I sat there in the Jeep until dusk. The day grew dark. The sun tipped into the ocean and lit the sea with yellow flames.

I waited in the Jeep at the north end of the peninsula. I sat below the hiking ridge and listened to the sky.

Anything that came down that hill tonight was going to die. If they realized how badly they'd really hurt us, they'd be back.

I was ready for them.

I sat and watched the sun melt into the sea, spreading a film of fire across the oily water.

What was it Delandro had said? Why couldn't I get him out of my head? Oh, yes-transformation. He'd spoken of the process of transformation. He said it looked like fire. Energy flowed, it became unfocused. The old pattern had been destroyed. Now, we create a new pattern. We choose the pattern and create it. Creation is the act of pointing to what's possible, and by the act of distinction, it becomes an experience. The experience is the creation; everything after that follows as inevitably as the cars of a train follow the engine.

Why did I remember that? Because I knew what he meant by transformation now. I'd transformed myself this afternoon. Delandro wasn't going to like this transformation. No, he wasn't.

He was going to regret it bitterly. I promised that. The street lights glowed to life.

The moths flickered around the lamps. Bait.

Those lights were one more way we'd announced our presence to the world. To the Chtorrans.

"Jim?"

I looked up. It was B-Jay.

"We need you. Come on down."

I shook my head. "I have to stay here. Someone has to stand guard. "

"It's all right, Jim. I called Santa Cruz. The military governor's been informed. They're sending out a Red Cross team. And soldiers are patrolling the road. Nothing else is getting on the peninsula tonight. You don't have to stand guard any more. You've been relieved."

I looked at the torch in my hands.

"Come on," she said, climbing into the Jeep. "Drive me back." I reached around and stowed the torch in the rear of the car. I turned the key and the Jeep whirred to life. There were a thousand things my mind wanted to say to B-Jay. But I didn't want to start it. I knew how that loop would go.

We coasted slowly down the avenue. There were stains on the road. There were fallen trees. There was a house that had been blown apart. My house.

I brought the Jeep to a stop. I climbed out.

I moved like a zombie into the rubble. I went to the closet and unlocked it.

Holly was curled into a tiny ball on the floor. She was surrounded by coats and sweaters and blankets, as if she had made a nest for herself.

"Holly," I whispered. "I'm back. It's all right now. Come on, you can wake up." I pulled her into my arms and held her. She didn't uncurl. She was in a fetal position. Her eyes were tightly shut. Her face was curiously blank. I stroked her hair, smoothing it. I kissed her. "Come on, sweetheart. Wake up now."

She didn't respond.

I stood up and carried her out to the Jeep. I put her into B-Jay's Iap. I climbed back in the driver's side and eased the Jeep back into the road again. There were more stains, more fallen trees. There were craters in the pavement. The air still smelled of cordite.

B-Jay pointed and I pulled the Jeep up in front of the gymnasium. It had been turned into a hospital. I took Holly from her and carried her in. I laid her down upon a wrestling mat. One of the other girls came up and put a blanket over her. I leaned down and kissed- my little girl. "I'm right here if you want me." I said to the girl who had brought the blanket. "Call me if she wakes."

B-Jay took my arm then. "This way." She led me outside. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"You sound dead."

"I am dead."

She stopped me and looked into my face. "Jim, stop being a zombie. "

"No. Let me be a zombie. It'll get me through this."

She looked like she wanted to cry. She looked like she wanted me to grab her and hold her and give her a safe warm place to have her grief.

I couldn't do that. I hated her too much. I hated all of them. They'd told me I could be safe here. And they had lied. Everybody lied. I couldn't be safe here. I couldn't be safe anywhere. How dare they lie to me! I couldn't forgive that easily. B-Jay sniffed and dabbed at one eye. She said, "We have a morgue in the assembly hall."

"Tommy?"

She shook her head. "He's still missing."

"Alec?"

"We have a body that could be him. The identification is still uncertain. "

"Show me."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"He's my son." I started across the lawn. B-Jay gulped and hurried to follow.

I stepped into the assembly hall. The chairs had been stacked hastily against the wall. In the center of the room, plastic tarpaulins had been laid out. Three rows of bodies had been laid across the plastic. White sheets draped the bodies.

I stood there for a long moment. The reality of the moment pounded in my brain in waves of dizziness.

A black boy, a teenager named Joe-Mary came up to us. "Who . . . ?" I managed to gasp and point.

B-Jay said, "Jack and Dove. Little Ivy."

"Little Ivy! But-I left her at the creek! With the children!"

"The bastards threw a grenade at them."

"Oh, God. Who else?"

"Rita, Daddy Potts, Old Wag, Danny, Ida-George, Melanie."

She stopped herself. She couldn't go on. She started weeping into her hands.

I couldn't pity her. I walked away. I said to Joe-Mary. "Show me the one you think is Alec."

He said, "You sure you want to see?"

"Show me."

He led me to a small white bundle. He pulled back the sheet. There was a torso. No head. One arm still attached. He'd been dismembered. The pieces had been ripped off of him like off a doll. Like a bear. Just like Bear. No head. Alec and Bear. Even to the last. I felt the burning come up in my eyes, the ache come up in my throat.

"It's Alec. I recognize the birthmark on his side." The words came out like a croak. I couldn't speak any more. I ran for the door.

I barely made it outside. I fell to my knees on the lawn and let my stomach heave. My chest spasmed, my throat convulsed, my back arched. I brought up nothing but bile.

Betty-John came up behind me. She put her hand on my shoulder. "Jim, I'm sorry . . .

"Fuck you! I don't want sympathy! Least of all yours!" I struggled to my feet and headed for the Jeep.

"Jim! Where are you going?"

"I'm going after the bastards who did this!" I said. I climbed into the Jeep and pointed it at the bridge. The tires screeched as I roared off toward Santa Cruz.