Phantoms

Chapter 14

Containment Bryce was sitting at the desk that had belonged to Paul Henderson. He had pushed aside the open issue of Time that Paul apparently had been reading when Snowfield had been wiped out. A yellow sheet of note paper lay on the blotter, filled with Bryce's economical handwriting.

Around him, the six others were busily carrying out tasks that he had assigned to them. A wartime atmosphere prevailed in the stationhouse.

Their grim determination to survive had caused a fragile but steadily strengthening camaraderie to spring up among them. There was even guarded optimism, perhaps based on the observation that they were still alive while so many others were dead.

Bryce quickly scanned the list he had made, trying to determine if he had overlooked anything. Finally, he pulled the telephone to him. He got a dial tone immediately, and he was grateful for it, considering Jennifer Paige's difficulties in that regard.

He hesitated before placing the first call. A sense of the immense importance of the moment weighed heavily on him.

The savage obliteration of Snowfield's entire population was like nothing that had ever happened before. Within hours, journalists would be coming to Santa Mira County by the scores, by the hundreds, from all over the world. By morning, the Snowfield story would have pushed all other news off the front pages. CBS, ABC, and NBC would all be interrupting regularly scheduled broadcasts for updates and bulletins throughout the duration of the crisis. The media coverage would be intense.

Until the world knew whether or not some mutated germ had a role in the events here, hundreds of millions of people would wait breathlessly, wondering if their own death notices had been issued in Snowfield. Even if disease were ruled out, the world's attention wouldn't be diverted from Snowfield until the mystery had been explained. The pressure to find a solution was going to be unbearable.

On a personal level, Bryce's own life would be forever changed. He was in charge of the police contingent; therefore, he would be featured in all the news stories. That prospect appalled him. He wasn't the kind of sheriff who liked to grandstand. He preferred to keep a low profile.

But he couldn't just walk away from Snowfield now.

He dialed the emergency number at his own offices in Santa Mira, by-passing the switchboard operator. The desk sergeant on duty was Charlie Mercer, a good man who could be counted on to do precisely what he was told to do.

Charlie answered the phone halfway through the second ring." Sheriff's Department." He had a flat, nasal voice.

"Charlie, this is Bryce Hanuriond.”

"Yes, sir. We've been wondering what's happening up there.”

Bryce succinctly outlined the situation in Snowfield.

"Good God!" Charlie said." Jake's dead, too?”

'.We don't know for sure that he's dead. We can hope not.

Now listen, Charlie, there are a lot of things we've got to do in the next couple of hours, and it would be easier for all of us if we could maintain secrecy until we've established our base here and secured the perimeters. Containment, Charlie.

That's the key word. Snowfield has to be sealed off tight, and that'll be a lot easier to accomplish if we can do it before the newsmen start tramping through the mountains. I know I can count on you to keep your mouth shut, but there are a few of the men…”

"Don't worry," Charlie said." We can hold it close to the vest for a couple of hours. "All right. First thing I want is twelve more men.

Two more on the roadblock at the Snowfield turnoff. Ten here with me.

Wherever you can, select single men without families.”

" It really looks that bad?”

"It really does. And better select men who don't have relatives in Snowfield. Another thing: They'll have to bring, a couple of days”

worth of drinking water and food. I don't want them consuming anything in Snowfield until we know for sure that the stuff is safe here.

"Right.”

"Every man should bring his sidearm, a riot gun, and tear gas.”

" Got it.”

"This'll leave you short handed, and it'll get worse when the media people start pouring in. You'll have to call in some of the auxiliary deputies for directing traffic and crowd control.

Now, Charlie, you know this part of the county pretty well don't you?”

" I was born and raised in Pineville.”

"That's what I thought. I've been looking at the county map, and so far as I can see, there are only two passable routes into Snowfield. First, there's the highway, which we've already blockaded." He swiveled on his chair and stared at the huge, framed map on the wall.

"Then there's an old fire trail that leads about two-thirds of the way up the other side of the mountain. Where the fire trail leaves off, an established wilderness trail seems to pick up.

