1

"It`s a sign down there you see what it says?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at the blurred letters.

"I...think, wait. Yeah, Plymont."

The letters soon came into focus for him as well.

"Well, that`s... good, I suppose."

She glanced at him from the passenger seat, which was tipped almost into the back because of her enormous belly, almost six months pregnant.

"Don`t see what you have against the Richardson’s."

"I don`t have anything against them...Just don`t like them very much."

She made a hissing laugh.

"And there`s a difference there?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is, ‘cause it`s not like I can`t stand them, it`s just that I`m not too...overjoyed by their company."

"He said all reason. And I presume that`s why we`re out on the road at three o`clock, because they don`t overjoy you."

"We`re going to stay here for a week Melissa, as I told you I had some things needed to be finished. Besides it`s better to drive at this time anyway...And you could have slept in the back."

"They’re nice people. I think they’re nice."

"Good for you."

"They’re friendly."

"Christ...yeah, yeah they are friendly."

"Why?"

He yawned and shook his head.

"I haven`t got the slightest clue."

"No, why don`t you like them?"

Martin sigh, his eyelids felt heavy.

"They’re just too friendly."

"What?"

"You know damn well what I mean. Always so merry...so cherry. Running about in their pink sweat suits like Mr. and Mrs. Easter bunny and diddle-daddle."

He made a show with his arms and hands, contorting his tiered face through a rich display of grimaces. He saw Melissa trying to keep a serious face but the sliver of a smile broke through. She turned her head toward the window, peering out at the crop. Of which surrounded them from all sides.

"W-w..." another long yawn "...When were they leaving anyway."

"Ah." She consulted her watch, as if it possessed this information. "About five."

"So we got two hours worth of instructions and banal nattering. And you can be sure as hell all those instructions will be securely left on notes all over the house."

Yellow Post-it stickers on every surface, with absurdities like, open me, on the outside of the fridge door and close me on the inside.

Oh, he hated these idiot people.

"I think it`s going to be good to be away for a week."

"Sure...With Fluffy and Buffy."

"The dog is Puffy and the bird is Polly."

"Oh, that`s an inventive name for a bird...What kind is it anyway?"

"A parrot."

He looked wide-eyed at her.

"A talking kind?"

She smiled crookedly while confirming this.

"That`s right."

"Jesus. Well isn`t that great, so we`ve got a Richardson’s progeny that they’ve learned all their-"

"I think it sings too."

"Dear Lo-"

"Show tunes."

"Okay, that's it. I`m turning the car."

She laughed now, a beautiful musical laughter. Which suddenly was interrupted as their attention were claimed by the large animal lying at the edge of the road.

"Oh...You saw it?"

"Yeah, what was that?" he said looking in the rear-view mirror, but far too dark to see anything.

"Don`t know, a dog maybe...poor thing. Think we should stop?"

"No! No we`re not stopping. And it looked more like a wolf to me."

"A wolf. Don`t be silly-"

"I`m not being silly at all Melissa. Four or five people have been mauled and murdered by some animal up here the last few days... And it sure as hell haven`t been Puffy`s doing."

She made no comment, turned back toward the undulating wheat fields.

The crop was swallowed by woods. And shortly after a dirt-track with a small sign reading Tenhill appeared. Martin turned the car in here and uttered a soft sigh. Now it would only be to follow this till it ended in the Richardson’s house.

There were only two other residents it led too, the first of which was a yellow house they were passing now and the second a crop farmer some way farther down.

The uneven track started sloping steeply and they could soon make out the Richardson’s residence on the horizon. It was a red, two-story, house with white frames on door and windows, a small shed clinging to its right side. The Richardson’s green little car stood parked in the driveway.

"Huh..." Melissa uttered, scanning the house "It`s almost three o`clock, and it dosn`t seem as though they’re up yet."

He nodded, the house (except for the front door where a round ball of light spilled illumination over the steps) was in utter darkness.

Melissa sat up in the seat as they parked beside the green car and produced a black veil from the front pocket of her buckle trousers. She tied the veil around a ponytail of her just as black shoulder long hair.

Martin opened the door slowly, scanning the darkness. A shrill shriek of some animal near by echoed through the woods, making him recoil violently enough to almost shut the door close again. But resisting the motion, tentatively stepped out instead.

He could hear Puffy bark its little head off with a high pitched annoying tone.

Melissa had already hauled her big body up and out.

They stood side by side for a moment, expecting a light to be turned on from the upstairs bedroom by the noise the dog was making, but none came, so they slowly began approaching the door.

A foot large bird lay on the front step. There was a red-brown mark from where it had hit the door.

Martin somewhat reluctantly swept it off the step with his foot and pressed the bell.

No one answered, save for the dog that now was in a complete frenzy, banging itself against the door.

"Don`t hurt yourself Puffy," he said on a sarcastic tone, but with a shadow of concern. It was quite disturbing the way it threw its little body against the wood, the barks knocked out in explosions of air.

He gave the bell a new set of rings. But if Puffy`s din didn't wake them, this certainly wouldn't. They both looked up at the bedroom window, but still no lights were forthcoming.

Well wasn't this great. He could imagine them both lying there with black night masks and ear-plugs that played some meditative music.

Or, of course, they'd left already.

He glanced at Melissa, who was staring at the door where the mutt had its fit.

"SHUT UP PUFFY!" he yelled. Tiered and irritated.

But the dog just kept on, almost howling in fury.

"You think they've left? Taken a cab?"

She shrugged.

"Well, it doesn't seem as they’re here. And I can see no note. Hey, a key would've been nice."

"Maybe they've left something in the mailbox," she suggested.

He turned and looked at the driveway.

"Where is it?"

"At the beginning of the dirt-track."

"Of course..."

He let out an enormous sigh.

"If they'd had any damn sense they would have stuck a note or something on the fucking door, sending us round searching for it."

And the worst was that such a thing would probably amuse these people, a little hide and seek. Oh now won't that be fun!

"I got a good mind the let both dog and bird starve."

"Maybe we should move away from the door," Melissa said, with thought of the mutt.

They did so and went back toward the car. Martin stopped by the Richardson’s and peered in.

"Ah...Mel," he paused for a moment "There are two bags and a suitcase in here."

He pulled back far enough to see her reflection as she asked:

"What?"

She joined him by the window. Looking in, then at him, then at the house.

"Maybe they do have something plugged in their ears," he remarked.

She had resumed her gaze at the window.

"What now?" he wanted to know.

"Martin there`s airline stickers on them. They couldn't have forgotten that much of the baggage."

"Which leaves us?"

She shook her head

"Well, seems like they put most of the baggage in the car to have less to worry about this morning. That means they’re up there slumbering, which again means they’ve overslept."

"But how could they sleep through that racket? No... I think there's some other explanation for the baggage, that they suddenly chose to leave most of it or something."

He pulled a face.

"Why would they want to choose doing that?"

"I don`t know, maybe...maybe they decided to buy all the cloths where they were going. So as to have nothing to carry. Spur of the moment kind of thing... Perhaps while the taxi arrived and let it be in the car so they didn't have to handle Puffy."

"I guess it could be something like that...Either way, what now?"

"The mail box?"

He nodded.

"Yeah, might as well."

So back they went, up the hill and away from the house. Damn stupid people, he thought, Melissa and he had left around one o`clock. And surly the Richardson’s had known if they`d be leaving two hours earlier than-

"Wait," Melissa burst out, making him flinch by her tone.

"What?" he snapped.

"Stop. Stop the car Martin."

He glared irritated at her.

"What? Why?"

"Will you just stop!"

He did. Purposely stomping the break.

"Now back up to the driveway," she instructed.

He turned his head and saw the narrow sloping driveway leading up to the yellow house. Which from here was obscured by a wall of trees and bushes.

Melissa nodded.

He grunted, and reversed to the gateway.

"Oh. My. God," she said in astonishment.

His aggression now faded and was replaced by curiosity. His eyes searching the area crazily but could detect no abnormality afoot. Other than that the front door stood agape, which was a bit odd at this hour but surly not enough to be the source of her outburst.

"What? What?" he inquired. Eager to share her astonishment.

"In the tree beside the house, to the left."

Martin coursed his vision in that direction and saw that there indeed was something in the tree, a dozen feet up.

A few seconds worth of scrutiny bore the flourishing realization that something was someone. A man. Naked except for white underwear. And he was hugging the trunk of the tree, with his back to them.

"What the hell is he doing?" Martin exclaimed bewildered.

Melissa could only shake her head.

They sat silent for some time. Then his tiered brain suddenly put the pieces together.

"It has to be that crazy animal," he said, his eyes widening by the revelation, dancing in the murk outside searching for something lurking in it.

"But why would he-"

"Maybe he doesn't have a toilet or something, who knows out here. Had to go out to take a leak, and it came. Didn't have time to make it back inside, so he took refuge in the tree. It has to be the animal. Why the hell else would he be up there for God's sake?"

She shrugged doubtfully.

"So what do we do?"

"Ah...all right, just look around while I open the sunroof to contact him, and if anything, anything, moves say so."

"...Okay."

So he started to roll it up and stuck his head out yelling:

"Where is it?"

There was no reply.

"Mister?"

Still no reply, nor indeed the slightest sign of response in movements, he was completely still in his position.

Could it be right there in front of the tree? Martin wondered, and didn't dare to respond.

In a lower tone of voice he said, "Just make a small nod if you hear me."

This too proved fruitless, there was no indication of a nod, however suggestive.

"Martin," Melissa said from inside the car. Serving him a shivering taste of terror as he thought she`d seen movements from somewhere in their surroundings.

"Look at his...his underwear."

Squinting a little he saw that the mans brief's hung heavy in a brown lump of excrement.

Oh, he was really scared of something. And his imagination needed little space to put illustrations to the text, drawing them in the darkness.

