Hosts

It worked. She'd stopped it.

This is futile, Kate! You cannot overcome the inevitable.

Really?

Bolstered, she focused her energies more tightly on her arms. And slowly her left hand loosened its grip and fell away. And then the right hand, still clutching the knife, began to sink.

I will not kill my brother.

Panting, drenched in perspiration, she lowered the knife to her side.

A stalemate, Kate. For now. Your love for your brother overpowered us, but our love for you will overcome that. It is inevitable.

Love? Making a mannequin of me isn't love!

Love has many forms. The One Who Was Jeanette fought like a tigress against inoculating you with her blood, but she was more completely integrated with us at that time than you are tonight, and we prevailed. And now that she is fully integrated her love wants you to be with us.

Jeanette had fought them… like a tigress. Kate bet she did. She wanted to cry. She could imagine Jeanette kicking and clawing all the way down the hall and into her room, crying out in anguish as the pin pierced her palm. So tragic, and yet the knowledge of Jeanette's struggle warmed her.

This is only a temporary reprieve for your brother, Kate. You are not ours yet, but by tomorrow you will be more so. And then you will not be able to resist.

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow she would murder her brother.

She tried to shout, to wake Jack and warn him, but her voice was locked. She could restrain her arms from stabbing Jack but could not wrest back control of the rest of her body.

Tomorrow…

The word followed her as she was guided from Jack's room to return the knife to the utensil drawer.

Tomorrow…

Kate was walked back to the TV room where she lay down on the fold-out bed and closed her eyes, screaming without making a sound, not even a whimper.

MONDAY

1

I'm going insane!

Not at all, Kate, cooed the soft, sexless voice in her head. Quite the opposite.

Somehow, perhaps as a way for her mind to escape the horror of her situation, Kate had fallen asleep last night. Or perhaps the Unity had made her sleep. This morning she'd been awakened by the sound of a door closing.

For one glittering, hopeful moment, she'd cradled the possibility that last night might have been a dream, a nightmare even more horrific than participating in Fielding's murder. But then, despite her desire to sleep in, her body rose from the bed.

Kate had screamed, a ragged wail of terror and anguish that remained trapped inside her skull as her body walked to the kitchen where she found a note from Jack.

GONE TO MEET SOMEONE. BE BACK SOON.

J

Since then she'd been seated here on the edge of the fold-out bed, staring at the wall for what seemed like hours. Hours of nothing.

Hardly 'nothing,' Kate. With each passing moment you are becoming incrementally further integrated into the Unity.

Even her thoughts weren't her own.

You're lying. I don't feel any different from last night.

We don't lie. We don't have to.

Kate had reins on the panic that had suffused her since awakening, but the sick cold horror of her plight was a throbbing undertone through her consciousness, steadily interrupted by blasts of helpless frustration.

She had to call NIH and CDC, had to impress upon them the urgent need for a solution, had to tell them about Jack and the antibodies he undoubtedly carried.

She tried to reach for the phone but her hand refused to obey.

No. No calls to government health agencies. That would be counterproductive.

All she could do was sit. She was desperate for something, anything to distract her, even for a moment.

Can I at least read a magazine or paper or watch the news on TV?

What for?

How about to find out what's going on in the world?

What is happening out there does not matter.

Keep on thinking that way. I like it. Because that world out there is going to bring you down.

We think not. The history of "that world out there" begins a new chapter tonight.

Tonight? The utter confidence resonating through the voice troubled her. What happens tonight?

Something wonderful. We had to wait for The One Who was Jeanette to be fully integrated, and then for the bonds of unity to mature. Tonight, finally, it will be possible.

But what?

You are not yet ready to know. When you are further integrated you will understand.

Another of your inevitabilities?

Yes! The Great Leap that will make the Great Inevitability possible.

Kate didn't like the sound of that. Tell me.

When you are ready. Right now you will watch as we remove a threat to the Great Inevitability.

Oh, no. Did they mean Jack?

Yes. Your brother. We must do what you would not.

No! Please!

Watch.

Jack's TV room slowly faded from view…

… and Kate is walking along a New York street. She's crossing an avenue; somehow she knows it's Amsterdam. And then with a start she recognizes Jack walking three-quarters of a block ahead. She's behind him; the sun is locked above the rain-laden clouds, but she knows he's heading west.

Jack stops at a corner and swivels, looking around. As he turns toward Kate she makes a quick turn to the right, stepping between two cars and crossing the street, keeping her face averted from Jack as she moves. Only this isn't Kate's body; the arm that swings into view isn't hers—too scrawny, too old looking.

Kate gasps because suddenly she's watching Jack again, but from a greater distance and an entirely different angle—looking at his back. Somehow she's shifted almost 180 degrees, and a distance of two blocks, instantaneously.

Then with a shock she realizes what's happened. The Unity is following Jack and has shifted its viewpoint from one member to another. She's in a man's body now—can tell from the hairy wrist protruding from the jacket sleeve before her—and watching through the side window of a double-parked car as Jack turns her way and continues his trek.

No! Leave him alone!

We cannot. He is even more of a threat than Dr. Fielding. We regretted killing the doctor; he, at least, was a potential host. Not so your brother. There is no place for him in our future.

Viral ethics… anyone who won't help increase their numbers is disposable.

Please. I beg you.

We need peace for the Great Leap. To achieve it we need time for the eight of us to be together, isolated, undisturbed. Your brother is bent on disrupting us, fragmenting us. We cannot allow that.

She has to stop this!

Frantic, Kate tries to rise to her feet but her legs won't respond. She has to warn Jack, but even if she can reach the phone, how will she contact him? She's seen a cell phone and beeper on his dresser during her stay, but she doesn't know the numbers.

As the Unity—the perfect surveillance machine, each component in constant contact with all others, covering all possible routes—ranges around Jack in cars and on foot, Kate screams her frustration and bangs intangible fists against the walls of her flesh prison, all to no avail. She is a ghost in her own machine.

2

Beth, looking great in an exercise bra and running shorts, put down the special Monday edition of The Light after reading Sandy's story, her expression puzzled.

"I thought you told me there was a murder cult involved."

"Legal wouldn't let me use it. They said hearsay from a single source was not enough. Too far out on a limb. We'd be just asking to be sued. Damn!"

"It's still a good story."

"Yeah, but no staying power. Without the cult hook it's just another murder. I need some way to pump this into something that matters."

Beth looked at him. "Doesn't the death of a medical researcher who was trying to make the world a better place matter enough?"

"Well, it matters, yeah, but—"

"I'm sure it matters to his wife and son."

"Ex-wife."

Beth shrugged. "Still… something like that shouldn't happen to anyone. But when it's someone who was trying to find a cure for cancer, it seems doubly tragic."

She was right, as usual. Maybe that was the angle he'd have to play for now—until he could substantiate cult activity.

But even without that angle, this issue was special because it also ran his advocacy piece continuing the amnesty call for the Savior. Both in the first three pages. Which had led Pokorny to quip that soon Palmer would be writing the entire paper.

Sandy finished his coffee while Beth went back to work on the treatment for her film. He leaned over and kissed her.

"Got to go. Meeting somebody at nine, then the DA later on. I'll catch you later."

A short, shoulder-to-shoulder ride on the crowded Nine, followed by a quick walk, and he was back in Riverside Park. He and the Savior had arranged to meet at nine this morning to follow up, but the Savior had set the spot ten blocks uptown from their previous encounters.

He'd also told him to make sure he wasn't followed. That was an unsettling thought, but Sandy kept an eye out and couldn't find a hint that anyone was tailing him.

With rain threatening, the park was almost deserted. Sandy had his pick of empty benches. He chose one under a tree—in case it started to rain—and sat down. The Savior appeared a few minutes later, and sat on the far end of the bench.

"You look better," Sandy said. He still lacked the vitality of the man he'd first encountered here, but at least he didn't look like death warmed over. "That poison must be working its way out of your system."

"What?" the Savior said. He twisted his body back and forth, doing a full scan of the park. "Oh, yeah. I'm up to maybe seventy-five percent." He slumped back and rubbed his temples as if he had a headache.

"Holdstock walked," Sandy said. "Despite the handprint."

The Savior shrugged. "Figured that would happen. His cult buddies alibied him, right?"

"Right." He explained his dilemma about not being allowed to use the cult angle. "I mentioned that Terrence Holdstock was questioned, then released, but couldn't go beyond that."

The Savior said, "You've got to. There's a big story there."

"Yeah but I can't squeeze more ink out of it without an angle."

"Fielding was strangled. Can you imagine what that's like? Eyes bugging out, head feeling like it's going to explode. Nasty way to go. I think hunting his killer should be angle enough."

Sandy had to smile. "Do you know my girlfriend?"

"Should I?" he said, doing another body-twisting scan.

"Something wrong?

"You sure you weren't followed?"

"Absolutely." Well, not absolutely, but he was reasonably sure. "Why?"

"Got this watched feeling."

"Yeah?" Sandy glanced around. He saw a few people strolling above on Riverside Drive, but none of them appeared particularly interested in what was going on down here. "I don't."

"Had it since I left home, but I haven't been able to spot anybody. Maybe it's because I'm still not feeling right."

Or maybe you're scared, Sandy thought. I'd sure as hell be if I'd been poisoned.

"Worried they'll make another try on you?"

"The thought has crossed my mind."

Sandy wondered if hanging around this guy might be hazardous to his health. He glanced at his watch and rose.

"I've got a meeting with the DA about you."

The Savior's eyes widened. "Me?"

"Sure. Your amnesty."

"Forget that. Holdstock and his cult are the real story. You can bring in a murderer."

"And I can bring in a hero, too, if I can get you amnesty."

The Savior shook his head. "Holdstock. Not me. Holdstock."

"Don't worry. I'm on him right after I write up my DA tête-à-tête."

Sandy waved and strolled away, leaving the Savior on the bench, rubbing his temples again.

He started thinking about his meeting with the DA. First off, just being able to book such a meeting was a jaw dropper; he'd called at eight and they'd penciled him in for 11:30. A week ago he'd still be waiting for the call-back that would never come. Sandy expected no promise of amnesty, but no outright refusal either. A carefully clipped hedge. Fine. That would be a battle call Sandy could use to rally the troops and circle the wagons around the Savior.

While simultaneously trying to expose a murder cult.

It ain't easy being me.

He was going to need some fancy footwork to keep all these balls in the air, but he was up to it.

3

And now Kate, in a middle-aged woman's body, is moving down a grassy slope toward Jack. The younger man he was talking to has moved away, and that seems to have set the woman in motion. Jack's back is to her as he slouches on the bench.

Turn around! she screams.

But no cry is heard as she moves silently forward.

A dozen feet from Jack and picking up speed, the woman's right hand pulls a long, slim knife from her pocketbook.

Get up, Jack! Move! Get up and go! Anything but sit there!

But to her horror Kate senses another part of her urging the woman on, glorying in the imminent demise of a threat to the Unity.

No! That's not me! It can't be! I won't let it be!

The woman holds the blade low, pointed toward the left side of Jack's mid-dorsal region, ready to slip between the wooden slats of the bench and the bony slats of his ribs and into the posterior wall of his heart. She's almost to him now, the arm swinging back, preparing to thrust—

Jackieeeeee!

"Look out!"

A cry from somewhere behind, a man's voice, faint, distant, but enough to alert Jack. He leaps up from the bench and whirls just as the woman strikes, but her thrust stabs only air, and her momentum carries her forward, bending her over the back of the bench as Jack's foot lashes out, catching her under the chin.

A deafening crunch! and a blaze of pain in her throat and then Kate is unable to breathe. It's as if someone has clamped a vise on her trachea—no air moves either way. She sees Jack moving away as an impossible pressure builds in her chest and black and purple splotches swell and coalesce in her vision, and then she's falling backward and she wants to call out to Jack because she is dying… dying…

4

Jack hurried away down the path. Wanted to run but that would only draw attention. Not many people around on this dreary Monday morning but only a matter of short time before someone spotted the woman and dropped an emergency dime.

