Wade grazed his light over the mounds. "Someone's been here in the last few hours. There were only two graves earlier."

"Now there's four." Peerce demonstrated the ability to count.

"And look-" Wade shined his light over by the shovel. "Empty Kirin bottles. Jervis drinks Kirin."

"Porker, you see that shovel?" White said.

"Yeah."

"Get to work."

Porker whitened. "Aw, Chief, come on. I don't wanna-"

"Dig them up later," Wade interrupted. "First we have to-"

"St. John" -now it was White's turn to interrupt- "so far all I see is a couple of piles of dirt and some beer bottles. I don't see no cult, and I don't see no vampires."

Peerce slapped the back of Wade's head. "And what about the coffin, St. John? You said there's a coffin out here." Next he gave Wade's ear a twist. Wade yelped.

Hands on hips, White asked, "Where's Jervis Phillips?"

"Look, I only said he might be here," Wade protested. "But I'm telling you, once you see the grove yourselves-"

"You mean this ain't it?"

Wade smiled darkly. "I mean the other grove."

White bit into a cigar. "All right. Lead the way."

Wade led the way, with pleasure, past the tires and junk, to the trail. "Watch your step, boys. This isn't exactly the red carpet treatment."

Porker moaned.

Peerce yelled "Christ!" repeatedly, as they all began to crunch over the rot soft possums.

"They're all over the place!" White complained.

"This is nothing, Chief. Wait'll you see the rest."

They grimly followed the trail of carca.s.ses. Porker asked "If Phillips is out here, what do we do?"

"What'choo think we do?" Peerce contributed.

"We kill him," White said. "He's a killer so we kill him."

"Killing Jervis isn't going to be easy," Wade pointed out.

"Why?"

Wade smiled. "Because he's already dead."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, St. John!" White flared. "I knew this was a crock of s.h.i.t! Now you're tellin' us Phillips is dead?"

"Well, yeah, sort of. Dead as in...the walking dead."

Peerce slammed Wade against a tree, his ham fist hovering. "I'm beggin' ya, Chief! Lemme pop him! He's makin' d.a.m.n fools of all of us."

Then Porker screamed.

He'd strayed to the end of the trail. White and Peerce rushed to see what he was screaming about. Wade, of course, already knew.

The grove's perversions had thickened, even in the few hours since he and Lydia had been here. Agape, the three cops clung to each other as they stared into the impossible mora.s.s. The green fog was darker now, a milky stew. Dense, unearthly foliage glimmered in the low moonlight. Every branch, every swollen leaf, pod, and flower hung thickly with ropes of slime. Things like cattails sprouted tall from the lake of fog, bowed by the weight of strange fruit and pulsating seed sacks. In the middle of the clearing, atop the risen hillock, stood the bizarre oblong box.

"You hayseed motherf.u.c.kers believe me now?" Wade asked.

The slack jawed police made no response. Everything was shifting, growing in minute increments, joints of weeds and eldritch tree limbs lengthening in crunching movements as if in pain. Fist sized bugs crawled up sweating tree trunks, scoring the fleshlike bark. Cl.u.s.ters of faced mushrooms shuddered, breathing, and lumps of fungus glowed in the dark.

"P Porker," White ordered.

"Yuh yuh yeah, Chief?"

"Get out there. Check it out."

"Yuh yuh you gotta be crazy, Chief."

"Get out there, you big creamcake!" White kicked Porker in his tremendous rump. "Check it out!"

"I wouldn't send anyone out there," Wade advised.

"Shut up! Peerce, get out there! This fat baby's got no b.a.l.l.s. Let's see if you do!"

Peerce stood unsteadily, looking at the green fog, then back to White. He took a breath and stepped out.

"There's things in that fog," Wade warned.

"Things?" Peerce queried, looking back. He waded out. It was like a green swamp; the fog had risen to midthigh now. Black cane stalks swayed to and fro, acrawl with noxious bugs. From some of the plants hung fattened seedpods with drooling-and distressingly human-lips. "Things," Peerce muttered again. Now he was ten yards out. "I think I can see 'em."

Yes, they all could. The grove's wildlife, no doubt, had taken note of them. Wade spotted ghost shapes of things roving beneath the surface-fog vermin. Scuttling parasites feasted on dead possum bellies, and waddling things like groundhogs, lacking heads, scampered about, raising trails of mist. But worst of all were the gilled snake things, which seemed to swim vigorously beneath the fogtop.

"Bring him back, you idiot," Wade said. "Those things bite."

White smirked, then yelped as one of the fat pinch faced spiders lowered itself on a line of snot. It tried to bite White on the nose. Wade batted it away, laughing.

Then Peerce began to howl.

He was jumping, struggling. One of the fog snakes had affixed its flat sucker mouth to Peerce's crotch. He tore it off, along with his zipper, and then another snake latched onto his a.s.s.

"Help me!" he pleaded.

"Porker! Get out there and help Peerce!"

"Fuh fuh f.u.c.k you, Chief," Porker stammered.

"St. John! Get out there!"

"Eat my shorts, Chief. He's your man, you get out there."

Peerce tore off another eel, then tried to run back. Suddenly he tripped and sank completely beneath the fog, screaming.

Jesus Christ. Wade dashed out. Glimpses of things approached, and he kicked them as best he could, or stepped on them. One of the fog snakes swam near, a big one, but Wade stepped on its head just in time. Then something like a fanged toad, the size of a softball, hopped forward. Wade stomped down hard. The toad burst under his shoe like a Baggie full of pudding.

