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down and out； had kept him so for the last four hours。
Otis thanked God for Boonie's unconsciousness； and not purely out of love for the boy。 Once an hour； or thereabouts； he went in to check on his son； and the fact was that Boonie wasn't simply dying。
Boonie was changing。
There was a bottle on the desk before him； along with a picture of his son the football star。 The bottle was nearly empty； and the boy in the picture looked nothing like the swollen grotesque laid out in the dark behind the locked bedroom door。
Otis blubbered； piss…drunk and maudlin。 He held in his hands a Colt forty…five that went all the way back to the last days of douba…yew douba…yew two。 Them was the good ol' days； he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt。 Back when he and Mabel were young； and he could grab the world's short'n'curlies and just yank 'til the eagle screamed。
And then Boonie came along； and he was their little boo…boo； all right。 One little boo…boo after another。 First the boo…boo of being born； being that they didn't expect him or nothing。 Then a lifetime of smaller； diddly boo…boos； culminating with the boo…boo of having his knee blow out like a cheap retread and wash away any hope of a future。
Then last night's boo…boo 。。。
The biggest boo…boo of 'em all 。。。
Otis sniffled； the gun big and square and clunky in his hand。 These days； he mostly used it to jellify junkyard rats。 But right at the moment he was drunkenly wondering how the barrel might feel if he stuffed it in his mouth。
Out front； a car pulled up； and the dogs began to howl。
〃Huhwhafuck？〃 Otis blurted。 It lit a fire under his ass； jerked him out of his stupor and onto his feet。 All idle threats to Leonard aside； the mere thought of cops pumped his bladder full of lava and flooded his heart with dread。
〃Oh； damnation；〃 he droned； three hundred…plus pounds staggering toward the window。
There was a blue and white wagon with the ACTION…9 News logo； idling at the gate。 The driver stood beside his open door； shooting home movies for the tri…city area。 For a second； Otis thought about putting a 。45 slug through the lens。
Then it focused on him。
Kirk stared through the viewfinder at the fat man engulfing the window。 The shot was succinct and superb： blurry； at first； through the chain link fence； then the chain link gone muzzy as El Tubbo's eyewhites shone。 The terror in that man's face was more man naked perfection。
It might just save Kirk Bogarde's ass。
Because he had taken a step from which there was no turning back。 He was no longer a mild…mannered junior reporter； scarfing shit…duty assignments。 He was now Kirk Bogarde…Renegade Reporter！
And the clock was definitely ticking on his destiny。
Because if I pull this off； I'm a hero； he realized。 I'm God fucking almighty。 Hell； I may even make the cover of People！ and if not 。。。
Not an option； Kirk decided。 Kirk Bogarde…Unemployed！ just didn't have the same ring to it。
And so his fate was sealed。
Kirk had stopped at a pay phone at a Turkey Hill minit market and called in a favor from Jerry； a hacker friend who worked at Motor Vehicles。 The fact that Motor Vehicles wasn't open on Sunday left him undaunted。
Kirk had Jerry's home number。 He called and got Melinda； Jerry's wife。 Melinda said Jerry was in the garage； working on the Bonneville。 Kirk said he needed a trace on the plates。 Jerry said he'd get it for him first thing Monday。 Kirk said he needed it now。 Jerry said he couldn't。 He told Jerry the story depended on it。 Jerry told him to go fuck himself。 Kirk said thanks anyway； he'd run another story in its place； like an expose on the disgraceful local street trade； with actual Spy…Cam footage of an actual citizen soliciting actual prostitutes from his actual Bonneville。
Kirk got a trace on the plates。
All in a day's work for Kirk Bogarde…Renegade Reporter！
Now came the hard part： Kirk sat at the gate； inventing bullshit by the board foot。 When Otis didn't move； Kirk leaned into the horn； still shooting。
e on； he urged Otis silently。 e tell me what I want to hear。
A second later； the door opened wide。
〃Our ACTION…9 News team traced the toxic truck and its lethal load back to Pusser's Scrap & Salvage； on the outskirts of Hellam；〃 Kirk intoned。 He was locked in his Geraldo mode now； riffing off the top of his head and liking what he heard。 〃With its overtones of Texas Chainsaw Massacre…style squalor； it seemed the perfect setting for this saga of murder； corruption； and greed 。。。 〃
