It was almost immediately clear that the coyote was not a threat. First, it was alone. Second, it was barely able to walk. Its gait was shuffling and it seemed lopsided.

  And something was wrong with its head.

  Something so wrong that Astrid could hardly encompass it. She stared and blinked. Shook her head and stared again.

  Her first thought was that the coyote had a child’s head in its mouth.

  No.

  That. Wasn’t. It.

  “Madre de Dios,” Edilio sobbed. He ran to the creature now just twenty feet away and so terribly visible. Roger put a comforting hand on Edilio’s shoulder, but he looked sick, too.

  Astrid stood rooted in place.

  “It’s Bonnie,” Edilio said, his voice shrill. “It’s her. It’s her face. No,” he moaned, a long, drawn-out wail.

  The creature ignored Edilio, just kept walking on two coyote front legs and twisted furless legs—bent human legs—in the back. Kept walking as though those empty, blue, human eyes were blind, and those shell-like pink human ears were deaf.

  Edilio wept as it kept moving.

  Astrid aimed her revolver at the creature’s heart, just behind the shoulder, and fired. The gun kicked in her hand and a small, round, red hole appeared and began leaking red.

  She fired again, hitting the creature in its canine neck.

  It fell over. Blood pumped from the thing’s neck and formed a pool in the sand.

  Once again, the avatar broke apart.

  Pete had tried to play with the bouncy avatar and it had broken apart, changed color and shape, and stopped.

  He had tried to play with another avatar and it had melted into something different.

Fear, Chapter 13