Glanced over his shoulder. Saw she'd finally stopped kicking and writhing. She lay flat on her back now, one knee bent over the other, the knife at her side, her clawed hands frozen at her throat. Never seen her before but he could guess who sent her.

Glanced up and saw Palmer at the railing overlooking the park, moving toward the stairs that Jack would take up to the street. Must have been him who shouted the warning. Now we're even, kid.

As Jack rounded a clump of shrubbery, he shot one last look at the supine woman. A couple coming up the downtown side of the path had stopped and were pointing at her.

He shook his head as he increased his pace toward the steps. How had he let her get so close? Must be this headache. Like a hammer and chisel chipping away at the inner surface of his skull.

He'd reacted instinctively when he'd seen the knife. Hadn't been aiming for her throat. Had intended a head kick but caught her as she was bending forward. Just as well, he thought, but Kate's words trailed him up the steps…

… the individuals are innocent. They didn't ask to be infected…

Yeah, well, that may be so, but it didn't make their knives any less sharp. If Palmer hadn't yelled, it would be Jack be on the ground back there and the woman walking away.

The Unity had just attempted Pearl Harbor. Jack was not going to give them a second chance.

At the top of the steps he found Palmer waiting, face white, eyes wild.

"I saw her! She climbed over the railing and jumped down to the slope!"

Jack grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "Keep moving."

"I recognized her! I saw her at Holdstock's last night! She's one of them!"

"Believe me now about Holdstock's cult?"

"Absolutely! But you… you hit her once and she died."

"Just lucky. Look, I don't know the lady's name but if you check her background I guarantee you'll find she was also one of Fielding's patients."

Palmer clapped his hands. Jack noticed his color had returned and his shock seemed to be fading into glee.

"This is perfect! Just what I need! This brings back the whole murder cult angle! Holdstock's already been linked to Fielding and placed in the house… I can link this woman to Holdstock… and now she's been killed while trying to commit murder—"

"Whoa! Murder who?"

"You."

"Uh-uh. I wasn't even here. I don't exist. Forget what she tried to do. Go with the fact that she's been killed. First Fielding, now one of his patients, all in less than forty-eight hours. And what do they have in common? Holdstock."

That should give the cops reason enough to haul him in again, Jack thought. Keep the Unity away from Kate.

Palmer skidded to a halt. "Right… right. Look, I've got to go back. I want to be there when the cops come. If we're in the right precinct, there's a good chance the detective on the case will be someone I know. I can put a bug in his ear."

"And maybe get an eyewitness slant on the story as well?"

Palmer grinned. "Damn right!"

"Go for it. But I'm telling you, if the cops don't pick up Holdstock, I'll be paying him a visit myself."

Palmer waved and trotted back toward the park. Jack headed east, thinking, You just might make it as big as you hope, kid—if you don't get killed trying.

Back at his apartment he found Kate standing in the middle of the front room, waiting for him. She looked frazzled, her clothes wrinkled, as if she'd slept in them. And then he realized that that was just what she'd been doing. Not as if she had a choice. The only clothes she had were what she'd worn over here.

"Someone just tried to kill me," he said, watching her closely for her reaction.

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, dear Lord! Who?"

"Someone from the Unity ladies auxiliary."

"What happened to her?"

"I canceled her membership."

Something not right here. Kate hadn't asked if he was okay, and didn't want him to explain his last remark. But then, all she had to do was look at him to know he was unhurt.

Still…

God damn this! He was afraid to turn his back on his own sister!

Headed for the kitchen, mainly to busy himself in case his expression revealed his doubts, but he was hungry as well. Not much in the fridge except some wilted veggies left over from a ready-made salad he'd picked up at a take-out deli the other night. He grabbed a couple of carrot sticks.

"What are you going to do?" Kate said. She'd followed him in.

Munching on a carrot, he turned to her. "Of course, you realize this means war."

"What? I don't—"

"I'm not talking to you, Kate. I'm talking to the thing inside you. The Unity's in there listening, right?"

She looked flustered. "I… I don't know. They haven't been bothering me today. Maybe they were too busy attacking you."

"So you're still in control?"

"Of course."

As much as Jack wanted to, he wasn't buying. But he'd play it like he was.

"Great. But when you hear from them again, tell them they just made a big mistake. Massive retaliation coming their way. Not sometime in the future—today. Soon as I catch a few Z's."

Shoving the rest of the carrots into his mouth, Jack headed back to the front room where he settled into the recliner, leaned it back, and closed his eyes.

But not all the way. He kept the lids parted a hairbreadth, just enough to catch any movement in the room.

Definitely something different about Kate. She'd given him a full-fledged big sister lecture last time when he'd simply hinted that he might take direct action. This time, despite his issuing an outright death warrant, nothing. The attempt on his life could have changed her mind, but she hadn't offered even a token peep.

So he'd tossed down the gauntlet. If they used Kate to respond, he'd know.

Jack slowed and deepened his breathing, pretending to sleep. After a while he felt his muscles begin to relax, his thoughts drift, his eyes close all the way. Had to be careful here. The bad thing about pretending to sleep was sometimes it developed into the real thing.

But the chair was comfortable, and since his illness he never felt as if he'd had enough sleep…

And then Jack was bounding up from the chair and not sure why, but his nerve ends were tingling, his heart hammering. He blinked, looked, and shrank back when he saw Kate on the far side of the chair, his big meat-carving knife raised high in her trembling fist, her face impassive but dripping sweat. He glanced down and saw a glistening droplet on his left forearm. Must have dozed off… and that little bit of moisture alerted him.

"Kate?" His voice quavered with shock and dismay.

No answer, nothing in her eyes, but that raised arm looked as if it was at war with itself. They had her. The goddamn bastard Unity had her.

Quickly he stepped around the chair and grabbed her arm. He pried the knife from her fingers, then tossed it across the room.

"Come with me."

Her legs were stiff as he guided her into the kitchen. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of this before.

Keeping a tight grip on her with his left hand, he slammed the heel of his right palm against the door of his microwave once, twice, spider-webbing the glass.

Now Kate began to struggle, trying to pull away, crying, "No, Jack! Please don't do that!"

But he held her fast as he punched in a string of nines and hit the start button. As soon as the oven began humming, Kate stiffened, then collapsed against him.

"Thank God, Jack! Thank God!"

And then she began to cry, shuddering against him. He held her close as deep moaning sobs wracked her body. The sound, so full of fear and anguish, like the sole survivor of a train wreck that had taken the lives of all her family and friends, tore at his heart.

What was he going to do? How was he going to fix this?

5

It took Kate a while but eventually she managed to regain her composure. The sudden removal of the Unity's influence—like emerging from the deepest, darkest oubliette into sunlight and fresh air—had released a flood of emotion.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said finally as she pulled away from him, but not too far. "I don't usually lose it but…"

"Nothing usual about any of this," he said, staring at her. "Are you all right now?"

Kate nodded but didn't really mean it. What did "all right" mean anymore?

"You mean, am I me? Yes. The Unity's gone… for the moment at least." Off stage now, but she could sense it hovering in the wings. "But it's winning, Jack."

His expression was stricken. "Don't say that, Kate."

"It's true. With every passing hour 1 seem to be a little less me and a little more Unity. It's like this virulent malignancy, metastasizing throughout my body, multiplying in every organ and tissue, crowding out the healthy cells until I'm all tumor."

"Kate—"

"I was on the verge of killing you, Jack! If you hadn't woken up…"

Her throat constricted around another sob as she envisioned that blade slicing into his chest, but she would not break down again. Time was too short.

"You were fighting it. I could see that."

"But what you couldn't see was that I was losing. Last night I completely stopped the knife, but—"

"Last night?"

"Yes! While you were in bed. Same knife, but I won. Today was different. It was stronger." She remembered her failing will, the resistance leaching out of her arm, and an ugly, tainted part of her whispering, Yes! Do it! Do it! "Another twenty or thirty seconds and…"

"Jeez."

"But the worst part is I'm starting to like it, Jack. It sickens me now, but when the Unity's with me… the love, the complete unconditional acceptance, the feeling of being part of something so much bigger and more important is like a drug, and the infiltrated part of my brain is succumbing."

"But you're okay now."

"Now. But I can't spend the rest of my life standing in front of a microwave."

His eyes hardened. "Don't worry. You won't have to."

She knew what he was thinking, but despite all she'd been through, the idea still appalled her.

"The Unity had it in for you before, Jack, but now that you've killed Ellen it will really be after you."

"Was that her name?"

Kate nodded. "The Unity is reeling from her loss. They want you dead; they may set a trap for you."

"Let them."

"They're seven, and they can follow you without you knowing it. Think about it, Jack: seven minds, each knowing exactly what the others are thinking, what they're doing, what they're going to do."

"But they'll be on my turf."

"I've got a better idea." This had just occurred to her. "Get me away from New York, get me as far away as possible."

"You mean where the Unity can't reach you?"

"Yes. There has to be a limit to its range. If I can go far enough, to where I fall off its radar…"

"If it can't find you, it can't rule you." As Jack reached for the phone his face lost the grim expression it had worn since he'd walked in. "I'll put us in the next two empty seats to California."

"Wait," Kate said as another thought struck her. "Once I'm away from the microwave, what's to prevent me from telling the first cop I see that you're trying to kidnap me?"

Jack's hand dropped back to his side. "Damn."

"We can go by car."

"Yeah, but what's to stop you from—"

"You can tie me up." She shook her head as his eyes widened. "Don't look at me like that. Just because I'm a lesbian doesn't mean I have bondage fantasies too. I'm serious. Bind me, gag me, put me in a burlap sack, toss me into your trunk, and take me far away fast."

"You're not kidding?"

"Jack, you can't imagine what it's like to feel your soul being engulfed. Once I'm out of range, I can wait for the cure."

"Let's think this through," he said slowly. "Let's say we get as far as Pittsburgh or Ohio tonight. How will we know if that's far enough?" He pointed to the cracked glass of the humming microwave. "I'm not buying a word you say once you're away from this."

"Simple. We'll bring the oven with us. Every time we stop, you find a place to plug it in and test me. If I still need it, we keep on moving."

He shook his head. "I don't like it, Kate. The idea of you in that trunk hour after hour…"

The thought of being tied up in such a small space terrified her, but not as much as surrendering to the Unity.

"It's a big trunk. Huge."

"I don't know…"

"You have a better idea?"

"No." He sighed. "All right. But I'll need to get some rope—soft rope—and since I don't stock body bags, I'll have to find something to wrap you in. And I'll want to get quilts to give you some cushioning."

"That means you have to go out and leave me."

He nodded.

The idea terrified her. "What if the microwave goes off?"

"I've set it for the max. The timer's got over ninety-nine hours left on it."

"Yesterday they were predicting storms for today. Are they still?"

"I think so."

"What if there's a power failure?"

"That almost never happens."

"But what if it does?"

The grim lines returned to his face. "I don't know."

"You do know: I become an enemy." And I lose control. And I stop being me. "We've got to try a test. I need to know how long I've got after the microwave goes off."

"I don't think that's such a good—"

"Please, Jack. We'll pause it for twenty seconds."

"Ten."

"Twenty, and then turn it back on. No matter what I say, turn it back on after twenty."

"All right," he said, shaking his head. "But I don't like it."

"I hate it." Her palms were moist already. "But I've got to know."

"Ready?" He placed a finger over the PAUSE/CLEAR button—"Here goes"—and pressed it.

As the oven's hum died, Kate watched the clock.

"Five seconds," Jack said, eyes on his watch.

Nothing yet.

"Ten seconds."

Still okay.

And then another sort of hum, vocal instead of mechanical, accompanied by a flood of loving warmth… even the air around her seem to take on a golden glow.

