Interlude

Gary sat up abruptly, knocking a piece of paper onto the ground. He was in a strange bedroom, on an unfamiliar bed. His head ached and he could hear a murmured conversation from a room on the other side of the closed bedroom door.

It sounded like Honey—and someone vaguely familiar. They were being quiet. He caught the words "sheriff" and "stupid."

He got slowly to his feet. He understood what he was hearing. He had recognized Honey's voice. He even identified the other voice. It belonged to the firefighter in Mercy's pack. Mary Lou. Mary Jane. Something like that.

He was free.

He started for the door, and paper scrunched under his bare foot. He bent to pick it up.

You did pretty good. But I decided to have Mercy finish this up instead of you. She's at the hot springs now. Communication of any kind is not possible. Don't try to return to Montana. There's a BIG STORM just now. You might know something about why that is.

Instead of a signature, someone had drawn a little coyote.

Gary crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it at the wall.