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st twenty minutes； there hadn't been less than forty cars in line。 All around them； panic…stricken traffic surged； squealed； careened； and roared。
Fleeing the descending dark。
And the new world already upon them。
Jennie crouched behind the console of the vandalized； desiccated Shop 'N' Go。 Its shelves had been picked clean by the second wave of insurgent wild…eyed refugees。 When the orange highway cones went down； she had locked the doors。 Turned off the lights。 Kept the pumps inconspicuously rolling。 It was the only way she could think of to deflect them； keep the mob from ing in and eating her alive。
She could no longer tell where the stain was or wasn't。 It wasn't inside…she'd made certain of that…but the whole of the drive and parking lot were fair game。 She watched for telltale screams and seizures at the pumps。 That she didn't see any felt almost like hope。
Many times； over the past forty minutes； she had thought about hopping a ride outta Dodge。 There was only one problem： eighty percent of them were already afflicted； or carrying someone who was。
The rest were simply insane。
A couple of tumorous； terminally infected yuppies tried to pull an end run around the crowd； banking their Ford Taurus onto the lot by ing up over the curb。 Jennie watched their mouths shape curses。 The gas line steadfastly refused to part。
A twenty…year…old laid…off steelworker； sixth up from pump four； got out of his GM pickup and strode toward them。 He had a Charter Arms Bulldog 。44 in his hand。 The yupsters stopped dead； screaming inprehensible things…excuses； entreaties…that were all but drowned out by the roar of violent dissent that surrounded them。
They were all talk； and talk had never been cheaper。
He stood directly before them。 Aimed。
And fired。
The first shot blew a hole through the driver's heart： a wet confettied spray of upholstery； meat and padding； erupting onto the seat behind him。 His girlfriend/ wife/ significant other shrieked。 The second shot vaporized her throat。 Her chin bounced off her shoulders； toppled onto her lap； in the second before the third dumdum slug penetrated the windshield； turned the driver's head to mush。
Then he fired a couple more shots； just for the living hell of it。 A bunch of people clapped。 A couple of them helped him push the car out of the way。
From her place behind the console； Jennie Quirez watched civilization unravel beneath the shadow of the ing storm。
It was four minutes to three。
Forty…Nine
The Boon…spawn sat at the gate： contemplating the bizarre past behind it； the brilliant future ahead。
The run had been long； the last part almost entirely uphill。 It had spent vast reserves of energy； throwing everything into the climb。 It did so gladly； without punction： like a salmon flinging itself upstream； knowing implicitly that death lay at the end of the journey。
And with it； rebirth。
What was once Boonie oozed across the seat； weakened to the point of no return。 This was over； it knew that； even as it sensed the dark one that awaited。 The engine that drove it hung back； gauging the perfection of the moment。
And at the perfect moment； it moved。
Boonie shuddered and gripped the wheel as the last of his soul sputtered of to oblivion。 His useless flesh sloughed loose in thick wet slabs； epidermis and dermis relaxing their hold and sagging； at long last relieved of the burden of life。 Flesh and fat； tendons and ligaments rotted； popped； and slithered to the floor of the cab like dross； like offal。 Eggs like tiny poison pearls plopped out and scattered； freed of their incubator。
While the core remained； still gripping the wheel。
It was a central nervous system； clinging directly to dessicated bone： a stripped…down chassis of barest motor control。 Skeletal fingers clutched the steering wheel； rudely ratcheted the shifter。 Boonie's dead； sallow face fell off； revealing eyes wet and bright as a child's。
It grinned； wet skull gleaming on a thin stalk of neck。
And threw the truck in gear。
The fence surrounded the facility； which was located high up on a hill on the southern side of the city。 A small parking apron lay to the left； pletely deserted。 The gate itself was steel； electronically controlled； but far too flimsy： a deterrent only to the civilized。 It was not built for terrorism。
A sign hung by the gate； the lettering burned into the wood in big rustic letters。 It read：
PARADISE WATER PANY
MUNICIPAL RESERVOIR
