Glen Jorgensen's features were grim as he began loading the rifle. What was going on outside was confirming the fear that was now pulsing through his veins. It was confirming the theory he had formulated through his reading of the past few hours.

Something was hunting the crabs. Something that had taken the village settlement nearly four hundred years ago.

Glen Jorgensen finished loading the rifle. He set the weapons by the window near the telescope. Then he went downstairs to his bedroom, found his heavy duty flashlight, and with the strong beam lighting his way, headed to the first floor. He checked the front door, making sure it was double-bolted, then went around the lower floors checking the windows and the rear door. He strode down to the bas.e.m.e.nt and made sure the windows down there were shut and locked. Then he headed back upstairs, gathered some food and water from his second floor apartment kitchen, reinforced the windows there, and headed back up to the attic.

Glen set up his watch command by the window. He hefted the rifle up and lowered it on the mantelpiece that sat near the window. Then he sat down, keeping a watchful eye out the window, looking out for what he knew in his heart was left to come, but praying to G.o.d that it wouldn't.

They wound up at the center of town by pure fate. They'd run back toward the beach and decided to try making a grab for Janice's car. Just when it seemed like they weren't going to get the chance to get the car because it was surrounded by Clickers, opportunity knocked when Janice's neighbors, a young couple in their mid-twenties, blew a couple of them away with their hunting rifles. That was when they seized the opportunity to make a mad dash for the vehicle. Rick took the wheel while Janice stayed in the back with Bobby, who remained curiously mute throughout the ordeal. Several Clickers came across their path, yet Bobby showed no physical reaction. Instead of numb fear or hysterics, he simply looked at the creatures in awe, as if wanting to know more about whatever it was that had hurt him.

They drove through town, tearing down the streets as the headlights of the car picked up what was going on: people running madly, hysterically; other people brandishing rifles, pistols, baseball bats, running into the street in rage, beating and shooting the Clickers who seemed to scurry unheedingly. Rick had to take care not to swerve into either people or Clickers. Driving through Phillipsport on this night was almost like driving through downtown Los Angeles at rush hour.

They hit the center of town and Rick pulled up in front of the Sheriff station. People were running along the beach front with rifles, shotguns and handguns, shouting enthusiastically at each other. These f.u.c.king people are acting like it's a G.o.dd.a.m.n war or something, Jack thought. But then he mentally checked himself. It was a war; one against mankind by what he termed an alien invasion. Alien because as far as he could tell, he and everybody he had come across had never seen creatures like this before in their lives.

"Radio should be inside," Jack said.

Rick nodded, looking around. There wasn't any sign of Clickers anywhere. The only Clickers around were dead.

Rick turned around toward the back seat. "If the radio here doesn't work-"

Jack tapped Rick's shoulder and motioned out the window. "Sheriff's here."

Rick turned toward the window and saw Sheriff Conklin heading toward them. His clothes were slightly disheveled and damp, his grin c.o.c.ky and malevolent. He looked pale, panicked. The Sheriff limped toward the car and for the first time, Jack noticed that the right leg of his pants was stained a dark maroon. Most likely a Clicker, Jack thought as he traded a glance with Rick and shrugged. Both men exited the car.

Roy approached them, his grin fading as Jack noticed that most of the townspeople seemed to be ignoring the arrival of the Sheriff. They were all off on their own little worlds.

"Sheriff Conklin-" Rick began.

"Put your hands up!" Conklin barked.

"What?" Rick began, but he got no further than that when Conklin abruptly spun him around and shoved him against the car. Rick was momentarily stunned as he hit the side of the car with his chest, making it rock a little on its springs. Inside, Janice gave a startled cry. Rick moved to turn back and Conklin had him in a choke-hold, one muscular arm around his chest and throat, holding him. Rick struggled. "Hey, what the f.u.c.k's wrong with you?"

"Stay the f.u.c.k down," Roy muttered, throwing his weight into the hold, which pinned Rick to the car. Janice scrambled across the seat and emerged from the other side while Jack stood in numbed shock beside the car, his bony hands curling into fists as Roy brought his handcuffs out and snapped a cuff on Rick's left wrist.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" Jack yelled. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"You shut your face or I'll haul your a.s.s in, too," Conklin said as he relaxed his grip slightly and pushed Rick against the car with his knee pressed into his back.

Janice was livid as she stormed up to the lawman. "You c.o.c.ksucking pig!"

Roy calmly snapped the second cuff on Rick's right wrist. "You want to join him, Miss?" Roy looked at her with eyes cold as flint. It was like looking into the eyes of a shark.

