Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Hurricane Floyd was in full swing by seven p.m. that evening.

He came with a force that was stronger than the previous two storms that hit within the last two days. The past few days' storms dropped ten inches of rain, had been responsible for widespread destruction throughout much of the Eastern Seaboard and New England, and had hit as far east as New Castle, Pennsylvania and as far south as Alexandria, Virginia. Ma.s.s destruction was reported in most of the eastern seaboard towns: Portland, Boston, New York, Providence, Hartford, Baltimore. Most of the destruction was along the shipping docks; hundreds of private boats had capsized, many of them hurled with such force that they were driven into sh.o.r.e-front structures. Waves crashed along the beachfronts taking down piers, flooding stores, parking lots, and streets. The water ran down through the centers of towns, causing more flooding, and combined with the rain this made things more hectic; major intersections miles from the beach became rivers as motorists navigated through town on makeshift boats and canoes. Some got stranded on top of their cars and in some cases, their houses. Towns that were lower in elevation got the worst of it, of course.

Those that were a little higher up didn't fare as badly, but they still bore the brunt of the storm, mainly from the fierce winds, some of which were clocked at one hundred and twenty miles an hour at their strongest. In New Castle, Pennsylvania, the storm produced three fierce tornadoes that decimated the eastern part of town and completely demolished a train depot. The tornado hurled boxcars and flatbeds like matchbox cars over a twenty-mile radius-one boxcar was found across the state line in Ohio, crumpled near a train track that went to Youngstown, which was where it had come from. A tornado in northern Virginia tore the roof off a barn and took the cows and horses with it-only to set the animals down safely five miles from where they'd been picked up.

But most of the winds came from the hurricane itself. The wind howled and blew rain and the waves of the ocean fiercely. It hurled down signposts, blew cars over, picked up people and animals and hurled them against buildings and trees. It blew houses down, blew roofs off buildings, and knocked down utility poles. It forced the rain down harder, making it pour from the sky in buckets.

On the evening of October 22 the President of the United States declared most of the New England region a disaster area and promised federal a.s.sistance. He told a nation of viewers and listeners that his office would do "all within their power to meet the emotional and financial needs of every American affected by this terrible tragedy." He backed his words up by dispatching the National Guard and the United States Army to help in disaster relief and to aid local law enforcement in stopping looting.

Much of the electricity in the area was down, null and void. The storm had destroyed three major power stations along the eastern seaboard: one, outside of New York City, another in Boston, and yet another in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Along with those three, a smattering of smaller outlets were knocked down, ranging from the GE Plant on the outskirts of Phillipsport, Maine to the north, to the GE Plant in Moonrock Virginia. All totaled, some fifty million people were left without power.

The death toll was another matter. The previous evening, forty-six deaths were attributed to the storm. These ranged from drownings and heart attacks to people being crushed by falling objects. One person was struck by lightning standing in a puddle of water trying to rescue a cat from a tree. A woman in Bridgton, Maine was swept away by a flood that broke through a makeshift dam erected by the town's finest. A man in Baltimore drowned in his car when it stalled in traffic; thinking he would be rescued, he settled down in his seat and promptly fell asleep. When he awoke two hours later the water had risen to roughly three and a half feet, just brushing the lower portion of the driver's side window. He opened the door to exit and was crushed by the torrent of water that rushed into the vehicle. He drowned trying to escape.

The National Guard and the United States Army made their presence known in all the major cities of the disaster area. They began showing up in most areas in the early morning hours of October 23. By ten o'clock that morning they were firmly entrenched in the major cities. More were dispatched to the rural communities. They began a.s.sisting local law enforcement and went about on rescue missions. Emergency shelters were set up in fire stations and schoolyards and whatever buildings could hold the stricken that hadn't yet fallen victim to the storm. By eight-thirty p.m. the shelters were full to capacity and began to divert people to surrounding cities and towns for a.s.sistance. Most people were able to make it through the heavy, driving rain. Others were forced to turn back; the storm had closed off many roads to other towns. Some communities were cut off from major and local highways, CB transmitters, and telephones. One such community was Phillipsport.

And while people in small communities worked together and managed to weather the storm, the people of Phillipsport couldn't because most of them were dead.