In smaller； no less emphatic letters was the warning：
No Trespassing！
The snout of the truck crashed it into kindling as it barreled through； pine and fir groves whipping past as it picked up speed。 Drums rattled on the truck bed； the poison sloshing excitedly。
The thing in the cab laughed； smelling the high scent of evergreen and thinking of the rich new odors that would soon take its place； when the world was made over in their image。 The wind buffeted its frail form； bits of its nervous system snapped off and flew into the slipstream； dry and brittle as twigs。
It didn't mind。 It didn't need them anymore。
Besides； it was about to get all kinds of wet。
The truck rounded the bend； and there they were： two great standing pools； capping off some thirty…two million gallons of innocent； potable water。 The city's entire on…hand supply。
A low wrought…iron double fence surrounded the pools。 The DER had recently insisted that the pools be capped； to prevent aerial contamination。 But the Paradise Water pany had been given three years to implement that plan。
Once again： how convenient。
The truck plowed through the first fence as if it were a row of matchsticks； steel posts snapping and sparking as they dragged along behind。 The thing in the cab cackled； as the truck kept on ing； reaching the lip of the first pool and then flying into space： six tons of steel and poison； defying the law one final time。
Then the truck belly…flopped into the water； sent up a jubilant hundred…foot spray。 It immediately fused； dissolving even as it expanded： drums； tumor； truck； and all being one giant toxic Fizzie； spitting and sputtering as it went from solid to liquid to gas。
The poison pearls hatched on contact with the water； instantly charging it。 The pool hissed violently as two hundred thousand gallons…the lifeblood of Paradise…cried out in orgasmic agony。
And then began to sing 。。。
By three minutes to three； the truck was gone。 The drums were gone。 What once had been Boonie was gone。 All gone。
As the toxin spread； deep into the plumbing of Paradise。
And the sleepwalking city below。
Fifty
Number Seventeen：
Everett G。 Vulich was the president of AeroCorp； a locally based industry that provided； among other things； rocket fuels for the Defense Department and NASA。 AeroCorp's contribution to Overmind included dichloroethane； dichloromethane； chloroform； and TCE； all of them highly dangerous substances。
He lived at 29 Morningside Terrace； with his wife； Francine； and their Scottie dog； Lance。
The Deitz…thing used a table saw this time。 It didn't take any longer； Vulich had one handy； in the basement where they found him； and； overall； it was a lot less wear and tear。 Once Vulich stopped struggling； the operation virtually ran itself。
Of course； it was a lot less satisfying that way。
But there would be more。 The list was long。
And it was always good。
The wonderful thing about Wyndham Hills was how altogether goddam convenient it was。 More than a third of the hundred key people in Paradise on his list lived there； within that elite fifteen square miles of real estate overlooking the city。
Indeed； Wyndham Hills was a land of plenty。 They were practically going door…to…door。 With his six…man team working in tandem； it hadn't taken long at all to round up sixteen of the local heads of industry。
And mount them on his trucks。
But they were almost out of time。 There was no doubt about it。 Upstairs； Francine and Lance were entertaining the spawn of Franklyn and Pyle； and while that was fine…there were no innocents…it was certainly no substitute for justice； either。 As the head detached； the Deitz…thing found itself looking at the watch on the dead man's wrist。
Two minutes to three； it said。
（I swear upon my soul）
Two minutes to three。
And suddenly； Deitz remembered。
In the few short hours since his death and rebirth； Austin Deitz had been thrust so deeply into the horror that he'd virtually forgotten what it was。 No longer。
It was back； with a name and a face。
Horror was a woman named Jennifer Quirez； with a gift for persuasion； a love of the stars； and the clearest； finest deep brown eyes he'd ever seen。 Horror was that woman； trapped alone at the Shop 'N' Go； with no transportation； no one to help her； and no idea what Hell was about to break loose。
Horror was loving that woman…in the last few grinding turns of the wheel…and knowing that he was powerless to save her。
Horror was love； in this Brave New Hell： the capacity for caring； and for sharing p