The morning after the breach, Camp Ridge is holding -- wounded in the medical bay, exhausted watch coming off the line, the perimeter intact but not clean. The senior watch is still running on the adrenaline reserves from the night before. The tree line is quiet. Quiet is not the same as empty.

Emily Smith is twelve years old. She carries a sketchpad. She had been drawing that tree line at first light long enough to know what it looked like when nothing was wrong, and what it looked like when something was. That morning, it looked wrong. She brought her drawing to Mark. Mark brought it to Calloway. The camp responded before the second probe closed the distance, and the second probe was counting on the gap between a hard night and a slow morning. Casey had already confirmed what Emily was seeing -- the 110-pound APBT who had now killed two o ...