Shadowfires. By: Dean R. Koontz

of some other creature, creeping downward, following a musky scent with

the sure knowledge that succulent eggs of some kind could be found and

devoured in the gloom below. A pair of glowing amber eyes in the

inkiness was the first indication he had of resistance to his plans. A

warm-blooded furry beast, well armed with teeth and claws, rushed at him

to protect its subterranean nest, and he was suddenly engaged in a

fierce battle that was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.

Cold, reptilian He pushed the lid up.

He was surprised to see the desert.

He climbed out of the trunk.

Rachael washed her hands at the sink-there was hot water but no soaand

dried them in the blast of the hot-air blower that was provided in lieu

of paper towels.

Outside, as the heavy door closed behind her, she saw that no

rattlesnakes had taken up residence on the walkway. She went only three

steps before she also saw that the trunk of the Mercedes was open wide.

She stopped, frowning. Even if the trunk had not been locked, the lid

could not have slipped its catch spontaneously.

Suddenly she knew, Eric.

Even as his name flashed through her mind, he appeared at the corner of

the building, fifteen feet away from her. He stopped and stared as if

the sight of her riveted him as much as she was frozen by the sight of

him.

It was Eric, yet it was not Eric.

She stared at him, horrified and disbelieving, not immediately able to

comprehend his bizarre metamorphosis, yet sensing that the manipulation

of his genetic structure had somehow resulted in these monstrous

changes. His body appeared deformed, however, because of his clothing,

it was hard to tell precisely what had happened to him. Something was

different about his knee joints and his hips. And he was hunchbacked,

his red plaid shirt was straining at the seams to contain the mound that

had risen from shoulder to shoulder. His arms had grown two or three

inches, which would have been obvious even if his knobby and strangely

jointed wrists had not thrust out beyond his shirt cuffs.

His hands looked fearfully powerful, deformed by human standards, yet

with a suggestion of suppleness and dexterity, they were mottled

yellow-brown-gray, the hugely knuckled and elongated fingers terminated

in claws, in places, his skin seemed to have been supplanted by pebbly

scales.

His strangely altered face was the worst thing about him. Every aspect

of his once-handsome countenance was changed, yet just enough of his

familiar features remained to leave him recognizable. Bones had

re-formed, becoming broader and flatter in some places, narrower and

more rounded in others, heavier over and under his now-sunken eyes and

through his jawline, which was prognathous. A hideous serrated bony

ridge had formed up the center of his lumpish brow

andHJiminishingtrailed across the top of his scalp.

“Rachael,” he said.

His voice was low, vibratory, and hoarse. She thought there was a

mournful, even melancholy, note in it.

On his thickened forehead were twin conical protrusions that appeared to

be half formed, although they seemed destined to be horns the size of

Rachael’s thumb when they were finished growing. Horns would have made

no sense at all to her if the patches of scaly flesh on his hands had

not been matched by patches on his face and by wattles of dark leathery

skin under his jaw and along his neck in the manner of certain reptiles,

a few lizards had horns, and perhaps at some point in mankind’s distant

beginnings, evolution had included an amphibian stage boasting such

protuberances (though that seemed unlikely). Other elements of his

tortured visage were human, while still others were apelike. She dimly

began to perceive that tens of millions of years of genetic heritage had

been unleashed within him, that every stage of evolution was fighting

for control of him at the same time, long-abandoned forms-a multitude of

possibilities-were struggling to reassert themselves as if his tissues

were just so much putty.

“Rachael,” he repeated but still did not move. “I want… I want…”

He could not seem to find the words to finish the thought, or perhaps he

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