It's just a footpath from that point, but from the way it looks on the map, it comes out smack-dab at the top of the longest ski-run on this side of the mountain, up here above Snowfield.”

"Yeah," Charlie said." I've backpacked through that neck of the woods.

It's officially the Old Mount Greentree Wilderness Trail. Or as we locals used to call it-the Muscle Liniment Highway.”

"We'll have to station a couple of men at the bottom of the fire trail and turn back anyone who tries to come in that way.”

"It would take one hell of a determined reporter to try it.”

"We can't take chances. Are you aware of any other route that isn't on the map?”

"Nope," Charlie said." Otherwise, you'd have to come into Snowfield straight overland, making your own trail every dammed step of the way.

That is wilderness out there; it's not just a playground for weekend campers, by God. No experienced backpacker would try to come overland.

That'd be plain stupid.”

"All right. Something else I need is a phone number from the files.

Remember that law enforcement seminar I went to in Chicago… oh…

about sixteen months ago. One of the speakers was an army man.

Copperfield, I think. General Copperfield.”

'.Sure," Charlie said. The Army Medical Corps' CBW Division.”

"That's it.”

"I think they call Copperfield's office the Civilian Defense Unit. Hold on." Charlie was off the line less than a minute.

He came back with the number, read it to Bryce." That's out in Dugway, Utah. Jesus, do you think this could be something that'd bring those boys running? that's scary.”

"Real scary," Bryce agreed." A couple of other things. I want you to put a name on the teletype. Timothy Flyte." Bryce spelled it." No description. No known address. Find out if he's wanted anywhere. Check with the FBI, too. Then find out all you can about a Mr. and Mrs.

Harold Ordnay of San Francisco." He gave Charlie the address that had been in the Candle glow Inn's guest register." One more thing. When those new men come up here, have them bring some plastic body bags from the county morgue.”

"How many?”

"To start with… two hundred.”

"Uh… two… hundred?”

"We might need a great many more than that before we're through. We might have to borrow from other counties. Better check into that. A lot of people seem just to've disappeared, but their bodies may still turn up. There were about five hundred people living here. We could possibly need that many body bags.”

And maybe even more than five hundred, Bryce thought.

Because we might need a few bags for ourselves, too.

Although Charlie had listened attentively when Bryce told him that the entire town had been wiped out, and although there was no doubt that he believed Bryce, he obviously hadn't frilly, emotionally comprehended the awful dimensions of the disaster until he'd heard the request for two hundred body bags.

An image of all those corpses, sealed in opaque plastic, stacked atop one another in Snowfield's streets-that was what had finally pierced him.

"Holy Mother of God, — Charlie Mercer said.

While Bryce Hammond was on the telephone with Charlie Mercer, Frank and Stu started to dismantle the hulking, police-band radio that stood against the back wall of the room. Bryce had told them to find out what was wrong with the set, for there weren't any visible signs of damage.

The front plate was fastened down by ten tightened screws. Frank worked them loose one at a time.

As usual, Stu wasn't much help. He kept glancing around at Dr. Paige, who was at the other end of the room, working with Tal Whitman on another project.

"She's sure a sweet piece of meat," Stu said, casing a covetous look at the doctor and picking his nose at the same time.

Frank said nothing.

Stu looked at what he'd pried out of his nose, inspecting it as if it were a pearl found in an oyster. He glanced back at the doctor again.”

Look at the way she fills out them jeans. Christ, I'd love to dip my wick in that.”

Frank stared at the three screws he'd removed from the radio and counted to ten, resisting the urge to drive one of the screws straight into Stu's thick skull." You aren't stupid enough to make a pass at her, I hope.”

"Why not? That's a hot number if ever I did see one.”

"You try it, and the sheriff'll kick your ass.”

"Then don't tell him.”

"You amaze me, Stu. How can you be thinking about sex right now? Hasn't it occurred to you that we all might die here, tonight, maybe even in the next minute or two?”

"All the more reason to make a play for her if I get a chance," Wargle said." I mean, shit, if we're livin' on borrowed time, who cares? Who wants to die limp? Right? Even the other one's nice.”