Kate, we've missed you so. Did he hurt you? You mustn't let him do that again.

A flood of disjointed thoughts and impressions swirled and eddied around the words as they flowed through her.

We need you, Kate. Now more than ever.

"Fifteen seconds," Jack said.

Why was he counting? she wondered. An instant ago he'd cracked the microwave oven's glass door and turned it on, but now it was off.

"Sixteen."

She sensed she had lost time. How much?

"Seventeen."

He must have started the oven and broken her contact with the Unity.

Yes, Kate. He took you away from us for a long time. Is he going to do it again? Is that why he's counting?

I don't know.

"Eighteen."

How long before he turns it back on?

I don't know!

Why didn't she know? He must not have told her.

He mustn't turn it on again!

She agreed. This was too good a feeling to lose. But then another part of her, a shrinking part, cried out to press the button herself.

"Nineteen."

She saw Jack reach for the start button.

Stop him!

"Wait, Jack." She gripped his arm. "Don't—"

"Damn," he said and hit the button.

NOOOoooo…

Abruptly the hum and peach-glow warmth faded, replaced by the cold fluorescent reality of Jack's kitchen.

"It got you, didn't it," he said.

Kate nodded, fighting back a tide of depression. "Somewhere around twelve seconds."

"Jeez."

"But Jack, it was the strangest thing. Once the Unity came back I had no idea why you were counting. Neither did the Unity. Eventually it was obvious you were going to turn on the oven again, but I didn't know when. We'd agreed on twenty seconds but the memory was completely gone. The Unity appears to be blind to what I experience with the microwave running; so blind that my Unity self has no memory of it once the oven is turned off. It's like I'm two people now."

"So can we risk leaving you alone?"

"We'll have to, Jack. Just pick up what you need and get back here as soon as you can."

"I can just wait till the storm passes."

"No. Now's a good time. They've put you on a back burner to settle with later."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

"I'm not sure. The Unity doesn't communicate solely by words. Feelings are a major mode, but half-formed thoughts and what I guess you'd simply have to call data filter through as well. I got the impression it's put the 'Jack problem' aside while it deals with something else, something it considers momentous."

"Like what?"

"The Great Leap, whatever that is. They were planning on assembling this evening for it. They'd been so sure about it before, but now I get the impression that with the loss of Ellen this Great Leap doesn't seem quite as inevitable as they'd thought. I sensed a lot of confusion."

"Okay, but I still don't trust them."

"And I sensed something else, Jack."

"Like what?"

She rubbed her upper arms against a sudden chill. "Something outside the Unity, but connected to it. Not controlling it, exactly, but… nudging it."

Jack closed his eyes and sighed through his teeth. "The Otherness."

"The what?"

"Long story."

"You're not getting off with that again. If this involves me, I want to know."

He nodded, then, speaking rapidly, launched into a outlandish story about two huge opposing forces in conflict, with Earth and humanity as the prize.

"Cosmic dualism," she interjected when he paused for breath. "I never would have imagined you a believer in that."

"I'm not," he replied with a grim expression. "I'm a knower. There's a difference."

"But a war between Good and Evil? That's so…"

"It's not as simple as that. As it was explained to me, it's not a matter of good and evil, it's more like an endless conflict between a nameless force that's largely indifferent, and a truly evil one that some people have labeled the Otherness. But just so we don't start feeling too important, we aren't the big prize in this game; we're a tiny piece in an obscure corner of their cosmic chessboard."

"How do you know all this?"

"Because somewhere along the way I became involved."

"You? How?"

"Not my idea. Got drafted somehow. But if the Unity virus is connected to the Otherness, that means you're involved too. Someone once told me that the Otherness feeds on the worst in us, and if that's so, I can see now how it'll use the Unity to bring that out."

"But the Unity's goal is just the opposite. It wants to eliminate conflict by turning us into a single-minded herd of contented cows."

"But before it reaches that goal—if it ever does—it's going to spark a global race war between the infected and uninfected, just like in my dream. And that's when the Otherness will chow down."

The faces of Kevin and Lizzie loomed before her. "We've got to stop it… them."

"I know. And the first step is to put you out of range. Once you're safe, we stop playing defense."

He dragged a chair in from his front room.

"Here. Might as well be comfortable while I'm running my errands." He started for the door, then turned. "I'm locking the door. If anyone knocks, it's not me, so don't budge from that spot. I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't go away."

"Very funny."

After the door closed, she heard the multiple latches snap closed. Then she was alone with the humming microwave… and through the open windows in the front room… was that a rumble of distant thunder?

6

"I don't see how that's any of your business," the man told Sandy and stepped back to shut his front door.

Sandy put out a hand to stop it. "You know, don't you, that he was picked up for questioning about a murder in Queens?" he said quickly.

The door stopped, then opened wider.

That always got them.

Back in Pelham Parkway for the second time in as many days, Sandy had been knocking on doors up and down Holdstock's block, trying to get a handle on what the neighbors knew about his cult. Not much, it turned out. The few who were home on a Monday afternoon were suspicious and reluctant to talk, but tended to open up when they learned that the police were interested in their neighbor as well.

"You don't say?" the man said, stepping forward again.

"Yes. That was yesterday. And today a member of a group that meets in his house was found murdered in Riverside Park."

"No kidding?" He scratched his stubbled chin. "You know, I've seen a fair number of people going in and out of there lately. I'd heard he was sick and I just figured it was friends and family, or some prayer group or something."

"The police will be questioning him again today." At least that was what McCann had said. The new victim, Ellen Blount, had died on McCann's turf so now he was directly involved. "But besides extra visitors, have you noticed anything strange going on?"

"Like what?"

"Shouts, screams."

The man shook his head. "Can't say as I have."

That seemed to be par for the course. One lady had heard what she thought was chanting once, but that was it.

"Hey, there he is now," the man said, pointing over Sandy's shoulder. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Sandy turned and saw Terrence Holdstock hurrying down his walk to a green Accord parked at the curb. He got in and drove off with a squeal of tires.

"Wherever he's going, it looks like he's in a hurry."

"Thanks for your time," Sandy said and rushed for his own car.

Wherever you're going, he thought, looking after the retreating Honda, I'm going.

The first raindrops hit his windshield as he pulled away from the curb.

7

The rope had been no sweat—Jack had found some reasonably soft half-inch nylon cord he could use to tie Kate securely without hurting her. Neither were the extra-thick quilts—a bedding store had supplied those.

But the bag to hide her while he carried her from his apartment to the car, that had proved a problem. After searching from store to store he'd finally settled for a huge canvas duffel bag that would hold Kate with room to spare if she bent her knees. Once she was in the trunk, he'd open it and let her stretch out.

As he got rolling again the rain hit, and his thoughts veered toward the Otherness. Everywhere he turned these past couple of months he seemed to be bumping into something related to it. All seemed to start after that conspiracy convention back in April; he'd stood on the edge of a bottomless pit and sensed that some sort of torch had been passed to him. He'd written it off, but maybe that was what the Russian lady had meant by, Is war and you are warrior.

He hadn't signed up for anything, but she'd said something about, One does not join. Is chosen.

Chosen? By whom? Or what? What was happening to him? He'd shaped his life for maximum autonomy, but lately he seemed to be increasingly pushed and pulled by outside forces. Made him feel trapped, and that gave him a crawly sensation in his gut.

She'd said "the Adversary" was behind the virus. Was that her name for the Otherness? No, she'd said, You have met. That sounded like a person. Who—?

Jack's big Ford swerved as he realized: Sal Roma. He'd run up against Roma at that conspiracy convention, and damn near died as a result. That was why the mysterious unauthorized name on Fielding's culture sign-in sheet had seemed familiar. Sal Roma… Ms. Aralo. Cute. Just too damn cute for words. Jack already knew his real name wasn't Roma, and certainly Ms. Aralo wasn't either. So who was he, really? And how did he fit? As a tool? Or a player?

Not that it mattered now. What mattered was Roma was somehow pulling the strings that had put Kate in harm's way. And Jack already had witnessed the level of harm Roma could muster.

This changed everything. Taking Kate on a trip might turn out to be far too little way too late.

His search for the bag had brought him down to the West Thirties. Jeanette's apartment was only a few blocks away. Maybe he should swing by, just on the outside chance…

The downpour slowed traffic while the dark sky crackled with lightning. As he approached The Arsley he saw lights in Jeanette's windows. Maybe Holdstock was there with her. Maybe the whole gang.

Jack parked across the street and waited. If Jeanette or any other member of the Unity came out, he'd follow; if offered a chance to go in, he'd take it. Didn't have a plan yet; he'd play it by ear until one came along.

After about ten minutes a woman stepped up to the door and began fishing through her handbag. Jack jumped out of the car and was right behind her when she stepped into the lobby.

Smiled at her as he ducked into the stairwell. "Lousy weather, isn't it.

On the third floor, he pulled his Glock and quietly chambered a round as he stepped up to Jeanette's door. Inside he heard the phone begin to ring. It went on ringing. Whoever was there was ignoring it. Maybe he'd arrived in the middle of one of their séances or whatever they did. Wouldn't that be neat.

Pulled out his trusty defunct Visa card and slipped the latch. Eased the door open—if the chain was on he'd have to try another tack, but it wasn't. He slipped through, closed the door softly behind him, and looked around.

All the lights were on and he heard someone moving around in the bedroom. Sidled over to the doorway where he saw the tenant herself packing a suitcase—two, in fact. One with Kate's stuff.

Lifted the pistol and sighted on the back of Jeanette's head. He was cool› his anger confined. Here was the one who'd infected Kate, here was part of the group that had tried to kill him this morning. With her dead there'd be only six left. Maybe not enough to dominate Kate.

As his finger gently squeezed the trigger, the thought of Kate brought back her words…

… the individuals are innocent. They didn't ask to be infected…

And would Kate ever forgive him for killing Jeanette?

"Going somewhere?" he said without lowering the pistol.

Jeanette whirled with a gasp. "You! You're not with Kate?"

"You don't see her, do you."

Her frightened gaze settled on the Glock, then she took a deep breath.

"Scream," Jack said softly as she opened her mouth, "and I'll shoot you dead. Just give me an excuse."

Jeanette must have believed him. She paused, mouth still open, then said, "Where's Kate? What have you done with her?"

They don't know, he thought. They've really lost contact. So why not throw them a curve?

"She's waiting down in the car."

"You lie!"

"No. She found a way to kill off the virus."

"Impossible."

Jack shrugged. An idea was forming. "Believe what you want. I

don't care. We were just stopping by to pick up her clothes. Which I see you've been so kind to pack up for her. Why?"

"She's going on a trip."

"To the Bronx for another hand-holding party? Those days are over. And the Unity's days are numbered."

"No! That can't be true!"

"Come downstairs and see for yourself. Say hello to your ex-friend."

Jeanette's lips smiled. A pretty smile. Too bad she wasn't behind it. "You're bluffing. I'll call you on it."

Jack's thoughts raced ahead as he followed her out the door, along the hall, and down the stairs.

Raining outside… cuts down the number of pedestrians… almost dark as night… if he can get Jeanette to the car maybe he can clock her on the head.

Trouble was, the Glock was mostly polymer, and didn't double well as a sap. But it was the best he had.

And once he had her, then what? Take her to Holdstock's? Pick him up too? That sounded like a plan. Start collecting members of the Unity in his trunk.

Collect them all! as the TV ads used to say.

But would that help?

Only one way to find out.

She paused at the apartment house entrance. Lightning still strobed the street but the downpour had died to a drizzle, prompting a few more pedestrians to brave the pavements.

Jack cursed silently. A lot of potential witnesses. Too many perhaps. Could he risk it? He'd have to play it by ear and decide when the moment came.

He pointed to his car across the street. "There. Kate's in the passenger seat. See her?"

Jeanette squinted though the gloom, then shook her head.

"Come on," Jack said, taking her arm and leading her onto the sidewalk. "Say hello."