Martin inhaled a deep breath of the fresh air and had the intention of letting it out carrying some further message, but struck ignorance of what to say.

The case could be, of course, that the beast no longer was present and he kept holding on in shock. Because shock was what it strongly suggested given both the fact of shitting himself and making no attempt of reply whatsoever.

Martin was not, however, taking the chance on this, getting out of the car. He had no choice but to stay here and try bridging some verbal contact. With a moth dry of saliva he tried voicing a new set of calls.

His stamina for standing with his head out like this soon ran out however. And he finished by yelling that they were going to call for help right away, he needn`t worry all was going to be all right.

He sat himself back in, and closed the sunroof.

"Are we going to see if the key is in the mail box?"

"And drive all the way back there, of course not. We can`t use that much time. Who knows how long he can hold on."

"Then what?"

"Back to the Richardson’s house and check if anything's left open."

"There`s the farmer on the other side, down the path," she pointed out.

He nodded.

"Yeah, but you have to walk that path and I don`t have any great wish for walkabouts at the moment."

He turned the car and shot it back toward the Richardson’s.

It took little more than a couple of seconds before they again stood beside the green car.

"Okay, I`m going around checking if there`s a way in. If you see something honk like mad all right?"

"...Yes."

He attempted to look calm. Though if his expression managed to make this pretence, the smile he tried topping it off with belied it, as it was no more than a nervous twitch.

He stepped out, and after giving his surroundings a long look shut the door. Then hastily headed for the front door stomping a good deal to suppress the shivers in his legs.

He cast a backward glance, seeing Melissa in the temporarily lit car, staring back from a pale and troubled face.

Save for the scream earlier, the woods were uncannily hushed, and some profound oddity hung thick in the air. He reached the door and automatically pressed the bell, though didn't bother waiting to see if this bore any results before trying the handle, it was locked. So he started around the house, pushing and pulling every window in his reach.

And just having made his way to the backside he encountered both a dead squirrel (of whom seemed hacked to death) and another bird. That made a body count of four dead animals, three just surrounding this house. And when thinking of it, had there not been certain things, outlining figures, outside and in the dirt-track, which had looked very much like the shapes of different animals? Who he`d ignored as roots, stones and bushes imitating them. He wondered now, however.

Martin shook his head, interrupting the stream of paranoia. He was in a forest, animals died, and these two were probably found and carried here by Puffy.

He left it with that and hunched down by one of the cellar windows. Which turned out to be locked with a single latch.

Martin decided this would be his best chance on entry and gave it a push. It refused to co-operate so he repeated it with more force. Responded this time with a shriek of splintering wood, singing in his pricked ears and tens body, making the hairs at the nape of his neck bristle in expectation for something using it as a cue. He turned and let his eyes race over the chain of trees and pitch black openings, saw nothing.

The bolt of the latch had been unseated. The window opened, giving him access to the house. He didn’t linger on the invitation. Climbed in and found himself in a small room with a stale moist air. The ever pissed-off little mutt made its steady din just above him.

Breaking and entering, he thought. Well, fact was that it was their own damn fault. And he was after all doing it to save the man.

At his sides the walls, from floor to ceiling, were covered with shelves, of which were filled with jars and bottles. Opposite him was a door, locked from the outside.

Cursing, he approached it. Inspecting the sliver column. It gave the possibility of it only being a hook that locked it. He hoped that was the case, didn't want to be breaking too much.

Martin produced his wallet and searched it for something to penetrate the gap with. Removed his Visa from one of the pockets. Just stood there with it for a moment, feeling like a complete jerk who'd seen one too many cliché movies and was now about to try opening the door with his credit card.

He shrugged and escorted it through. Pulled it up and the hook went out, the door swung up. Couldn't help but to let a small proved smile cross his face.

Only the dull illumination of the night, penetrating through narrow windows, helped him to make out the body of the cellar. He decided the shape of the flight and headed for it.

While taking himself off, two problems sprang to mind. First of which, that the cellar door as well could be waiting with a lock on the outside, not so easily opened. And the second, that the little beast was waiting. Waiting to get a piece of him.

He located and turned on a light switch at the top.

Took hold of the black door handle, slowly pushing it down. And the door up a few inches to make sure there was no lock.

Puffy`s high pitched piercing noise became unveiled and all too clear. Dug at the door with its paws and made deep snarls with hostile gurgling sounds.

"Hey...Puff it`s me Martin."

The introduction helped not at all.

"Puffy...hey boy, nice doggy dog. Now let me in you little shit!"

He opened the door a little further.

The dog wedged its snout in. Baring its teeth, biting air and wood on wet growls. Martin closed the door. Having to do it a lot slower than what he wanted too, so that it could retreat its snout, which it reluctantly did.

What the hell now?

Oh, for fuck`s sake man, it`s just a shitty little dog. Yeah, but with a lot of little teeth which could make many little holes in his leg, followed by a bunch of little pain.

He looked around. Banisters were at each side. Maybe he could trick it?

Martin made a fast decision that he had no other choice than try. He, after all, was here with a would-be menace called Puffy. While the man was out there with a fiend of God knew what race.

He got up on each banister, hearing the opening music of Macgyver in his head, and stood just bellow the bare light bulb. He was so high now that it probably wouldn't manage to jump up. And if it did, he`d let it meet the sole of his shoe. That thought fuelling him with some amount of courage, believing he own the upper hand of the situation, he bent down reaching for the handle. The other hand holding onto the frame.

Letting out a deep breath he pushed it open. The door went up a foot or two but the idiot dog, in all its eagerness to do harm, beat its body against it, sending it back into the frame.

Martin used his right leg and shoved it up. The dog, looking much like an oversized rat, instantly raced toward him, rising on its hide legs trying to get a bite of his left foot. But was far too short.

Its face completely twisted in rage and its head covered in a wet wound, caked blood all over. Had it actually beaten its head against the door as well? This blanked-faced rage was by no means any watchdog routine, genuine...hate.

Feeling his balance beginning to falter by a violent trembling, he gripped the rope hanging coiled up on a nail beside him.

He had planed to just jump over it and get the door closed. But was now far too unnerved by the living hate in its face to take a chance on that.

He descended one of the ends, and the dog enthusiastically snapped it with its dripping mouth. The hold was solid enough for Martin to lift the dog up a little. Then started to swing it between his legs. Letting go of the rope, pitching the animal down the stairs.

It gnarled in fury.

Martin jumped through the door and slammed it shut with his whole body leaning against it, soon heard the dog was up again, pronouncing its rage behind the thundering of his heart. His whole body numb with shivering.

Shit! What the hell was this?

From where he stood, the hallway and front door was to his left. Stairs leading to the second floor in the same direction. Lounge to his right and kitchen opposite him.

He went to the front door to let in Melissa.

2

The feeling was of being pulled.

As though she was tied to some invisible treads that someone pulled in. Rhythmically short jerks.

It was hard to define where they came from, what was being pulled. She couldn't even say with certainty if it was unpleasant or, in its curios way, carried some degree of pleasure. Her very thoughts seemed to actually move in the pulls. The sensation of such a highly strange nature Melissa was unable to remember more than vaguely what it had felt like when it was over, as though something in her hurriedly covered it.

All she now could recall was waves of soft floating slumber that came fetching her, washing her into a sea of dreams. Her dreams coming and embracing her, breaking against the shore of wakefulness.

She had a long, long catalogue of rather strange emotional mood swings to find and attack her during her pregnancy, and she had to place this in there as well. Although could fit it in non of the other categories, could not be compared to any of them, not remotely. Though where else could it spring from? Just a combination of nervousness and emotional fragility. Plus, of course, the fact that she`d been up most of the night.

At the very time this thought was floating (and pushing it forward purposely to suppress what came) the waves broke over her again. Dragging the thought out at sea, drowning it.

And here, at once, she remembered the feeling. She was no longer seeing through her eyes, but darkness.

Darkness with streams of soft blue light.

Then slowly, slowly, in a fluid manner she resumed her place, again forgetting what she`d seen, what she`d been.

When it ceased she stepped out of the car, her heart racing in either panic or excitement.

At the same time Martin opened the door.

3

"Where`s Puffy?...You locked Puffy in the cellar?" she said hearing it by the door.

"Yeah, and don`t let it out. Its gone completely over the high side."

"Martin I-"

"No. You know how it beat itself against the door earlier."

"Yeah?" she said, shaking her head with an expression that told she didn`t get the point.

"Well, it used its head in a lot of that beating. Its bleeding and just..." he trailed off and concluded "Its gone crazy."

"It bleeds?"

"Melissa, it tried to bite me, and I`ll bet my ass it would have gone as far as killing me if it`d had the chance...Don`t give me that face. It might sound stupid," he admitted closing the door "but just don`t let the damn thing out, okay?"

"I`m sure-"

"Okay?"

She sigh.

"Fine. How did you get in anyway?"

"Opened a window... I have to find a phone."

As he said this, he eyed one on the kitchen table and went over to it while Melissa headed into the lounge.

Martin took place on one of the purple chairs (with green and blue flowered pillows) by the table. Calming himself with deep breaths and trying to gather his thoughts on what to say.

He needn`t have bothered, picking up the receiver it was dead. He tried hanging up a few times and checked the cords, but it was the line. Martin slammed the receiver down, glaring at it and told in a hissing whisper, penetrating from clenched teeth, that of course this had to be the case.

He stood up and went into the lounge telling Puffy to shut the fuck up, as he passed the cellar door.

Found Melissa sitting on the sofa with a strange combined expression of glazed eyes on a grimace that looked as though she`d just taken a big bite of a lemon.

She was pointing to the other side of the room.

"What?" he asked, before even looking in the direction.

"Polly`s dead," she told flatly.

Martin walked over to the cage, seeing his pale reflection in the window as he approached. Polly lay on the cage floor, stiff as the metal beneath it. A dried sheet of brown blood over its green feathers. Its breast open; pecked itself open.