The people in the smaller communities knew that as long as they helped each other, they would eventually be rescued. Once that happened, things would begin to move smoothly. People would be whisked to hospitals. Food and water would arrive. All they had to do was batten down the hatches and wait-it would just take a little longer for the help to reach them due to their being cut off from major metropolitan areas.

The same was true in Phillipsport as well. The remaining population of the town was holed up in the meat freezer of the local grocery store and had no idea of the severity of the problem that lay outside.

By five o'clock the following morning, a plan had been made.

They huddled inside the meat freezer, sitting on the floor, wrapping blankets around themselves and keeping the guns ready and loaded beside them. Somebody always tended to Bobby, who was sleeping in the rear of the freezer, usually Barbara or Janice. Hunger set in around eight-thirty, and two hours later they were all growing very uncomfortable. Psyches began to crumble. Charley started a campaign to see who would venture out into the store to bring back some food. This started an argument between himself and Fred, who felt they should remain where they were. "Well, what the h.e.l.l are we going to do about food then?" Charley yelled. Fred got up, his face flushed, his wavy hair plastered back over his head. They probably would have gotten into a brawl had Rick not stepped between the two men and broke it up. He was hungry too, but it wouldn't do any good for them to fight about their predicament. They would have to sit down and talk about it rationally like civilized people.

And talk they did. They talked, argued, and reasoned with each other. And while the arguing broke out sporadically they all generally agreed upon three very basic principles: 1) They couldn't sit in the freezer forever. While help might come, rescuers might not realize anybody was trapped in the freezer for perhaps days after any rescue mission was launched.

2) They couldn't just blunder out of the freezer to scope things out or get food, yet they couldn't remain inside from fear. There hadn't been any sounds outside the freezer for the past eight hours, and even if a Dark One was curled up outside sleeping, it most likely wouldn't hear the door opening. As Rick explained, if they were reptilian and Glen appeared to be convinced they were, their hearing was very limited. They apparently went by scent, sight, and movement. It was unsure if they went by heat receptors like pit vipers or pythons, so the sudden change in temperature such as the freezer door slowly opening and letting out some of the cold air might not register to them the way scent would.

3) It was obvious that they didn't like the light. This much was evident from yesterday when they seemed to retreat when the clouds broke up briefly. Glen explained that this was probably due to the fact that they spent the majority of their time submerged in the ocean at such a depth that the sun didn't reach them. Thus, they lived in continual darkness.

While all this seemed plausible, it did have its logic problems. Fred Logan voiced this as he leaned back against the wall, rifle cradled in his lap. "If they live so far below the ocean's surface like you think, how come the sudden release of pressure on their system didn't cause them to explode?"

Barbara looked queasy at the thought. Charley and Annette looked confused. Melissa seemed to stare off into s.p.a.ce, her pretty features heavy with fatigue. Glen shrugged. "They could have a system that allows them to ascend to the surface of the ocean slowly. That could explain why they're able to operate on land so fluidly. You've got to remember that the idea of them living so far in the ocean's depth is still a theory."

But it was still a plausible one.

Fred suggested staying in the freezer until daylight broke. His explanation was that if these things were more active in the dark as Glen and Rick suggested they were, they would be more p.r.o.ne to attack if an escape was attempted now. They mused over this. He had a point, and a good one, but then suppose the day turned out to be just as cloudy and sullen as it had been the day before?

"And another thing," Rick said, choosing his words carefully. He was exhausted, sitting down on the floor next to Janice, his back slumped against the wall. The pain in his leg from the Clicker wound only added to his tiredness. "We have to remember that the Dark Ones first came on land when it was broad daylight. It was very cloudy, the sky was dark with clouds...but it was three or four in the afternoon. And they were pretty active yesterday as well."

Fred muttered and turned away, his head down. Rick had made a good point, one that could still be argued against, but n.o.body wanted to do any arguing now. All they wanted to do was get the h.e.l.l out of here.

In the end, after much discussion and cajoling, a simple plan was made. None of them were entirely comfortable with it, but they all agreed it was the most sensible thing to do. Rick and Fred volunteered to do the honors and Janice protested feebly, but stopped when she realized that it was really the only way out for them. The others remained silent as the two got to their feet and collected their weapons. They all walked to the door of the freezer with them and paused briefly.

It was still dead quiet outside. The light patter of rain drummed on the roof, but beyond that it was as silent.