Wade saw the fog churning. A hand surfaced. He grabbed it, pulled, and hauled Peerce back to the trail.

Green mist blew from Peerce's nostrils. "Chief, those things were tryin' to eat me!" White gave him a look that said, Better you than me. They spent the next five minutes picking slugs and horned insects off of Peerce. His clothes hung in tatters.

"What is this place, St. John?" White asked grimly.

"I don't know," Wade said.

Porker pointed shakily. "And what's that black box?"

Before Wade could hazard a guess, they heard a car.

"Turn your lights out!" Wade instructed. They huddled down. Across the dell, a car entered the mora.s.s. The submerged headlights projected luminous green plumes. It was a Dodge Colt.

"It's Phillips," White whispered. The cops drew their guns.

The car faltered through the grove, knocking down tall stalks of perverted plants. The fog came up to the Colt's windows. Unseen monstrosities howled as Jervis drove over them.

Then the car rose out of the fog, parked on the hillock. Jervis got out and lit a cigarette. Then he hoisted something out of the trunk. Even at this distance they could see that it was a girl, unconscious or dead. Jervis, the body over his shoulder, stood before the black box and...disappeared.

He'd disappeared into it.

Then another, smaller figure emerged from the car, a black, hooded figure. It knelt daintily before the hideous, bulbed plant.

"That's one of the sisters," Wade whispered.

Now the sister was plucking things from the plant.

"What the f.u.c.k's she doin'?' White asked, squinting.

"Eating bugs. Those b.i.t.c.hes eat anything."

"We gotta find out what's goin' on here."

"Chief," Wade implored. "I can't put it any more eloquently than this: We have to get our swingin' d.i.c.ks the f.u.c.k out of this gore hole before those walking meat grinders realize we're here."

"Not yet," White said. "I want Phillips' a.s.s."

Wade rolled his eyes. "Hey, cement head. I just got done telling you he's already dead. You can't kill him."

"Shut up, St. John. Go get the binocs out of the cruiser."

Wade crunched back to the first clearing. He found the binoculars in the console and smiled when he noticed the key in the ignition. Even I'm not big enough a p.r.i.c.k to leave them here.

Or was he?

It didn't matter. A burst of yelling blared from the grove, then gunshots.

Then: "St. John! Start the car! We're comin' out!"

The s.h.i.t's flying now. Wade turned the engine over and popped open the doors. He scoped down the trail with the binoculars.

Holy, holy s.h.i.t, he thought.

At least a dozen sisters had converged on the police. Flashes popped, guns were firing right and left. It looked like Custer's last stand-only Custer, in this case, was White, and he and his men were faring about as well. They emptied their guns as fast as they could fire them, reloaded and fired some more, all for nothing. Hooded sisters fell on them from all angles. Vicious, liquid giggles rose like surf within the grove.

-New pigs!

-Fat, juicy pigs!

Two sisters held Porker up, while another eviscerated him in place. Pale hands delved like cleavers into the tremendous stomach, parting slabs of fat to expose the succulent organs.

-He's so big!

-Lots to eat!

It happened so fast that the poor jerk just stood there a moment, looking at his opened belly. Fat people were often taken advantage of, but never like this. Blood and fist sized wads of fat flew as the sisters helped themselves. Porker provided a veritable all you can eat feast. The sisters' hands rummaged and plowed, until nothing remained of the choice merchandise of Porker's abdominal vault. The sisters fed well. They slaked their appet.i.tes and rejoiced, flinging organ sc.r.a.ps in macabre celebration.

That's what I call losing a hundred pounds the hard way, Wade mused.

Peerce was trying to aim, backing up, with White firing behind him. Peerce's big .44 Blackhawk jumped in his hand, but each slug was either brushed away or plucked from its trajectory.

Wade did indeed consider leaving. I don't owe these guys anything, do I? But just because they were a.s.sholes didn't mean he should abandon them. s.h.i.t! he concluded. d.a.m.n it, s.h.i.t!

Now Peerce was overrun, flailing amid the besieging sisters. White threw his empty guns at the girls, as Peerce screamed in perfect Deep South terror. -What's this? one of the big ones asked, and held up the CM tear gas gun. Their giggles pitched as she shoved the barrel down Peerce's throat and pulled the trigger. There was a damped bang!-the proximity fuse burned out-another bang!-and then Peerce began to expand, quite like a parade float, growing, growing, b.u.t.tons popping, until he was huge. The sisters marveled at this spectacle. Eventually Peerce burst. Offal flew like spaghetti and sauce-then all was obscured by tear gas.

Wade grabbed the Sentry flaregun in White's console. He got out and aimed. "Come on, Chief! Run your a.s.s off!"

The brew of sisters didn't like the CS agent. They staggered, gagging. Chief White clambered up the carca.s.s ridden trail. Behind him, though, a sister emerged from the smoke.

"Duck!" Wade shouted.

White hit the dirt. Without much confidence, Wade discharged the flare gun and watched the projectile burn a line down the trail. Mystified, the sister caught it, looked at it as it hissed out its propellant. The canister exploded, splattering her with ignited magnesium. It stuck to her face, cloak, and sungla.s.ses, bubbling intense neon red. The sister wailed.

Wade jumped back behind the wheel as White lunged in. The car whipped a reckless circle, Wade's teeth clenched as he steered.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n you, St. John, you G.o.dd.a.m.n b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" White blubbered. "You said there were only four of 'em!"