Fear Nothing By Dean R. Koontz

Its fur was wet and matted, which made it look scrawnier than it would

have appeared when dry. It balanced adroitly on that narrow ledge and

pinched a vertical mullion in one small hand.

Peering at us with what appeared to be only ordinary monkey curiosity,

the creature looked quite benign-except for its baleful eyes.

“They’ll probably get annoyed quicker if we pretty much ignore them,”

Bobby said.

“The more annoyed they are,” Sasha added, “the more careless they might

get.”

Biting into another slice of the sausage-and-onion pizza, tapping one

finger against the stack of yellow pages on the table, I said, “Just

scanning, I see this paragraph where my dad explains as much as he

understood about this new theory of my mother’s. For the project at

Wyvern, she developed this revolutionary new approach to engineering

retroviruses so they could more safely be used to ferry genes into the

patient’s cells.”

“I definitely hear giant lizard feet,” Bobby said. “Boom, boom, boom,

boom.”

At the window, the monkey shrieked at us.

I glanced at the nearer window, beside the table, but nothing was

peering in there.

Orson stood on his hind legs with his forepaws on the table and in more

pizza, lavishing all his

“You know how kids try to play one parent against the other,” I warned

her.

“I’m more like his sister-in-law,” she said. “Anyway, this could be

his last meal. Ours, too.”

I sighed. “All right. But if we aren’t killed, then we’re setting a

lousy precedent.”

A second monkey leaped onto the windowsill. They were both shrieking

and baring their teeth at us.

Sasha selected the narrowest of the remaining slices of pizza, cut it

into pieces, and placed it on the dog’s plate on the floor.

theatrically expressed an charm on Sasha.

Orson glanced worriedly at the goblins at the window, but even the

primates of doom couldn’t spoil his appetite. He turned his attention

to his dinner.

One of the monkeys began to slap a hand rhythmically against the

windowpane, shrieking louder than ever.

Its teeth looked larger and sharper than those of a rhesus ought to

have been, plenty large enough and sharp enough to help it fulfill the

demanding role of a predator. Maybe this was a physical trait

engineered into it by the playful weapons-research boys at Wyvern. In

my mind’s eye, I saw Angela’s torn throat.

“This might be meant to distract us,” Sasha suggested.

“They can’t get into the house anywhere else without breaking glass,”

Bobby said. “We’ll hear them.”

“Over this racket and the rain?” she wondered.

“We’ll hear them.”

“I don’t think we should split up in different rooms unless we’re

absolutely driven to it,” I said. “They’re smart enough to know about

dividing to conquer.”

Again, I squinted through the window near which the table was placed,

but no monkeys were on that section of porch, and nothing but the rain

and the wind moved through the dark dunes beyond the railing.

Over the sink, one of the monkeys had managed to turn its back and

still cling to the window. It was squealing as if with laughter as it

mooned us, pressing its bare, furless, ugly butt to the glass.

“So,” Bobby asked me, “what happened after You let yourself into the

rectory?”

Sensing time running out, I swiftly summarized the events in the attic,

at Wyvern, and at the Ramirez house.

Manuel, a pod person,” Bobby said, shaking his head sadly.

“Ugh,” Sasha said, but she wasn’t commenting on Manuel.

At the window, the male monkey facing us was urinating copiously on the

glass.

“Well, this is new,” Bobby observed.

On the porch beyond the sink windows, more monkeys started popping into

the air like kernels of corn bursting off a hot oiled pan, tumbling up

into sight and then dropping away. They were all squealing and

shrieking, and there seemed to be scores of them, though it was surely

the same half dozen springing-spinningpopping repeatedly into view.

I finished the last of my beer.

Being cool was getting harder minute by minute. Perhaps even doing

cool required energy and more concentration than I possessed.

“Orson,” I said, it wouldn’t be a bad idea if You sauntered around the

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