Glen regarded them solemnly. It looked like he'd aged ten years in the past forty-eight hours. "Are you sure you guys want to do this?"

Fred nodded. Rick nodded and said yes.

Janice stood behind Rick and he turned to her briefly. He tried to muster a smile, but her features were grave, her eyes filled with the knowing that this had to be done. She leaned up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Be careful, Rick."

"I will," Rick said. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but that seemed trivial now. The war hero telling the woman he loves how he feels was the romantic thing to put in a story; it was necessary in every novel or film where the protagonists reached this point. That way, when the good guys go out to fight the good fight, they get in a terrible predicament but ultimately save the day.

Then the hero goes with the girl he loves and they ride off into the sunset together to live a happy life.

But that was for the movies. This was real life. And while he did have strong emotional feelings for Janice, he had tripped over that little emotion called love once too often. He certainly thought he felt it for her, but now was not the time to proclaim it. It would either hold him back, or blow up in his face.

Instead he just kissed her back.

Glen nodded as if accepting their decision, and moved to remove the metal bar that locked them inside.

He turned the handle of the door. Rick and Fred braced themselves for any surprise attack that might come in the form of a hiding Dark One, guns c.o.c.ked and ready. Glen opened the door slowly, revealing a darkened grocery store littered with trash, crushed cans spilling goo, food wrappers and other plastic and household goods. It looked like a huge frat party had been held in the store and n.o.body had cleaned up. Fred and Rick looked out into the store for a moment, noting the quietness of the place, then stepped out over the threshold.

The minute they did, the door to the freezer was closed. The metal bar was drawn back through the door handle, locking them out. They were out of the freezer.

The store was silent. It felt exactly the way it felt when Rick had ventured out previously. Aside from him and Fred, there wasn't a living thing in the store with them.

He looked at Fred and the other man seemed to read this in his gaze. Fred nodded. They'd talked about heading straight to the front of the store to check the parking lot, see if there were any Dark Ones abound, but Glen had nixed that one. "Time is of the essence here," he said. "Besides, if there are any outside and they see you, that would be defeating our purpose. Just do what you have to do, and do it as quickly as you can, and if G.o.d's willing, we'll be able to get out of here."

With that sentiment on their minds, they set about to do just that.

As a resident of Phillipsport, Fred stocked up on canned goods, frozen TV dinners, and plenty of beer at this grocery store at least once a week. He sometimes bought household goods and at times, automotive equipment. In fact, two months before, he'd bought a pack of flares in this grocery store just in case his truck ever broke down and he had to use them to warn oncoming motorists. The automotive section was on the north end of the building, four aisles up from the women's toiletries and the infant items. Fred led the way, moving quickly but quietly through the fallen rubble with Rick behind him. The lack of sufficient lighting made identifying the correct aisle by the signs that hung overhead almost impossible, but Fred seemed to know his way around the place like the back of his hand. He turned down an aisle and then they were standing by the relatively unscathed automotive rack.

Rick's nerves were on edge. A few items from other aisles had been strewn over into this one, but for the most part the automotive and households goods aisle was untouched. A few boxes of laundry detergent had been dumped, and bottles had leaked the blue soapy fluid onto the floor to mix with the water that seeped in, creating a slick, soapy look. But for the most part the goods on the shelves were intact.

Fred's gaze crawled over the cans of STP, windshield wiper fluid, and makeshift first-aid kits till his eyes riveted on a nondescript gray package. He seized it and groped for another one-the last one on the shelf. He handed one to Rick and began tearing his open. Six flares fell out of the gray wrapping and Fred clutched them in his left hand as his right dove into his jacket pocket for his cigarette lighter. Rick got his flares out and the two men looked at each other. Fred looked ready for action. "Okay, let's do it."

They headed out the doors of the supermarket. Once outside, the cold wind caressed their bodies, the sky still spitting rain, but the parking lot itself was silent.

Empty.

There wasn't a Dark One in sight, much less anything else resembling life.

Rick's eyes scanned the parking lot. His first target told him that they would have to revert to Plan B.

The blue Datsun he'd driven to the store with Janice and Bobby was a crushed ma.s.s of metal. The Dark Ones had had a field day with it. It looked like it had been hit by a train.