"The other what?”

"The girl. The kid." Stu said.

"She's only fourteen.”

"Sweet stuff.”

"She's a child, Wargle.”

"She's plenty old enough.”

"That's sick.”

"Wouldn't you like to have her firm little legs wrapped around you, Frank?”

The screwdriver slipped out of the notch on the head of the screw and skidded across the metal cover plate with a stuttering screech.

In a voice which was nearly inaudible but which nevertheless froze Wargle's grin, Frank said, "If I ever hear of you laying one filthy finger on that girl or on any other young girl, anywhere, any time, I won't just help press charges against you; I'll come after you. I know how to go after a man, Wargle. I wasn't just a desk jockey in Nam. I was in the field. And I still know how to handle myself. I know how to handle you.

You hear me? You believe me?”

For a moment Wargle was unable to speak. He just stared into Frank's eyes.

Conversations drifted over from other parts of the big room, but none of the words were clear. Still, it was obvious that no one realized what was happening at the radio.

Wargle finally blinked and licked his lips and looked down at his shoes and then looked up and put on an aw-shucks grin.

"Hey, gee, Frank, don't get sore. Don't get so riled up. I didn't mean it.”

"You believe me?" Frank insisted.

:,Sure, sure. But I tell you I didn't mean nothin'. I was just shootin' off at the mouth. Locker room talk. You know how it is. You know I didn't mean it. Am I some kind of pervert, for God's sake? Hey, come on, Frank, lighten up. Okay?" Frank stared at him a moment longer, then said, "Let's get this radio dismantled.”

Tal Whitman opened the tall metal gun locker.

Jenny Paige said, "Good heavens, it's a regular arsenal.”

He passed the weapons to her, and she lined them up on a nearby work table.

The locker seemed to contain an excessive amount of firepower for a town like Snowfield. Two high-powered rifles with sniper scopes. Two semiautomatic shotguns. Two nonlethal riot guns, which were specially modified shotguns that fired only soft plastic pellets. Two flare guns.

Two rifles that fired tear gas grenades. Three handguns: a pair of.38s and a big Smith & Wesson.357 Magnum.

As the lieutenant piled boxes of ammunition on the table, Jenny gave the Magnum a close inspection." This is a real monster, isn't it?”

"Yeah. You could stop a Brahman bull with that one.”

"Looks as if Paul kept everything in first-rate condition.”

"You handle guns like you know all about them," the lieutenant said, putting more ammunition on the table.

"Always hated guns. Never thought I'd own one," she said.

"But after I'd been living up here three months, we started having trouble with a motorcycle gang that decided to set up a sort of summer retreat on some land out along the Mount n Road.”

"The deamons.”

"That's them," Jenny said." Rough-looking crowd.”

"That's putting it kindly.”

"A couple of times, when I was making a house call at night, over to Mount Lamn or Pineville, I got an unwanted motorcycle escort. They rode on each side of the car, too close for safety, grinning in the side windows at me, shouting at me, waving, being foolish. They didn't actually try anything, but it sure was…" "Maddening.”

"You said it. So I bought a gun, learned how to shoot it, and got a permit to carry.”

The lieutenant began to open the boxes of ammunition.

"Ever have occasion to use it?”

"Well," she said, "I never had to shoot anyone, thank God.

But I did have to show it once. It was just after dark. I was on my way to Mount Larson, and the Demons gave me another escort, but this time it was different. Four of them boxed me in, and they all started slowing down, forcing me to slow down, too. Finally, they brought me to a complete stop in the middle of the road.”

"That must've given your heart a good workout.”

"Did it ever! One of the Demons got off his bike. He was big, maybe six feet three or four, with long curly hair and a beard. He wore a bandanna around his head. And one gold earring. He looked like a pirate.”

"Did he have a red and yellow eye tattooed on the palm of each hand?”

"Yes! Well, at least on the palm he put against the car window when he was looking in at me.”