〃Hey！〃 yelled the fat guy； lumbering toward him。 〃Hey！〃
Kirk went silent； kept him centered； in frame。 As he got closer； Kirk managed to work the chained…up dogs into the background。 Nice。
〃We're looking for Otis J。 Pusser； Jr。；〃 Kirk said； keenly aware that there was no we。 Somehow； that made it even better。
〃Izzat on？〃 the guy demanded； pointing at the camera。 He was nearly to the gate； and Kirk could see now how utterly blasted he was； see the drunken defiance lock horns with the terrified hand…in…the…cookie…jar guilt in his eyes。
Yes； Kirk silently told him。 Your ass is mine。
〃That's right。〃 Out loud。 〃It's practically airing live。 Are you Otis Pusser？〃
Silence。 A wall…eyed； weaving stare。
Kirk smiled。 〃Do you know why we're here？〃 Only half a beat of silence before kicking back in。 〃How do you respond to allegations that your truck…the truck that you this morning claimed was stolen…has already been tied to a hazardous spill off Black Bridge and at least one death？〃
The Pusser man…and who else could it be？…flinched minutely as each point…by…point ticked off。 Watching him； Kirk gauged the best way in and steamrollered through。
〃You've been used；〃 he continued； with utter sincerity； 〃as the low man on the totem pole of insatiable corporate greed。 You've done their dirty work； and； as your reward； you're to be fed to the wolves。〃
Pusser's eyes were watering。
The camera loved him。
〃The police'll be here before you know it； you know。 If you've got a story to tell； now's the time to do it。〃 Just a touch of insider's miseration。 〃Before it's too late。〃
Otis； it seemed； understood his place on the revised food chain。 His face； on the tape； was a revelation。
Twenty minutes later； Kirk left Otis； a string of empty promises ringing in his ears。 Yes； Otis's side of the story would most definitely be heard。
So to speak。
Kirk motored up the Dark Hollow Road： solid gold in the camera； a smile on his face。 His hunch had paid off。 The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place。
It was the story of a lifetime。
Twenty…Four
The sky was alive with horrors。
The heavens unfurled before Gwen Taylor like churning smoke made flesh： a sickly rippling sea of graymeat phantoms that flowed； misshapen and howling； above her head。 Snarling； embryonic things contorted； then tore apart and obscenely reformed： wriggling； writhing； perversely ecstatic。 The forms they assumed were dredged up from no great black hole of repressed childhood nightmare。
Never in her life had she had such dreams。
And though she knew that it was madness…though the still…hinged portion of her mind screeched with vehement denial…there was nothing Gwen could do to wipe away the vision； no appeal to reason adequate to the task。 Her mind was a muddled bog of delirium； but her eyesight could not have been more clear。
And as bad as the vision was； it paled by parison to what she saw when she closed her eyes。 The shapes were there； too； etched in the fine web of capillaries lacing the inside of her eyelids。 Pulsing with her blood。 Flush with the life that she gave them。
When she blinked； they came closer still。
Gwen slumped； eyes wide； semi…conscious； in the truck's passenger seat： head shaking no no no no no； cheek mushroom…white and pressed flat against the window； a thin track of spittle tethering her face to the glass。 A deep； thrumming buzz filled her ears。 Her breath； when it came； was painful and shallow。 Her flesh felt flushed； and chill。 And her belly 。。。
Her belly felt nothing at all。
Gwen groaned。 She could hear Micki's voice dimly； a muted drone of reassurance； going hang on baby we're almost there you're gonna be okay； but the words seemed far less substantial than the shapes that undulated above and before her。
As the truck raced past the belching smokestacks of Campbell Chain； a great white plume of condensation snaked up like a skeletal hand and raked across the sky。 Gwen stared； aghast； as the hand turned。 Its fingers curling。 Reaching for her。
When she closed her eyes； it was nearly close enough to touch。
She could no longer contain her screams。
Melissa was on duty when they brought the Taylor woman in。
Emergency got her first； of course； but one look at her condition and they packed her off to Labor Hall just as fast as the wheelchair would carry her。
It was 1：04； Melissa noted in the log。 Unfortunately； it was a pretty busy day； there were a half…dozen other names up on the board； all of them ready to pop。 Only four RN's were on shift； and that left her to handle the two women in