He had her in the street, ready to cross, when headlights from a passing cab made it clear Jack's car was empty.

Jeanette pulled away and began screaming. "Rape! Rape!" She backed toward the curb, pointing a finger at Jack. "Stop him! Don't let him touch me!"

Up and down the block heads turned, looking their way. Feeling as if he were in a spotlight, Jack sidled across the street through a break in traffic.

"If you want us, you know where to find us," she said in a lower voice, then started running away, screaming again. "Rape! He tried to rape me!"

Keeping his head down, Jack turned and walked in the other direction. He went around the block. The rain picked up again and he was soaked by the time he returned to his car. He got in and pulled away.

Seemed to Jack like the Unity had issued a challenge. He'd accept it. But first he'd need a few supplies.

He headed uptown, toward Abe's.

8

Despite all the houses slipping by on either side, hundreds of them, Sandy felt like he was in the middle of nowhere. Maybe because most of the houses looked empty.

He knew he was somewhere at the Jersey shore, but that was all he knew. He'd heard of it—couldn't listen to much Springsteen without hearing of the Jersey shore—but had never been here.

He'd been following Terry—somewhere along the way he'd started calling Holdstock by his first name—for an hour and a half now: across the George Washington Bridge, down the Turnpike to the Parkway, and now along this spit of land with a bay—Barnegat?—to the right and ocean dunes far to the left across the wide, house-choked island that separated the north- and southbound lanes. They didn't waste a square inch of buildable space around here.

Right now he and Terry made up half of the cars on the road.

The whole area would probably be jumping come the weekend, and every day after July Fourth, but at the moment it had the pre-season lonelies.

What's this all about, Terry? Where are we going? Another murder, perhaps?

Part of him hoped yes, but another part prayed no. Because if he saw a killing about to go down he'd have to do something about it, wouldn't he? He couldn't just stand and watch it happen, then report it later. Like the Savior had said after he'd clobbered that purse snatcher: to do nothing would make him an accomplice.

But this Holdstock was a hefty guy, and Sandy a featherweight. He thought of the Savior's little Semmerling and wished he had something like it.

Maybe he's just going to plot his next murder, check out his intended victim. That I can handle.

Sandy called his apartment for the fourth time. On the last three his voicemail had picked up but he hadn't left a message. This time Beth answered.

"I'm glad you called," she told him. "I expected you back by now. Where are you?"

"Believe it or not, the Jersey Shore. A last-minute assignment."

"Not that murder cult thing, I hope."

He didn't want to worry her. "Something entirely different. But I won't make it home for dinner."

"Aw, and I just got in the fixings for my world famous bean burritos. How late are you going to be?"

"Not sure."

"Whatever. I'll wait up."

"You will?"

"Sure."

Someone to wait up for you… how great was—

He'd just passed a sign that said WELCOME TO OCEAN BEACH, NJ and now the blinker on Terry's Honda was flashing a left.

"Oops, gotta go," he said, poising his thumb over the END button. "Call you when I'm on my way back."

Sandy couldn't follow the car into the same turn—Terry would guess he was being followed—so he cruised past to the next left, then gunned across the inhabited median to the northbound lanes.

Sandy groaned as he saw the Honda turn north again. Was it heading back to the city?

What's going on? he thought. Is this all some wild goose chase?

But his sinking feelings reversed when he saw the Honda make a quick right onto one of the residential streets.

Sandy grinned. Looked like Terry Holdstock had reached his destination.

9

Kate sat on the kitchen floor, hugging her knees, her back against a cabinet. She'd been unable to get comfortable on the chair Jack had left her; this was better. She was listening to the storm and wondering about the future—if she had a future—and whether she'd ever see Kevin and Elizabeth again—

Oh, dear Lord! Lizzie's recital! It starts in less than two hours! I'll miss it!

She pawed through her shoulder bag for her cell phone but when she found it, the battery was dead. And the charger was at Jeanette's. She leaped to her feet and was reaching for Jack's kitchen phone when it began to ring. She snatched it up.

"How's it going, Kate?" Jack's voice.

"As well as can be expected." She didn't want to go into the recital business. How would Lizzie ever forgive her?

"The storm had me worried. I thought I'd give a call."

"Aren't you a good brother. So far, so good."

"Do me a favor, will you? Hold the phone up to the microwave."

"Are you serious?"

"I just want to know it's still running."

She did as requested.

"Satisfied?"

"At least now I know I'm talking to my sister. The other reason I called is I ran into Jeanette at her place."

"Jack, you didn't—"

"She got away. But she gave me an idea. If they're all gathering at Holdstock's, I might be able to work something that will give you a little more breathing room."

"What?"

"I'd rather not say. Not because you'll object to it—"

"But because you don't want the Unity to know."

"Well, yeah."

"It's safe, Jack. I know from experience the Unity has no idea what's going on while the microwave is running."

"I'd still rather keep it to myself. But I'll call you as soon as I get it done—if I get it done."

"Okay." She was unhappy not knowing but she didn't see that she had much choice. "In the meantime I have to call home and my cell phone's dead. Okay if I use yours?"

"Call away. Talk to you later."

Kate cut the connection and immediately began dialing Ron's number. They wouldn't have left yet. How was she ever going to explain this to Lizzy? What could she say to—

An ear-numbing crash of thunder shook the kitchen and the lights went out.

"Oh, no!" Panic spiked Kate's heart as she jumped to her feet in the suddenly dark kitchen. "Oh please, God, no!"

Twelve seconds before the Unity seized her again—and she couldn't see the clock. What could she do? She couldn't think, couldn't—

The overhead fluorescents flickered, almost died, then returned to full brightness.

Yes!

But the microwave remained off. Kate all but leaped on it. The clock display was blinking 12:00. Never mind that. The timer buttons. Her trembling fingers found the numerical pad. Press them, jab them, stab them, any numbers, just get it going again: 8-8-8-8. Now START. Find START. There!

As her fingertip darted toward it—

The hum.

The warmth.

The glow.

The Voice.

Kate! You're still there? Tonight you must—

And then she hit the START button. If her finger had not already been on it, she might not have pressed it. Might never have tried.

As the oven hummed to life, Kate sagged against the counter, weak with relief. She sobbed. Once.

Too close. More unsettling was how quickly the Unity had gripped her. Kate hadn't been watching a clock but she was sure the oven had been off less than twelve seconds. Which could mean only one thing: she was becoming further integrated. The Unity's contact might be broken by the microwaves, but the virus was still doing its nasty work inside her head, invading more and more of her brain cells.

I'm lost, she thought. Without a cure, I'll be gone.

What had the Unity said? You're still there? It had sounded surprised. And pleased.

Kate closed her eyes and tried to sift through the residue that had seeped through with the words. Why surprised? And then she knew: Jack had lied to the Unity about her whereabouts. It must have thought he'd locked her away somewhere.

She realized with a start that it was glad to know where she was because it probably was sending someone for her. Not too much to worry about if they were. No one without a power saw and a sledgehammer was getting through Jack's front door.

And then she realized that the Unity had lied to Jack, sending him in the wrong direction. They weren't meeting at Holdstock's as originally planned. They needed a set amount of time in close contact for the Great Leap, and it had been decided—whether by them or for them, Kate couldn't be sure—to find an isolated location where they would not be interrupted. Or disrupted. Holdstock had become the object of further police interrogation, might even face incarceration—the thought of losing another member before the Great Leap terrified the Unity. Luckily they'd found the perfect spot, a place owned by another member. The exact location hadn't yet come through… all Kate could glean was something about "Joyce's rental property"…

But the word tonight… so laden with emotion… mostly anticipation about the Great Leap, but concern as well… and something new there…

Kate closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and tried to relax enough to let the residue seep to the surface where she could see it.

Slowly it came… tonight… the Great Leap… a mutation.

"Dear Lord!" she cried aloud.

Tonight the virus would mature enough to change itself, mutate within all the members into an airborne strain.

And then the plan goes into motion: As soon as the mutation is complete, all the members of the Unity will fan out to the transportation hubs—Grand Central Station, Penn Station, La Guardia, JFK, and Newark airports—where they'll go from gate to gate, especially targeting the international terminals, coughing, sneezing, touching, spreading the virus far and wide. They will continue this day after day, week after week, until the Unity has worldwide scope.

And from there it's a simple matter of geometrical progression. Jack's nightmare will become reality… starting tonight.

She had to tell Jack! Had to stop them!

Kate picked up the phone from where she'd dropped it, then realized she had no idea of how to reach him. And even if she did, what could she tell him? All she knew was that the Unity would gather at "Joyce's rental property"… but where was that?

She did know the Unity wanted to bring her there.

And she also knew now that she could not outrun it. Distance meant nothing. It wasn't like an FM signal where once you passed over the horizon you lost reception. Once it got its hooks into you it always knew where you were and what you were doing and thinking. Because you were part of it. Just like putting your hand behind your back: it's out of sight but you still know where it is and what it's doing.

Only microwaves interfered with the connection, and only temporarily. What would happen if she stayed by the microwave oven tonight? Would her virus mutate anyway? She sensed it would not. But if not now, then surely later.

And then she'd be like the rest, traveling around, spreading the virus… going back home to infect Kevin and Elizabeth…

No! She would not be part of that.

She'd kill herself first.

But would that change anything in the long run? She was surprised how willing she was to die rather than spread this virus. But all she'd accomplish was the death of the only person not integrated into the Unity who knew what was going to happen tonight. The Unity would go on, the virus would mutate without her, and Kevin, Lizzie, the whole world would be sucked into her hell.

She couldn't allow that, had to stop them, was ready to die trying, but had no idea what to do.

With cold terror weighing upon her, she slid back to the floor and sat hugging her knees to her chest.

Please call back, Jack. You'll know what to do, I know you will.

10

Sandy peered around the corner of one of the plywood-box bungalows that were stacked up and down these sandy lanes like Monopoly houses. Luckily they were mostly empty; probably occupied during the summer and that was it. With barely a few yards of gravel and sand separating the houses, hiding places were scarce.

He'd parked near the end of a parallel street where he could hear the surf rumbling on the far side of the dunes. He'd moved between the bungalows until he found Holdstock's car parked in front of a bright yellow box, distinguishable from its neighbors only by its color. He'd been about to move closer when Terry emerged with a heavyset brunette built like a Rottweiler and the two had driven off in her car. Sandy had run back to his car to follow, but by the time he'd reached the highway they were out of sight. Since Terry had left his own car behind, Sandy had decided to wait.

Good thing, too. A few minutes ago the pair had returned with grocery bags.

Do I risk it? Sandy wondered as he eyed a lighted window on the east side of the tiny house, the only lighted window in sight. With the neighborhood so deserted, who'd know? Besides, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

He wished he'd brought a jacket, though. The salty breeze flowing over the dunes blew cool and damp. Faint flashes from the storm they'd left behind in the city flickered to the north. He hoped it stayed up there. He was chilled; he didn't need to be wet too.

Sandy decided on a circuitous route around to the house, removing his shoes for the final approach to minimize any noise on the gravel. The cold stones jabbed him through his socks but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. Finally he reached the window and peeked inside.

Eight chairs had been arranged in a circle in the front room. A small round table in the center was laden with cheese, crackers, chips, and dips. More than two people could put away. Obviously they were expecting company.

A party? Sandy thought. Is that why I followed Terry here—to snoop on a party? But then he supposed cult members had to eat like anyone else.

Hey, maybe they were planning an orgy. That would be cool. Then again, maybe not if Terry and the Rottweiler woman were any indication of the looks of the participants.

Sandy looked around for liquor but saw only bottled water. Okay, so it was an alcohol-free cult. But was it talk-free too?

The silence was deafening. No radio, no stereo, no TV. Terry and the woman sat in two of the chairs, staring into space, not speaking a word, seemingly unaware of each other's existence.

It gave him the creeps.