The lieutenant leaned against the table on which they had placed the guns." His name's Gene Teer. He's the leader of the Demon Chrome. They don't come much meaner. He's been in the slammer two or three times but never for anything serious and never for long. Whenever it looks as if Jester's going to have to do hard time, one of his people takes the blame for all the charges. He has an incredible hold on his followers.

They'll do anything he wants; it's almost as if they worship him. Even after they're in jail, Jeeter takes care of them, smuggling money and drugs in to them, and they stay faithful to him. He knows we can't touch him, so he's always infuriatingly polite and helpful to us, pretending to be an upstanding citizen; it's a big joke to him. Anyway, Jeeter came over to your car and looked in at you?”

"Yes. He wanted me to get out, and I wouldn't. He said I should at least roll down the window, so we wouldn't have to shout to hear each other. I said I didn't mind shouting a little.

He threatened to smash the window if I didn't roll it down. I knew if I did, he'd reach right inside and unlock the door, so I figured it was better to get out of the car willingly. I told him I'd come out if he'd back off a little. He stepped away from the door, and I snatched the gun from under the seat. As soon as I opened the door and got out, he tried to move in on me.

I jammed the muzzle into his belly. The hammer was pulled back, fully cocked; he saw that right away.”

"God, I wish I'd seen the look on his face!" Lieutenant Whitman said, grinning.

"I was scared to death," Jenny said, remembering." I mean, I was scared of him, of course, but, I was also scared I might have to pull the trigger. I wasn't even sure I could pull the trigger. But I knew I couldn't let Jeeter see I had any doubts.”

" If he'd seen, he'd have eaten you alive.”

"That's what I thought. So I was very cold, very firm. I told him that I was a doctor, that I was on my way to see a very sick patient, and that I didn't intend to be detained. I kept my voice low. The other three men were still on their bikes, and from where they were, they couldn't see the gun or hear exactly what I was saying. This Jeeter looked like the type who'd rather die than let anyone see him take any orders from a woman, so I didn't want to embarrass him and maybe make him do something foolish.”

The lieutenant shook his head." You sure had him pegged right.”

"I also reminded him that he might need a doctor some day.

What if he took a spill off that bike of his and was lying on the road, critically injured, and I was the doctor who showed up-after he'd hurt me and given me good reason to hurt him in return? I told him there are things a doctor can do to complicate injuries, to make sure the patient has a long and painful recovery. I asked him to think about that.”

Whitman gaped at her.

She said, "I don't know if that unsettled him or whether it was simply the gun, but he hesitated, then made a big scene for the benefit of his three buddies. He told them I was a friend of a friend. He said he'd met me once, years ago, but hadn't recognized me at first. I was to be given every courtesy the Demon Chrome could extend. No one would ever bother me, he said. Then he climbed back on his Harley and rode away, and the other three followed him.”

"And you just went on to Mount Larson?”

"What else? I still had a patient to see.”

"Incredible.”

"I will admit, though, I had the sweats and the shakes all the way to Mount Larson.”

"And no biker has ever bothered you since?”

"In fact, when they pass me on the roads around here, they all smile and wave.”

Whitman laughed.

Jenny said, "So there's the answer to your question: Yes, I know how to use a gun, but I hope I never have to shoot anyone.”

She looked at the.357 Magnum in her hand, scowled, opened a box of ammunition, and began to load the revolver.

The lieutenant took a couple of shells from another carton and loaded a shotgun.

They were silent for a moment, and then he said, "Would you have done what you told Gene Teer?”

" What? Shoot him?”

"No. I mean, if he'd hurt you, maybe raped you, and then if you'd later had a chance to treat him as a patient… would you have…?”

Jenny finished loading the Magnum, clicked the cylinder into place, and put the gun down." Well, I'd be tempted. But on the other hand, I have enormous respect for the Hippocratic Oath. So… well… I suppose this means I'm just a wimp at heart-but I'd give Jeeter the best medical care I could.”

"I knew you'd say that.”

"I talk tough, but I'm just a marshmallow inside.”

