Janice came back with more guns: semi-automatic weapons, pistols, and boxes of ammunition. Rick stared at the ammunition. "Jesus, what's gotten into you?"

"Come here a minute," Janice said. She inched herself up along the bars of the cells, leaning against them.

Rick stepped forward.

"Closer." She leaned the left side of her face to the bars, pulling her hair behind her ear.

He stepped closer. She reached between the bars and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him closer. With her other hand she grasped his face lightly and turned it so the right side of his face was facing her, his ear to the bars. She leaned close to him and whispered in his ear. "There's something out there killing people, Rick. I didn't want to say this out loud with Bobby here, but I saw them."

He nodded and whispered back. "I saw them, too, but I couldn't tell what they were."

Her voice sounded scared now. More scared than it did earlier in the evening when he and Jack had rescued her from the roof of her house. Her breath whispered in his ear. "I only caught a glimpse of one and...it was..." Her voice shook slightly. "...green...and all scaly...I thought I might be seeing things and wanted to look more, but then I thought about those giant crabs, and figured if those were real, then these-"

"Are just as real," Rick finished the sentence for her.

Janice nodded. Her eyes seemed to glow luminously in the darkened jail. They reflected deep worry. "I ducked down because I figured...if they were real, they might see me..."

"Good thinking." Rick was learning that, in light of the arrival of the Clickers, the fantastic had to be dealt with on the level of everyday reality.

"The front and back door of the station is locked," Janice said. "Maybe if we stay here they'll..." she shrugged. At a loss for words.

Rick attempted to finish that sentence for her, but dropped it. What he was going to say-maybe they'll bypa.s.s us-fell short as well. Wishful thinking. If they were going to survive, they were going to have to be alert and quick thinking. "Turn off the flashlight," he said. She nodded, and moved to extinguish the big flashlight she had brought in from the office earlier. She had turned it on a few minutes before to see what she was doing as she made Bobby comfortable on the floor, and had forgotten to turn it off. It had cast its warm glow over the hallway of the jail, making long, dark shadows along the bare, gray walls. She shut it off, and they were plunged in darkness.

"Mommy, what's happening?" Bobby had gotten up and was at the bars. His voice startled Rick and he jumped.

Janice was startled as well; she flinched, her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes, hand on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Jesus, Bobby, you scared the living s.h.i.t out of me."

"Sorry," Bobby said. His hand was still in the makeshift sling, cradled against his chest. He looked up at the two adults in the darkness with what looked like curiosity.

Janice knelt down in front of him. She smoothed out his shirt. "We're going to have to stay in here a little while longer, honey."

"I'm hungry!"

"I know. I'm hungry too. But we have to wait here until Jack comes back for us."

"Where did he go?"

"He went to go find Doc Jorgensen."

"Where's that dips.h.i.t Sheriff?"

Rick laughed aloud. Janice giggled herself. "Bobby, don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Yeah, why not?" Rick asked, feigning seriousness.

"Rick!" Janice looked up at him, making a slashing motion across her throat with her finger. Cut it out!

"Jack will be here any minute now, and we'll be out of here," Rick said, trying to steer the conversation away to something more constructive.

"How will he get you out of the cell?" Bobby asked. That was a good question. Fortunately, Janice was acting to help the two of them formulate a plan for that one by herding Bobby down the hall, toward the rear of the jail.

"We'll get him out somehow," she said, herding him down to the end of the hall in front of the next cell. "Now let's sit you down on these cots I brought in from the station so you can take it easy. You know what the doctor told you."

"I know..." The voice of dread.

While Janice settled Bobby down on the cot and gave him his pills, Rick turned his attention back to the window. He climbed up on his cot and looked out the window again. It was a good thing the walls were thick in this place, and the gla.s.s was just as thick and strong. That probably m.u.f.fled the sound, which helped shield them from the carnage that was going on outside.