Lights flashed on the street—Sandy ducked into a crouch behind a nearby propane tank as tires crunched on the gravel. He heard car doors open and slam, shoes scuffing on the stones, the front door opening. He looked back inside and saw two men and two women enter. Neither Terry nor the first woman greeted them, or even acknowledged their presence. The newcomers said nothing as they helped themselves to the food and took their seats, leaving two empty. One of the new-comers placed a black-framed photo on one of the empty seats but it was angled so that Sandy couldn't the face.

Fascinated, he kept watching. This was the most bizarre scene he'd ever witnessed.

11

"Nu?" Abe said. "In such weather you're out? You're dripping on my floor. Even rats are smart enough to stay inside on a night like this."

Jack looked around. They had the store to themselves. The storm was keeping people indoors, and Abe did not encourage repeat business in his off-the-street sporting goods customers anyway.

"Got a bit of an emergency," Jack said.

"Before you go on…" Abe reached under the counter and came up with a paper-wrapped parcel. "See what you think of this."

Jack unwrapped it and found a tiny automatic pistol. He turned it over in his hands. He liked the feel of it. It ran maybe five inches from its muzzle to its concealed hammer, and couldn't have weighed much more than a pound.

"Looks like a .380."

"Correct," Abe said. "An AMT. Smallest U.S.-manufactured .380 ACP."

"So it's not a .45."

"Right. It's a backup. A .45 for backup you don't need, especially using those frangibles you like. And it's got a five-shot clip. Carry it with a round chambered—as you should—and you've got six shots. For you I've pre-loaded it. The first three rounds are your beloved MagSafe Defenders in .380. The last three are hardballs. Whatever you need you've got, and you can use the same ankle holster as the Semmerling. Like a glove it will fit."

Jack thought of his little Semmerling and felt a burst of irrational sentiment. They'd been through a lot together. He felt as if he were deserting an old friend.

"I don't know, Abe…"

"Don't be a shnook. The AMT gives you more rounds and is a true blowback autoloader. No more of this jerking the slide back and forth for every shot. And most important, I can get you parts—replacement barrels and firing pins I've stocked already. Can't say the same for the Semmerling."

Everything Abe said made sense. The Semmerling had to go. Reckless even to keep it around, let alone carry it.

"All right," he said. "You've sold me."

"The light he sees—at last! Give me the Semmerling and I'll dispose of it for you."

"Can't. It's back home."

For a disturbing instant he couldn't remember where it was, then it came back to him. In the top drawer of the secretary. He'd dumped it there the other day before he'd collapsed into bed with the fever.

"So bring it when you remember. Nu. What's this emergency then?"

"Remember that knockout gas you sold me last December?"

"The T-72?"

"That's it. Tell me you've got some more, or something just like it."

"Lucky for you I had to buy three canisters to supply you with that one." He stepped out from behind the counter and began to waddle toward the door to the cellar. "You're putting someone to sleep?"

"Seven someones, I hope."

"Seven? I should get you both cans. How are you going to do this?"

"Not sure yet. Lock them all in a closed room or a basement and break the vials."

"That'll work. As long as someone doesn't break a window. If someone should do that, what do you do?"

Jack sighed. Good question. But he was getting tired of this problem. Tired of worrying about Kate. Tired of pussyfooting around the obvious solution.

"Better throw in a box of nine-millimeter MagSafes while you're at it."

One way or another, he thought, this ends tonight.

12

Kate knew now what had to be done. The hard part had been deciding how to do it. But after solving that—in a stroke of inspiration—the decision as to who would do it was easy. Only one person in the world fit the job description: Kate Iverson.

The first thing she had to do was get to Jack's old oak secretary.

She rose to her feet. She didn't know the effective radius of the oven's microwaves. It couldn't be far. But just how far could she go without letting the Unity back in? She needed to know.

But first she had to blank her mind about what she was planning. She couldn't allow even a faint residue to remain for the Unity to pick up on.

That done, she took one small step away from the oven. Okay. No change.

Another… did the air seem a little warmer? The kitchen a little brighter?

A little further, half a step this time…

Kate? The voice was faint, as if heard through a wall. Kate, are you there?

Quickly she stepped back to the oven. Four or five feet, that was it. Beyond that the Unity waited. And the secretary was a good fifteen feet away. Still, she had to reach it.

She considered running to it, grabbing what she needed, then dashing back, but immediately discarded the idea. As soon as the Unity took hold she'd forget why she was out there.

The only solution was to move the microwave closer to the secretary. But how?

She checked the power cord. It was barely four feet long, not nearly enough.

She went through the kitchen, searching cabinets, yanking out every drawer until she found what she was looking for in the very rear of a catch-all cabinet next to the refrigerator: a pair of dusty, worn extension cords.

She stretched them out on the floor. The brown one ran a measly three feet, but the white was twice that. Nine feet of cord. Another three would be perfect, but it looked like she'd have to make do with these.

She connected them end to end, then plugged the combined cord into an open receptacle in an outlet by the microwave.

Now the scary part. She'd be taking a big risk, but not taking it would be a threat to everyone she cared about.

With the female end of the extension cord in her left hand, she grasped the microwave cord with her right. Taking a deep breath Kate unplugged the oven. As the whine of the transmitter wound down she jammed the microwave plug into the extension receptacle, missing on the first try because her hands were trembling so. Once they were together she darted to the front of the microwave and punched in 9-9-9-9. She hit START and—

Nothing. The oven's display was dark.

No! The kitchen was starting to warm, to glow…

What was wrong? Bad receptacle? Bad cord?

She switched the extension plug to the receptacle the oven had been using before and checked the display.

The LED was lit now, blinking 12:00, and the humming warmth was enveloping her in its golden glow.

She felt as if she were moving underwater as she punched the numbers again, hit the START button…

And was dumped from the warm Unity amnion back into cold reality.

Kate leaned against the counter, waiting for her heart to slow. No time to dwell on what had happened. As soon as she caught her breath she wrapped her arms around the microwave oven and lifted it off the counter. Slowly, carefully—didn't want to pull out that plug—she shuffled her way across the kitchen. When she neared the combined length of the cords she knelt and gently placed the oven on the floor.

The secretary still seemed a dishearteningly long way off. She looked around. No other extension cord anywhere. She'd have to risk it.

Blanking her mind again, she took a step toward the secretary, then another. Now she was near the limit of the safe zone. She reached out toward the secretary's top drawer. No good. Her fingers were still a good twelve to fifteen inches away.

Kate edged her feet another half step away from the oven, then leaned toward the secretary. The hum began as her fingertips brushed the brass pull. She tugged on it, sliding the drawer from its slot. Two thirds of the way out it stopped, stuck. She pulled harder but it wouldn't budge.

Darn.

She leaned closer to get a look inside the jammed drawer—

The hum grew. Kate? Kate?

She jerked back. She'd have to move into the no man's land between the microwave and the Unity. But what if the Unity realized what she was reaching for? Her plan would be ruined. She'd have to fill her mind with something else.

A song. For some reason the inane lyrics of an old nursery song, "The Muffin Man" popped into her head: Do you know the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man… She'd sung it to Kevin and Lizzie—Lord, she'd even sung it to Jack when he was a baby.

Kate closed her eyes a moment, gathered her courage, then leaned again into the hum, stretching her hand, arm, and fingers to the limit while mentally chanting the tune.

Kate? Are you there, Kate?

Just get-ting a plas-tic box, a plas-tic box, a plas-tic box, just getting a plas-tic box—

Her fingers found a plastic object with corners and she snatched the little portable alarm clock back into the free zone.

Got it! And she'd kept the Unity from knowing what she'd done. At least she prayed she had.

Kate placed the clock and its dangling wires atop the microwave oven, then approached the secretary again. She chanted the same tune, changing a few words.

Just get-ting some bat-ter-ies, some bat-ter-ies, some bat-ter-ies, just get-ting some bat-ter-ies—

Her hands scrabbled through the drawer, grabbing everything they touched, and retrieved into the free zone the two little cylinders Jack had called detonators. And something else: the tiny pistol she'd seen the other day. She placed that and the rest on the microwave.

Now… the last thing, the most important item: the block of explosive. What could she call it—or rather, think it? It would have to be good because the explosive sat at the far edge of the drawer. It had weight and was wrapped in paper. And then she knew.

She stepped toward the secretary again, inches closer this time, into the hum, into a blush of warmth, into the voice…

Kate? Why do you keep fading in and out, Kate? We need you…

Just get-ting an ad-dress book, an ad-dress book, an ad-dress book, just get-ting an ad-dress book—

Her fingers closed around the long edge of something, an inch or so thick, waxy paper against her fingertips.

Kate? What are you doing?

Doing? Yes, what was she doing? Getting something from this drawer, obviously. But what?

Kate?

She leaned back, not to escape the voice, certainly not to escape that nice pool of warmth, merely to straighten her spine because it was uncomfortable and so awkward leaning over like that—

And she was freed.

And in her hand, the block of clay-like explosive.

Kate knelt beside the microwave and sobbed. Not with joy, not with relief, but with an aching terror in her bones. She didn't want to do this.

Kate allowed herself some self-pity for a moment, then began sliding the microwave back across the floor toward the cabinets. She had work to do.

She used a steak knife from the utensil drawer to strip the ends of the wires leading from the clock and the detonators. She twisted them back together and wrapped the splices with scotch tape.

Almost there. One more thing to do, the hardest of all, and then she'd be ready.

13

Jack cruised right past Holdstock's house on the first pass. He'd only been here once before, and he missed it in the dark. The pelting rain didn't help. Doubled back and found it, and realized why he'd missed it: not a light, not a sign of life.

Alarm bells clamored in his brain as he left the car and ran up the walk. Quick look though the front windows—not even a glimmer; around back—same story. A tomb had more activity.

Returned to his car and sat dripping in the front seat, staring at the dark house.

Suckered.

If you want us, you know where to find us.

Jeanette—or rather the Unity speaking through her—had misdirected him. Why? Just to waste his time? Or—

Oh, hell. Kate.

Grabbed his cell phone and dialed. Kept it for emergencies only and was always careful about what he said. This was an emergency.

Busy signal. Good sign. The Unity didn't seem to need phones to communicate and Kate had said she had calls to make.

Question was: did the Unity know where he lived? He had to assume that it had acquired most of Kate's knowledge, and Kate did know his address. Somebody from the Unity could be heading for his place now. He or she wouldn't be able to get in, but Jack would feel better being at Kate's side.

He gunned the car back toward the Bronx River Parkway.

14

Ron answered the phone. She could hear irritation battling with relief in his tone as the words poured through the receiver in a rush. "Jesus Christ, Kate, where have you been? Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," she said.

His voiced faded as she heard him say, "It's Mom. She's okay." Relieved murmurs from Kevin and Lizzie in the background, then his voice louder again. "We've been worried sick about you. Why didn't you call? It was like you dropped off the face of the earth. When you didn't show up this afternoon I started calling your friend's phone, your cell phone—no answer anywhere. We've been frantic. I was just about to call the New York police!"

"It's been terrible here, Ron," Kate said. "Jeanette's in a coma. I don't think she's coming out of it."

She wanted to tell as few lies as possible, but since no one would believe the truth, she'd have to stretch it. Jeanette—the real Jeanette—was in a coma of sorts.

"Oh," Ron said. "I'm sorry. But you could have called."

"And then there's my brother Jack."

"The long lost Jack?"

"I ran into him here and three or four days later he becomes seriously ill—high fever, delirious. So it's been one thing on top of another."

"Sounds terrible." His voice descended from anxiety to understanding. That had always been Ron's strong suit: understanding. "And you don't sound so hot yourself."

"I haven't been feeling quite myself."

"Still… you could have called. Are you still in New York?"

Yes.

"Then there's no way you can make the concert." He lowered his voice. "Lizzie will be heartbroken."

"I know that, Ron. Don't you think I feel bad enough? Put her on, will you.