"Like hell," he said." Me way you stood up to him took about as much toughness as anybody has. But if he'd hurt you, and if you'd later abused your trust as a doctor just to get even with him… well, that would be different.”

Jenny looked up from the.38 that she'd just taken from the array of weapons on the table, and she met the black man's eyes. They were clear, probing eyes.

"Dr. Paige, you have what we call 'the right stuff." If you want, you can call meTal Most people do. It's short for Talbert.", "All right, Tal. And you can call me Jenny.”

"Well, I don't know about that.”

"Oh? Why not?”

"You're a doctor and all. My Aunt Becky-she's the one who raised me-always had great respect for doctors. It just seems funny to be calling a doctor by his… by her first name.”

"Doctors are people too, you know. And considering that we're all in sort of a pressure cooker here-”

"Just the same," he said, shaking his head.

"If it bothers you, then call me what most of my patients call me.”

"What's that?”

"Just plain Doc.”

"Doc?" He thought about it, and a slow smile spread over his face." Doc.

It makes you think of one of those grizzled, cantankerous old coots that Barry Fitzgerald used to play in the movies, way back in the thirties and forties.”

"Sorry I'm not grizzled.”

"That's okay. You're not an old coot, either.”

She laughed softly.

" like the irony of it," Whitman said." Doc. Yeah, and when I think of you jamming that revolver in Gene Teer's belly, it fits.”

They loaded two more guns.

"Tal, why all these weapons for a little substation in a town like Snowfield?”

"If you want to get state and federal matching funds for the county law enforcement budget, you've got to meet their requirements for all sorts of ridiculous things. One of the specifications is for minimal arsenals in substations like this.

Now… well… maybe we should be glad we've got all this hardware.”

"Except so far we haven't seen anything to shoot at.”

"I suspect we will," Tal said." And I'll tell you something.”

"What's that?”

His broad, dark, handsome face could look unsettlingly." I don't think you'll have to worry about having to shoot other people. Somehow, I don't believe it's people we have to worry about.”

Bryce dialed the private, unlisted number at the governor's residence in Sacramento. He talked to a maid who insisted the governor couldn't come to the phone, not even to take a life and-death call from an old friend.

She wanted Bryce to leave a message. Then he talked to the chief of the household staff, who also wanted him to leave a message. Then, after being put on hold, he talked to Gary Poe, Governor Jack Retlock's chief political aide and advisor.

"Bryce," Gary said." Jack just can't come to the phone right now.

There's an important dinner underway here. The Japanese trade minister and the consul general from San Francisco.”

" Gary-, "We're trying damned hard to get that new Japanese-American electronics plant for California, and we're afraid it's going to go to Texas or Arizona or maybe even New York. Jesus, New York!”

"Gary”

"Why would they even consider New York, with all the labor problems and the tax rates what they are back there?

Sometimes I think”

"Gary, shut up.”

" Huh?”

Bryce never snapped at anyone. Even Gary Poe-who could talk faster and louder than a carnival barker- was shocked into silence.

"Gary, this is an emergency. Get Jack for me.”

Sounding hurt, Poe said, "Bryce, I'm authorized to”

"I've got a hell of a lot to do in the next hour or two, Gary.

If I live long enough to do it, that is. I can't spend fifteen minutes laying this whole thing out for you and then another fifteen laying it out again for Jack. Listen, I'm in Snowfield.

It appears as if everyone who lived here is dead, Gary.”

"What?”

"Five hundred people.”

:"Bryce, if this is some sort of joke or”

"Five hundred dead. And that's the least of it. Now will you for Christ's sake get Jack?”

" But Bryce, five hundred”

"Get Jack, damn it!”

Poe hesitated, then said, "Old buddy, this better be the straight shit." He dropped the phone and went for the governor.

Bryce had known Jack Retlock for seventeen years. When he joined the Los Angeles police, he had been assigned to lack for his rookie year. At that time, Jack was a seven-year veteran of the force, a seasoned hand.

Indeed, Jack had seemed so streetwise that Bryce had despaired of ever being even half as good at the job. In a year, however, he was better.

