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She
had
a
can
of
Raid
in
each
hand
like
some
crazy
gunslinger
in
an
existential
comedy
.
She
uttered
a
snarl
of
anger
that
would
have
done
credit
to
a
caveman
splitting
the
skull
of
an
enemy
.
Holding
the
pressure
cans
out
at
the
full
length
of
each
arm
,
she
pressed
the
buttons
.
A
thick
spray
of
insect-killer
coated
the
thing
.
It
went
into
throes
of
agony
,
twisting
and
turning
crazily
and
at
last
falling
from
the
bags
,
bouncing
off
the
body
of
Tom
Smalley-who
was
dead
beyond
any
doubt
or
question-and
finally
landing
on
the
floor
.
Its
wings
buzzed
madly
,
but
they
were
n't
taking
it
anywhere
;
they
were
too
heavily
coated
with
Raid
.
A
few
moments
later
the
wings
slowed
,
then
stopped
.
It
was
dead
.
You
could
hear
people
crying
now
.
And
moaning
.
The
old
lady
who
had
been
trampled
was
moaning
.
And
you
could
hear
laughter
.
The
laughter
of
the
damned
.
Mrs.
Reppler
stood
over
her
kill
,
her
thin
chest
rising
and
failing
rapidly
.
Hatlen
and
Miller
had
found
one
of
those
dollies
that
the
stockboys
use
to
trundle
cases
of
things
around
the
store
,
and
together
they
heaved
it
atop
the
lawn-food
bags
,
blocking
off
the
wedge-shaped
hole
in
the
glass
.
As
a
temporary
measure
,
it
was
a
good
one
.
Amanda
Dumfries
came
forward
like
a
sleepwalker
.
In
one
hand
she
held
a
plastic
floor
bucket
.
In
the
other
she
held
a
whisk
broom
,
still
done
up
in
its
see-through
wrapping
.
She
bent
,
her
eyes
still
wide
and
blank
,
and
swept
the
dead
pink
thing
-
bug
,
slug
,
whatever
it
was-into
the
bucket
.
You
could
hear
the
crackle
of
the
wrapping
on
the
whisk
broom
as
it
brushed
the
floor
.
She
walked
over
to
the
OUT
door
.
There
were
none
of
the
bugs
on
it
.
She
opened
it
a
little
way
and
threw
the
bucket
out
.
It
landed
on
its
side
and
rolled
back
and
forth
in
ever-decreasing
arcs
.
One
of
the
pink
things
buzzed
out
of
the
night
,
landed
on
the
floor
pail
,
and
began
to
crawl
over
it
.
Amanda
burst
into
tears
.
I
walked
over
and
put
an
arm
around
her
shoulders
.
At
one
thirty
the
following
morning
I
was
sitting
with
my
back
against
the
white
enamel
side
of
the
meat
counter
in
a
semidoze
.
Billy
's
head
was
in
my
lap
.
He
was
solidly
asleep
.
Not
far
away
Amanda
Dumfries
was
sleeping
with
her
head
pillowed
on
someone
's
jacket
.
Not
long
after
the
flaming
death
of
the
bird-thing
,
Ollie
and
I
had
gone
back
out
to
the
storage
area
and
had
gathered
up
half
a
dozen
of
the
pads
such
as
the
one
I
'd
covered
Billy
with
earlier
.
Several
people
were
sleeping
on
these
.
We
had
also
brought
back
several
heavy
crates
of
oranges
and
pears
,
and
four
of
us
working
together
had
been
able
to
swing
them
to
the
tops
of
the
lawn-food
bags
in
front
of
the
hole
in
the
glass
.
The
bird-creatures
would
have
a
tough
time
shifting
one
of
those
crates
;
they
weighed
about
ninety
pounds
each
.
But
the
birds
and
the
buglike
things
the
birds
ate
were
n't
the
only
things
out
there
.
There
was
the
tentacled
thing
that
had
taken
Norm
.
There
was
the
frayed
clothesline
to
think
about
.
There
was
the
unseen
thing
that
had
uttered
that
low
,
guttural
roar
to
think
about
.