He shifted his gaze to the other cars in the parking lot. A few sat empty in the lot, lonely and desolate; two of them resembled the blue Datsun. They were parked closest to the store. The red Chevy Blazer that had once pulled up with the two black women and their sons was now standing silent and empty, its windshield shattered. Dark stains of crimson covered the pavement near the driver's side of the vehicle. Beyond the Blazer, only six other cars were in the parking lot that appeared to be in working order-a yellow Datsun, a green Subaru, two Scouts, and a white Chevy pickup truck. Fred pointed at the truck, which was one hundred yards from where they were standing, almost in the middle of the parking lot. "That's my truck there."

Rick nodded and they set off toward the truck in a slow jog. The barrel of the rifle brushed against Rick's b.u.t.t as he ran, its shoulder strap rea.s.suring him with its comforting weight as it lay slung over his back. Fred was clutching the flares in one hand, his handgun in the other.

Before him the cars lay scattered about. At the far end of the parking lot, almost at the edge of the lot itself that ended in thick woods, stood a generator-powered spotlight of the kind used for evening beacons. Rick's mind registered it briefly and then it was gone.

The sky overhead was dark with thick clouds. If it wasn't so f.u.c.king cloudy, the sun would be coming up in another hour or so. Fred was slightly in the lead as they approached the truck from the pa.s.senger side. Rick headed to the pa.s.senger side door, one hand on the handle waiting to climb in as Fred scurried to the driver's side. What happened next happened so fast that Rick remembered it later only as a series of images.

Fred's short exclamation of breath, his sharp cry of "What the f.u.c.k?"

The guttural grunt of some beast. The sudden rush of air as something lunged. The rocking of the truck as it was. .h.i.t with incredible force.

The image of a Dark One was the first thing that sprang to his mind as he started running away from the truck as soon as those first images. .h.i.t him. He slowed his run down to a sort of sideways scurry as he turned to see what was happening. It was then that the truck tipped over with a crash to the pavement and Rick saw the cause of the mayhem.

A Dark One was straddling Fred, who now lay over the driver's side door on his back. Fred was struggling wildly, his arms flailing as he tried to bring his weapon up. Rick brought the rifle up, aiming at the creature and screamed. "Fred!"

The Dark One lunged forward in its a.s.sault, the weight of it tipping the truck over on its side. Fred screamed as he slid down the side of the truck with the creature on him. He fell to the pavement, the creature still on him, tearing into him with its claws. The force of the truck rolling over a third time dislodged some of its inner workings, and the exhaust pipe came free. Rick saw the creature lean forward, its mouth open wide, sharp teeth gleaming. Rick screamed again. "Fred!" Then he began shooting.

The first three shots went wild. The second and third hit the body of the truck; he could hear them pinging off the metal of the body. The next three went wild, one hit the pavement, ricocheted off, and hit the truck again. He wasn't sure which one hit the gas tank, which caused the truck to explode.

The explosion was sudden, instantaneous. Rick threw his arms over his face and fell back. Flames mushroomed in a loud ka-boom! as metal pieces and shrapnel flew everywhere. Rick dropped to the ground, covering his head and neck. Heat rushed over him in a deadly wave and he could feel metal parts and chunks of the truck raining down over him. He risked a peek at the truck and his eyes smarted at the sight and brightness of the flames. The truck was an inferno, flames billowing, sending out clouds of black smoke. Rick couldn't spot Fred anywhere in the blaze, but he did pick out the bulk of the Dark One crouched over the underside of the truck. The creature was a motionless, burning husk.

Debris rained down, then stopped. Rick scrambled to his feet, horrified, yet numb to what had just happened. It had all sounded so easy: they were just going to get in either the car he'd driven in or the truck, drive over to the entrance, honk the horn once to sound the all clear, pile everybody in and drive away. Simple, but now thwarted by one single mishap, one that had been antic.i.p.ated but not dealt with because there was no dealing with it. They'd known the risks of the possibility of Dark Ones lying in wait. And they'd all agreed that they couldn't stay cooped up in the freezer forever. Somebody had to take that risk. And now that was shot to s.h.i.t.

There were burning chunks of metal all around him. The rain began to fall harder again, dampening the flames. His hair felt singed, his eyes smarted from the smoke. He took a step backward and stopped when he heard a sound from behind him.

