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see the rusted struts and rotted shells of the barrels： skeletal； clawing。 Could see the multicolored Rorschach toxins that were its blood and soul。
Could see the hundreds and hundreds of fish： not dead； no longer alive。
All of them staring。 At him。
With new eyes 。。。
Then the lightning decayed； and before he could scream； the black wall descended upon him。
Boonie dove off the side of the truck in the second before it hit。 He was still in the air when several tons went WHOOOM and splattered across its bed。 He couldn't see what happened to Drew。 He didn't need to see to know there was nothing he could do。
Boonie was heavy； and plummeted fast。 He hadn't had time to plot a course。 The railroad tracks came up to meet him； head…on and far too quickly。
He got his arms up and tucked his body enough to keep his neck from snapping； all it cost him was a splintered clavicle and； on the second bounce； some teeth and lip； the two merged together in a wet hard bone…shard buckshot hail that gagged him as he rolled； came up； instinctively assessed the situation。
No motion from the truck； except for the steam curling off the exterior。 The door was still open； the cab was still vacant； the headlights still glared。 Beyond the truck lay Toad Road and escape； the other way just led deeper into the Black Bridge woods。 He could drive one whole hell of a lot faster than he could run。
That pretty much wrapped it up。 Boonie vaulted for the cab； keeping one eye on the railroad ties and the other one peeled for forty…foot monsters。 There was a harsh static crackle in the air that kept getting louder； the closer he got。 It wasn't the sound from the creek； so it didn't mean shit。
It was the radio； he found out when he hit the driver's seat。 Starview 92 had disintegrated into ear…splitting hiss。 Bad sign。 He grabbed the stick and jammed it in gear。 Nothing happened。 He laid on the gas and got dick。
〃GOD DAMN IT！〃 he bellowed； grabbing the keys and grinding the ignition。 〃GO 。。。 ！〃
That was when he noticed the rivulets； moving across the windshield。 Not down。 Across： a lateral； spider…webbing motion； like a hundred liquid tentacles gripping the cab。 He stared in slack…jawed dumbstruck awe as the glass started to steam。 The liquid pressed impossibly against the pane and squeezed。
Boonie dove for the passenger side； grappling with the handle。 All around him； the safety glass starred。 He cracked the door open； started to bail 。。。
。。。 as the windows blew inward： a blinding； razored spray 。。。
。。。 and then he was out the door and running； running for his life； a thousand tiny septic barbs of shrapnel lodged in his face； his hands； his neck and back and legs that tripped on a tie and brought him down； all two hundred and forty…seven pounds of him； shrieking pain as his scar…pitted Frankenstein's former right knee smacked cold steel rail 。。。
。。。 but he couldn't stay down or the game was fucking over； so he pistoned back up to his feet and hobbled with all his might； ignoring the pain； ignoring the everywhere tingle that turned to burn； terrible burn in his eyes； left eye stinging sharp and wet and bleeding； bleeding from within 。。。
。。。 and still he ran； trading the rails for Toad Road mud； screaming out prayers to sweet baby Jesus as he stumbled through puddles of primal rain。 Running from the devil in his own back pocket。
Running till he dropped 。。。
Two
One hundred and eighty…eight thousand souls adorned the rolling stretch of God's country that was Paradise； Pennsylvania。 It was just over nine hundred square miles of sprawling； picturesque land； with the rugged hump of the Appalachian foothills sweeping across the west and the wide rocky expanse of the Susquehanna River to the east。
Paradise was the nexus point of the region's major east/west； north/south arteries； which made it the natural nerve center for trucking of every stripe。 Big rigs rumbled in and out constantly； ferrying the essential ingredients of the good life east to Philadelphia and New York； south to Baltimore and Washington； north to Harrisburg and Allentown； and west； down the turnpike； to Pittsburgh and the Ohioan heartlands beyond。
The outer townships were mostly made up of farms； factories； and forest land； green hills and hollows sparsely populated and broken up by strip malls and sleepy one…horse hamlets that accounted for maybe thirty…seven thousand out of the total population。