The dark man-like figures were running amok now. Despite the fact that it was dark outside and it was hard to make things out, he could tell what was going on. It was easier to tell them apart from normal people; while they might have been mere shadows, these things were bigger than men, and moved much quicker. Besides, they were attacking everybody they came across and tearing them apart.

Rick watched in numbed shock as one grabbed a short, squat middle-aged woman whom he recognized as one of the waitresses at Shelby's drug store. The thing throttled her, its claws sinking into her throat until her head was lolling on strips of flesh. Blood fountained from her neck, gushing black. The thing put its green, scaly face into the flow and drank, eating at the flesh.

Dark Ones, Rick thought. They're like the Dark Ones out of a Lovecraft story.

Similar events were happening along the two-block view Rick had from his jail cell window.

Two Dark Ones played tug of war with a teenage boy, one eating him as the boy screamed, their tugs finally pulling the boy's arms from their sockets with a ripping of flesh and cracking of bone. Blood gushed from the cavities as the boy continued screaming, even as more of the Dark Ones gathered around him and began feasting.

A group of four Dark Ones were feasting on the remains of what appeared to be a man dressed in military gear. His rifle lay useless next to him...

A Dark One chased a man up Main Street, finally leaping through the air to catch him, bringing him down, strong claws ripping his back open as the man squirmed a dance of death.

Rick turned away from the window. His breathing was harsh. Sweat dotted his forehead. Jesus Christ, what the h.e.l.l were they going to do now?

Janice finished tending to Bobby. He approached the bars again. She came up to him, her features downcast, heavy with stress. "Maybe he'll rest a little bit now."

Rick nodded, mustering a smile. "He'll be fine."

She smiled back, though it was strained. "I'm worried."

"I know."

"Jack should have come back with Doc Jorgensen by now," she said, looking at him. "I just hope that..." She looked toward the entrance of the station, obscured by the corridor that turned into the jail ward. "...those things weren't out there when Jack left, and..."

"I know," Rick said. He reached his arms through the bars of the jail and took her hands. She returned the gesture and they held hands for a moment, content with just rea.s.suring each other that they were there. The physical contact was welcomed. They needed each other.

"We have weapons, right?" Rick asked. "I mean, this is a police station. We've probably got a whole a.r.s.enal here."

Janice nodded. "We do."

"Then we should be able to hole up in here until these things go away."

"Maybe I could shoot you out," Janice said. She gestured toward the lock of the jail cell door. "You know, take one of those Magnums or something to that lock. Blow it away."

Rick nodded. "Good idea, but those things might hear or sense the reverberation of the gun going off."

Janice sighed. "You're right."

"You're sure the key to the cells are nowhere to be found in the office?"

"I looked everywhere. Went through all the drawers and desks, went through clothes in the closets. Nothing."

"And it's likely that if any of the other off-duty cops have keys, they would have them with them," Rick said. "And we don't know where they are."

"Maybe I should get the rest of the weapons from the office," Janice suggested. She let go of his hands, moving to step back.

"No," Rick said, almost a little too sharply. He looked over at Bobby to make sure he hadn't startled him. Janice followed his gaze and held it a bit longer to make sure her son was still resting. He was. She turned back to Rick who sighed, and grasped her hands again through the bars. "We should move around as little as possible. I don't know what those things are outside, but they came from the ocean and it's obvious that they're amphibious. They probably track things in the ocean by movement, and they can probably do the same on land. So, let's stay put."

Janice nodded. She looked afraid. "What if they do come in, though?"

Rick looked glum. "Then," he said, his voice lowered, "I guess we have a problem."

Chapter Twenty-One.

The Dark Ones were on the rampage.