He whirled around. The explosion had attracted the attention of the other Dark Ones. They began to approach him but were stopped by the fire. They stood roughly forty yards from him, shielding their eyes from the intense flames. They mewled and growled in rage; it was obvious that the fire was holding them back and for a moment the line from the film Bride of Frankenstein came to mind: fire-baaaddd! He almost burst out laughing, it was so comical. They were reacting just as any typical monster would, and while it was true that fire would probably kill most anything, the scenario he was in surely lent weight to the credo that art imitated life.

Rick caught movement beyond the line of Dark Ones stopped by the fire. He craned his head up. Beyond the Dark Ones, another wave of the creatures was making their way to the shattered front of the supermarket. They would go back in and begin their a.s.sault on the freezer door again, perhaps this time finally breaking it down.

He had to think of something. The creatures in front of him roared their frustration. One took a tentative step forward and howled as if in pain. Rick saw that they were shielding their eyes more than they were shielding themselves from the intense heat and it suddenly hit him: It's the light from the fire that they can't stand. Glen's theory of their sensitivity to light sprang forth and rang true more than ever. The Dark Ones were able to venture out because of the huge ma.s.s of clouds and the dark of the night, yet the intense light from the fire, and probably the heat, too, were driving them back. As long as he stayed within the realm of the fire, the ones that had been trying to approach couldn't touch him. Now if he could only drive them, and the ones entering the store, out.

He turned around and his eyes fell on the generator-powered spotlight.

He rushed toward it, hoping that what he just thought of would work, hoping that the generator was working, that when he reached it and turned on the switch and revved it up, it would do the trick. He reached the spotlight, opened the control panel of the generator and saw that it was indeed shut down. He flicked the on/off switch, and the generator began to hum; Rick surmised it was an electrically-powered generator, and hoped that it was charged up. If it wasn't, he was in some deep s.h.i.t.

He looked out across the parking lot and saw that the Dark Ones were casting a wide berth around the fire and were now making their way toward him. The generator began to whine into action and he reached along the control panel of the spotlight itself, finding the switch. He flicked it on.

The parking lot was suddenly bathed in light. The advancing creatures cringed and threw their arms over their faces, shielding their eyes from the bright light. Rick felt a tinge of excitement run through him. The spotlight rested on a small cart with four wheels. Rick pushed it. It moved easily and he turned the spotlight around, getting the monsters in the path of its beam. They cried out and cringed, scurrying backwards. Rick felt a rise of triumph, then quelled it. He hadn't won the battle yet. It was just beginning.

He pushed the spotlight forward, keeping its glow trained on the monsters. They backed up, skirting around the burning truck. Rick stopped once, turning around to see if any of them were circling around the light to sneak up on him from behind. The blaze of the truck fire was now on his right, slightly behind him, and its glow cast a wide arc. To his left, the spotlight had them and none were trying to skirt around the far edge for a sneak attack.

The light danced across the broken front door of the supermarket, catching the entering Dark Ones in its path. They stopped as if sprayed with pesticide and staggered back, shielding their faces, roaring in rage and frustration. They staggered around, b.u.mping into each other. Rick continued pushing the light, shoving its brightness forward. It drove the Dark Ones more insane.

The sharp cries of the creatures outside must have attracted more, because now more began to crawl into the parking lot. As soon as the light hit their eyes they cringed back, hiding their faces. They remained frozen in the doorway, unable to move forward but unable to move back due to the others behind them. Rick was afraid they would retreat inside. He reached toward the control panel, planning to maybe turn the light off briefly to allow them to come outside, then switch it back on when they were out. But suppose the generator died before he could get it turned back on again?

His fingers brushed against the control panel and lighted upon a k.n.o.b. It was pointed at FULL LIGHT. The other selection was FLASH. Rick turned it to FLASH.

The spotlight began to flash in slow, even strokes like a strobe light sputtering to life. It affected the Dark Ones immensely. They became less drunken by the high glare of the spotlight, but more disoriented by the flashing light. They moved around, their eyes open and glazing, their arms rising periodically to their eyes to guard them from the strobe. The creatures at the door of the grocery store stumbled out and began to wander around drunkenly. Rick stepped away from the spotlight and watched them, debating on whether he should dart through the throng to the store.