They voted to stay together, partners. But eighteen months later, fed up with a legal system that regularly turned loose the punks he worked so hard to imprison, Jack quit police work and went into politics. As a cop, he'd collected a fistful of citations for bravery. He parlayed his hero image into a seat on the L A. city council, then ran for mayor, winning in a landslide. From there, he'd jumped into the governor's chair.

It was a far more impressive career than Bryce's own halting progress to the sheriff's post in Santa Mira, but Jack always was the more aggressive of the two.

"Doody? Is that you?" Jack asked, picking up the phone in Sacramento.

Doody was his nickname for Bryce. He'd always said that Bryce's sandy hair, freckles, wholesome face, and marionette eyes made him look like Howdy Doody.

"It's me, Jack.”

"Gary's raving some lunatic nonsense”

"It's true," Bryce said.

He told Jack all about Snowfield.

After listening to the entire story, Jack took a deep breath and said, "I wish you were a drinking man, Doody.”

"This isn't booze talking, Jack. Listen, the first thing I want is "National Guard?”

"No!" Bryce said." That's exactly what I want to avoid as long as we have any choice.”

"If I don't use the Guard and every agency at my disposal, and then if it later turns out I should've sent them in first thing, my ass will be grass, and there'll be a herd of hungry cows all around me.”

"Jack, I'm counting on you to make the right decisions, not just the right political decisions. Until we know more about the situation, we don't want hordes of Guardsmen tramping around up here. They're great for helping out in a flood, a postal strike, that sort of thing. But they're not full-time military men. They're salesmen and attorneys and carpenters and schoolteachers. This calls for a tightly controlled, efficient little police action, and that sort of thing can be conducted only by real cops, full-time cops.”

"And if your men can't handle it?”

"Then I'll be the first to yell for the Guard.”

Finally Retlock said, "Okay. No Guardsmen. For now.”

Bryce sighed." And I want to keep the State Health Department out of here, too.”

"Doody, be reasonable. How can I do that? If there's any chance that a contagious disease has wiped out Snowfieldor some kind of environmental poisoning-”

"Listen, Jack, Health does a fine job when it comes to tracking down and controlling vectors for outbreaks of plague or mass food poisoning or water contamination. But essentially, they're bureaucrats; they move slowly. We can't afford to move slowly on this. I have the gut feeling that we're living strictly on borrowed time. All hell could break loose at any time; in fact, I'll be surprised if it doesn't. Besides, the Health Department doesn't have the equipment to handle it, and they don't have a contingency plan to cover the death of an entire town. But there's someone who does, Jack. The Army Medical Corps' CBW Division has a relatively new program they call the Civilian Defense Unit.”

"CBW Division?" Retlock asked. There was a new tension in his voice.”

You don't mean the chemical and biological warfare boys?”

"Yes.

"Christ, you don't think it has anything to do with nerve gas or germ war”

"Probably not," Bryce said, thinking of the Liebermanns' severed heads, of the creepy feeling that had overcome him inside the covered passageway, of the incredible suddenness with which Jake Johnson had vanished." But I don't know enough about it to rule out CBW or anything else.”

A hard edge of anger had crystallized in the governor's voice." If the damned army has been careless with one of its fucking doomsday viruses, I'm going to have their heads!”

"Easy, Jack. Maybe it's not an accident. Maybe it's the work of terrorists who got their hands on a supply of some CBW agent. Or maybe it's the Russians running a little test of our CBW analysis and defense system. It was to handle those kinds of situations that the Army Medical Corps instructed its CBW Division to create General Copperfield's office.”

" Who's Copperfield?”

"General Galen Copperfield. He's the Commanding officer of the Civilian Defense Unit of the CBW Division. This is precisely the kind of situation they want to be notified about.

Within hours, Copperfield can put a team of well-&" scientists into Snowfield. First-rate biologists, virologists, bacteriologists, pathologists with training in the very latest forensic medicine, at least one immunologist and biochemist, a neurologist-and even a neuropsychologist. Copperfield's department has designed elaborate mobile field laboratories.