And then her dear sweet daughter came on and Kate pleaded for understanding and Lizzie told her it was all right, there'd be other concerts—she'd do a command performance for her mother when she came home—and Kate burst into tears and promised that as long as she lived she'd never miss another recital.

"You know I love you more than life itself, Lizzie," she said. "Never forget that, no matter what happens."

And then she spoke to Kevin.

"I feel so bad," she told him. "After my big lecture about doing things as a family, I'm the one who's not going make it. But if there was any way I could be there you know I would."

"Sure, Ma."

"So be there in my place, okay, Kev? Be my surrogate."

And then she told him how proud she was of him, how she loved him and wanted only the best for him, always and forever.

Ron came back on, his voice hushed. "Is something wrong, Kate? You sound so strange. You've spooked the kids."

"I don't mean to upset them," she said. "Maybe it's all the terrible luck Jeanette's been having. It's makes you think of all the good fortune you've had in your life. And the not-so-good things you've done. I'm sorry I messed up your life, Ron."

"You? No, it was—"

"Me, Ron. Me all the way. You're a good man and you'd have been better off if we'd never met."

"But then there wouldn't be Kevin and Lizzie."

"Yes, there's that. Our crowning achievements." She swallowed. "Are you happy, Ron?"

"Me?" He seemed surprised. "Not perfectly, but reasonably. Can't expect perfect happiness twice."

The remark bewildered her. "Twice? When was the first?"

"Maybe ten years ago when we were still building our practices and the kids were just starting school. I… I thought we were the perfect team, you and I, and the possibilities seemed limitless. I'd never been that happy before in my life. I'd never dreamed I could be that happy. And you were part of that, Kate. You made it possible. So don't ever say I'd have been better off without you."

Kate felt tears running down her cheeks. She couldn't speak.

Please don't ask if I've ever been that happy, she thought, because I don't think I've ever been truly, truly happy with my life.

Snatches of happiness with the children, the hope of it with Jean-ette, but true happiness had always remained just around the corner, just over the next hill.

Finally she found her voice, and it sounded ragged. "You're a good man, Ron. A good father and a better husband than I was a wife. Don't ever forget that."

"I really don't like the sound of this Kate. You're…" He lowered his voice even further. "You sound depressed. You're not thinking of doing anything rash, are you?"

She had to end this conversation. Quickly. Before she broke down.

"Ron," she said in a disapproving tone, "after all these years, don't you know me better than that? It's just that I've never been away from the kids this long and what's happening up here makes you confront the idea of death, and I got to thinking, what if something happened to me on the way home? We never seem to take the time to tell the people we love how much they mean to us, and so I just wanted them to know how important they are to me, and how I'm sorry that I hurt you. That's all, okay? I'll be coming home soon. Oh, someone's at the door. Got to go now. Bye."

Kate thumbed the OFF button and knelt there on the floor, staring at the phone as she fought back another attack of tears. Lord, she didn't want to do this, but there was no other way. For Kevin, for Lizzie, and yes, for herself, she had to go through with it.

She froze her emotions as she picked up the alarm clock. Its two detonator caps dangled on their crudely anastomosed wires against her thighs as she set the timer for 10 P.M. The time was a guess, but an educated one. She'd gleaned enough from the Unity to know that its new meeting place was not close by, and that the mutation to an airborne strain would not be a few minutes' work. She assumed—prayed—she'd be in their midst by then.

She carefully reinserted the detonators into the holes they'd previously occupied, then emptied her shoulder bag and gently settled the assembly into its bottom. A dishcloth from the sink covered the bomb, then the rest of her stuff went back in on top.

She found a pen and a small pad and wrote Jack a quick note explaining the pending mutation and how she planned to stop it. She wasn't sure where she was going but if he could follow her and get there in time—before ten o'clock—maybe he could find another solution, one that would leave her alive to see Kevin and Lizzie grow up and eventually make her a mother-in-law, and a grandmother…

But at the moment this was the only way.

Now… where to leave the note? She didn't want it where the Unity could see it when it took over—that would abort her whole plan. She looked around and her gaze settled on the microwave, still on the floor.

Of course.

Kate lifted it back onto the counter, then slipped the shoulder bag strap over her head so it ran across her chest. She didn't want it to slip off.

She was ready.

Then she spotted Jack's little pistol. Might as well take that too. If it related to death and destruction she wanted it handy. She jammed it into the front pocket of her slacks.

Now the hardest part: turning off the microwave. Simply opening the door would do that, and it would give her a place to hide the note to Jack. The Unity would never look in there, but Jack would see the open door… at least she hoped he would.

With the letter in her right hand, she reached her left toward the oven door latch but her hand didn't want to go. It seemed to know the consequences. She forced it forward—just the opposite of fighting the Unity—and let her fingertips rest against the latch.

Isn't there another way? her mind screamed. There's got to be some alternative to this!

No. There isn't.

Kate pulled on the latch. As the door popped open and the microwave generator cycled down, she shoved the letter inside…

… and almost immediately the sound, the touch, the presence of the Unity floods in.

Kate! You're back! And you're alone! That means you're going to stay with us! This is wonderful, Kate. We've missed you so.

And she knows it's true. You can't lie in the Unity. The loving, welcoming acceptance flows through her… so wonderful. Why did she ever resist? She vaguely remembers being sad, being terrified, but about what? Of being alone? She can't imagine. She'll never be alone again.

She senses the One Who Was Jeanette outside on the steps, waiting by the front door to take her to the gathering. Kate loves her, but no more than she loves every other member of the Unity. Dimly she remembers loving her in a more carnal way, but that is past.

She unlocks the door to the apartment and walks down the stairs to Jeanette. Tonight is going to be so wonderful. The Great Leap will lead them toward the Great Inevitability and she will be part of it. She feels so safe and secure. This is where she really belongs. Anything less is not truly living…

15

The sudden outburst of cheers and applause startled Sandy.

His attention had been drifting. He'd been to boring parties in his life but this one took the cake and all the candles. Six people hanging out for hours and not one word spoken. And it wasn't that they were mutes or deafies; they didn't use sign language either. They didn't even hum as they had at the meeting he'd peeked in on the other night. Nothing.

The eeriness had worn off after a while, leaving him antsy for something to happen. And something was going to happen—he'd sensed the anticipation in their body language. And then again, maybe not. A certain tension in the air as well. Maybe something had gone wrong. Whatever was going on, Sandy had hoped he'd find out this century.

But then the sudden noise—real human voices—called his wandering thoughts back to the front room of the bungalow.

Grins, laughter, hugs all around—

What's going on? What did I miss?

And then they settled down again into that numbing silence. But the tension seemed gone. All Sandy could sense now was the anticipation.

So weird. Wicked weird.

Maybe they were planning on sneaking Holdstock out of the country, or moving the whole cult somewhere to avoid prosecution.

And then he noticed that someone had moved the black-framed photo from its empty chair to a side table. Sandy could see the photo now. He repressed a gasp as he recognized the face: Ellen Blount, the woman who'd tried to knife the Savior in the back.

With the force of a blow Sandy was reminded that these innocuous-looking people already had killed one man and attempted to kill another. And here he was in the middle of nowhere peeping on them. Was he crazy? He should turn around and get the hell out of here. These people were killers and if they found him spying on them they'd kill him too.

Go back to the car, watch from a safe distance, and be ready and able to move on an instant's notice. That was the smart thing to do.

But nobody got ahead by playing it safe.

And then he remembered what Savior had said: If the cops don't pick up Holdstock, I'll be paying him a visit myself.

Maybe he should give him a call and let him know about this. A visit from the man they tried to kill might liven up this party.

Sandy slipped away and headed down to the end of the block to check the name of the street so he could leave the address on the Savior's voicemail.

If nothing was going to happen on its own, maybe Sandy could make something happen.

16

A lead weight plummeted into Jack's stomach when he found his apartment door unlocked.

On guard, he leaped through and dashed to the kitchen.

"Kate?"

Empty. The microwave off, the cracked door ajar—paused with hours left to run. A knife on the counter but no blood.

"Kate!"

His bedroom, the TV room, empty. No sign of a struggle. Back to the door: no sign of a break-in. What the hell? It looked as if Kate had simply turned off the oven and walked out. But she wouldn't do that.

Obviously she had. Which meant she was wandering around the city somewhere under the influence of the Unity.

Panic nibbled at Jack. She could be anywhere. Why? Why had she done it? He stood by the silent microwave, staring at its cracked glass. He was about to slam it closed when he spotted the corner of a piece of paper inside. He yanked it open, grabbed the sheet, and read.

And read again, his tongue turning to parchment.

The virus… mutating to airborne… the bomb…

He darted to the secretary and found the drawer ajar and empty. The Semmerling gone too.

She'd reconstructed the bomb and turned herself into a Trojan Horse.

Jack's throat constricted at the thought of her sitting alone in his kitchen piecing the bomb together, the depth of desperation that had driven her to such an act.

Why, Kate? Wanted to scream it. Why couldn't you wait for me?

We could have fought this together! I could have fixed this if you'd just let me!

Ten o'clock… the note said if he can do anything, do it before ten o'clock. He glanced at his watch: 8:05. Less than two hours. But even if he had two days—he had no idea where she was.

"Kate!" he whispered to the note. "Where are you?"

He spotted the phone. She'd been using it. Maybe…

He checked his voicemail. One message. Please!

"Shit!" he hissed as he recognized Palmer's voice.

"FYl: your friend Holdstock and what's left of his cult have moved their clubhouse to number seven Starfisher Lane in Ocean Beach, New Jersey. You might want to come down and take a peek. It's weirder than you can imagine."

Jack was on the move as soon as the message ended. Superman's pal, Jimmy Olsen, had come though. Ocean Beach. He knew where it was. No need to pause to arm up. Had enough firepower. What he needed was time.

The Russian lady had said the Unity would cause war, hate, death, fear, pain, and destruction. If that was what they liked, that was what they were going to get.

17

Sandy sat in his car, out of the soggy salt wind at last, and wondered what to do. Almost two hours now since the celebratory outburst in the bungalow, and not another sound since. No movement either, other than to refill a soft drink or have another cracker or piece of cheese.

Bored did not even approach how he felt. He wondered if the Savior had picked up his message; and if so, was he on his way down. Sandy didn't want to miss that.

A flash of light on the neighboring street grabbed his attention. Headlamps, moving toward the cult bungalow. Immediately Sandy was out and heading that way. He arrived in time to see two women stepping up to the front door. It opened as they reached it. He ducked around to his old vantage point and peered through the window.

Of the two late arrivals, Sandy had seen the brunette before at the cult hum session, but the blonde was a newbie. They greeted her like a prodigal daughter, each taking a turn hugging her—and still not one damn word!

Finally they settled down, seating themselves in the circle of chairs. When only the blonde newcomer was still standing, everyone suddenly froze and stared at her. And she in turn was staring at something in her hand.

When Sandy recognized it he damn near jumped through the window. He'd seen that tiny pistol before.

18

Where did you get the pistol, Kate?

I don't know. I've never seen it before.

Kate stares at the silvery object in her palm. When she bent to place her shoulder bag under her chair she felt something in her pocket dig into her thigh. This is what she pulled out. So small, almost too small to be real, but it's made of steel and too heavy to be a toy.

Why did you bring it here?

I didn't even know I had it.

It must belong to your brother. He's a very dangerous man. But after tonight he will no longer matter. Put the gun down and take your seat.

She does as instructed, placing the pistol next to a half-empty bowl of potato chips.

Yes, it must be Jack's. He has so many pistols—she saw them herself. But how on earth did this one find its way into her pocket? She's glad the One Who Was Jeanette took her far away from her brother where he can't find her and break her communion with the Unity again.

Kate is only hours away from full integration, and that's close enough for her to aid us in the Great Leap that will lead to the Great Inevitability.