Another seventy…three thousand or so clustered around the industrial parks； which in turn gave way to wave upon wave of dense…packed； self…replicating suburbia： houses and lawns and houses and lawns； gradually shrinking in size as the neighborhoods crested the hills and entered the valley that marked the city proper。 There they packed in； tighter and tighter； until the lawns at last evaporated into puddle…sized patches or disappeared altogether。
The City Reservoir； on the south side of town； was the highest elevation and the site of the Paradise Water pany's vast standing pools。 If you stood on the crest of the hill and looked out over the valley； a vision spread before you： lights twinkling in the deep blue predawn hush； a quintessentially American picture…postcard jumble of church steeples and smokestacks； homes and factories and parks and schools。
Seventy…eight thousand people lived and dreamt there： along narrow one…way streets and shady tree…lined boulevards； in the crumbling tarpaper Penn Street shanties and cozy Cape Cods of College Avenue； in the tastefully renovated Market Square townhouses and lush Georgian abodes of Linden Boulevard。
From the posh palatial estates of Wyndham Hills to the paper…thin walls of the Paradise Rescue Mission…and everywhere in between…one hundred and eighty…eight thousand hearts beat through the night； ticking off the moments of a lifetime。
Paradise boasted a low cost of living and an unemployment rate a few tenths of a point below the national average。 The last thirty years had seen a steady growth in the black and Hispanic munities…and； more recently； a proportionately microscopic Asian influx…but despite all this； as well as a strong； prosperous Jewish munity； local government and industry still remained in the firm Protestant grip of the same Dutch…German hands that had wrested this land from the Indians。
This was a land of faschnachts and pig roasts； of country clubs and county fairs； of ladies' invitational golf classics in dichotomous tandem with tractor pulls and trailer parks。 And like much of the noncosmopolitan East； Paradise County was notorious for its stodginess and slow…moving resistance to change： a temperament shared by its upper and lower classes alike。
Once you got past their roots； however； it was television that truly shaped and defined their culture： from CBN to MTV； PBS to HBO； with network news； halftime shows； and prime…time fodder in dominion über alles。
It was； in short； America。
And； like the rest of America； Paradise slept： well past the wee hours； to the break of Sunday dawn。 Across the city； across the county； one hundred and eighty…eight thousand lives lay down together in isolated slumber； unconsciously intertwined。
And not a one of them ever even saw it ing。
Three
Gwen opened her eyes； suddenly awake； the phantom remnants of REM…stage sleep still clinging to her thoughts like a shroud。
In the dream； black birds： thousands of them； their iridescent wings and harsh cries filling the sky as they swooped and soared in a figure…eight pattern。
Over and over； over and over 。。。
The image faded； dissipating like morning fog and leaving Gwen with a strange sense of dislocation； of consciousness arriving a split second before identity。 For a single elastic moment； she didn't know who or where or what she was。
Only that she was。
Alive。 Awake。
Here。
It was an altogether curious feeling； disorienting but not entirely unpleasant。 She allowed herself to steep in it for a moment； let it flavor her perceptions without bias or preconception。
The she felt the kick inside。
And it all came flooding back。
My name is Gwen Taylor。 I'm thirty years old。 I'm in my bed； in my room； in my house。
It kicked again： a small solid thump deep within。
And I'm going to have a baby； she amended。
The dislocation disappeared： a puff of subconscious synapse flotsam vaporized by thought。 Gwen yawned and stretched in the big brass bed。 Her sleep…tossed ash…blond hair flowed across the pillow； her clear gray eyes were elegantly framed by the tiniest hint of smile crinkles。
She was a strikingly attractive woman； though you'd never get her to agree with that lately： nine months in and she felt more like an anaconda with a hippo lodged in its digestive tract。 Not to put too fine a point on it； the words dingo ugly were the only ones she trusted to accurately convey her self…image； and there wasn't a damn thing Gary or anyone else could say to change her mind。
On the other hand； she felt pretty honest…to…God good today： very snug and happy and loved； with only a slight case of nausea to keep things in real…life perspective。 Th