They've got them garaged at depots all over the country, so there must be one relatively close to us. Hold off the State Health gang, Jack.

They don't have people of the caliber that Copperfield can provide, and they don't have state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment as mobile as Copperfield's. I want to call the general; I am going to call him, in fact, but I'd prefer to have your agreement and your guarantee that state bureaucrats won't be tramping around here, interfering.”

After a brief hesitation, Jack Redock said, "Doody, what kind of world have we let it become when things like Copperfield's department are even necessary?”

"You'll hold off Health?”

" Yes. What else do you need?”

Bryce glanced down at the list in front of him." You could approach the telephone company about pulling the Snowfield circuits off automatic switching. When the world finds out what's happened up here, every phone in town will be ringing off the hook, and we won't be able to maintain essential communications. If they could route all calls to and from Snowfield through a few special operators and weed out the crank stuff and”

"I'll handle it," Jack said.

"Of course, we could lose the phones at any time. Dr. Paige had trouble getting a call out when she first tried, so I'll need a shortwave set. The one here at the substation seems to've been sabotaged.”

"I can get you a mobile shortwave unit, a van that has its own gasoline generator. The Office of Earthquake Preparedness has a couple. Anything else?”

"Speaking of generators, it'd be nice if we didn't have to depend on the public power supply. Evidently, our enemy here can tamper with it at will. Could you get two big generators for us?”

"Can do. Anything else?”

"If I think of anything, I won't hesitate to ask.”

"Let me tell you, Bryce, as a friend, I hate like hell to see you in the middle of this one. But as a governor, I'm damned glad it fell in your jurisdiction, whatever the hell it is. There are some prize assholes out there who'd already have screwed it up if it'd fallen in their laps.

By now, if it was a disease, they'd have spread it to half the state. We sure can use you up there." "Thanks, Jack.

They were both silent for a moment.

Then Retlock said, "Doody?”

"Yeah, Jack?”

"Watch out for yourself.”

"I will, Jack," Bryce said." Well, I've got to get on to Copperfield.

I'll call you later.”

The governor said, "Please do that, Bryce. Call me later.

Don't you vanish, old buddy.”

Bryce put down the phone and looked around the substation.

Stu Wargle and Frank were removing the front access plate from the radio. Tal and Dr. Paige were loading guns. Gordy Brogan and young Lisa Paige, the biggest and the smallest of the group, were making coffee and putting food on one of the worktables.

Even in the midst of disaster, Bryce thought, even here in the Twilight Zone, we have to have our coffee and supper.

Life goes on.

He picked up the receiver to call Copperfield's number out at Dugway, Utah.

There was no dial tone. He jiggled the disconnect button.

"Hello," he said.

Nothing.

Bryce sensed someone or something listening. He could feel the presence, just as Dr. Paige had described it.

" Who is this?" he asked.

He didn't really expect an answer, but he got one. It wasn't a voice.

It was a peculiar yet familiar sound: the cry of birds, perhaps gulls; yes, sea gulls shrieking high above a windswept shoreline.

It changed. It became a clattering sound. A rattle. Like beans in a hollow gourd. The wanting sound of a rattlesnake.

Yes, no doubt about it. The very distinct sound of a rattlesnake.

And then it changed again. Electronic buzzing. No, not electronic.

Bees. Bees buzzing, swarm.

And now the cry of gulls once more.

And the call of another bird, a trilling musical voice.

And panting. Like a tired dog.

And snarling. Not a dog. Something larger.

And the hissing and spitting of fighting cats.

Although there was nothing especially menacing about the sounds themselves-except, perhaps, for the rattlesnake and the snarling-Bryce was chilled by them.

The animal noises ceased.

Bryce waited, listened, said, "Who is this?”

No answer.

" What do you want?”

Another sound came over the wire, and it pierced Bryce as if it were a dagger of ice. Screams. Men and women and children. More than a few of them. Dozens, scores. Not stage screams; not make-believe terror.

They were the stark, shocking cries of the damned: of agony, fear and soul-scaring despair.

Bryce felt sick.

His heart raced.