Those that were lucky escaped with their lives. Those that had been shooting the Clickers and turned to gape at the seven-foot tall Dark Ones emerge from the ocean turned their weapons on them only to get eviscerated even as they scrambled to escape. One third of the population of Phillipsport went out that way; gutted by razor sharp claws, limbs torn off, gullets sliced open and devoured as their hearts still beat. Ten percent of the population of Phillipsport was killed as they stopped to help those that had been initially attacked by the Dark Ones. For the most part, guns were no match for them. Even hollow points did no damage, but were only a minor inconvenience to the large creatures, like bothersome flies. Bullets didn't really do much except make them mad.

They mowed down Main Street, destroying anything that got in their way. By now everybody that came in contact with them was running for their lives. As word spread through Phillipsport, those that were beginning clean-up from the Clicker's invasion quickly retreated. Even then, some weren't so lucky. The Dark Ones had moved in rather quickly and most people ended up running and screaming while a Dark One was in hot pursuit, only to be ambushed by another that had been waiting behind a corner or a parked car. The dark of the night didn't seem to hinder the creatures at all. It was as if they were used to the lack of light and the heavy darkness of shadows.

Some people ran into the presumed safety of homes or buildings, only to be chased by the Dark Ones. The concrete walls of most structures were no match for them; they merely burst down the doors and waltzed right in, wreaking havoc inside until they had their prey.

At the town's center where the shopping mall lay, more pandemonium ensued. The Dark Ones were making their mark, chasing people in cars and on foot. A team of men hunting Clickers turned their rifles on the large, amphibious creatures heading toward them, then quickly fled as they realized the bullets were having no effect. They ran into the shopping mall with the Dark Ones in hot pursuit. The creatures chased the men in the shopping center and others joined them for the hunt. The men were eventually caught and killed. More Dark Ones joined them in the feast.

Sheriff Roy Conklin watched it all from what he hoped was a safe vantage point; he was perched on a ledge in the alley that ran between the coffee shop and the Barnes and n.o.ble bookstore. The alley ran out into the parking lot of the shopping center, and from where Roy sat huddled behind a trash bin he could see the things slaughtering everybody they happened upon.

Twenty minutes ago Roy had been riding high. He had taken over the hunt for the crab-things and had quickly taken control of the situation. Now he was simply quaking in his boots.

He'd limped down Main Street with Barney, sipping his coffee, supervising the end of the hunt and barking orders to several teams to get a clean-up crew started. Barney had finished his coffee and suggested they head to the shopping center. They could round up the work crew from the store's warehouse and utilize their equipment in a clean-up. Roy agreed, and they headed toward the shopping center on foot. They arrived not a moment too soon.

Roy had gone into the supermarket to find Arnie Sumner, the manager, when a scream made him turn around. One of the men who had been paired into a hunting group-Ritchie Mercury, who ran the War Horse Saloon on Harbor Street-had been attacked by a large, man-like green thing. It looked like the Creature From the Black Lagoon. The thing sank its jaws into Ritchie's neck and blood flowed as the man squirmed. Roy automatically took a step forward, drawing his gun and getting ready to aim when several more things appeared from Main Street. All at once a series of images kicked in, registering several things: screams coming from where he and Barney had just come from, the sudden increased sound of gunfire, and the rapid footfalls of large, heavy bodied things moving quickly through town.

Roy stepped outside, gun drawn, and that was when he saw Barney, who was near the edge of the parking lot. Barney had watched the coming of the things with a sort of numb, amazed shock-now he let out a yell, which seemed to snap him out of his shock, and turned to run. One of those things was on him in an instant, throwing a huge, taloned fist through the back of his skull with such force that his eyeb.a.l.l.s ejected out of the sockets. The rest of his face split like a pot cracking down the middle and then he was down and the thing was on him.

Holy Jesus f.u.c.king Christ! Roy thought, breaking into a halt. More of the giant green things were coming in a steady stream from the beach.

That was when Conklin turned and ran like h.e.l.l.