"Jesus," he said "…Jesus."

"What`s going on Martin?"

"I..." He covered his face, wanting to voice his exact emotions, but returned to his senses and said, "That's probably why Puffy`s acting this way. Grieving or some shit."

"What about the phone?"

"What about it?"

"Something's wrong with it."

"How do you know?"

"Well, didn`t talk much."

"Oh...right. Yeah, its dead."

He would like to suggest, or demand, that they leave this place now. The whole thing was starting to give a too strong impression of being characters in some damn horror story.

But on the other side, here in the real world, he had certain responsibilities to that man. Couldn't just abandon him because he was freaking out by a few coincidences. Because that, he thought, suppressing the river of protest rising and ready to analyze these coincidences, was all they were.

"We better drive to town and get hold of some help."

"I feel really nauseous Martin."

There was no lie to the fact that she seemed ill, drained.

"Do you mind if I stay here?"

"...No, if you`re sure you-"

She waved him off nodding.

"You better hurry."

"Yeah... I`ll be as quick as I can."

He kissed her hot and clammy cheek. Having a certain feeling that the eyes he approached when doing this were pressed into focus, wanting to glide back.

As Martin was half-way from house to car he realized he`d forgotten the Richardson’s. Forgotten to check if they were here. He turned and looked back at the house. No. There was no way in hell anyone could lay through that, plugs or no. He knew perfectly well the bedroom would be empty, it wasn't worth the time.

He opened the door and took place, thinking as he did that if they had left, what about Polly? Not checked in on it before leaving, or had it happened after they left? Or else, perhaps that was the reason for their absence, gone to find a vet.

With the car here?

Sure, maybe they knew a shorter way through the woods, or maybe he should just stop concerning himself with it and get this thing over with. He acted upon this advice and drove off. Just wanted things cleared up, one by one, starting with getting the man down.

He had visions aplenty of how the scenery would be beneath the tree and over the yard now. Decorated by a torn apart body.

It turned out, however, that the man was still where he`d been.

Martin went past slowly, wondering as he did, that what if he drove the car up as close as he could get it. Could in fact almost get to the side of the tree. And then perhaps manage to coax the man onto the roof and down the hatch. But reason strongly suggested that if he hadn`t even been able to get him to nod, he would not be persuaded to do that. And if he was about to start climbing to help, who knew what could happen. The man might go nuts. Both fall down and the beast coming out of hiding.

Better to keep on going and get hold of people who knew what they were doing to fall and be eaten.

With that logic, he let the car gain some speed, pushing it as fast as he dared on this narrow track.

He thought he remembered Melissa mentioning that it took about twenty minutes to town.

Coming out on the asphalt road he increased the speed considerably. Drove for the next ten to fifteen minutes without seeing anything but trees on both sides. Then a green house (with a garden occupied by several car skeletons) appeared. A wide dirt-road at its left side.

Martin was so busy studying this that he almost didn`t see them. When he finally did, he brought the car to such an abrupt halt the wheels let out screeching sounds and his head was thrown forward, the safety harness tightening.

A woman sat cross-legged in the middle of the road. With her back to him, and someone was lying in front of her. A pool of blood beneath them both. The woman (wearing a white dress that seemed as a night gown) sat a bit bent over the person. Who must have been run over. She did not react or make any movements by his approach (her hands were working on the persons chest area, presumably tending some wound) so was most likely in some kind of shock. Could have ended badly had he been a few seconds slower with the breaks. This, by all means, had to be one fucking fine day for bad luck.

Martin let out a ragged breath and opened the door, stepping out into the night.

The pair was perhaps five feet from the car.

He was now served the first real view of the man. His head was turned in Martin's direction staring glassy-eyed up at him. His face white, mouth slightly ajar and three drops of blood crossing it.

Oh dear Lord, Martin thought hysterically, his dead...his really dead.

He wanted to take to his heels and get away from the vision, afraid of seeing Death, afraid, oh terrified, of it seeing, sensing, him.

He could smell it too. It was a pungent rotten hand crawling into his mouth, down to his abdomen where it began turning all around.

Yes, what he wanted to do was get back into the car and drive like something out of hell away from this place.

And on the heels of this rose a new panic, just as disturbing. The beast. Was it the reason he was introduced to Death? The reason they were staring at each other?

Martin looked around and saw there was a trail of blood leading up to the dirt-road, toward the house. So it was.

His car was still running. Its lights slashing the dark with two yellow beams surrounding the two in a pool of illumination. Sitting and lying on the road like performers in some Grand Guignol production.

He walked toward them, woman and corps.

"Lady?" Martin whispered.

He was about to approach and take hold of the woman. Escort her away from the body as fast as possible, for the sake of both of them. But thought the better of it as it would be a bit brutal. If her condition indeed was one of shock he needed a more subtle tactic, so as to not arose more fear. And so thinking went around to her side.

His mind went blank, rejecting what it received.

In its denial it jumped his body backward at the same time as it ambitiously wanted both legs into motion, reversing. Holding his arms and hands extended in front of him, shielding himself; trying to push the image away.

Martin's legs tangled and down he went. Finding himself on the ground on a seat of throbbing pain.

The woman, sitting wrapped in the golden light, was grinning at him. Her whole face (beyond a carpet of brown long and tangled hair) was a fiercely enormous grin. Cheeks hoisted and eyes wide. Yellow-brown saliva streamed down the chin. Her blood-shot eyes stared at him with an unblinking fixed intensity.

And the reason he`d observed movement from her arms; she was toying with a screwdriver. Planted, buried, in the mans abdomen. She pulled it up and down. Jiggled it from side to side, around and around.

All the time while staring at him, all the time grinning.

"Kill?...Kill?...Kill?" she whispered. And the grin grew wider still by the absurdities.

Martin felt his bladder grow heavy and weak. He struggled to get his legs to lift him, but was denied. They were lead and out of his control.

The woman suddenly rose.

Head and back bent, waiting for her onslaught like an ox. The dripping screwdriver held in a folded fist of hands covered in red gloves of blood. And with steps of gleeful dancing she started toward him. Her body silhouetted. He could only see the grinning and staring face that came closer and closer. Saliva hung in a yellow tread from her bowed head.

Then, some force of mercy helped him up.

This making her come running.

Despite that they were numb of feelings and giving the impression of slowly melting, his legs got him running as well.

After some dozen strides he headed off the road and into the woods where he began back the way he`d done on the road.

He cast a backward glance and saw her face coming after him, gliding between the trees.

When he was right opposite the car, he ran out from the trees and flung himself in with such momentum he bumped his head in the passenger door and got the gear stick painfully driven up in his thigh.

Martin heard the woman's foot falls closing in. He jerked himself up, and with an arm filled with shivers that almost felt electric in its intensity, slammed the door shut just in time for the ox bowed grinning face to come up against the glass plate, staring in at him with eyes so full of ambition they seemed ready to pop out of her skull at any given moment.

Martin revved the car. Forgetting the body in front of him and drove over it with a bump. A shriek of savage terror escaped and streamed up the walls of his throat.

4

But where do one hide from Death? That was the question shaping Sam's insubstantial being. And he had little or no time meditating upon it, It was approaching.

In desperation he headed back into the forest. Of course, not entertaining the thought of being able to take cover from It behind the trunk of a tree. But the options were few and it certainly couldn't help being out here in the open.

He hovered over the trees. Seeing as he went that It had advanced with a speed that would reach him in a second or two.

Was preparing himself for the coup-de-grace, when, as earlier, a bird rose from the tree beneath him. And this time he did not bother moving out of its way. Which would prove a profound decision, as it headed directly at him. And did not go through, but drew Sam into it. He was looking through its eyes. And away he went, holding onto his place in it. Flying away from Death, leaving It for the dead, he was no longer one of their number.

The situation, however, was not without its share of trouble, for the vessel was no ordinary bird, not anymore, it had been found by the same being that had found and evolved Sam. The problem free existence it`d led, had become full of dilemmas as its limitations were realized.

Because separating men and animals response to the being that entered them, was the profound difference that animals were used to see beings more powerful than themselves. Had not, however, understood what it meant. Till now. They now felt they could evolve to greater beings. But the anatomies they inhabited denied this change.

So in ambitious frustration to be all they could be, animals in all directions were putting an end to their stale flesh. Beating them to bloody pulps with help of the trees. Birds falling and smashing themselves in the ground. Clawing and pecking open their chests to terminate the dissatisfying beating. Some killing each other, biting in lieu, opening each others throats in turn. With excitement and anticipation in their glazed eyes.

And the bird he`d penetrated had been no exception.

However, the being that had found them both did not stay separated, it melted to one. And so, of course, did they, becoming one creature.

It was not much the bird had to offer in experiences. But gave something to the metamorphous that was so wonderful his human spirit seemed as the ignorant part in their personality. A calm ease now filled him, serving a new way of observing.

He saw the world.

Flapping with wings that carved the air in dry whispers, moving his strange little face, Sam flew and glided in a place that appeared to defy time, in a world and existence beyond it. As if he`d found some alternative dimension. Broken through to the real world. Where all visions were so inexpressible full. Coming to his attention in his speed, him controlling his time. Smells found and wrapped themselves around him in thick waving explosions filling the air in half-solid clouds with their scents.

And the way the world moved under him was such an elaborate sight he felt ashamed of all those years living without even noticing a hint of this wonder, how grateful he should have been for being.

When it came to this flesh, however, it was not all that happy about the new volume of occupancy. Felt extremely strained and he suspected it wouldn't be able to hold him for long.

5

It thought of itself as him. As Lance, since some of its purer parts were him.

Lance rose, blood flooding from the wounds in his chest. Looked down at his hands, opening and closing them. He had precious little time he knew. Could not stay in this dead flesh for too long, had to find a living one.

