I never thought I’d die in Perfection. Not like this. Earl and I were supposed to be gone—packed up, paid off, and on our way to Bixby by sunrise. We’d had enough of fixing fences and unclogging septic tanks for people who couldn’t pay. But then we saw Edgar.

Up there on the power tower, arms locked around the crossbeam, rifle still in hand. Skin cracked from the sun, eyes wide and dry. Jim said he died of dehydration. Said he must’ve climbed up and just… couldn’t come down. Too scared.

Now the ground’s shaking. Not an earthquake. Something beneath it. Something that moves in straight lines. Something that hunts.

Earl’s got the binoculars. I’ve got the dynamite we were gonna use for stump removal. We’re standing on a rock outcrop, watching the dirt ripple like water.

'You thinking what I’m thinking?' he asks.

I am. But I don’t want to say it out loud.

Because if I do, it becomes real. And if it’s real, we can’t leave. Not yet.

We have to kill it first.

What do we do?