Rick was still stunned. "What the h.e.l.l is going on here? Why are you-"

"Shut up!" Roy said as he hauled Rick up and began moving him off the street to the Sheriff's station.

Jack followed him a few feet behind. "What are the charges?"

"No charges," Roy said. "There's a war going on and last time there was a war, men like him," he shook Rick's shoulder with the tight grip of his hand, "were the reason we lost. We're not losing this one." He opened the door of the station and marched Rick inside. Jack stopped at the curb, staring vacantly at the gray facade of the building as Bobby's voice rose in the air. The boy was crying again.

Jack turned back to the car. Janice was in the backseat comforting her son who sniffled and sobbed. "What did Rick do, Mommy?"

"Nothing, honey," Janice said, trying to soothe her son. She stroked his head with her hand, smoothing hair back from his forehead.

Jack caught her attention and motioned inside. Janice nodded. Jack turned and strode into the office, more p.i.s.sed off now than when those things had stormed the beach.

He entered the lobby just as Roy was leading Rick down the hall to the cells. "Okay now, will you please tell me what the f.u.c.k is your problem?"

Roy stopped and slowly turned his neck, casting Jack in his cold gaze. "What was that?"

"What the f.u.c.k is your problem? Have you lost your mind?"

Roy took his pistol out of its holster and pointed the barrel at Jack's face. He c.o.c.ked the hammer. His eyes narrowed in cold slits. His face was stone. "You know, Jack, I believe I have. Do you have any suggestions on how we can alleviate this problem?"

The rest of what Jack intended to say dribbled out of his mouth, spiraling away into nothingness. He raised his hands as if to ward off any antic.i.p.ated blows. His legs felt rubbery and his body suddenly felt light. He took an involuntary step backward.

"It's okay, Jack," Rick said. "Go back outside with Janice and Bobby."

"Yes, Jack," Roy said, keeping the weapon trained on Jack's face. "Go outside and keep that s.l.u.t and her little brat company."

Jack stood his ground for a moment as if rooted to the spot. He looked at Roy closely. The lawman's clothing was damp, almost sopping wet. It was disheveled, and his hair was even more matted. There was a tear in his slacks, the clothing itself stained badly. From within the tear he could see blood. The lawman's face was white, almost pasty, and his eyes were haunted and livid. His lips twitched as he stood before him, training the gun on him.

For the first time, Jack noticed that Rusty wasn't with the Sheriff. Where was he? The heavy sound of Roy Conklin's breathing and the mad, livid look in his eyes told him that something caused the Sheriff to become unglued mentally. There was no trying to reason with the man now.

He backed up slowly until he was at the door. Then he eased out the door outside onto the sidewalk.

Only then did Roy lower his gun.

Jack watched the rest of it from the sidewalk. Janice stood by the side of the car, calling out to him. "What happened? What the h.e.l.l is going on?" He held up a hand to silence her and watched as Roy ushered Rick to the rear of the Sheriff's station. A moment later Conklin reappeared and headed toward a room off to the side.

It wasn't until Sheriff Conklin was out of sight that Jack went back to the car and told her that he thought Sheriff Roy Conklin had finally lost his mind.

"So you're sure you'll be all right here?" Jack had asked her this question for the third time and she was getting tired of it.

"I'll be fine, Jack," Janice said. "Now will you please go find Doc Jorgensen so he can try to clear this mess up?"

Jack nodded and glanced inside the car at Bobby. He smiled and waved. Bobby returned the wave. The smile took a bit more effort.

It had been Janice's idea for Jack to find Glen Jorgensen. If what Jack Ripley told her was true, then Sheriff Conklin had been injured worse than the flesh wound on his leg. She, too, had seen the mad expression in his eyes, and it scared her. She'd read about people who'd gone mad, and in the descriptions in all these works, usually the novels of Stephen King and Dean Koontz, the madman's eyes were livid, haunted somehow. Hollow, yet alive with some insane l.u.s.t. Sheriff Conklin looked like that now, as if he was possessed by some hidden force that had suddenly taken root. She'd never liked the man much, had always found him to be odd-but harmless. That oddness was now blossoming into something dangerous. And if the problem was medical-psychological from some hidden dementia, or physical from the loss of blood-she knew Dr. Jorgensen would be able to help.

"Are you sure you'll be safe?" Jack asked with growing concern on his features. "Those things-"

"Bobby and I will be fine," Janice said. "If any more trouble happens, I'll get in the car and drive us over to Jorgensen's. Until then, I'm staying here until Conklin comes out. If he's lost it, maybe he'll listen to me. I've known him almost all my life."