The blood soon stopped leaking and he staggered over his other body toward the front door.

If he`d known with certainty that Death would bring him to the Naractus Empiria he would have let it. Because with the soul of Lance he`d be able to recreate that flesh. The odds were pretty good in being taken there, given how close he was, though could just as easily be taken to the Azolom`e Cowoze. So better to at least try this way first, had after all little to loose.

He came to the threshold, stood there in disorientation, wondering where he was to go. The crop fields started ahead, woods on all the other sides.

Lance walked out to where he could see the background and found a narrow path which he reasoned would lead him to people eventually.

With stiffening limbs he started making his way. Sometimes picking up echoing memories from the dead brain. Flies and mosquitoes surrounded his corpse, feeding on the fluids covering it. Heard their busy buzzing from ears that sounded to be at the end of pipes.

Annoyed he tried brushing them off, but soon gave up as his arms grew too heavy.

The skin was turning white-blue with visible purple veins. The sight from the dried eyeballs became more and more blurred. Everything was drying from heels to scalp. His legs needed extreme struggle and the arms just hung slack by his side.

Not long after, his sight went all together, his eyes sank into the skull. But he managed to penetrate some of himself through the skin to see.

Something suddenly came running in on the path. Crashed in the base of a tree some yards in front of him and dropped to the ground. A moose. One of its horns broken and a thick branch standing out of its throat, gushing blood. It uttered a shrill shriek, lolling its head in spasms. Then let it fall to the forest floor and lay still.

It was blocking his way. Lance tried to lift his heavy legs over it instead of going around. Got his right foot hoisted onto the side of its head, and slid the foot over to the other side. But when the edge of it met the ground his knee buckled and he lost balance. Sitting down awkwardly with one leg on each side of its head. The pressure from his body forced the branch to slowly glide out of its throat, chased by a splashing river of black blood. Lance tried hoisting himself up again but proved fruitless. There was no strength left in him, he fell down on the moose's back, sliding down till he lay with his head propped up on its thigh. He still struggled to get up but barley managed to move a few fingers an inch or two.

All was not lost, however, for he could see a red house between the trees, could see the dreamers in it.

He floated up from the body, its white eyes staring back up at him. The flies surrounding both man and moose as they lay together after having chosen the same fate.

As he flew toward the house he saw the animals everywhere in the same process.

He felt Death chasing him, felt It closing in. And had to fight an almost unbearable struggle to defy the direction It was pulling him in.

But did reach the dreamers, reached their pool of memories and primitive emotions. Which there seemed to be something wrong with, something missing. Not that it mattered to his intentions.

He went through the boards, coming into a little room with a double bed, possessing both a male and a female. Lying facing each other in the same height.

Lance floated in between them. And could not resist his hunger for both, so he separated into each body and ate their souls. He was about to bring all of him in one, but was too slow, the bodies were pulled together, and connected.

6

No longer could Melissa entertain the explanation that these feelings somehow sourced from her pregnancy, mingled with chaotic nervousness and lack of sleep. She knew that more was at play, far more. It felt as though they were growing in her, evolving.

Melissa sat on the sofa facing the bird cage. Puffy had abruptly ended his fit behind her. There'd been a set of loud beatings against the door, and then...all was quiet.

She was in no condition to face the truth of why that was, so didn't go to his aid. Better to still have the ability to believe that he`d grown tiered of the whole thing, and gone to sleep perhaps. Yes, just taking a nap.

Her eyes, despite the rest of her body's slack lying position, were raving about the dark room. Trying desperately not to fix on anything. They`d gotten a nasty habit of sinking into objects.

Before she knew it, however, they had found a spot. Forgotten they weren't allowed to still themselves, and sank in. And she sank with them, loosing her grip on reality. Her thoughts drowning in feelings and thoughts that seemed utterly alien.

Blue light ...another heart beat... And then, oh then, she saw a glimpse of herself from inside. From the inside of her womb. From her baby.

And here invading the blue light was the sea of pictures and visions which she sank deeper and deeper into. Neither were comprehensible to her, but brought with them an enigmatic pleasure. She could loose herself in them she knew, loose herself from her very existence. And most of her desperately wanted to just sink and sink, wherever and however far it would take her.

But, had to resist the temptation. Not as much for herself as for her child who would follow. Since there was no way back she couldn't make that choice for it.

Melissa rose from the sofa, no panic, just a choice.

She started to pace from hall to lounge, assuming that like sleep it wouldn't find her while moving.

Soon enough realized she`d judged this a solution to prematurely, it came to find her nevertheless. Pulling her, wanting her back in the sea.

Melissa paced faster and faster, determined on having made her decision and sticking with it, faster and faster, trying to outpace the waves, fight the current.

Suddenly found herself doing this speeded walk ascending the stairs. She felt its presence. It had steered her up. And the tide far too high for her to defy what waited up here now. A shiver of fright passed through her, but a second later was unsure if it hadn't been anticipation. And a whisper told her it mattered not at all, they were one.

7

He had sensed her since she arrived, or rather sensed it. The unborn, unformed dreaming one, the fetus. Dreaming in a soft blue light.

The bodies he now occupied were useless to him, they couldn't even move. Needed a new with that possibility. And so had infiltrated its dreams, and then infiltrated the woman.

She had to come to him, as Lance could not make the slightest penetration, Death was close by.

With some efforts of coaxing, however, she was on her way.

8

Melissa opened the door to the Richardson’s bedroom.

She stood frozen, staring in disbelief at the creature in front of her. The sight broke the spell of whatever trance she`d been under.

The Richardson’s were standing by the foot of the bed. No longer they, but it, one torso. Which had no face just hair on either side. Their faces had melted together, melted in each other. All the way to the base of the ears, which made a rough circle.

Feet slipped inside the others, with no visible toes. The left arms forming a bow, tied at the wrists. The flesh of their right arms merged so deep they were gone.

She did not linger, the sight made a healthy panic wash away the possessing grip. Her mind red with terror (albeit mentally liberated it still felt like treads were tied to her physically person) and flung her down the stairs, feeling as though her innards were left up there and now stretched after her.

9

It hadn't really accrued to him that the bodies were such a grotesque sight. Should probably have realized it but eagerness dimmed his wit. And now he had to give chase. Since he couldn't emerge from the flesh, he had to use it.

So, Lance began on the task of separating it to a moveable fashion, although would have very limited usage after that.

He started by tearing his left feet from each other. Skin and flesh ripping apart. One of them came loose with only red meaty bones left of the toes, the skin and flesh that had covered them still attached to the other foot.

He felt no pain during this disconnecting. He was not in the nerve systems, only used their brains to do the job. Which now worked on the right feet and the left arms. Then the faces. The latter, however, had sunken so deep into the bones, from forehead to chin, that they were not to be fully parted. But had them stretched and ripped open sufficiently to turn them from each other.

The head gaping with a sheet of flesh hanging between two towers of bone, like half made masks. Eyeballs here, teeth there and tongues melted and tangled up in each other.

The blood poured and gushed out its last contents. The bodies had now been mostly unfolded. But right side (from shoulders and all the way to the thighs) was far too deep to be divided.

He was, however, quite capable of movements now. Though didn't have balance to use the legs, so he went down on all six and started the pursuit.

10

Hysteria and confusion blanked her mind. She`d ran out of the house and now stood by the green car in turmoil.

She didn`t even get the chance to start the protesting and suppressing mechanism of what she`d seen, before confronted with it afresh, and now even more grotesque.

Its bodies went in a triangle shape, its four legs and upper bodies melted and becoming thinner and thinner up to the heads.

Most of the hair was still intact, one reddish and long, the other short and black. Under that, the faces were split and opened up with an elaborate web of flesh and bone between them. Imitating their once skeleton features as a helter-skelter jigsaw puzzle.

It started to make its way down the steps, working the two left arms and four legs with throwing jerking motions.

Melissa took to her heels. But running was not the easiest thing to be doing as big as she was.

She headed into the woods, with hope that the trees would slow it down.

11

The chase through the woods was indeed hard.

He owned no smoothness. Not a hint of grace to be had from these limbs, just the most primitive and raw movements. He collided in numerous places. Straining the flesh to a limit that already was running out.

And with horror sensed that they were not alone in these woods. Oh It was here, waiting for him to fall apart.

He finally smashed the heads so hard in the trunk of a tree that the ragged flesh of the chest split open.

The unveiling rift making movements awkward enough for the pursuit to be down to a walking speed from his side, and even that would soon be out of his capability.

But then, however, fate was on his side. He wasn't the only one who couldn't keep his face out of the trees.

12

Melissa turned her head, to see that it was loosing speed by the moment, unraveling itself. Victory filled her system and tempted her to shout some statement of triumphalism.

She never even saw the tree that beat her down, stabbing her with a white light of pain. And as she fell to the ground, let the shout of triumph come free in a slow gasp of surprise.

Then she passed out and would never see the world the same way.

13

Because of Death's presence he took no chances. So he kept pulling the bodies toward were she lay.

But managed to get it stuck between two trees, where he found himself imprisoned. Completely jammed, he couldn't come free. The loose flesh had tied itself up.

So Lance started to squirm and wriggle with his bones. And with some amount of effort sloughed the two skeletons free of the flesh. They were now only attached in the head. The skin and flesh from the head tore long tails of meat and skin off the backs, hanging loosely downward like ragged capes.

Lance crawled over to her, laid the slick skeletons on top and beside her, embracing her from each side, with his head on her breast, and the skeletons lying like a V from it.

Then penetrated the unformed one.

14

She awoke smelling the raw flesh and blood pressing moistly against her from all sides, burying her. Saw the bloody head lying gaping at her breast bone.

