There were ten of them, until there were eight, and a while later, five. When they were five they came down-river; carefully, slowly, silently, because they had learned. Five came through Mount Hope, Goddard. Five went to the Witchita Airport to see if they could find a fueled plane and then there were only two.
"What now?" It was a whisper, face pressed against a black tar roof.
"They'll just go away?"
"It gets hot this time of year. Dawn soon."
"We wait." He closed his eyes. "Until they thin out. Then we make a break for it."