That thing—if it was a Freak—could have cut all our throats as we slept.” It could have. It hadn’t. Though it was still the middle of the night, I paced, worry eating me from the inside out. Who the devil knew what they’d do with that lit branch? Maybe it would go out. Maybe nothing bad would happen. How I wished I believed that. As their attacks had shown, they grew more dangerous all the time. Hunger no longer predicted their movements. These Freaks had enough to eat with all the game in the woods. Big game, like deer and moose, offered plenty of raw meat. I’d sampled both at Momma Oaks’s
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