And oh God she felt it inside her, felt movements from her child, felt its thoughts streaming to hers and again she sank into them. But she didn't sink into the sea of pictures now, she became the sea, became the pictures. She was pulled in every direction. Another voice steadily trickled and seeped into her thoughts, another eye saw other memories. And then, they were no longer her thoughts it came through, she was trickling through its, it was... All his. Oh but it felt good. And now with his own flesh, he would use it till he needed flesh no more. Then, of course, he`d create a paradise, a hell. Where he`d be both God and Satan. Who naturally were both places. That was paradise, to be apart of God, apart of His mind. And that was hell to be apart of Satan's being.

He lay here looking up at the black skies, with his hands on each side of the head on his chest.

He`d become this night, and all the creatures that moved within it. Become everywhere, in everything, be an eternal night.

15

"I didn't mean for this to happen," he told Plymont.

It was not its citizens this pleading went out to. His grieving was for the creatures of the Naracus Empiria who were trapped inside them.

He let free a deep sigh and turned his back on it. Returned to the forest where more of the horror awaited. The animals were killing themselves.

Lance felt as though he had just pushed over some divine domino piece, triggering a chain-reaction for the Armageddon.

"Stop!" he yelled.

A deer bashed its head against a rock beside him. It went down by the impact. But rose, only to repeat it. This time hitting the rock hard enough to crack open its skull, a gray thick mass oozed out accompanied by a flood of blood. Its head slowly sliding down the face of the rock. And was that not a smile its front teeth was bared in?

They wouldn't stop, of course, not when they knew how they'd exist among the dead.

It’s just flesh Lance, just flesh. I made it burn, and you know why? Because I can. I for one will be held under its limitations no longer. These, are the flesh consuming powers.

Lance began to run again, this time heading back to the Naratus Empiria. Surly there would be some survivors, innumerable in fact. What with all those tunnels and halls. Had not the white man boasted one could be walking for a day?

He ran down the dark tunnel and into the main hall. There were no survivors to be seen. They had all been sucked in by it, like a wind blowing trough a body of sand.

And not a trace of the holocaust that'd undergone here. None of the material objects touched, every torch held its place as erect and straight as it had been.

Oh such a pitiful sight, not a sign of life, so, so quiet, every hall deserted...

But would there not be new creatures coming here?

There wasn't much, in total, of the Sainatra being gone, so new creatures would be brought here. Yes, new pilgrims would be stranded. He`d have to invite them, give them homes. He`d have to re-establish and rebuild the wonder which he had destroyed.

There was some comfort to be had from this thought, some means of compensating and expiating for the mischief.

And creatures might be coming now. He needed to go greet them... Some might even be coming from the Sainatara being, and them he had to make sure didn`t get the chance to do what he`d done.

Lance would from now on be a guardian for the Naractus Empiria, to let his mistake never reoccur.

"Never again," he promised the empty palace, "never again."

16

Martin had stopped the car.

He was shaking and mumbling his disapproval for the episodes that had found their home in this night. He didn't know what to do, couldn't get his mind together.

He put his face in trembling hands. He`d seen a dead person, he`d seen the one who'd committed the murder...Cold blooded first degree murder, yeah he`d seen that. And the animals, sure that too, a man in a tree as well.

And topping off all of these horrors; the phone; the damn dead phone.

What now? he asked himself. Not what would happen next, he dared not voice and tempt fate with anything near that. But what to do.

He no longer had the freedom of leaving, of course. He was a witness... Yeah, a witness who had driven over the body. Well, they would understand his panic. His abdomen had not, he'd emptied it as soon as he`d stopped, holding the door open as little as possible. Even if he was far away from the woman you didn`t know what was lurking in this place.

How could all this happen?

He sigh, smelling the vomit on the warm breath that stroke his face in the shield of fingers. Never mind, just figure out what to do.

Keep on going to town or fetch Melissa were the possibilities. No, the latter was no good, it was mere minutes left to town. Where he would find the police department and be escorted back, then get Melissa and never, ever, return to this place.

He removed his hands, sniffled hard and dried his eyes. It was a quarter to four.

He started the car and needed only to advance a few minutes before coming to a hilltop with a vantage point over the town of Plymont.

He stopped here.

The main street began at the foot of the slope, leading way into a chaotic vision that left him numb with confusion.

A building near by was ablaze, burning freely with no attempt to be tamed from either firemen or anyone else. And the little town with its handful of thousand inhabitants were up and about. Its streets moving with people.

Martin stupidly looked at the clock again.

Something must have happened, he thought, other than the obvious fire. Some threat, bomb, terrorists. Something like that.

His eyes weren't alone bespeaking the notion of chaos, the air bore the testament of it as well. Alarms rang and beeped in a deep mixture of rhythms and sources. And beyond this din the sounds of people.

He rolled down the window (unnecessary as this was) and could hear about every sound a human throat was capable of pronouncing. Shouting, sobbing and screaming (these sounds one would expect if some catastrophe was afoot, but there were more troubling sounds in their midst) laughter and song.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded.

The air ripped at his throat and lungs in reply, thick and choking with the smoke of the building.

Most of his constructive thinking process resigned itself and left his wits paralyzed. Too exhausted to even begin to come up with a theory for this, however ludicrous and far fetched.

In this passive state he had a strong wish to just shut the whole world out, curl up in the back seat and sleep it all away.

Because how the hell did you start explaining a town of people moving like drunkards in their night wear.

Martin closed the window.

And due to his minds incapability to produce any new theories, he went with the same plan, that of finding the police department.

A pleasant wave of aggression swept over him. Anger for the events to take place, and toward his ignorance and failure to comprehend them.

He drove down to its heart, and whatever insanity's pulsing from it.

And as he rolled into main street, insanity was indeed what awaited. The people were stumbling around, some sat, others lay, on curbs and in the street. And as observed, most wore night clothes, baggy string pants, pj’s, underwear, some stark naked. Only a few of them were in contact with each other, and this on a most primitive level.

A town inhabited by people who had one thing in common, they were all crazy. Every movement and every expression bespoke this with clarity.

Escapees from some asylum perhaps? And the real population of town hiding? Yeah, that'd be nice.

"Shit!" he exclaimed in surprise, as a person suddenly stepped out in front of the car. Martin floored the break pedal.

The man wearing the blue pajama’s slowly walked by, bubbles of spit emerging his mouth.

And all at once his mind (maybe the surprise that shocked it awake) started throwing up the reason for this. It was something contagious, some bacteria, a virus of some kind. It had to be. No other sense to be had in this senselessness. Yes, he could see the whole picture, must have started with the beast. It`d been infected by something which drove it out of its wits. Attacked people and spread the disease. The smaller animals dying at once. That was it, that had to be it.

A knot in his head loosened with the revelation.

And it seemed that none knew, because where was the help, the men in moon suits blocking the roads, stuffing people into trucks and driving them off to some research place?

There was a loud rapping at the window, making him uncoil and utter a gasp. The man in the blue pj’s had come around and was beating both fists against the glass. Yelling with showers of white spit decorating the window. His face red and what little hair he had floated around his head.

Martin got the car in motion. Staring hypnotic at the gliding pattern of spittle, as if trying to detect traces of the infection within its small bubbles.

His attention was soon drawn to something beyond the fluid, and somewhat blurred by it. A woman that laid sprawled on a bed of glass, with only her head outside the frame of a broken store window. Her face, covered in glass and blood, turned skyward.

He hastily brought his eyes in another direction trying to mislead his mind's as well, desperately turning his concentration back to the tread it had been on, but most was unraveled. Although one vital part remained. His place in the whole thing. First, the fact that if there indeed was anyone sane at the police station, he`d have little to report. They already had, to say the least, their hands full. Second, that it would be safe to say he already was infected. And Melissa. And the baby.

He had to get back. As long as he had control he`d have to do his damnedest to get back. That was all that mattered.

Martin started to turn the car. Backing up on the curb behind him, standing with the car sideways when a man dressed in a pair of yellow boxer shorts suddenly came running out of the building in front of him. Armed with a long rusty sword. He was shouting something unintelligible, the sword lifted in a chopping position. His white huge belly bouncing and long black hair flying. Small round spectacles perched at the tip of his nose. He then stopped the shouting, and either in excitement or concentration bit his lower lip so fiercely blood trickled down his chin, white chest and belly.

He was already too close for Martin to drive.

The man lowered the sword so that it pointed straight outward. Its weight shaking in his extended arms. And then leaped toward the car.

He desperately fumbled with the door handle, but didn't get it open before the rusty blade penetrated the glass. The man hit the hood with such force the whole car rocked. Just dived on top of it, both arms outstretched to stab the windshield.

Martin slid down in the seat, making as small target as possible. Though needn`t have worried. The blade was far from him. It stood in the middle of the window about two feet inside, surrounded by white glass. Some glass shards lay around but nothing, as far as he could tell, had hit him.

The man started to climb off the hood wiggling the wedged sword, pulling it out with a high squeaking sound.

Martin excepted with horror the act to be repeated and perhaps with more accuracy this time. But instead the sword was beaten at the hood.

He hoisted himself up far enough to see rains of sparks from the confrontation of the two metals.

The car slayer did not as much as glance in his direction, and to judge from the look on his face this was not intended as a threat; to scare the pray before killing. He seemed to posses genuine hate for the car.

He had to do something, but couldn't just drive the man down. Though waiting for him to step aside to a position where he could drive was lethal. This, of course, was assuming he wouldn't move if he started to drive. As close as he stood, however, there was no chance of finding out.

The remaining option was to get out and wait for the fit to cease. Didn't much like that idea, but as the sword suddenly hit right by his side, Martin found himself outside in three quickened heart beats. And while doing so, automatically turned off the engine and pulled with him the keys.

The man halted his attack. Just stood there with the sword lying on the now waving hood, looking at it in puzzlement.