It seemed to him that he had an open line to the bowels of Hell.

Were these the cries of Snowfield's dead, captured on a recording tape? By whom? Why? Is it live or is it Memorex?

One final scream. A child. A little girl. She cried out in terror, then in pain, then in unimaginable suffering, as if she were being torn apart. Her voice rose, spiraled up and up. Silence.

The silence was even worse than the screaming because the unnameable presence was still on the line, and Bryce could feel it more strongly now. He was stricken by an awareness of pure, unrelenting evil.

It was there.

He quickly put down the phone.

He was shaking. He had not been in any danger-yet he was shaking.

He looked around the bull pen. The others were still busy with the tasks he had assigned to them. Apparently, no one had noticed that his most recent session on the phone had been far different from those that had gone before it.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

Eventually, he would have to tell the others what had happened. But not right now. Because right now he couldn't trust his voice. They would surely hear the nervous flutter, and they would know that this strange experience had badly shaken him.

Until reinforcements arrived, until their foothold in Snowfield was more firmly established, until they all felt less afraid, it wasn't wise to let the others see him shaking with dread.

They looked to him for leadership, after all; he didn't intend to disappoint them.

He took a deep, cleansing breath.

He picked up the receiver and immediately got a dial tone.

Immensely relieved, he called the CBW Civilian Defense Unit in Dugway, Utah.

Lisa liked Gordy Brogan.

At first he had seemed menacing and sullen. He was such a big man, and his hands were so enormous they made you think of the Frankenstein monster. His face was rather handsome, actually, but when he frowned, even if he wasn't angry, even if he was just worrying about something or thinking especially hard, his brows knitted together in a fierce way, and his black-black eyes grew even blacker than usual, and he looked like doom itself.

A smile transformed him. It was the most astonishing thing.

When Gordy smiled, you knew right away that you were seeing the "all Gordy Brogan. You knew that the other Gordy-the one you thought you saw when he frowned or when his face was in repose- was purely a figment of your imagination. His warm, wide smile drew your attention to the kindness shining in his eyes, the gentleness in his broad brow.

When you got to know him, he was like a big puppy, eager to be liked. He was one of those rare adults who could talk to a kid without being self-conscious or condescending or patronizing. He was even better in that regard than Jenny. And even under the current circumstances, he could laugh.

As they put the food on the table-lunch meat, bread, cheese, fresh fruit, doughnuts-and brewed coffee, Lisa said, "You just don't seem like a cop to me.”

:"Oh?" Gordy said." What's a cop supposed to seem like?" "Whoops. Did I say the wrong thing? Is 'cop' an offensive word?”

"In some quarters, it is. Like in prisons, for instance.”

She was amazed that she still could laugh after everything that had happened this evening. She said, "Seriously. What do officers of the law prefer to be called? Policemen?”

"It doesn't matter. I'm a deputy, policeman, cop-whatever you like.

Except you think I don't really look the part.”

"Oh, you look the part all right," Lisa said." Especially when you scowl. But you don't seem like a cop.”

:"What do I seem like to you?”

"Let me think." She took an immediate interest in this game, for it diverted her mind from the nightmare around her." Maybe you seem like… a young minister.”

"Me?”

"Well, in the pulpit, you'd be just fantastic delivering a fire and-brimstone sermon. And I can see you sitting in a parsonage, an encouraging smile on your face, listening to people's problems.”

"Me, a minister," he said, clearly astonished." With that imagination of yours, you should be a writer when you grow up.”

..I think I should be a doctor like Jenny. A doctor can do so much good." She paused." You know why you don't seem like a cop? It's because I can't picture you using that." She pointed at his revolver." I can't picture you shooting someone.

Not even if he deserved it.”

She was startled by the expression that came over Gordy Brogan's face.

He was visibly shocked.

Before she could ask what was wrong, the lights flickered.

She looked up.

The lights flickered again. And again.

She glanced at the front windows. Outside, the streetlights were blinking, too.

No, she thought. No, please, God, not again. Don't throw us into darkness again; please, please!

The lights went out.