She went away and Clyde said, "I know you got a gun, Hillbilly. Throw it out."

"Naw. I do that, you might shoot me."

"I'm gonna shoot you for sure, you don't."

"Let me think on it."

Clyde slid forward, stood near the wall, Hillbilly on the other side.

"Last chance," Clyde said.

"Or what?" Hillbilly said. "I watch myself pretty good. You come get me."

Clyde lifted the shotgun and pointed at the wall, where he thought he heard Hillbilly, and fired, pumped another round into the chamber, dropped low, waited.

"Goddamn," Hillbilly said.

Clyde slid around to the doorway, staying low, poked his head and gun around on the other side. Hillbilly lay on his back, a pistol nearby. He wasn't hurt bad, but the shot had surprised him and he had been peppered with pellets. A piece of the wall, a splinter, had gone back and into Hillbilly's shoulder.

"You ain't bad off," Clyde said, picking up Hillbilly's pistol, sticking it in his belt.

Hillbilly took hold of the splinter and pulled it out of his shoulder, took a breath, turned his head toward Clyde. "Guess you can get even now."

Sunset heard the shotgun blast to her left, in the rooms beyond. The blonde came through a door stepping lively, saw her, waved at her, went out the back way, into the grasshoppers, closed the battered door.

Sunset turned, looked back at the wall where McBride was. She could see him in the platter, still easing forward. She slipped backward until she was between the windows, her back against the wall. She let her ass slide to the floor, pulled her knees together, propped the shotgun on them, braced the stock against her shoulder.

McBride poked his head around the corner, poked it so fast the stupid black wig he was wearing shifted dramatically.

Sunset cut down on him.

Most of the shot hit the wall, but stray pellets lit into McBride's face and he let out a yell, disappeared back behind the barrier.

Sunset pumped up another load, braced herself again. Thought: He hasn't figured I can see him in the platter. She could see him leaning against the wall, picking at the pellets in his face.

"You damn bitch," he said. "You hit me some."

"I was trying to hit you a lot," Sunset said. "Surrender, and it'll go better."

"Ha."

"You always wear an apron?"

"You messed up my breakfast, bitch. I'm gonna shoot you until you can't be made out for a person."

Sunset was trying to decide what to do, like maybe break and run, because here she was, just sitting, nothing to protect her but hopefully being quicker than McBride, and she was thinking this when McBride stepped out quickly from behind the wall, took hold of the lantern and stepped back.

She fired.

But it was too late. Her shot hit the far wall and the silver platter fell, hit on its edge, came rolling toward her, whirled and fell flat.

Goddamn, Sunset thought. I was looking at him in the platter, and he still beat me to the punch.

The lantern, lit, appeared on McBride's arm from behind the wall and was tossed at her. Sunset leaped away. The lantern hit behind her. A burst of flame ran up the wall, ate the wallpaper like cotton candy. Sunset felt its heat, felt her hair crinkle. She rolled away from it as McBride stepped out from behind the wall. He had a double-barrel shotgun, and when he cut loose, Sunset, already rolling, threw herself flat. The shot tore above her. She felt some of it nip at her heels and heard the window behind her blow. Then there was a sound like something growling from beyond the grave.

Sunset lifted her head, tried to put McBride in her sights, but what she saw was his amazed face. He had broken the gun open, having fired both barrels, was ready to reload, but his expression caused Sunset to turn her head, look over her shoulder.

The flames on the wall were licking out to taste the air and the grasshoppers flooding in were catching fire. They washed in a burning wave toward McBride.

McBride dropped the shotgun, covered his face as they hit him, a mass of bugs aflame. His wig burst alight, and he tried to dive to the floor, but the grasshoppers followed him down, were all over him. He rose up screaming, batting at the air, his apron on fire, and Sunset thought: You dumb sonofabitch, just roll. You ain't on fire, it's your apron, that stupid wig.

But he didn't roll. The wig had become a fool's cap of fire. He snatched it off his shiny bald head, tossed it and ran. Ran straight at Sunset. Sunset was so amazed, she didn't shoot, and he kept going, running hard, went right past her and through what was left of the window, flames flapping behind him like a cape, insects on fire, whizzing around his head like a halo. Then the cape of fire dropped through the window and was gone and the air crackled with flames and exploding grasshoppers.

Clyde appeared to her left. He had Hillbilly with his hands tied behind his back with a twisted pillowcase. Hillbilly looked bloody and bowed, but not too bad off.

"You okay?" Clyde called.

"Almost," she said. "He hurt bad?"

"Got some pieces in him, mostly wood from the wall. He'll live."

The entire wall behind Sunset was on fire and the fire was spreading. She said, "Out the front."

"Is that all of them?" Clyde said. "Did we get them all?"

"God, I hope so."

Sunset stood, slapped flames off her skirt where the kerosene had splattered and caught. Clyde kicked Hillbilly in the ass, said, "Move it, songbird."

When Sunset got to the doorway, she stopped and bent over Bull. She said, "Bull?"

"Is he gone?" Bull said.

"Who?"

"That big nigger in the bowler?"

"I don't see him anywhere."

"That's good."

"I'm sorry, Bull."

"Don't let the peckerwoods have my body."

"You're gonna be all right."

"Got a knife in my back. My legs, everything from my pickle down, gone cold, won't move no more. We on fire? I smell smoke."

Clyde was there with Hillbilly now. He said, "Yeah. There's fire, Bull."

"Let me burn," Bull said.

"You ain't gonna burn. Clyde, go down and put Hillbilly in the car. There's rope in the trunk, you need it. Use it to tie his legs to his arms, throw him in the backseat, better yet, the trunk. Come back and help me with Bull-Jesus, where's Daddy? Bull, can you hear me? Where's Daddy?"