Kate knows now that the Unity was worried that the loss of the One Who Was Ellen would impair the transformation. Apparently a certain critical mass of viral-infected brain cells is necessary for collective consciousness, and an even larger mass to implement the mutation.

Imagine… a virus able to will its own mutation. Such a possibility was never even hinted at in virology texts. They'll have to be rewritten…

No, not rewritten. Tossed in the garbage. For no medical texts will be necessary when the Unity achieves the Great Inevitability. Disease will be a thing of the past. The Unity will brook no invaders—bacteria and competing viruses will be recognized upon entry into a body and killed off immediately. Under the Unity's direction all damaged cells or mutant cells starting tumors will be replaced with healthy ones. Genetic diseases will be a memory, for all defective genes will be repaired—a simple matter of replacing incorrect DNA base sequences with correct ones. Arteries will be swept clean, bones will be kept strong and, like all tissues in the body, will mend more quickly when injured.

The Great Inevitability will translate to a golden age of health and longevity for the human race.

Kate can hardly wait.

But first, the Great Leap.

She seats herself and joins hands with the One Who Was Jeanette to her left, and with the One Who Was Charles on her right, and the sense of Oneness overcomes her. She is important, she is part of something so much greater than herself, something that will transform this world into a paradise and she is here at ground zero, integral to the transformation that will make it all possible.

The air glows. Kate closes her eyes but the glow remains, for it comes from within, and she feels a giddy vertiginous whirl as her consciousness expands to the molecular level where she can feel the base pairs of the virus's RNA rearranging into new sequences that will allow it to seek new hosts, an ever-widening array of new members, through the air.

This is an ecstasy beyond anything she has ever experienced—

And then it is cruelly broken by a loud crash, like a door being kicked open, and a voice—

"Kate!"

And a rough hand on her shoulder, shaking her—

And now she's looking at herself through the eyes of the Unity, seated with her back to the door and there's a man standing over her—Jack.

A bolt of alarm—hers as well as the Unity's—shoots through her. Jack! He shouldn't be here! She has to get him out of here. He'll ruin the transformation…

And there's another terribly important reason he mustn't be here, but she can't quite recall it.

"Kate!"

And now Jack is breaking her grip on the One Who Was Jeanette, and the vision changes as her contact with the One Who Was Charles is severed—

"Kate, do you hear me?"

She opens her eyes and turns. "What are you doing here, Jack?"

His eyes are ablaze, his jaw set, his lips barely parted over clenched teeth. "Do I really have to tell you?" He grips her forearm and pulls her toward the door. "Come on, we're getting out of here."

"NO!"

Not just Kate's voice—a chorus, in her head and in her ears. The Unity is on its feet, hands raised in protest.

Jack pulls a pistol from behind his back, large and dark with sharp angles. He points it past Kate toward the members of the Unity.

"Who wants it first?"

The sight of the gun gives Kate an idea.

The little pistol!

Yes, Kate! Yes!

Guided by the Unity, she twists free from Jack's grasp and snatches the tiny pistol off the table. As she lifts it the voice roars in her head.

Shoot him! Destroy him!

Someone in the Unity knows guns and of its own accord Kate's left hand slides back the top of the pistol and lets it slide forward.

Point it at him and pull the trigger!

But Kate can't do that. Won't do that.

No. She's turning toward him. I've never shot a gun and if I try I may miss.

Shoot!

And if I miss he'll take it from me and we'll have no options.

SHOOT!

She faces him now and her arm raises the pistol toward Jack, but Kate bends it toward herself, jamming the muzzle against her throat.

No, Kate!

"Kate, what are you doing?" Jack cries, his face blanching.

The Unity tries to make her lower the gun but a more powerful force, a surge of strength from some well deep within the maze of protective instincts in the most primitive regions of her brain flows into her arm and bolsters its position.

Let me speak! I can make him leave!

Suddenly her voice is her own.

"Leave, Jack! Please."

"No." His eyes are fixed on her throat, on the spot where his little pistol presses into her flesh. His voice is a hoarse croak. "Not without you."

She sees his free hand edging forward, his body tensing, readying to spring.

"I know what you're thinking, Jack. Please don't try it. I swear to God I will end it right here, right now, if you make a move toward me."

His gaze moves down and lingers on her shoulder bag where it sits at her feet. Why is he staring at it? Then he looks at her again, his expression full of fear.

"Kate, please. Be sensible. Put it down and come with me. Now. It's important!"

Tell him you'll go with him later.

"Give me some time here, Jack, and then I'll go with you."

"It's got to be now!"

He looks so nervous… so afraid… of what?

"Later, Jack."

He licks his lips and looks past her. "They'll let you?"

Behind her, seven voices speak as one: "Return in two hours and she will be free to go. You may take her anywhere you wish."

The farther, the better.

Jack's eyes narrow. "Why should I believe you?"

"It's true, Jack," Kate tells him. "I wouldn't lie to you."

"No—"

"I'm not going to let you take me, Jack." She presses the muzzle deeper into her throat. "I can die now or I can go with you later. It's up to you."

Kate sees an agony of fear in her brother's face and hopes he will listen. She doesn't want to pull the trigger. Not because she's afraid of death—she will gladly die for the Unity—but because it will interfere with the transformation.

Suddenly Jack seems to relax, as if he's come to a decision. "All right. Two hours." He glances at his watch. "Jesus! It's 9:52!"

Alarm floods her. 9:52! Why does the time fill her with such dread?

"Go, Jack! Leave now and go far away!"

Her words—not the Unity's. Why did she say that? Why this blast of urgency to chase him away from here? She can't explain it but she knows he can't stay here. He must leave—now!

"I'll leave," he says quickly, backing toward the door. "But I'll be back at exactly 11:52 and I want to see Kate standing out front, waiting to go. If not…"

He lets that hang, then backs out.

Excellent, Kate, the Unity says as she lowers the pistol.

We told him the truth?

Of course. Once the Great Leap is accomplished, we want you to travel—far and wide, spreading the transformed virus everywhere you go. He will think he is thwarting us, but instead he will be doing our work.

Kate feels extra warmth envelop her.

You did well, Kate. You turned an enemy into an unwitting ally. We are so proud of you.

Kate basks in their approval.

19

What a scene!

Questions flooded Sandy's head in a mad rush. What the hell was that all about? The Savior had said he'd been hired by the late great Dr. Fielding to protect him from the cult, but who was the woman he'd tried to pull out of there just now? His girlfriend? And when she'd put that pistol to her throat—what a moment! Sandy could tell from her voice she'd been serious about pulling the trigger. And then when all seven of her fellow cultists had spoken at once… wow. His spine had turned to ice.

No one was ever going to believe this. He wished to God he'd brought a video camera.

The cultists were all back in their seats now with rejoined hands, and Sandy was about to move away from the window so he could go find the Savior, when the front door burst open. And again it was the Savior, gun in hand, but this time he didn't stop, didn't say anything. Moving like a giant raptor he swooped in, grabbed the blonde, and pulled her from the seat, then he threw her over his shoulder and dashed out the door.

Sandy stood frozen, gaping through the window, as shocked—and as mute—as the seven remaining cultists. A few heartbeats ago the blonde had been there, now she was gone. All that remained were her screams, trailing away in the night.

Aren't they going to do anything? He spotted the little Semmerling sitting on the coffee table where the blonde had placed it. Was one of them going to pick it up and go after them?

No. They just stood there in their broken circle. And then, unac-countably, they all began to smile. Sandy watched the Rottweiler woman pull out a cell phone and punch in a number, heard her say, "Dover Township Police? I want to report a kidnapping."

The Savior was going to be in deep shit now! Should he warn him?

20

"Sorry for the caveman act, Kate," Jack said to the screaming, kicking, clawing woman of his shoulder, "but this is the only way."

He glanced over his unburdened shoulder to make sure none of the others was following. The street behind him remained empty.

So far so good. He knew he was still a long way from successfully pulling this off, but he had Kate now and he wasn't going to give her up.

The first part had been easy. He'd guessed Kate would have to put down the Semmerling to resume the hand-holding thing. He'd given her half a minute before going back for her. He could have started shooting but burdened with Kate he might have missed a few of the remaining seven. Better to let Kate's bomb do the work.

And right now he had to get them both away from here before it blew. In the unlikely event that any of the Unity survived, Jack would come back to mop up.

He'd parked on the highway shoulder at the end of the street. Only half a block to go. Get her into the trunk and take off, try to be as far away as possible when—

A deafening roar and then an angry giant slammed him in the back, sending him flying. He lost his grip on Kate. They hit the sandy road surface simultaneously, and then Jack crawled on top of her, as much to keep her down as to shield her.

As she shuddered beneath him in something like a epileptic fit, Jack glanced back at the fireball mushrooming into the sky, carrying with it the last traces of the Unity hive.

And then the debris, some of it aflame, began to fall around them.

"You did it, Kate!" he whispered. "You—"

Something heavy bounced off his shoulders and the back of his head…

Next thing Jack knew he was alone on the road. Sick, dizzy, he pushed himself to his knees, propelled by Kate's voice crying out somewhere behind him.

"Jeanette! Jeanette!"

He turned and saw her stumbling away, toward the inferno that had once been a bungalow. He rose and lurched after her.

Flaming debris lay everywhere—in the street, on roofs—and the bungalow where Kate had sat a few moments ago—gone. Nothing remained of the structure but its concrete foundation slab. Water gushed from severed pipes, steaming in the heat; the four cars that had been parked before it were twisted wrecks; a half dozen neighboring bungalows were ablaze.

He caught up and turned her around. "Kate!"

She looked dazed, and surprised to see him. "Jack? What are you doing here?"

"Is it you, Kate? Really you?"

She nodded, her tear-streaked face reflecting the flames. "Yes, but—"

Jack threw his arms around his sister and hugged her, barely able to speak trough the joy exploding inside him. Kate was back. He could tell. The Unity was gone.

"Thank God! I thought I'd lost you!"

"But where's Jeanette!" she said pushing back. "I have to find her!"

"You can't," he said. "You… won't."

"But I've got to!" she sobbed. "I did this to her!"

She tore away from his grasp. Jack watched her approach the flaming ruins only to be pushed back by the heat. He wanted to pull her away, spirit her back to New York, but he knew she'd never go until she was convinced there was nothing she could do.

He glanced down the road. Cars were pulling over from the highway to watch, to call for help, to run and see. Gawkers trotted up the narrow sandy street, drawn like moths to the blazing spectacle.

Turning, he spotted a dark crumpled form sprawled in the sand on the far side of the wreckage. What were the odds it was Jeanette? Almost nil, but he hurried forward, skirting the heat of the blaze, and the closer he got the more it looked like a person.

He knelt beside the scorched body. No, not Jeanette. Someone else—a male, face mostly torn away by the blast, clothes shredded by debris missiles, but still recognizable as Sandy Palmer. Where had he been hiding?

Poor jerk. Looked like he finally was going to get the fame he'd been chasing—HEROIC REPORTER DIES INVESTIGATING MURDER CULT!—but he wasn't going to be around to enjoy it.

"Oh, Jesus!" said a voice behind him. "Is he dead?"

Jack rose and glanced at the middle-aged gawker, but didn't answer him; more were coming up the street. He could hear sirens approaching.

Time to go. He looked around for Kate, saw her wandering on the far side, near a neighboring bungalow half consumed by flames. He started toward her.

"Hey, I wouldn't get too close to those shacks I were you," said another gawker. "Another one of these propane tanks could go any second."

Propane? Is that what they thought? Of course they would. But Jack knew the bungalow's tank had only added to the blast, not caused it.

And then he stiffened as he spotted the rusty four-foot tank on the side of the burning house where Kate stood, the flames licking at its flanks…

"Kate!" Get away from—!"

The blast was a pale shadow of the first—smaller burst of flame, barely a tenth of the noise and impact—and it momentarily staggered Jack. But it engulfed Kate and sent her flying. She slammed against the wall of the neighboring house and tumbled to the ground like a discarded doll.