He quickly realized that he had nowhere to go; the only way out of the shopping center was the main thoroughfare, which was now crowded with the green monsters. No matter which way he ran, he would be seen and chased down. He hesitated for a moment, heart beating rapidly in his chest. The entrance to the shopping center was blocked off, along with the surrounding perimeter of the parking structure that could easily be accessed by the monsters. The only theoretical way out was through the back. Conklin circled the building and ducked down the first alley he saw-the one between the Barnes and n.o.ble and the coffee shop. He hit the end of it and clambered onto a garbage bin, his leg smarting with pain as the gunshot wound was roused from its dull throbbing. Then he made his way along a wall that bordered the book store, gritting his teeth against the pain that was rocketing up his leg. From there it was a quick hop to a ledge that served as the barrier to an outside generator that supplied power to the supermarket during power outages. Conklin climbed on top of that, his leg howling in agony again and he bit back a scream. He paused briefly and touched the wound. His hand came away damp with blood. His breathing was harsh, his forehead dotted with sweat. He had to break past the pain barrier if he wanted to stay alive. Gritting his teeth, he reached for the roof of the store. It was too high.

d.a.m.n! He looked back over his shoulder. The things were swarming en ma.s.se over the parking lot, slaughtering everybody they came in contact with. It looked like World War III down there, and he couldn't retrace his steps now. To do so would put him right in the battlefield.

There was a small cubbyhole between the generator and the supermarket. He crawled inside, still perched on the generator and crouched down. The pain in his leg sang loudly, and he huddled in the darkness, biting his lower lip to stave it away. Fresh blood ran down his lip and chin. He closed his eyes and waited for the throbbing in his leg to subside. After a while it did.

He opened his eyes and looked out of the cubbyhole. From this vantage point he could see a portion of the parking lot from the mouth of the alley. Despite the darkness of the night, he could see quite well. Most of the men that were out killing the crab things had been equipped with flashlights and lanterns, and he a.s.sumed that most of the men that were killed by these new monsters had dropped them, still blazing. Their feeble beams stabbed the darkness, illuminating the parking lot well enough to see what was going on. And what he was seeing didn't look so good.

The sound of people screaming was maddening to his ears. He covered them with both hands and lowered his head. Those screams were driving him mad. He couldn't bear to listen to them as they screamed on and on and the thick, heavy sounds of the things grunting, and roaring, and biting, and slashing intermingled with them. It reminded him too much of that other war, the one far away in the South Pacific jungles where he'd tried and failed. He closed his eyes against the memories, trying to will the sounds away.

In time, the smell of blood and death rose in the air.

Roy retreated as far as he could into the cubbyhole. For a moment he thought he was a goner when one of the creatures pounced on a man right at the mouth of the alley and began tearing into his soft belly. More creatures joined it, and Roy huddled farther into the cubbyhole, trying to drown out the thick, wet, slurping sounds of the creatures feeding. His heart accelerated rapidly in his chest; any moment now and they would finish with whoever that poor guy was and make their way down this alley, sniffing for prey. Their senses would lead them to the back of the alley, over the garbage bin, onto the ledge, into the cubbyhole where they would find- No! Don't think like that, he told himself. He grit his teeth. Don't think like that, they aren't going to find you, they aren't going to find you, they AREN'T GOING TO FIND YOU!

He remained crouched that way for what seemed like hours. His body trembled in antic.i.p.ation of those claws digging into his back, pulling him out. His skin was sweaty, ridden with gooseflesh caused by the combination of the cold, wet air and the heat his body was exuding. He pulled his gun out of its holster and gripped it, finger resting on the trigger. They might come down this alley and find him, but he would be ready for them when they did. Bullets may not do much harm to them, but if they found him here wedged in this little s.p.a.ce, and pulled him out, he would plant the barrel of the gun right in the first creature's eyeball and pull the trigger. They may take him down, but he would get a lick or two in before he went. He wouldn't go down completely defeated the way he had before. No way.

Roy sat crouched in the cubbyhole, the antic.i.p.ation dying down. After a while the fracas in the parking lot died down as well.

