Mr. Murder. By: Dean R. Koontz

finds a coil of flexible plastic tubing in a box of repair parts for the

drinking-water filtration system in the kitchen. With this he siphons

gasoline out of the Dodge into the five-gallon can.

At the sink in the laundry room, he uses the funnel to pour an inch of

detergent into the bottom of each empty wine bottle. He adds gasoline.

He cuts the dishcloths into useable strips.

Although he has two revolvers and twenty rounds of ammunition, he wants

to add gasoline bombs to his arsenal. His experiences of the past

twenty-four hours, since first confronting the false father, have taught

him not to underestimate his adversary.

He still hopes to save Paige, Charlotte, and little Emily. He

continues to desire reunion and the renewal of their life together.

However, he must face reality and prepare for the possibility that his

wife and children are no longer who they once were. They may simply

have been mentally enslaved. On the other hand, they might also have

been infected by parasites not of this world, their brains now hollow

and filled with writhing monstrosities. Or they might not be themselves

at all, merely replicants of the real Paige, Charlotte, and Emily, just

as the false father is a replicant of him, arising out of a seed pod

from some distant star.

The varieties of alien infestation are limitless and strange, but one

weapon has saved the world more often than any other, fire.

Kurt Russell, when he was a member of an Antarctic scientific-re search

outpost, had been confronted by an extraterrestrial shape changer of

infinite forms and great cunning, perhaps the most frightening and

powerful alien ever to attempt colonization of the earth, and fire had

been by far the most effective weapon against that formidable enemy.

He wonders if four incendiary devices are enough. He probably won’t

have time to use more of them, anyway. If something bursts out of the

false father, Paige, or the girls, and if it’s as hostile as the things

that had burst out of people in Kurt Russell’s research station, he

would no doubt be overwhelmed before he could use more than four

gasoline bombs, considering that he must take the time to light each one

separately. He wishes he had a flamethrower.

Standing by one of the front windows, watching heavy snow filter through

the trees and onto the lane that led out to the county route, Marty

plucked handfuls of 9mm ammunition out of the boxes of ammo they’d

brought from Mission Viejo. He distributed cartridges in the numerous

zippered pockets of his red-and-black ski jacket and in the pockets of

his jeans as well.

Paige loaded the magazine of the Mossberg. She’d had less time than

Marty to practice with the pistol on the firing range, and she felt more

comfortable with the 12-gauge.

They had eighty shells for the shotgun and approximately two hundred 9mm

rounds for the Beretta.

Marty felt defenseless.

No amount of weaponry would have made him feel better.

After hanging up on The Other, he had considered getting out of the

cabin, going on the run. But if they had been followed this far so

easily, they would be followed anywhere they went. It was better to

make a stand in a defendable location than to be accosted on a lonely

highway or be taken by surprise in a place more vulnerable than the

cabin.

He almost called the local police to send them to his parents’ house.

But The Other would surely be gone before they got there, and the

evidence they collected–fingerprints and God knew what else–would only

make it appear that he had murdered his own mother and father.

The media had already painted him as an unstable character. The scene

at the house in Mammoth Lakes would play into the fantasy they were

selling. If he were arrested today or tomorrow or next week–or even

just detained for a few hours without being booked–Paige and the girls

would be left on their own, a situation that he found intolerable.

They had no choice but to dig in and fight. Which wasn’t a choice so

much as a death sentence.

Side by side on the sofa, Charlotte and Emily were still wearing their