Martin felt a slim hope (in his shivering and alert body that was ready to retreat if the man as much as glanced in his direction) of the man regarding this as victory and leave it at that. But no. Instead, he climbed onto the hood and continued his assault on the roof.

Martin reversed a few steps, looking around. Meeting the sight to the smell that already had found him. The source being a man that sat on the curb behind him, facing the window of a video store where he stared at his reflection in fascination, while smearing excrement over his head and face. He had vomited in his lap, his back went in spasms, making burping noises.

Gripped by nausea, Martin hurried away from the sight and smell. Backing up and almost colliding with a grotesquely fat and naked woman who slowly made her way behind him with a dead dog in tow, dragging it after her. Its tongue and nose scraping and bleeding on the asphalt, its head open wide.

He hastily coursed his gaze in another direction, and this time found a little girl, no more than ten, dressed in a night-gown with brown teddy bears on it, sitting on the roof of a car beside him. Her knees drawn up to her chest, arms embracing them, staring up at the skies with glazed eyes and a crooked grin.

Then a high exploding sound broke the air. From the sword having ended the front widow, sideways. Taking the whole thing out.

Meanwhile this incident, someone had moved toward him, which he didn't register before feeling the sharp burning pain in his thigh.

Turning in hysteria he saw it was given to him by a woman, a yard tall black woman was taking a good bite of him.

Panicky he tried pushing her away, shaking her off, but she wasn't going that easy. The teeth gliding deeper into him.

In both pain and fright he punched her in the face with all the force he could muster, hitting her right cheek. That at least made her let go, feeling like she ripped a good chunk of flesh with her.

She looked up at him with hate on her face and his blood on her snarling teeth. He wasn't about to let her get another chance so he took to his feet. The black woman gave chase.

Martin headed past the man and car, and kept running down main street. Which bedlam was more like the hall of an asylum.

The prospect of abandoning the car seemed to matter little as the man showed no sign of stopping his assault any time soon. And when he finally did it would probably be in too bad a shape to get him anywhere either way. He`d have to get hold of a new vehicle.

The cars parked alongside the curbs, however, were of little help, he sure as hell couldn't hot-wire one, and was not about to go inside the buildings searching for keys. God only knew what the ones inside were doing.

Martin cast a backward glance and saw that the woman had given up on him and found a new victim, of whom seemed ready to bite her back.

He passed the other people in his way with utmost caution, avoiding them with as much distance as possible. But most didn't even seem to be aware of him, or anyone else, just looked out at the world with blank gazes.

There were pitiful sights to be seen in every direction (and in addition to the sights were the constant din of the alarms ringing in his head) most revolting of which, was the naked corpse of a woman. Lying with her head upside-down from curb to street, sunken eyes and mouth agape with blue lips. And working her slack corpse was an adolescent boy, looking blankly up at Martin while thrusting himself rhythmically into her. At her chest lay a baby, slowly rocked by the motion and suckling in the cooling milk from a colorless nipple.

He stopped, staring at the baby for some time, its skin golden on top of hers. He couldn't leave it like that.

Martin went over, curling his fist ready for the adolescent to do something to object, but his expressionless face and gaze stayed fixed into space. Martin grabbed hold of the child. Its body warm in his hands.

It made some soft sounds of dismay, but soon fell quiet. He probably should've put an end to the necrophilia as well, but appalling as he found the scene had no time to act upon morals, so he left him to it.

Thinking as he went that what if he suddenly flipped out and just dropped the child? He felt fine now (well, of course, he didn't feel any where near fine, but still as sane as the circumstances allowed) but all this had happened very fast, the night-clothes bore a plain enough testament to that.

He reasoned, however, that there would be good enough time to put it down safely. And couldn't just very well abandon it here in fright of that either.

He glanced at it. It looked healthy enough. Though thinking of it, couldn't really see any reason why it should be fine. Infections didn't spare children. There was also a selfish reason for holding onto the baby, he knew, felt in a way like a talisman. Had at once made him feel mentally stronger, and more capable of resisting the madness with this responsibility in his arms.

The main street ended in an intersection with a road on each side, and in front of him a large building, the police station.

He didn't breed much hope in finding it full of sane people, but it was worth the try checking it out, he decided, and so kept moving toward it. Walked into its parking lot and up a white narrow flight. Where he came to a halt in its middle, as he saw that the glass door was standing slightly ajar, held open by a hand.

The hand to the wrist, just bellow the gold watch, was in place but the rest of the body was lying everywhere around it. Some piled up against the glass.

In shock he retreated two or three steps, stupidly covering the child's eyes. But morbid curiosity kept him from advancing the retreat. He had to climb higher and see the whole scene.

So with eyes on the corpse (as though nervous it would crawl out seizing him with that one flesh intact hand) he went up.

Martin could see no more bodies, but the place was awash with more blood and parts than the one around the door could have produced. Much of the room's left side was, however, not in his field of vision. And there was a particularly messy reception desk which probably could hide one or two bodies.

Curiosity seated, Martin went back down, contorting his face in a disgusted grimace regretting the look, feeling his abdomen tipping over itself. Not just of the sight but the boiling fright that constantly was added new heat to hold its peak.

What the hell could've done that? The animal, or was it animals? It had to be, what else could be responsible for such mutilation?

He then became aware of the police cars surrounding him. He looked at them. Then at the front door. Keys, he thought, keys and cars. But venturing in there?

...Yes, yes that was what he had to do, stop wasting time and get back to Melissa.

And so after removing his jacket and placing the baby on it by the foot of the stairs, he went up again. Stood outside for a moment, and before giving himself the chance to regret what he was doing, drew a deep breath, holding it in, and opened the door.

What of the clothes not ripped apart from the body in front of him, he saw the side of the jeans had a large knot of keys attached to it. Heading for it he almost slipped and took a fall on the slick floor but managed with jumping steps to find his balance.

He hunched down and noticed that there indeed was another source to the slaughter scene, to his earlier left, now opposite him, a woman half-way lay on a low table. Her head to throat, arms to shoulders and legs to knees was left, the rest ripped and folded open.

Martin lowered his eyes to the task in front of him, reluctantly taking hold of the sodden fabric and got the keys removed. He rose, drying the blood off on his jeans and hurried out. Letting the door fall shut on the hand, which sight gripped him with a sudden absurd guilt. Guilty over just letting it lay there without doing anything for it. As it looked almost pleading in its place. Stretching out, hoping he would grip it as it was so close escaping. The only survivor of the body to make it, but then fate had trapped it here on the threshold of freedom.

Just let me out mister, it appealed, I got so many good shakes left in me.

Martin shook himself out of it and ran down to the cars.

17

Thomas had been writing in his red book. Where his moods became immortalized. Though for the last period they came only as one line poems, consisting of two words: such times. He`d written those over and over. Always ended up just staring at them. His mind overflowing with images, non wanting to flow through his pen. All of an obscure nature.

His head had been in this state since he met Lance Blix. And shortly after that meeting had suffered a period of blank time, where he`d proceeded in doing nothing less than discovering the body of Lance`s friend, who`d committed suicide. And another body eaten by the crazed animal. This he could remember nothing of.

The psychiatrist he`d been forced to see said it was only his way of dealing with the images.

He didn't much enjoy being analyzed, so he said nothing of the voices that haunted him. Different voices that spoke in whispers.

Not only in his head either, but coming from his whole body. He could never make out much of what they were saying. Just teased him under the surface.

What it really felt like, was that some layer covered this surface, the waters of his mind frozen to prevent them from penetrating. So that the images trying to contact him only could be glimpsed from the outside as blurred uncertain features.

These voices were new after the black-out, but he`d heard sounds in that muffled fashion throughout his whole life. Buzzing like flies and wasps. Even barking sounds had haunted him. These driving him to such delusions he`d seen things as well. Appearing as though they moved under his skin. At a motel somewhere he`d seen a fat fly sitting on the base of his chest, buzzing madly as it was stuck to his skin, its little legs sinking in, and then suddenly a wave of skin and flesh had risen up and swallowed it.

He let out a small laugh by the memory. Stood up, pushing the chair back, and stretched. He was on unofficial graveyard shift. Officially the shrink had given him a vacation. But he`d had such a strong intuition of this night, that he`d decided to stay here, where he would be informed if something did go down. Something that would bring things to clarity.

It was about three o`clock now.

He started crossing the office to fetch a cup of coffee, when a bright yellow light filled the room.

Nasad went over to the window and parted the curtains to see that the whole sky was alight.

The air filled with golden burning drops. Some of which entered his office, finding him, melting the ice and unveiling the splendor beneath. Rose it to surface. The Naractus Empiria, his people, oh his people... They`d sent him back here to guard after them.

And it seemed he had a lot to do.

He was standing by the window in a position that suggested he was breathing in a lung full of sweet scented air.

Then the shouts and sobs started singing from the other people in the building. He sigh in exasperation on a crooked grin. They were yelling of the sights. And now we couldn't have that, now could we?

Nasad cut the phone lines for good measure, and started a systematic massacre in the name of protecting his people.

18

In his new body, he went back to the Richardson’s house and up to the room where he had separated the bodies. Found the car keys on one of the night stands beside a brown wallet.

Lance wasn't quite sure where he was going, just to find nourishing, that after all was what mattered.

When heading out and approaching the green car, he saw his reflection in the windows. Feeling the slight tingling tremor of some emotion he had no idea whether was an echo of the body or his doing.

The hair on his head had for some reason turned completely gray, much of it fallen off, eye brows gone. Most of the pale skin was drenched in red fluid. And his abdomen had grown larger. His intrusion had made the child grow some.

The windows of his soul, black endless voids.

Lance smiled almost shyly.

He got in and drove until coming to the yellow house. Here he stopped. Stepping out for a short treat, headed for the tree and man with long strides.

When reaching it, he gripped his right foot and hauled him down. Hit the ground with a howl thud. The man stared up at him, his legs in sitting position and arms spread wide.

