“Don’t … move … a muscle.” The unseen voice was gruff—an earthling voice, male, adult.

Rolo was chilled with fear, afraid to turn around, afraid to flinch, afraid to even look. He had heard stories of street earthlings, wild strays roaming in hungry packs, desperate, vicious. His pulse pounded in his ears.

What Rolo did not see was even worse. Behind him, a pack of monstrous rogents, large stocky ones, each as heavy as an earthling, was crawling out of the sewer and creeping up the alley toward him. They were granglers, sightless predators with milky dead eyes, multiple rows of tiny spiky teeth, hardened claws, a patchy coat of dark fur, and a serrated ridge down their spine and tail. They usually hunted underground dwellers, but they weren’t picky—any warm flesh would do. Their probing noses twitched, sensing live meat so close in front of them.

Rolo heard the rustling behind him. Slowly, he turned his head to peek.

Suddenly, with a hiss, the nearest grangler leaped up at Rolo, teeth out. But just as suddenly, it shrieked and fell to one side—with an arrow in its neck.

“Run!” barked the gruff voice.

Rolo ran. So did the grangler pack. He had seen only a glimpse of them, but that was enough, so he kept his head forward and fled from their hissing and the clamor of their claws scraping the pavement. He heard another shriek and a flop as an arrow struck down another one.

A figure flew past Rolo. It was the gruff man, swinging from a rope with one hand, holding a makeshift bow in his other. His hair and beard were long, messy, and streaked gray. His face was weathered and darkly tanned, with deep creases and thick eyebrows framing his steely eyes. His clothes were dirty and tattered. He was indeed a street earthling, a stray, a survivalist of the urban jungle. His name was Zeffro.

He swung onto a tall dumpster ahead and shot two more granglers. Then he grabbed a rod and banged a metal trash can repeatedly. The blind rogents squealed and bumped into walls, assaulted by the percussive din.

Zeffro leaped up to unhook another rope from the wall and swung down the alley. Spinning around with the rope between his thighs, he drew an arrow and struck down another grangler. He swung past Rolo onto another dumpster and tossed him the end of the rope. “Grab on, kid!”

Boosted by the adrenaline surging in his blood, Rolo scaled the side of the dumpster while Zeffro hoisted him to the top. Three granglers were right below him, clawing their way up a pallet and boxes stacked against the dumpster, while the rest of the pack surrounded them and hissed.

Zeffro yanked a rope dangling overhead, and a fire escape ladder slid down. “Climb!”

Rolo climbed. Zeffro stood guard, shooting more granglers with the last of his arrows, then he followed Rolo upward. “Faster!” he grunted.

They scrambled up the metal rungs, all the way up the side of the warehouse to the rooftop.

Rolo clambered onto the gravel roof and fell, panting.

Mysteriously, the gruff man did not appear. Rolo listened. There were still scratching and hissing sounds, but they were much quieter and distant. He waited, but where was the wild street earthling?

Slowly, Rolo tiptoed back to the ladder to look.

A little closer.

A little closer.

A grangler lurched onto the roof!