But Bull didn't answer.

A moment later, Clyde came back in with Hillbilly. "There ain't no car. Your daddy, he's hurt."

"Hurt?"

"Yeah. Leg is broke." Clyde looked down at Bull. He wasn't moving and his eyes were closed. "Bull?"

"Bull's gone," Sunset said, coughing at the smoke.

"Yeah, and so is this place," Hillbilly said.

The far wall was fire, and the fire, fed by kerosene on the floor, was creeping toward them.

"Leave him," Clyde said.

Sunset thought about that, about how he lived and what he told her, said, "Reckon so."

Sunset took Hillbilly down, her shotgun in his back, and Clyde picked up Lee, carried him.

When they were at the bottom of the steps, Hillbilly said, "I didn't mean for it to go this way, Sunset."

"I have a feeling you don't never mean for nothing to happen, but it always does."

"I'm kind of cursed."

"Hell, you are the curse."

The flames were licking at the apartment and smoke was pouring out the open door and the drugstore below was starting to catch fire. The flames were so hot and bright, the grasshoppers had finally started to recede. Sunset looked up, saw them like a dark rainbow against the sky, going south, and fast, dimming the sun.

When Clyde came down the steps carrying Lee like a baby, Sunset said, "Watch this piece of dung a minute," and left him with Hillbilly. She went around back, looking for McBride, still cautious, the shotgun at the ready.

She found McBride face forward against the overhang. There were burn marks on the ground where he had dragged himself. He was a blackened shape now, his hands like claws where he had scooped out some clay as if trying to climb up the overhang to God knows where, or maybe burrow through it.

They went across the street to the jail, Sunset with her gun at Hillbilly's back, prodding, and Clyde carrying Lee. They put Hillbilly in the cell with Plug, and Clyde laid Lee on the bunk in the other cell, called up the town doctor, who came and looked at Lee and said he was bad.

"He's gonna need a hospital," the doctor said. "That leg. It might have to come off. I ain't up for that kind of thing."

"I got use for this leg," Lee said, his face covered in sweat.

The doctor, who was a short fat man wearing a plaid shirt and pants that looked as if they could use a wash, said, "Yeah, but it might not have any use for you anymore. I'm gonna do my best to set it, but we got to get you over to Tyler. There's people there better at this kind of thing than me. This ain't no simple break. This one's all twisted up."

"We'll get you to the doctor, Daddy," Sunset said. "He don't know that's what will happen for sure."

"If I mess with it much, it is," the doctor said.

"Can you take him to Tyler?" Sunset said.

"I can," said the doctor, "but it'll cost."

"He's a deputy constable."

"He's your daddy."

"And he's still a deputy constable. You see he gets there. You bill Camp Rapture-better yet, you bill Holiday. And give him something for pain."

"For Christ sakes, yes," Lee said. "Knock me out. Give me some dope. Something."

"Daddy," Sunset said, liking the sound of calling him that better and better, "still believe what you said, about the union of everything in the universe, us and everything in it all being part of one big thing?"

"Not so much," Lee said.

"What about these two?" Clyde said, nodding toward Hillbilly and Plug.

"They're for the law," Sunset said.

"There ain't no law," Clyde said.

"Today there is. And you're it. Stay till we figure something out. I'm gonna check on Karen."

"What then?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

When it was done and Lee was on his way to Tyler, courtesy of the doctor and his car, Sunset got the keys to the sheriff's car, went out and cleaned the windshield free of bugs and got in. She sat there and thought about the fact that she and Clyde were unhurt, her dad was the worst off and he hadn't even gotten inside the apartment. And Bull. Poor Bull. He was dead, and all she had was a few bangs and cuts and some little shotgun pellets in the back of her heels, pellets she could pick out with tweezers.

She sat and looked at what was left of the fire across the way. The fire department, such as it was, was trying to put it away, but mostly they were running around the fire truck and cursing. They had succeeded in flushing the building with a lot of water from their big red engine, and what was left of the apartment and the drugstore was nothing but some charred timbers you could stir with a stick.

She thought about Bull, burned up in there, and it made her think of the story she'd heard about Greek heroes, how they put them on piles of lumber and burned them up and sent their souls up in smoke and flames.

On the way home, Sunset saw the sky had cleared and it was full of nothing but a crow. The trees, grass, anything that had been green, was gone. It was as if green had been a dream. Now that the storm of wings and legs had departed, there was only desolation. Even the bark had been stripped off the hardwoods. All about were dead grasshoppers, victims of collisions and fights with their hungry partners.

She drove along until she came upon her car. It was beside the road, the driver's door open. Sunset stopped near it, took the shotgun lying on the seat and got out. The morning had come in full now, and it was hot, but she felt more cold than hot as she moved alongside her car, looked inside. Nothing but dried black blood on the front seat.

She walked along the road slowly, crunching dead grasshoppers under her feet, looking right and left. Then she saw him. He was sitting with his back against a great pine tree that was stripped of its needles. He had his hands on his thighs and he was looking at her. His bowler hat was on the ground, the crown touching the earth. Flies were so thick on the front of his shirt they looked like a vest. His coat was pushed back over his shoulders, as if he had tried to give himself a little breeze. The scar on his head looked raw and stood out, like an actual horseshoe was inside his skull, working its way to the surface.

Sunset kept the shotgun pointed at Two, moved toward him slowly. When she was standing over him his vest startled and flew away. She saw part of his bottom lip was bit off, and she thought: Good for you, Bull. His green eyes were filmed over and still and a fly was on one of them.

"I guess the both of you are dead," Sunset said.