Lance sank to his knees, placing his right hand about his throat and lay his weight on it.

The man made a low snoring noise and a chain of saliva jumped out between his colorless lips, lying up to his left eye.

He presented no attempt on struggling. His being came over in Lance. And as it entered, when he remade it to his personality, there was a most beautiful moment when he saw from both angles, saw from four eyes. At victim and at perpetrator.

Then it was over in him.

He started back toward the car, but slowed his pace as he noticed the black and gray crow standing on the roof staring at him.

Lance felt with certainty that there was more in it than mere bird, his hunger rising. He wanted it. But after another step it took off. That treat escaping him, but, he thought, watching the bird fly over the house, sooner or later it would be his.

19

Sam's body was convulsing. Both over his place in here and of what he`d just witnessed.

It had found a new body, two bodies. And heading for town most likely, to take a lot more. What would happen then?

Oh, he knew perfectly well what then, the living night.

He had to do something to prevent it... But what the hell could he do in this condition?

Perhaps this was why he was left here and not taken away at once. He had no doubt in this state that far greater forces surrounded them. And could some of those, God maybe, not have held him back to try and stop this being from ruining His creation. Or more precisely become His creation. If not to stop it himself, at least be the messenger to someone who could.

Yes, he decided, he had to try to be a messenger. And so thinking made his way back to town.

It was quite a sight waiting for him. He had believed the people to suffer some dilemmas from the drops but certainly not this.

He could not help, however, but to feel a tingle of delight and a voice in him saying good riddance to the sight. Because part of him meant they damn well deserved it from their stubborn idiocy.

Though what they didn't deserve was to be recreated by it.

Problem was, how would he get help among these?

He flew thorough the streets, seeing the sights of people at their most primitive. Fires spreading and corpses the same.

Then, going down main street he noticed a person at the police station, going about the parking lot trying some keys.

This would be the one he had to make contact with then. He had no idea what good this person could possible do, and how at all the contact would be made, things being as they were. But had to seize the chance, since this was the only one he`d seen at all capable of making contact.

The man had just found a car and was placing a baby, wrapped in a brown jacket, onto the passenger seat, when Sam flew toward him, ready to play Lassie.

20

Martin saw the bird approaching, coming at him like a rocket.

Suspecting it had the intention of pecking him to death he jumped in and slammed the door shut. The bird landed on the hood, staring at him with small round and black eyes.

Martin stared back while penetrating the key, starting up the car, expecting it to fled in terror, but no, it held its ground. And was it pointing at him? It lowered the left wing again still staring. The gesture meant nothing, nor that it stayed on the hood while the engine was running. The strange aspect was the small staring eyes. Finding his at once holding its gaze locked at them.

Martin sigh, what the hell was he speculating on, it was a fucking bird!

He began rolling out of the lot.

It didn't move, just stood there, eyes fixed.

"What the hell do you want?" Martin yelled. And it pointed the left wing again. He swallowed hard, not sure if this should be taken as an amusing trick or with horror, both emotions streamed through him in equal measure.

It had let the wing fall.

"You want me, eh?" he said, trembling.

And the damn bird nodded.

Now this was horrendous.

He made the car come to a halt, the bird flopping up in the air for balance then resumed its place.

Oh God, was this the beginning? Was this the start of the insanity. Oh shit no, he was turning into one of them. He looked at the people around him, he would be like them any moment now. No, no, no. He glanced at the child tucked in his jacket.

And what about Melissa and-

"Fuck you!" he yelled at the idiot bird and sped the car up so fast it flew off. Pushed the accelerator to the floor to get away from the madness, and the bird bringing his.

Then as if to prove some point it suddenly came rolling down the window, dead.

Sliding down and off the hood.

In the surprise, Martin steered the car in the rear end of a parked Mercedes. At the very same time as this happened, he shouted of his irresponsibility and managed to take hold, more or less pinning the child to the seat with his right hand.

He was served quite a good jerk in his neck, but received no injuries. As for the baby, it started bawling, still under his hand.

Oddly the screaming stopped as soon as it had begun.

Martin picked it up and held it in the crock of his arm.

"You okay?"

It looked up at him with shiningly green eyes, its toothless mouth twisting open a bit, as if checking if it was, then uttered:

"Yes."

Martin just sat there staring at it for a long, long, hushed moment.

"Listen to me," the baby was saying, slurring on the words from its empty gums, "we have to-"

He put it down on the seat again, shaking his head and gripping both hands around the wheel, clenching his teeth.

"No, don`t be afraid," it said.

So, here it was then. Here was the proof, he`d lost his marbles and gone completely ga-ga.

21

It became apparent that Sam would not get any results out of this. And it was only so much more life left for him in this body. He needed to talk to the man as well.

The baby with him was not unaffected, maybe not as bad as these other people, but it was still effected by the being and non co-operative to its influence.

Sam didn`t like doing it, but there were few choices. He would've entered one of the other persons outside instead (which would have made the moving about a lot easier) but the problem was that they'd have a very unhealthy influence on his being. Whereas this would scarcely have any at all.

He`d probably known since he first saw them that this would be how it had to end, just stalling it. Now had to act.

So thinking he laid his bird body against the roof and sank through, continuing till he was in the head of the child.

The bird fell down. Finished with all service, as it once inhabitant was apart of Sam. Then the man crashed.

The child was, as suspected, already possessing a vision of a life in the flesh, though not much shaped by it. It had little or no say as they merged.

Then, of course, it was the task of soothing the man, as he believed himself to have gone insane. And who could blame him?

Sam did manage to calm him somewhat, he still thought he was crazy, but at least calm in the belief.

22

Lance had not been wrong about new pilgrims coming to the Naractus Empiria. A dozen (out of the thousands) who had been found by the drops arrived here. Only one of these creatures a human, the rest were animals. Birds, a dog, a fox, some cats and what appeared to be a skunk.

They did not, however, hold on to those appearances for long. First, their bodies were produced as they'd once known them, then their evolved minds reproduced them.

And because the highest knowledge in flesh they knew was the human race, the animals used that image as a suitable incarnation for their new capacities.

One of the birds were first to engage on the metamorphous. It became a human male, the body also in the form of the bird. It grew long wings of skin, with arms outside them.

Then one of the cats were shaped into a female, of whom constantly changed from cat to woman. Though only the forms, in skin, not whiskers and fur. The features slowly gilding back and forth.

The fox stayed in its four-legged position. And what appeared to be a small child grew out from its back. The human head on top the fox's, went to the brown eyes which they shared. The child's arms and legs growing into its, thickening them and with fingers and toes. The white skin bulging out from its red-brown fur, making it seem like it was wearing some armor of flesh.

The man, as far as he could tell, went through no external changes.

The rest became transformed in equal half-way fashions.

Lance held a good distance from the Sainatara being. And as they emerged had them come over to him and instructed them to enter the other side.

23

He didn't slow down or try to steer clear of the corpse lying in the road, but ignored it and crunched it under the wheels.

The grinning woman with the screwdriver sat some way further down, staring at the approaching lights. Lance slowed down a bit to avoid killing her.

The car hit the woman (she made no attempt to move out of its way) and threw her back a couple of yards, not dead.

He got out and walked over to where she laid sprawled. Jerked the screwdriver out of her hands and planted it in the center of her right breast. It went only half-way in, so he used the heel of his shoe and gave it two good stomps. Hard enough to even drive some of the handle into the breast.

Lance inhaled deeply, a breath containing both the fresh morning air and the woman's soul.

He felt that the flesh was becoming a bit too full, started to get too strong for this body to hold. If he continued this way it would surly burst open. And he was by no means strong enough to be without flesh yet.

He had to change his strategy a bit.

Lance got back in, and let the car crunch yet another skull.

24

Nasad had gone to the outskirts of Plymont where he`d started a house to house eliminating of witnesses.

He`d silenced two blocks by now.

He was standing in a small bedroom. Where he was served the first real look of himself, when his flesh resumed itself. Studying his reflection in a man tall mirror. His clothes were off and his huge black-haired belly hung to his thighs, this was no different, it was his back that had undergone changes, it had grown enormously, he looked as though attached to some giant balloon of skin, with veins all over. He looked divine.

"Such times," he mused and made his way out of the bedroom, wobbling a bit to drag his weight with him.

25

He reached the hill with view over the town.

Rolling down to its foot. Lance stepped out and abandon the car.

He stood looking down main street.

He was already too strong for these bodies. The heart of the carrier was beating crazily and the pressure kept on escalating and tightening.

The strategy change, inspired by the man he had strangled (when he`d seen through four eyes) was ready to be put to the test. And so thinking made his way over to a person sitting outside the sliding doors of the pharmacy. His face covered in wounds and scratches, both fresh and dried, his nails red and brown with blood.

The mans body was undulating slightly, watching his feet.

Lance took hold of his head and pulled it backward. Then bent enough to let his lips meet the mans blood sealed ones.

Little by little he drew himself toward the mouth. And the mans being came to meet him. Lance made it him. But did not bring it over in him, he managed to separate with it.

He stood up looking down at himself, looking up at himself.

It was of his thoughts and personality, though before they could go together only a cloning. Lance couldn't see what it saw.

The cloning rose. It knew its mission, and left to divide itself in more bodies. They would first take no more than one in each, so as to cover as much space as possible, then fill each torso with all they could handle...Then, of course, they would meet and be one. Too strong for Death to swallow.

And it were quite the harvesting of souls, as none neither tried to fight, nor fled.

He smiled and sat down, leaning up against the doors. The body had began to leak. Blood gushed out from every opening it offered. Red rivers of tears running down his cheeks meeting by the edges of his smile.

