Neilson remembered the men. They were from Recycle, Ltd. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do,” he said.

“What about tear gas?” suggested O’Sullivan. “That would bring the good doctor out.”

Neilson glared at the detective. “Look, if I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Trouble is that out here we don’t have all sorts of sophisticated stuff and to get it I’d have to call in the state boys. I want to handle this affair locally.”

A yell pierced the afternoon, followed by a burst of shouting. O’Sullivan and Neilson turned in unison, seeing Cathryn run diagonally across the area in front of the cars.

“What the hell?” exclaimed Neilson.

“It’s Martel’s wife,” said O’Sullivan.

“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Neilson. Then to the nearest group of deputies he yelled, “Get her. Don’t let her get up to the house!”

The faster Cathryn tried to run, the more trouble she had as her feet broke through the crusted snow. Upon reaching the driveway, the snowdrift left from the plowing acted like a barrier, and Cathryn was reduced to scrambling over it on all fours. Sliding down the opposite side, she got to her feet.

With a whoop of excitement, a half dozen of the idle deputies responded and struggled around the squad cars. It was a competition to see who got to the prize first. But the new-fallen snow made the going treacherous and the deputies inadvertently inhibited each other. Eventually two of them made it around the cars and began running up the drive as fast as they could. A murmur of excitement escaped from the crowd. O’Sullivan, on the other hand, found himself clenching his fists and urging Cathryn to greater efforts even though he knew her presence in the house would only complicate the situation.

Cathryn found herself gasping for breath. She could hear the heavy breathing of her pursuers and knew they were gaining on her. Desperately, she tried to think of some evasive maneuver but a growing pain in her side made thinking difficult.

Ahead she saw the red-spattered door swing open. Then there was a flash of orange light and an almost simultaneous explosion. Cathryn stopped, gasping for breath, waiting to feel something. Looking back, she could see that her pursuers had dropped into the snow for cover. She tried to run but couldn’t. Reaching the front steps she had to pull herself up with her arms. Charles, holding the shotgun in his right hand, reached out to her and she felt him yank her forward and into the house.

Cathryn collapsed on the floor, her chest heaving. She could hear Michelle calling but she didn’t move. Charles was running from window to window. After a minute, Cathryn pulled herself to her feet and walked over to Michelle.

“I missed you, Mommy,” said Michelle, putting her arms around her.

Cathryn knew she’d done the right thing.

Charles came back into the living room and checked out the front again. Satisfied, he came over to Cathryn and Michelle, and putting gun down, enveloped them in his arms. “Now I have both my women,” he said with a twinkle.

Cathryn immediately launched into an explanation of what happened, saying over and over that she had had nothing to do with the arrival of the police.

“I never thought for a second you did,” said Charles. “I’m glad to have you back. It’s hard watching in two directions at once.”

“I don’t trust the local police,” said Cathryn. “I think that Neilson is a psychopath.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Charles.

“I wonder if it wouldn’t be better if we gave up now. I’m afraid of Neilson and his deputies.”

Charles shook his head, silently mouthing, “No.”

“… but listen to me… I think they’re out there because they want violence.”

“I’m sure they do,” admitted Charles.

“If you give up, give the equipment back to the Weinburger, and explain to Dr. Keitzman what you are trying to do for Michelle, maybe you could continue your experiment at the hospital.”

“No way,” said Charles, smiling at Cathryn’s naiveté. “The combined power of organized research and medicine would bar me from doing anything like this. They’d say that I wasn’t mentally stable. If I lose control over Michelle now, I’ll never get to touch her again. And that wouldn’t be so good, would it?” Charles tousled Michelle’s hair while Michelle nodded her head in agreement. “Besides,” continued Charles, “I think my body is starting to show some delayed hypersensitivity.”

“Really?” said Cathryn. It was hard for her to generate enthusiasm, having just witnessed the frenzied crowd outside. Charles’s apparent calm amazed her.

“The last time I tested my T-lymphocytes there was some mild reaction to Michelle’s leukemic cells. It’s happening, but it’s slow. Even so, I think I should take another challenge dose of the antigen when things quiet down.”

Outside Cathryn could hear the bull horn but it was muffled by the falling snow. She wished she could stop time. For the moment she felt secure, even as she sensed the evil outside.

Because of the snow, night came early. Charles chose dinner-time to have Cathryn help him take another injection of Michelle’s antigen. He used a different technique, encouraging Cathryn to slip a catheter into one of his veins. It took Cathryn several tries but to her surprise she did it. With an intravenous line open, Charles gave her explicit instructions how to handle the expected anaphylactic reaction. He took epinephrine almost immediately after the antigen and the rather severe reaction was easily controlled.

Cathryn made dinner while Charles devised methods to secure the house. He boarded up the second-story windows and increased the barricades behind the doors. What worried him most was tear gas, and he put out the fire and stuffed the chimney to prevent someone from dropping in a canister.

As evening turned into night, Cathryn and Charles could see the crowd begin to disperse, disappointed and angry that there hadn’t been any violence. A few persistent gawkers remained, but they, too, drifted off by nine-thirty as the thermometer dipped to a chilling five degrees above zero. Cathryn and Charles took turns either watching the windows or reading to Michelle. Her apparent improvement had leveled off and she was again weaker. She also had a mild bout of stomach cramps, but they abated spontaneously. By ten she fell asleep.

Except for the occasional sound of the oil burner kicking on, the house was silent, and Charles, who was taking the first watch, began to have difficulty staying awake. The wired feeling he’d gotten from the dose of epinephrine had long since worn off to be replaced by a powerful exhaustion. He poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee and carried it back into the living room. He had to move by feel because he’d turned out all the indoor lights. Sitting down next to one of the front windows, he looked between the planks and tried to visualize the police cars, but it wasn’t possible. He let his head rest for a moment and in that moment fell into a deep, encompassing sleep.