As the gawkers screamed and ducked and fled, Jack pounded toward the still form huddled on the sand, repeating one word over and over in a moaning whimper, the only word his dread-mired brain could manage.

"No-no-no-no-no-no…"

When he reached her he saw that her hair was singed and her blouse scorched, but her clothes hadn't caught fire. He was about to send up a prayer of thanks when he noticed the blood… and the jagged piece of metal jutting from her upper abdomen.

He dropped to his knees beside his sister—not simply to be closer to her but because his legs refused to support him. His hands instinctively reached toward the bloody metal shard to remove it but paused, hovering, unsure, afraid of touching it, her, doing anything that might make things worse. Finally he grabbed her hand in both of his.

"Kate! Kate! Are you okay?" Dumb-ass thing to say—she was anything but okay.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Jack?" Her voice was a whisper in a shell. "Jack, what—?"

"Propane tank… it…" The words dried up and blew away.

He watched her gaze lower to her body and fix on the protruding scrap of metal.

"Oh, dear."

This helpless kneeling and watching was killing him. Jack needed to do something.

"Should I pull it out?" She's a doctor, he thought. She'll know.

"Better not."

"Okay, then," he told her. "It stays. Help is on the way. Hear the sirens? You're going to be fine."

She was gazing at him now. "I don't… think so." Her fingers squeezed his hand. "Jack, the dark… it's coming and I'm scared."

"You're gonna be—"

"Not for me. For you and Kev and Lizzie and everyone. It's coming, Jack. The virus is still in my brain and it let me see. The dark is waiting but it will be coming soon, and it's going to roll over everything."

"Kate, save your strength."

"No, listen. Only a handful of people are going to stand in its way, and… and you're one of them."

She reminded him of the Russian lady now. Is war and you are warrior.

"Kate…"

"Please look after Kev and Lizzie, Jack. Promise me you won't let it get them."

"I promise. Now hush."

He looked up and saw half a dozen staring gawkers and wanted to shoot them all.

"What are you looking at?" he shouted. "Get outta here! Can't you see she's hurt? Get help!"

He looked back at Kate and his heart stuttered when he noticed her closed eyes. But she was still breathing.

"Kate?"

She didn't open her eyes, didn't move her lips. "Jack." Her voice so tiny, barely there.

He could feel her slipping away. "Kate, don't go. Please, don't go…"

Suddenly flashing red lights everywhere—two cop cars, an ambulance, and a voice shouting, "This way! This way! There's a woman hurt bad over here!"

Jack leaned over his sister, his lips close to her ear. "Help's here now. Listen to me, Kate: I love you, and I'm not going to lose you. Just hang on a little longer and you'll make it."

And then the EMTs, two men and two women sheathed in coveralls and latex gloves, crowded around; Jack watched their expressions change from curious to grim when they saw Kate. He allowed himself to be moved aside as three of them skillfully worked to lift her onto a stretcher while a fourth spoke on a phone to a doctor in the local emergency room, taking instructions and advising him to have a surgeon waiting.

Jack followed close behind as they moved the stretcher—carrying it instead of wheeling it—to the idling ambulance, watched as they slid it into the back of the rig and crawled in after it.

"I'm coming along," he told one of the EMTs. He had this insane feeling that if he stayed nearby, holding Kate's hand, he could keep her alive by pure force of will.

"Sorry, sir. Against the rules."

Jack's hand itched to pull his Glock for emphasis; instead he grabbed the man's arm. "Maybe you didn't hear me: I'm coming along."

"Even if you were allowed, there's no room for you and you'd only get in the way if she crashes."

Jack backed off. The last thing he wanted was to be in the way. He looked past the EMT's shoulder and saw the others starting IVs in both Kate's arms and hooking her up to a heart monitor.

As they slammed the rear door a cop hove into view on Jack's right.

"Did you know that woman?" he asked.

Jack nodded, eyes on the ambulance as it began to move off.

"I'll need to ask you a few questions," the cop said. His shoulder patch read DOVER TWP. POLICE.

Jack began walking, following the ambulance. "I'm going to the hospital."

A hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him a quarter way around.

"Sir," the cop said, "I need some answers before—"

He broke off and stepped back. Jack was ready to kill then and maybe the cop saw that in his eyes. Jack forced a breath and held up an open palm: peace.

"I'm going to the hospital. You want answers, you can find me there."

He turned and hurried through the red-flashing night toward the highway and his car. The cop didn't follow. Maybe he had more pressing matters to attend to, like herding the gawkers away from the site to let the fire crews through, or unspooling yellow barrier tape like the other cop Jack passed.

At a trot now, Jack was maybe a dozen feet behind the ambulance when it reached the highway and turned on its siren. Through the glass side he saw the EMTs go into furious motion, one of them leaning over Kate and beginning rhythmic thrusts against her chest…

"No!" he shouted. "NO!"

His heart was a booted foot, kicking at his chest wall as he leaped into his car and took off after the rig. Jack followed it across the median, then south along the highway, across a bridge to the mainland and down a crowded highway, staying close behind and traveling in its wake as cars pulled aside to let it pass.

"Come on! Come on!" he shouted as they raced mile after mile.

Where was this goddamn hospital? Why was it so far?

And all the while he fought a panicked sense of unreality. This shouldn't be happening to Kate, not after all she's just been through. She's one of the good ones, the best of the good ones. This can't be happening to Kate.

Finally the hospital. He trailed the ambulance up to the emergency entrance where he saw a doctor waiting at the curb. Jack was out of his car and standing with hands and face pressed against the rig's side glass in time to see the doctor shake his head and turn off his flashlight after shining it into Kate's eyes.

"No!" Jack's voice was a whisper as he moved around to the rear to catch the doctor as he exited. "There's got to be more you can do!"

"I'm sorry," the doctor said. He was dark skinned and spoke rapid, accented English. "She's gone. The steel must have nicked an artery. Only surgery on the spot could have saved her, I'm afraid."

Again the sense of unreality washed over him. Feeling lost, dead inside, Jack slumped back against the side of the rig. Gravity seemed to double, triple as he watched them wheel Kate's covered body into the hospital. Somehow he found the strength to follow. Her limp form was transferred to a gurney in one of the ER's curtained-off examination cubicles.

"I want to stay with her awhile," he told a nurse with pocked black skin and graying hair.

"Of course."

When she was gone Jack lifted the sheet and stared at Kate's pale face. She looked so peaceful, almost as if she were sleeping. He felt a pressure building in his throat, readying to explode when he nurse popped back in.

"There's a policeman out here who wants to speak to you."

He wanted to scream at her to leave us alone, goddamn it! But he held back.

"Can I have a few minutes? And a pen and a piece of paper if you can spare them?"

She fished both out of her pocket and laid them on the bedside table.

"I'll tell him you'll be out in a minute."

When she was gone, Jack steadied the paper with a knuckle and wrote Kate Iverson, MD, Trenton, NJ. He pocketed the pen. He peeked through the curtains and saw the cop from the explosion scene sipping coffee and chatting up the ward clerk.

Jack returned to Kate's side and kissed her forehead, then bottled up his emotions. Leaving her here alone seemed like the rankest sort of desertion; he felt like a rat, but he couldn't stay. He checked out the cop again, then slipped out through the far edge of the curtains and walked the other way. Moving on autopilot he followed signs to the lobby and exited through the front. Found his car and got rolling. A parkway entrance ramp was nearby so he took it north. Saw a sign for a rest area and knew he had to stop or explode. Pulled into the lot and turned off the engine.

Kate…

The sense of failure was overwhelming. He'd just got her back and now she was gone. Forever. And it was his fault. If only he hadn't listened to her and gone ahead and done what his gut had told him to do. If only he hadn't saved that damn bomb. If only he'd got home sooner…

Jack rested his forehead against the steering wheel and sobbed.

Kate…

EPILOGUE

Jack watched from the trees until everyone was gone, then he walked down the slope to where two workmen, one white, one black, were readying to fill in the grave.

"Hey, guys, can you give me a few minutes alone here?"

The white guy squinted at him through the obscenely cheery morning sunlight. "Sorry, mister. The ceremony's over and we've got to—"

Jack had two twenties ready. He held them out. "An extra ten-minute coffee break's not gonna matter in the long run, is it?"

They looked at each other, shrugged, took the twenties, and walked off to a pickup truck parked fifty yards away.

Jack dropped to one knee and stared at the shiny metallic surface of the coffin nestled deep in its hole.

"Sorry I couldn't be here earlier, Kate. I tried, but they wouldn't let me."

The explosion had been eight days ago. Because it was a medical examiner's case and various criminal investigations were involved, it had taken officialdom a long time to release Kate's body.

Jack had driven down to Trenton with Gia for the wake, but kept going when he reached the funeral home. Not because he dreaded the scene inside, the pain in his father's eyes, the baffled shock and hurt of the niece and nephew he'd never known, but because of the guy with the telefoto camera in the car across the street.

Jack had had an eye out for just such a car.

He'd guessed that even a volunteer fire marshal would realize that no propane tank explosion could demolish a house like that, even if it was only a plywood bungalow. A bomb squad would be called in. Traces of C-4 would be found. Addresses of the victims would be established, and lo and behold, one of them lived on the same New York City block where a C-4 car bomb had killed two men just a few days before. And a second victim had been staying at the same address. An interstate conspiracy? Call BATF.

After that it was no stretch to suspect that BATF would want to catalog all the mourners at the Jeanette Vega and Kate Iverson funerals. A photo of Jack could be identified by residents of The Arsley and by the Dover cop at the blast scene, and then the bulletins would be out and the hunt would be on.

This morning he'd seen the car and the camera parked outside the church and again right here in the cemetery.

Bastards.

"Good blood runs in your family."

Jack jumped at the sound of her voice but knew from the accent who he'd see when he turned. The Russian lady and her big white dog stood behind him. He didn't know how they'd come up on him without his hearing them, but at the moment he didn't much care.

"What would you know about it?" he said.

"A brave, brave woman. She saved the world untold misery."

"And she went through untold misery at the end. How the hell did this happen?"

"Is war." She looked around at the sky, the grass, the surrounding pines. "War to destroy all this."

"And I'm a soldier, right?"

"More than soldier. Are weapon. And like weapon, must be tempered, honed, tested, positioned."

Jack glared at her. "I want none of this!"

"Choice is not yours."

"Then why me?"

"Who is to say?"

This was getting nowhere. But Jack needed very badly to know something, and maybe this woman could tell him.

"Is any of what happened to Kate my fault?"

"No. Fault not yours."

That was a relief, but not much.

"Then whose? Because this whole situation reeks. A woman my sister happens to love just happens to develop a brain tumor and during her course of treatment she just happens to become infected with a virus planted by one side in this cosmic war I'm supposedly involved in. Just coincidence? No way I buy that."

"Should not buy. Is not coincidence. No more coincidences for you."

The words jolted Jack. No more coincidences… the implications were disturbing enough, but the utter certainty in her voice squeezed the breath from him. He stared at this strange woman, unsure what to make of her.

"Who are you, lady?"

"Your mother."

"Stop that! You're not!"

"Is true." She pointed to the coffin. "And am her mother as well. I am proud of this one. All of world owes her great debt."

Jack turned back to the coffin. "You got that right."

Me most of all. He shut his eyes as they welled up.

He felt the woman's hand rest gently on his shoulder. Her tone was consoling.

"A tragedy. But war is fashioned of tragedies. More are to come. A spear has no branches."

Took a moment for Jack to realize he'd heard that before, but by the time he turned to ask her what the hell she was talking about, he was alone.

He shot to his feet and turned in a slow circle. She couldn't have made it to the trees in those few seconds, and none of the gravestones was big enough to hide her and her malamute.

Jack stood alone by his sister's open grave, haunted by the woman's parting words.