26

Martin gingerly hauled himself out of the car. Standing there looking down at the baby who called itself Sam. He had a cousin named Sam, probably where his sick mind had taken it from. He wanted to just let it lay there. However, it wasn't the child's fault he was coming apart seeing it talk. And not bringing it with him was probably tempting fate, first bird, then baby, ignoring that would be to invite some new incarnation. His head maybe. A talking baby was after all harmless enough.

He picked it up, not holding it as delicately as earlier.

They were a little way from the corner of main street. As he walked back and rounded this corner he saw it had started. Saw a man being attacked by a female who pushed him down on the curb. Gripped hold of his head, and, while lying with her body on top of him, began beating the head against the concrete. The man shuddered, then became still.... But as the woman went off him, the man suddenly was on his feet as well, only to go off and strangle someone else. And this, in some form or other, happened everywhere. They were killing and resurrecting each other. Not only in the street, entered buildings as well, their numbers multiplied when emerging.

"What the hell is this?" Martin demanded, and was mildly disturbed when replied, his companion momentarily forgotten.

"This is...it."

"Yeah, huh. No shit."

"No, not the end...Well, it might be, we have to stop it somehow."

"It?..." he sigh in exasperation over himself "What the hell am I doing. This is probably part of my dementia. Their still just sitting there."

"You better retreat."

They were closing in, and insanity from his part or no, he wasn't too eager to be in their midst, so retreating sounded just right. He saw that the front door of the building he stood by had a bicycle wedged in it.

He ran over and hauled the bike out, throwing it onto the curb, where it uttered a plinging sound of disapproval. Then closed and locked the glass door.

There was some talking and shouting from upstairs.

Martin sat down on the foot of the stairs.

"I don`t think this will do it," Sam the baby said.

"Well, what do-" he got no further before he saw a Latino woman (seeming to have been in her twenties, dressed only in underwear, hair in front of her face, eyes pitch black and a big wet wound on the right side of her forehead) was heading for the door, shaking it.

Her black eyes found him.

She backed up a few steps, then came back running, ran through the glass with a savage unconcern for her flesh, eyes fixed on him.

"Run, run, run," the baby yelled.

"Oh. Shit."

He got to his feet and started up the stairs, the woman right behind him.

Martin made it to the first corridor where a few people were going about as they'd done in the streets. Some of the apartment doors stood opened. He got to the closest of them, but his pursuer was fast and by the time he attempted to close the door, she`d managed to place a hand between frame and door.

He slammed it shut with all the force he could carry, backing up on it with help of his whole body. Could hear fingers and bones cracking like twigs. Let the door go a little, but she did not retreat the hand. Instead kicked at it, hard enough to push him a few feet of guard, and that was all she needed to slip in.

Martin backed up into the kitchen. She followed with speed on her heels. Also full of cuts from the glass, leaving bloody footprints.

"Get a weapon," the baby advised.

He put Sam on the kitchen counter and opened a large drawer beneath. Where he first pulled out a bread knife, but dropped this as he spied a meat cleaver farther in.

He held it against the woman's approached.

"Don`t take another fucking step!" he warned.

But the threat went ignored, she didn't slow a jot.

"You've got no choice," Sam (who'd dragged his little naked body up in a cross-legged position against the wall) said.

He`d witnessed what they did out there, and saw that the woman would bash his head in with no care of what the knife he held between them might do her in the process. But then she was dead, a zombie. He had to act.

Fuelled by panic and a healthy doze of insanity, he closed his eyes and chopped. Had no real aim or target, just beat his arm the hardest it would go.

And it hit home. He felt that as it struck some tender spot of flesh. But hands were still coming for him. He opened his eyes to see that the cleaver stood deep in her shoulder. Her mouth was gaping but no sound emerged.

The arms (although the right one with the cleaver in it didn't seem that co-operative, it was shuddering and hardly lifted) approached him hastily.

"Look out!" Sam yelped.

Too late. The left arm, with the hand open in a stop sign hit him in the nose, knocking his head into the refrigerator. She then tried, in the same motion, to grasp a handful of hair, to continue the beating no doubt, but Martin fell down on his ass and slid out of her hold.

A knee was then on its way toward his face which he managed to avoid by going all the way down on the floor.

The woman didn't linger a second but came down after him. The blood from her shoulder already finding him, splashing over him. Again he managed to avoid her assault, by rolling away from underneath so she only hit the floor. Martin gave her no fresh chance. Climbed on top of her back, pressing her down.

She squirmed and struggled crazily under his knees.

The cleaver (having hit the floor with the handle) had slid out a bit. He grasped the slick wooden handle and jerked it out.

Martin looked down at it, he was very well aware of how this had to end. He`d seen zombie movies, he knew what happened when there was no more room in hell; and how one dealt with the spillage.

Reluctantly, he grasped the cleaver with his left hand too, shifting his position a bit, and looked up at Sam.

"Better close your eyes."

With that advice given, rose the cleaver and fell it. Once, twice, three times. And on the third, hit and cut through the neck bone with a high popping sound.

And the head, was off.

She was not moving now. But since he had seen the dead alive movies, this meant shit, she could be walking around carrying it in her hand. So picking the dripping thing up by the hair, he walked over to the window, opened it and yelled like they would do, with a very unstable voice, "Heads up."

Then threw it out.

Martin hurried out of the kitchen to get the front door closed and locked before more of them entered.

After he`d done this, he became aware of some low creaking noises from a bathroom next him.

He slowly approached it. And through the half open door saw a man sitting in the tub, holding the rims of it, staring with an expression that suggested it was moving in some hundred miles per hour.

Martin let free a sigh and found a chair in the lounge where he sat himself down, using a pillow to dry off some of the blood.

27

Lance was sitting some way from the Sainatara being, waiting for new creatures to emerge, and one suddenly came.

An amorphous cloud, so black it could look like a hole into some void that started to spread, inhabited by phantoms.

It began to take shape.

Streamed down and out, first to the figure of a woman, a Latino woman. Then changed into a man, of whom was hovering slightly over the ground, arms and legs spread wide. He seemed as though coming through from the other side of the void, with a carpet of moving shadows surrounding him.

The mans features was in the picture of the body Lance had once occupied.

Lance rose, looking down at him. It was the power. The piece of himself. But where was the rest? How could it have divided itself?

The man looked down at himself, standing on the ground now, the shadows drawn into the flesh. Then up at Lance and smiled.

And a heart beat later, he vanished. Gone over to the other side. Lance concentrated and willed himself over.

Saw him run up the hall. He gave chase, using little effort to gain in on him. Gripped hold about its neck. But as he did, the flesh became soft in his hand. The skin started to melt and penetrate his palm, its whole body was liquefied and got sucked in.

It put up an aggressive struggle, trying to hold onto itself. His arm felt ready to burst from the pressure. The power was trying to nourish on him. Though, of course, Lance was much stronger and so the pressure exploded and spread throughout him, becoming him.

In the process giving him information of its doings, what was happening out there.

With that, he made his leave heading back to town to clear up the mess he`d made.

28

Even though they were just clones, he felt their advance. Felt them multiplying, felt the strength they were gaining, the strength of him.

Lance could start the summoning soon. Get rid of all this flesh. The fatigue of the one he was wearing had escalated considerably. The blood was now leaking out from everywhere. The skin breaking open in wounds, blood pooling under him.

A rift in his abdomen grew wider and deeper. He started to penetrate from it, couldn't resist the invitation. He unbuckled the wet pants and drew up his sweater, uncovering the big round belly and breasts, the nipples of which spat blood.

Two, three, four fingers came out of the rift. Then the whole hand glided out to meet the world. He used his other hands to help the process, forcing the wound wider.

Chased by a bucket worth of thick slimy fluid his head appeared, seeing the emerging from both places. The fetus body kept coming out to the shoulders. It`d grown perhaps twice the seize of what it normally would have been. The huge head had wide black eyes. Its body red and slick, pulsing, and surrounded by both a thin layer of steam and a soft black-gray aura.

He moved the lips in something like a toothless snarl. Then slowly flew, glided, out of the womb with his legs curled up.

His other body took hold of the slippery navel cord, holding it like a balloon, waiting for the moment to summon his horde.

His abdomen closed its gaping mouth.

29

Lance did not come to town by the hill where his other self was waiting, but by the intersection at the police station, where Martin had crashed in the Mercedes earlier.

He knew from the experience in the Naractus Empiria that he could recreate the ones the other had made to his personality. That was if they -it- didn't come in too large numbers. But at the speed they were multiplying in it was like trying to drink the sea with a damn spoon.

However, seeing what they were doing he wondered if he might be able to play the same game. Recreate one and let it recreate another and so on.

Lance had taken cover in the ally by the police station, to observe the situation. And he saw now that one of them had sniffed him out and was coming for him, which was all right, could set the plan into life.

The person, a little girl in a night-gown with teddy bears on it, was now only yards from him.

When close enough, he gripped hold of her arms.

The flesh here, of course, didn't unravel as the other one. And he did not have to assault it either since it was already dead.

Lance felt the being in her trying to emerge from the dead flesh and into his power made one. Most of his senses stream down to confront it.

And they met.

He overcame it, seeing himself from its eyes. And when he did, he managed to press it all back and let go. He then lost sight from the dead body.

He had made it. It was him.

Now it remained to see if he could continue the reproduction.

30

"We have to go out there," the baby demanded afresh.

Standing on all four by the foot of his chair.

Martin sat staring out the window at the upcoming dawn that cast a gray semidarkness darkness around them. The baby followed his gaze.

"There won't be a dawn again if we don`t go out there."

Martin sigh in exasperation.

"And do what, eh? Take with us that meat cleaver and try chopping up all of `em?"

"No... There`s someone else outside, I can feel it."

"You can feel it?" Martin wanted to know looking down at it.

"Yes."

"And just what the hell is it?"

"I`m not sure. I just feel the power. It`s of the being which I`m influenced by, a large part of it."

Martin shook his head.

"Whatever. If you want to go, by all means, go."