Jack nodded. She could see that she'd scored a point, and Jack knew that what she was saying made more sense. Jack had been living in Phillipsport barely fifteen years, which still made him an outsider in these parts.

She'd known Conklin since she was six or seven. He might have become temporarily unbalanced, but she was hoping their personal history would cut through that and speak some sense into him.

It took some convincing but Jack finally took off, darting across the street, moving cautiously as he headed toward Glen Jorgensen's.

Janice watched him go, then checked out her surroundings. The Clickers seemed to be gone; several townspeople were heading back from the beach bearing hunting rifles, talking enthusiastically as if returning from a bear hunt. Another pair of men walked up the street, three of the Clickers hung on meat hooks like fish dangling from their mouths. The Clickers' bodies were broken and blasted away, but they still resembled the monstrosities they were.

A sound behind her made her whirl around. It was Sheriff Conklin emerging from the station. He was carrying an semi-automatic weapon and had a pump shotgun draped over his back. There were now two pistols hanging from holsters around his hips. He was limping rather badly and she noticed his wound. Was it a gunshot? He glared at her with that look of madness in his eyes, then turned toward the pier. Janice stared at him, jaw agape. Looking at him gave her the creeps.

She fought the urge to yell after him, to try to stop him and make him see reason. Roy kept walking in that dragging limp toward the pier, his gait illuminated by the sporadic headlights of pick-up trucks parked haphazardly in the street. His gait was so purposeful, the look in his eyes so maddening, that she thought if she did try to say something he would snap even further and use the firearms he was carrying. He looked like he was already past the breaking point.

Jack was gone, having trotted off to fetch Dr. Jorgensen five minutes before Conklin came out of the station. The Sheriff's limping gait receded as an idea took root in her mind and she moved back toward the car, her mouth set in a tight grimace. She opened the rear door. "Come on, Bobby. We're going inside."

Bobby scrambled out of the backseat, his bandaged hand cradled to his chest. Glen Jorgensen had equipped it with a makeshift sling, and now Bobby had the hand in it. "Are we going to get Rick out?"

"Yep." Janice closed the back door and herded her son through the Sheriff's station. She closed the door behind her and motioned Bobby to stop, then listened, trying to catch whatever sounds could be emanating from within the building. The Sheriff's station was small, the first room consisting of a makeshift lobby/office. It was equipped with a small waiting area and four desks. Beyond the office to the right there was a little corridor lined with closets. Directly behind the office was a long corridor that was dark. The cells, she a.s.sumed. The place was silent.

"Rick!"

From faintly down the hall, his voice. "Down here."

She paused, waiting for the tell-tale signs of another deputy emerging from the jail, or from one of the side rooms telling her she had to leave. But none came.

They were alone in the Sheriff's station. Just as she expected.

She locked the door behind her. Then she herded Bobby ahead of her and made her way down the darkened hall to the jail where Rick was incarcerated.

By the time Roy reached the pier, most of the work appeared to be already done. A group of twenty men were blowing the beached creatures to mush, while others stood poised at strategic points on the beach, keeping their eyes peeled for further invading creatures. The few stragglers that made their way to sh.o.r.e were quickly shot. Roy saw Barney Corabi, who appeared to have taken charge. Barney was a bear of a man, tall and beefy with black hair, who favored lumberjack attire. Roy approached him, waving. Barney saw him and waved back. "What we got here, Barney?"

Barney motioned toward the beach. "We got most of it under control. Tried raising you at the station. Where were you?"

"Rusty and I were over at the power station when they came," Roy said. He still didn't know what to call these things. They seemed to be the best way to describe them. "They took us completely by surprise. I'm d.a.m.ned lucky to have gotten out of there alive."

Barney looked concerned. "Jesus, Roy, what happened?" He looked down at Roy's injured leg. "What the h.e.l.l happened to your leg and where's Rusty, is he-"

"Dead." Roy's voice was deadpan as he looked at Barney and shook his head. He sighed, trying to inject some drama in the narrative. "Those things were all over the power plant when we got there. A swarm of them attacked us and Rusty was in front of me when they came. We both backed up, pulled our guns and started shooting but they got him. They stung him..." He let that trail off, avoiding Barney's eyes as he looked at the sand filled with so many of the broken sh.e.l.led, bloodied creatures. "I tried to save him and in doing so Rusty's gun went off and I was shot. By then it was too late..." He shook his head.

