Screams of pain and terror drew his attention from the air to ground level. Suddenly everything was red in the false daylight of the lamps. Jack dropped to a frozen crouch when he saw what was happening along the periphery of the hole. The things weren't just buzzing the people stationed there, they were on the attack. People were scattering in all directions, swatting at the air like picnickers who'd disturbed a hornets' nest. But hornets would have been a blessing. The jawed things were like air-borne piranhas, swooping in, sinking their teeth into an arm, a leg, a neck, an abdomen, ripping a mouthful of flesh free, and then darting away. Blood spurted in all directions from a hundred wounds.

Amid the melee Jack saw a bald headed man go down kicking and screaming under a dozen jaw-things; a second dozen joined the first, and then more until they covered him like ants on a piece of candy. Instinctively, Jack stepped forward to help him, then stepped back. There was nothing he could do. He watched helplessly as the man's screaming and kicking stopped, but the feeding went on.

Jack turned, ready to head for the street, when he noticed a bloated, distorted, vaguely human shape stumbling through the shadows in his direction. It gave off hoarse, high-pitched, muffled noises as it approached, its arms outstretched, reaching for him. At first Jack thought it was another sort of monstrosity from the hole, but as it drew nearer he realized there was something familiar about the swatches of tan fabric visible on its legs.

The horror slammed into Jack like a truck. Margaret—from the Health Department. But what—?

The other things from the hole, the ones with the jello sacks—she was covered with them. Wings humming, sacks pulsating, a good thirty or forty of the creatures clung to every part of her body. Jack leapt to her side and began tearing at the things, grabbing them by their wings and ripping them off, starting with the pair that clung to her face. Her scream of agony tore through the night and Jack stared in horror at the bloody ruin of her face. There wasn't much left of it. It looked melted, or corroded by acid. Her cheeks were eaten away, so deeply on the right that Jack spotted the exposed white of a tooth poking through.

He stepped back and looked at the two creatures squirming and writhing in his grasp, raking at his hands with their tiny claws. Their sacks were no longer clear. They were red—with Margaret's blood. He hurled them to the ground and stomped on them, rupturing their sacks. Crimson mucous exploded, smoking where it splattered his pants and sneakers, eating through the fabric and bubbling the rubber. Jack danced away from the mess and turned back to Margaret.

She was gone. He looked around. She couldn't have got far. Then he saw her, a still form face-down on the grass. He crouched beside her. As he reached toward her, one of the sack things lifted off her back, leaving a bloody patch of exposed ribs, denuded of flesh and muscle, and fluttered toward Jack. He tried to bat it away but it latched onto his forearm like a lump of epoxy glue. And the pain! Scalding—like boiling acid poured on his skin. It took Jack by surprise and he shouted with the sudden agony. He ripped it off his arm and as it came free he felt a layer of his skin peel away.

The pain nearly drove him to his knees, but he straightened up when he saw one of the jawed creatures winging toward him. He swung the sack thing at it, right into its jagged-toothed maw. The pair left a trail of steaming red as they went down in a tangle and rolled along the grass.

Jack glanced back at the perimeter of the hole. Nothing moving there but flocks of jaws and sacks swarming in the air. Many of the sacks were blood red. As he watched, a new drove rose from the hole and circled for a moment, then massed into a rough V-formation and took off toward the east side like a flying arrowhead.

East! Gia and Vicky were on the East Side.

As the remaining creatures spread out, some heading Jack's way, he took one last look at Margaret. The sack things were still massed on her. She looked deflated, like a scarecrow with the stuffing pulled out.

Jack headed for the trees, removing his shirt and wrapping it around the raw patch on his left forearm. He spotted the lights of the Tavern-on-the-Green and veered in that direction. When he reached the driveway, he saw a cab pulling away from the entrance. He flagged it down and hopped in the back.

"Sutton Square—quick! And roll up your windows!"

The driver turned in his seat and stared at Jack's arm. He was a thin black with dreads and a thick island accent.

"What hoppen to you arm, mon? If you in trouble—"

Jack rolled up the window on his right and began to work furiously on the one to his left.

"Roll up your goddam windows!"

"Look, mon. You don't come into my cab and tell me—Hey!"

Jack had leaned over the front seat and was rolling up the window on the passenger side.

"Are you crazy, mon?"

Just then one of the jaw-things caromed off the taxi's hood and slammed against the windshield. It's crystalline teeth worked furiously against the glass, scoring it in a dozen places at a time. A windshield wiper got caught in its maw and was ripped off its base.

It took the driver only a second or two to roll up his window.

"In the name of God, what is that!

"I don't know," Jack said, slumping against the back seat and allowing himself to relax for a few seconds. "They came out of the hole—they're still coming out of the hole. The Park's loaded with them."

The jaw-thing continued its ferocious, mindless chewing at the windshield, trying to get through it. The driver stared at it in mute shock.

Jack slapped the back of the front seat.

"Come on! Let's get out of here. It'll only get worse. Sutton Square."

"Yes…yes, of course."

He threw the cab into gear and roared toward Central Park West. The jaw-thing's wings fluttered in the sudden rush of air. It slid off the hood but became air-borne, pacing the cab for about fifty yards, butting against the side windows a few times before it gave up.

"Persistent bugger," Jack said as it finally flew off.

"But what was that, mon? It looked like a creature from hell!"

"It just might be. Who knows how far down that hole in the Sheep Meadow goes? Maybe it popped through the roof of hell."

The driver glanced over his shoulder, real fear in his eyes.

"Don't say that, mon. Don't joke about something like that."

"Who's joking?"

They raced down to Columbus Circle, then east on Central Park South. The things from the hole were there ahead of them. People running, screaming, bleeding, dying, cabs careening out of control. Jack's taxi ran the gauntlet, dodging people and vehicles, screeching to a halt as a driverless Central Park hansom cab bolted in front of them, its horse galloping madly, eyes bulging in pain and terror, a sack-thing attached to its neck. And then they were into the calm and relative darkness of 58th Street.

The driver started sobbing.

"It's the end of the world, mon! Oh, I know it is! God's finally had enough. He's going to punish us all!"

"Easy, man," Jack said. "We're safe for the moment."

"Yes! But only for the moment! Judgment Day is here!"

He stopped at a red light and fumbled with something on the seat next to him. When his hand reappeared it held a joint the size of a burrito. He struck a wooden match and puffed furiously. As the cab filled with pungent smoke, he handed the joint back to Jack.

"Here. Partake."

Jack waved him off. "No thanks. Gave that up in high school."

"It's a sacrament, mon. Partake."

The last thing Jack needed now was to get mellow. He wanted every reflex at the ready. And he wanted to beat those things to Gia's place.

"The light's green. Let's go."