A million cold spiders.
inside his skull.
A billion.
Cold, cold.
Scurrying.
33
Still circling through Moonlight Cove, seeking Shaddack, Loman saw two regressives sprint across the street.
He was on Paddock Lane, at the southern end of town, where the Properties were big enough for people to keep horses. Ranch houses lay on both sides, with small private stables beside or behind them. The homes set back from the street, behind splitrail or white ranch fencing, beyond deep and lushly landscaped lawns.
The pair of regressives erupted from a dense row of mature three-foot-high azaleas that were still bushy but flowerless this late in the season. They streaked on all fours across the roadway, leaped a ditch, and crashed through a hedgerow, vanishing behind it.
Although immense pines were lined up along both sides of Paddock Lane, adding their shadows to the already darkish day, Loman was sure of what he had seen. They had been modeled after dream creatures rather than any single animal of the real world: part wolf, perhaps, part cat, part reptile. They were swift and looked powerful. One of them had turned its head toward him, and in the shadows its eyes had glowed as pink-red as those of a rat.
He slowed but did not stop. He no longer cared about identifying and apprehending regressives. For one thing, he’d already identified them to his satisfaction: all of the converted. He knew that stopping them could be accomplished only by stopping Shaddack. He was after much bigger game.
However, he was unnerved to see them brazenly on the prowl in daylight, at two-thirty in the afternoon. Heretofore, they had been secretive creatures of the night, hiding the shame of their regression by seeking their altered states only well after sunset. If they were prepared to venture forth before nightfall, the Moonhawk Project was disintegrating into chaos even faster than he had expected. Moonlight Cove was not merely teetering on the brink of hell but had already tipped over the edge and into the pit.
34
They were in Harry’s third-floor bedroom again, where they passed the last hour and a half, brainstorming and urgently discussing their options. No lamps were on. Watery afternoon light washed the room, contributing to the somber mood.
“So we’re agreed there are two ways we might send a message out of town,” Sam said.
“But in either case,” Tessa said uneasily, “you have to go out there and cover a lot of ground to get where you need to go.”
Sam shrugged.
Tessa and Chrissie had taken off their shoes and sat on the bed, their backs against the headboard. The girl clearly intended to stay close to Tessa; she seemed to have imprinted on her the way a baby chick, freshly hatched from the egg, imprints on the nearest adult bird, whether it’s the mother or not.
Tessa said, “It’s not going to be as easy as slipping two doors to the Coltrane house. Not in daylight.”
“You think I ought to wait until it gets dark?” Sam asked.
“Yes. The fog will come in more heavily, too, as the afternoon fades.”
She meant what she said, though she was worried about the delay. During the hours that they bided their time, more people be converted. Moonlight Cove would become an increasingly alien, dangerous, and surprise-filled environment.
Turning to Harry, Sam said, “What time’s it get dark?”
Harry was in his wheelchair. Moose had returned to his master, thrusting his burly head under the arm of the chair and onto Harry’s lap, content to sit for long stretches in that awkward posture in return for just a little petting and scratching and an occasional reassuring word.
Harry said, “These days, twilight comes before six o’clock.”
Sam was sitting at the telescope, though at the moment he was not using it. A few minutes ago he had surveyed the streets and reported seeing more activity than earlier—plenty of car and foot patrols. As steadily fewer local residents remained unconverted, the conspirators behind Moonhawk were growing bolder in their Policing actions, less concerned than they’d once been about calling attention to themselves.
Glancing at his watch, Sam said, “I can’t say I like the idea of wasting three hours or more. The sooner we get the word out, the more people we’ll save from … from whatever’s being done to them.”