Roy looked out down the mouth of the alley. No sounds of struggle issued from the parking lot. No sounds of death and screaming rose to his ears from the shopping center.

The shopping center was as dead as a tomb.

Roy listened for a while. The rain had let up and the wind had died down. Dark clouds still hung heavy in the sky, and the only sound that came to him was the sound of trash rolling in the wind along the parking lot. Other than that, there was nothing.

Wait. There was something else. Something faint was now coming to his ears. Roy c.o.c.ked his head and listened before he was able to make it out. It was the tread of those things, moving farther away. They were leaving the shopping center.

He waited until their steps retreated farther and farther in the distance. When he heard nothing for five minutes, he began to breathe a little easier. His heartbeat slowed to a more normal rate. He remained in the cubbyhole for another ten minutes, ears primed and ready for other sounds: sounds of life in the parking lot or farther; more intrusions from more of those large, scaly monsters. All he heard was the wind.

Satisfied that the things were gone, he replaced his gun in its holster and cautiously crept out, pausing every so often to listen for any new sounds. He climbed on to the generator, the wound in his leg reawakening to pain, but he ignored it. He made his way to the wall to drop onto the garbage bin; he tried to put most of his weight in the landing on his left leg, but the right still bore some of the burden. It exploded with pain. He cried out, then cut it off. He leaned against the wall, gritting his teeth against the dull ache of the pain and waited for it to subside.

When the pain dwindled to a dull roar, he stepped forward and listened. Nothing.

This time when he jumped to the floor of the alley, he did it carefully. He sat on the ledge of the wall, his legs dangling over the side, then gently lowered himself to the ground. The few feet he had to drop to the ground weren't as bad this time. The pain that went up his body was bearable. He checked the wound again, saw that it was bleeding again, then wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt light-headed, almost faint, and he paused again, waiting to regain his senses. After a few minutes he felt good enough to venture down the alley and check out his surroundings.

There wasn't a sign of life anywhere.

He drew his gun again and walked slowly toward the mouth of the alley, keeping to the left wall where the darkness was pitch black. At this vantage point, he would be able to see anything coming from the main highway and Main Street, but would be hidden from the creatures that had just left. He crept along the wall, his body tense until he reached the mouth of the alley.

He looked out over the parking lot. It was a vast sea of black tar with white and yellow painted lines designating parking s.p.a.ces and driving routes. All of this peppered with body parts, blood, and crushed vehicles. The smell of blood hung wet in the air.

Conklin gulped and took a tentative step forward. His boot stepped in something gooey. He looked down. His boot had sunk into the torn open belly of a man he thought was Al Farmington, the President of Phillipsport Bank. The way the man's skin was torn off his face, it was hard to tell. He made the identification from the faded tattoo on the outside of the left forearm that he remembered Al telling him he had gotten when he served in the Army.

That arm was now severed and lying near his groin. The man had been wearing faded jeans and a plaid, long-sleeved shirt that had been shredded along with the rest of him. His once portly body was now ripped open and gaping red and raw; all the internal organs had been scooped out. He looked like a Thanksgiving turkey that had just been gutted.

Roy winced as he lifted his boot out of Al's now carved-out stomach. He peered around the corner, toward the south side of the shopping center where the creatures had gone. All was clear.

He stepped out into the parking lot. There wasn't a sign of anything, anywhere. He was safe for now. The trick now was to get the h.e.l.l out of here.

He began crossing the parking lot, heading toward the main highway when suddenly three figures burst from the shopping center and began running toward what cars were left standing. Roy stopped for a minute, his gun drawn and trained on them and he almost fired off a shot before he realized they were people. They must have been hiding deep within the bowels of the supermarket when the things struck, and now they crept out pretty much as he had just done. The only thing that differed with them was the look of panic-driven fear that permeated off them like miasma.

They reached a car-a white Subaru station wagon- and began piling into it. Roy ran toward them, waving his arms. "Hey! Wait a minute!"