"I know," Barney said. "One of them stung Ritchie Wilkeson during the first wave. It snuck right by us and got him right in the hip. He-"

Roy held his hand up, stopping him, eyes closed against what Barney meant to say next. His hip swelled up, the skin split and began bubbling. Then his hip just...exploded. He knew about that. He'd seen what those things had done to the men in the power plant and to Rusty after he shot him. He'd seen that, but he hadn't been horrified by it. No way. Those things had their purpose in life, and Roy had seen it on the way back to Phillipsport. They were his chance to redeem himself. "What's happening now?"

Barney seemed to have forgotten about asking Roy how he'd managed to get out of the power plant. The burly man nodded toward the men making rounds along the sh.o.r.e shooting the crustaceans, others snaking along the streets that led farther inland, hunting rifles drawn. "Quite a few of them escaped our front lines and made it farther inland. I got Harvey Fisher and had him call on the guys from the Lodge to load their guns and try to corner these things. Harvey got his boys on it while he rounded the rest of the boys up. A couple of them who came out to the sh.o.r.e moved back inland to meet the other team. We've killed maybe fifty of those."

"Any escape even farther?" Roy asked.

"A few I think. We're concentrating our team on making sure no more come in from the ocean as well as keeping the town reinforced."

Roy nodded. He patted Barney on the shoulder. "Good work. I'll keep watch over here if you want to take a break."

"Think I will," Barney said, shouldering his rifle. "Madge Young made a pot of coffee using propane in the Hot Dog Hut on the pier. You want some?"

"I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee," Roy said, gazing up and down the sh.o.r.e.

"Back in a minute." Barney turned and made his way down to the pier.

Roy beamed. He turned his back to the ocean, a grin on his chiseled face. Everything was going to go just as he planned. Now that he was in control and on top of things, he'd make sure these creatures were dead, then organize a simultaneous clean-up crew and medical team to help the injured. Taking control of the war. Something he should have done before, in that other war, the one that he- He bit down hard on his bottom lip. Blood squirted into his mouth. The pain rocked the thought out of his mind. We're not going to think about that. Everything is under control. Rusty is gone. That Rick Sychek longhair is in a cell where he won't interfere like he did last time and this time I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it!

He turned toward the beach. The sh.o.r.e was lined with dead crab-creatures. The men who were walking the beach, making sure they were dead, had departed for points farther inland. Not a living thing moved on the beach. There was no reason for any more men to remain at the beach.

Roy turned his back to the ocean again, watching as the men moved down the streets, heading inland, checking to make sure the dead creatures were really dead and others weren't roaming. He grinned wider, fully satisfied with himself and his plan.

Barney came out of the Hot Dog Hut holding two steaming cups of coffee. Roy moved away from the strand and met him on the sidewalk. He took a cup of coffee. The heat from the drink felt good in his cold, wet hands. He felt good now that things were taken care of. "All those things on the beach are dead. The men are moving inland."

Barney nodded. "Let's go."

They went.

They didn't notice the large, man-like shapes a few hundred yards north rise from the sea and begin heading toward sh.o.r.e.

Chapter Twenty.

There were screams coming from the beach.

Rick turned toward the sound. Janice stepped back from the bars and turned to her son. "Stay here," she told Bobby, who was sitting on the floor in front of the cell. She exited the jail and went to the window along the north side of the building in the office. A moment later, Rick heard her say: "Holy s.h.i.t!"

"What?" He didn't like the way she said that.

She hurried back into the jail, her face flushed. "I'll be right back."

"What is it?" He moved to the cot set against the north wall of the cell, directly underneath a small window that was near the ceiling.

Bobby stirred, making as if to get up. "What is it, Mommy?"

"Stay here, Bobby. Don't move." Her voice was stern. She meant what she said.

Rick stood on the cot and stood on tip-toe to catch a glimpse of what had so riled Janice. He was startled by what he saw.

Dark shapes moving forward swiftly down rain-soaked streets, man-like in their gait and walk, but strangely alien. Faint shouts of men, the sound of gunfire. Rick squinted, trying to make out what he was seeing in the gloom; the rain had picked up again, and a darker ma.s.s of clouds had moved in, making the atmosphere outside almost black. The yelling outside intensified, and he heard a terrified voice screaming "No, no, no aaaaahhhhh!" And then it was cut off.

A sound from behind him made him whirl around. Janice was back, rifles slung over her shoulders. She put them down on the ground and headed back into the station. Rick looked out the window again, ignoring Bobby's persistent inquiries of "Rick, what's outside? Mommy, what's happening?" He tried to get another glimpse of what he'd seen, but couldn't make anything out. Just a few shapes moving to and fro in the darkness.