thing they knew as Tina clutched a leather-bound book in her arms, held tight against her chest. He knew right away what it had to be. Jack crouched and slipped the book from her grasp. He stood and opened it, began to read from one of the handwritten pages.
“Is that . . . ?"
Jack glanced up to find Molly beside him, staring at the book. He nodded. Bill came over to them then. He looked drawn, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped.
“You gonna be all right?" Jack asked.
“A little rest will do me a lot of good," Bill replied. “Maybe a few stitches. One of you is going to have to drive my car." His eyes went to the journal in Jack's hands. “Is that the book?"
“Yes."
“Bring it with you," Bill said. “It should make interesting reading."
After they were certain that Tackett had help on the way, they left the sheriff still on the phone and went back out to the Jeep. They drove back to the inn with the headlights off, and Molly slipped across the lot to get Bill's car. The two vehicles moved quietly through the dark until they were well outside of town.
They were exhausted, and Bill was wounded, and they were a long way from home. But Jack knew it would be all right now.
For as they drove out of Buckton, he did not see a single ghost on the sides of the road. The victims of the prowlers, the souls who had wandered lost among these mountains, had finally left Buckton behind.
EPILOGUE
On Monday Courtney let them sleep all day as business went on as usual in the pub. She counted the hours until the kitchen would close and not once did she let slip that three of Bridget's best employees were lazing around like slugs upstairs. After Jack, Molly, and Bill had rolled in that morning, just after six A.M., they had given her the wee-hours-of-the-morning version and all fallen into bed, exhausted.
At last, going on eleven-thirty that night, the restaurant area was cleared. Courtney had Matt make last call at quarter to midnight. By ten past twelve, the place was empty of patrons and staff, and Courtney locked up after Matt with a gentle smile of thanks and a hasty wave. Tired, but thrilled to finally be able to ascend once more to her apartment, Courtney limped across the pub, her cane thumping on the hard wood, and climbed the stairs.
When she opened the door, she heard tinny television voices from the living room. She locked up behind her and went in to find them lolling on chairs and sofas with some ancient black and white rerun on Nick at Nite unfolding to canned laughter on the tube.
Jack spotted her first. Courtney's heart had been so heavily burdened by fear for him in his absence, and now she felt so much lighter, in head and heart.
“Hey," Jack said.
Molly and Bill both glanced up at the sound of his voice, then smiled when they saw Courtney enter.
Her brother rose from his chair and walked over to her. He wore sweatpants and a T-shirt, and it was clear they had been his uniform all day. It had been that kind of day.
Jack took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. Then he hugged her close and Courtney let herself lean on him.
“Gotta tell you, little brother," she said in a half-whisper, “for a minute there I - "
“Don't say it," Jack interrupted.
“I know, I know. It's over now."
A frown creased his forehead. “Over? I wish it was. Just getting started, I think."
Courtney wanted to argue, to trot out all her fears for their safety, all the reasons why it was not their problem that there were other Prowler Packs all over the country, probably all over the world. But she could not, because she agreed with him. It had been she, after all, who had set them on the path to Buckton in the first place.
It wasn't over. It would never be over.
Gently, she hugged him, kissed his cheek, then limped over to Molly. The girl gazed up at her, a wan smile on her face, seeming happy and content, and yet there was a shadow over her eyes. Once they had sparkled brightly. That sparkle was still there, but Courtney thought it might have been dimmed somewhat.
She hoped it was only an illusion.
“You all right?" she asked.
Molly took the question seriously,