He hadn't even made up his mind yet when it was made up for him. Rick saw Charley's face peering out the shattered gla.s.s of the front door, Annette's strained face beside him, scoping the lot out. The creatures were oblivious to them. Rick stepped out from the spotlight, waving his arms. Charley saw him, motioned to Annette and pointed. She saw him, turned back, as if speaking to the others. What the h.e.l.l are they doing out of the freezer? Rick thought. Are they nuts?

Charley and Annette exited the building followed by the others. Glen crowded behind them, followed by Barbara, Anne, Melissa, Bobby and Janice bringing up the rear. The eight of them crowded in front of the shattered doorway of the Lucky's Supermarket and watched the Dark Ones stumble around blindly. The creatures were moving away from the store and the spotlight in large circles, their human prey seemingly forgotten. Rick stood where he was, watching but not daring to dash forward until he was absolutely sure it was safe. He prayed that Charley or Glen or any of the others decided to take a chance and take a mad sprint across the parking lot toward him. He was still a good ten yards away from them-a three-second run, but three seconds too long.

Charley took a tentative step forward, watching the retreat of the Dark Ones. Rick was sure now that Charley was going to chance it. But then Charley turned around. He looked toward Rick but his eyes were focused somewhere beyond, past the parking lot. His eyes widened, and a moment later Rick heard what the other man saw approaching.

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

The twin orbs of headlights were heading straight for him and for a moment Rick was dumbfounded by their appearance. Then he heard the roar of the engine and realized it for what it was: a giant Ford pickup truck. Help was on the way.

The truck stopped abruptly beside him with a squeal of brakes and Rick jumped onto the bed. The others clambered on with him and it wasn't until he was in the truck that he recognized the driver from the rear window. The driver waved at him with his skinny arms, his bony face grinning wildly. It was Jack Ripley.

"Way to go, Jack!" Rick yelled. Jack made a thumbs up sign and drove forward, the headlights of the truck stabbing into the dark parking lot before them. The Dark Ones scattered at the new invasion of light and Rick could now only barely hear them as the truck pulled into the covered awning. The spotlight and the burning pyre of Fred's truck still cast sufficient light in a nice arc to keep the Dark Ones at bay, and now the twin orbs of the headlights from Jack's vehicle brought more protection.

But not forever. They would have to get the h.e.l.l out of there fast. The truck pulled up to the shattered doorway and Rick leaned forward over the metal side of the bed and began helping them up into the back. Glen and Annette made it up effortlessly, Glen muttering "Thank G.o.d he made it back." Rick looked for Janice, found her, and went over to help her and Bobby up. Janice was carrying Bobby, her face bearing a sense of urgency, fear in her eyes. She handed Bobby up and Rick took him and set him down in the bed of the truck. He turned back to help Janice and she was already climbing over the side, Melissa and Barbara right behind her. Rick helped them in, and a moment later they were all on board, Charley and Anne huddled in the rear of the truck.

Jack gave a war whoop from within the cab and surged forward. He made a wide U-turn, driving right in the light. The creatures were now hovering toward the edge of the parking lot. The Dark Ones hadn't retreated fully, but were somewhat disoriented, still turning their faces away from the spotlight. The creatures were far enough away for them to make a clean getaway. Jack completed the turn and drove back the way he came, pa.s.sing the spotlight and the burning truck out into the parking lot and beyond.

Rick looked over at Janice feeling as if a sudden amount of weight had been taken off his shoulders. They'd made it out to safety. They were safe. He scooted across to embrace her but was startled by a sudden sound and then he was jerked slightly. The truck took a heavy blow on the side, causing the rear end to skid. Rick held on to the side, trying to keep his balance and looking around. Barbara began screaming.

Charlie's head was missing.

What remained was a stump gushing blood. It shot out of his neck, drenching Barbara and Anne who were on either side of him. Anne began screaming then stopped abruptly, turned around and threw up.

A lumbering dark shaped receded in the distance as the truck plowed down the highway. It was hunched over, as if set upon devouring something it had caught. Panic rose in Rick's mind and his arms went around Janice instinctively. His eyes darted around the rushing landscape around them, trying to pick out anything unusual lunging toward them. The rain was falling down harder now, and the sky was getting blacker with the heaviness of the clouds. The wind was picking up again, pushing the truck across the road, threatening to tumble them out of the bed of the vehicle. The front of the truck's bed became increasingly cramped as Barbara and Glen, who had also been on that side of the truck, scurried away from Charley's headless form to seek safety. Anne was hysterical, screaming her husband's name over and over again, her voice hoa.r.s.e. "Charley! Oh my G.o.d, oh Charley! Oh Charleee!" Her arms flew out toward him as if she desired to hold him. Melissa reached across and grabbed her, holding her back as the truck lumbered on.

Rick kept his eyes peeled at the scenery around them. The others kept their heads lowered, crouching down in the bed of the truck, all of them sensing the danger still present. Rick raised his head up slightly, his face taking a sudden rush of cold air blowing from the sky and tapped at the rear window to attract Jack's attention. "The Dark Ones are still around. Watch out!"

Jack's head bobbed up and down, but Rick wasn't sure if it was a nod of understanding or the jostling of the truck. Rick checked the shotgun seat of the cab and saw that it was empty. He wondered what Jack had gone through to get this far, wondered what horrors he might have experienced when he had dropped Glen Jorgensen off at the supermarket and left to get help. He wondered if he had been able to get up the road in order to find help.

Rick's eyes lighted briefly on the people he had spent the last twenty-four hours with, and saw that they looked beaten but still had that spark of life in them. Glen's face was long, drawn and sallow. He hadn't even bothered trying to attend to Anne, who was in obvious shock. All the zeal for being the medical man of the bunch-saving and preserving their lives-seemed to have been zapped from him. The others looked equally drained; Melissa's eyes were vacant and haunted, Annette looked morose and uncomprehending, Janice, Bobby and Barbara looked simply scared. Charlie's body remained propped where it was like a grisly mannequin. Rick grimaced. If only whatever it was that had taken a bite out of him would have taken all of him. They'd all seen too much death and destruction, more than they'd been primed for in their lifetime. Rick wondered when it would all end.

The truck began to slow down slightly and Rick craned his head up, looking through two panes of gla.s.s to peer out the windshield at what lay ahead of them. In the truck's cab, Jack gesticulated wildly, throwing his arms up as if to say, what the f.u.c.k is this? Rick thought the same thing as what lay in the road appeared to be a ma.s.s of crimson colored rocks that littered the road and sides of the highway. But as they drew closer he saw them move, undulating in a ma.s.s and he recognized them for what they were: Clickers.

Jack stepped on the accelerator and the truck surged forward, plowing through the ma.s.s of Clickers. The tires crunched over the crustaceans and the truck began to jostle on its shock absorbers, as if they were in a four-wheel-drive truck going through rocky terrain. Sharp pinging sounds struck the sides of the vehicle as if rocks were flying from beneath the wheels to strike the undercarriage and sides of the truck. Rick knew what they really were-the Clickers. .h.i.tting the sides of the truck with their bodies.

One orange-and magenta-stained claw was clinging to the side of the truck, followed by another one. A moment later the creature pulled itself up, its black eyes swimming on its stalks through the heavy wind and rain. The creature was poised right over Barbara and Glen. Rick fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled the first weapon his fingers closed on-the barrel of the Smith & Wesson. He pulled the gun out and pointed it at the creature. "Get down!" He yelled at them.

They flattened to the bed of the truck instantly and Rick raised the pistol. He fired and the creature exploded in a spray of sh.e.l.l and crab meat. The blast took off the top portion of the panel the creature was perched on, sending metal shrapnel down on Barbara and Glen. Rick checked for more of the crustaceans. There were none that he could see, and as he looked out toward the road ahead of them he saw that the road was still covered with the creatures. They appeared to be moving back toward the beach. Where the h.e.l.l did they all come from? Rick thought. I thought the Dark Ones killed them all, and they'd either been eaten or had gone back to the ocean. Apparently not.

The truck pulled up to the center of town and stopped at the intersection of Main and Harbor. Jack looked up and down the street both ways, as if deciding which way to go. The carca.s.ses of the town's human inhabitants were still littering the street, and Clickers were moving about freely, seemingly ignoring the truck and the occupants inside. Most of them were scurrying toward the beach. Others were taking their time in heading back to their watery homes, pausing every so often to sample a bite from a corpse. Many of the bodies were now partially devoured, their flesh gleaming red, raw, and b.l.o.o.d.y in the falling rain.