“… great big fucking bomber joint,” the voice said, and Henry exchanged a glance with Owen. “He say uck onna rayo,” Duddits observed from the back seat. “That’s right,” Henry said, and, as the owner of the voice inhaled audibly into the mike: “Also, I’d say he’s smoking a fatty.”

“I doubt if the FCC’d be in favor,” the deejay said after a long and noisy exhale, “but if half of what I’m hearin is true, the FCC is the least of my worries. Interstellar plague on the loose, brothers and sisters, that’s the word. Call it the Hot Zone, the Dead Zone, or the Twilight Zone, you want to cancel your trip up north.”

Another long and noisy inhale.

“Marvin the Martian’s on the march, brothers and sisters, that’s the word from Somerset County and Castle County. Plague, deathrays, the living will envy the dead. I got a spot here for Century Tire, but fuck that shit.” Sound of something breaking. Plastic, from the sound. Henry listened, fascinated. Here it was once more, here was darkness his old friend, not in his head but on the goddam radio. “Brethren and sistern, if you’re north of Augusta right now, here’s a little tip from your pal Lonesome Dave at E: relocate south. Like, immediately. And here’s a little relocation music.”

Lonesome Dave at E spun The Doors, of course. Jim Morrison droning “The End”. Owen switched to the AM band.

Eventually he found a newscast. The fellow giving it didn’t sound wrecked, which was a step forward, and he said there was no need to panic, which was another step forward. He then played sound-bites from both the President and Maine’s Governor, both saying essentially the same thing: take it easy, people, chill. It’s all under control. Nice soothing stuff, Robitussin for the body politic. The President was scheduled to make a complete report to the American people at eleven A.M… EST.

“It’ll be the speech Kurtz told me about,” Owen said. “Just moved up a day or so.”

“What speech is-”

“Shhh.” Owen pointed to the radio.

Having soothed, the newscaster next proceeded to stir his listeners up again by repeating many of the rumors they had already heard from the stoned FM jock, only in politer language: plague, non-human invaders from space, deathrays. Then the weather: snow showers, followed by rain and gusty winds as a warm front (not to mention the killer Martians) moved in. There was a meee-eep, and then the newscast they’d just heard began playing again.

“Ook!” Duddits said. “Ey ent eye us, ember?” He was pointing through the dirty window. The pointing finger, like Duddits’s voice, wouldn’t hold steady. He was shivering now, his teeth clattering together.

Owen glanced briefly at the Pontiac-it had indeed ended up on the snowy median strip between the northbound and southbound barrels, and although it hadn’t rolled all the way over, it was on its side with its disconsolate passengers standing around it-and then looked back at Duddits. Paler than ever now, shivering, a blood-streaked fluff of cotton protruding from one nostril.

“Henry, is he all right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Run out your tongue.”

“Don’t you think you better keep your eyes on-”

–I’m fine, so don’t sass me. Run out your tongue.” Henry did. Owen looked at it and grimaced. “Looks worse, but it’s probably better. All that crap has turned white.”

“Same with the gash on my leg. Same with your face and eyebrows. We’re just lucky we didn’t get it in the lungs or the brain or the gut.” He paused. “Perlmutter got it in the gut. He’s growing one of those things.”

“How far back are they, Henry?''I’d say twenty miles. Maybe a little less. So if you could goose it… even if just a little…” Owen did, knowing that Kurtz would, as soon as he realized he was now part of a general exodus and much less likely to become a target of either the civilian or the military police.

“You’re still in touch with Pearly,” Owen said. “Even though the byrus is dying on you, you’re still hooked up. Is it…” He lifted a thumb to the back seat, where Duddits was leaning back. His shakes had eased, at least for the time being.

“Sure,” Henry said. “I had stuff from Duddits long before all this happened. Jonesy, Pete, and Beaver did, too. We hardly noticed. It was just a part of our lives.” Sure, that’s tight. Like all those thoughts about plastic bags and bridge abutments, and shotguns. just apart of my life.

“Now it’s stronger. Maybe in time it’ll drop back, but for now… He shrugged. “For now I hear

voices.” “Pearly.” “For one,” Henry agreed. “Others with the byrus in its active stage, too. Mostly behind us.” “Jonesy? Your friend Jonesy? Or Gray?” Henry shook his head. “But Pearly hears something.” “Pearly? How can he-''He’s got more mental range than I do right now, because of the byrum-” “The what?''The thing that’s up his ass,” Henry said. “The shit-weasel. “'Oh.” Owen felt momentarily sick to his stomach.

“What he hears doesn’t seem to be human. I don’t think it’s Mr Gray, but I suppose it might be. Whatever it is, he’s homing on it.”

They drove in silence for awhile. The traffic was moderately heavy and some of the drivers were wild (they passed the Explorer just south of Augusta, ditched and apparently abandoned with its load of luggage spread around it), but Owen counted himself lucky. The storm had kept plenty of folks off the road, he guessed. They might decide to flee now that the storm had stopped, but he and Owen had gotten ahead of the worst of the wave. In many ways, the storm had been their friend.

“I want you to know something,” Owen said finally. “You don’t need to say it. You’re sitting right next to me short range-and I’m still getting some of your thoughts.”

What Owen was thinking was that he would pull the Humvee over and get out, if he thought the pursuit would end once Kurtz had him. Owen did not, in fact, believe that. Owen Underhill was Kurtz’s prime objective, but he understood that Owen wouldn’t have committed such a monstrous act of treason had he not been coerced into it. No, he’d put a bullet in Owen’s head, and then continue on. With Owen, Henry had at least some chance. Without him, he’d likely be a dead duck. And Duddits too.

“We stay together,” Henry said. “Friends to the end, as the saying goes.”

And, from the back seat: “Otsum urk ooo do now.”

“That’s right, Duds,” Henry reached back and briefly squeezed

Duddits’s cold hand. “Got some work to do now.”

Ten minutes later, Duddits came fully to life, pointing them into the first turnpike rest area below Augusta. They were almost to Lewiston now, in fact. “Ine! Ine!” he shouted, then began to cough again.

“Take it easy, Duddits,” Henry said.

“They probably stopped for coffee and a Danish,” Owen said. “Or maybe a bacon sandwich.”

But Duddits directed them around back, to the employees” parking lot. Here they stopped, and Duddits got out. He stood quiet and muttering for a moment or so, looking frail under the cloudy sky and seemingly buffeted by every gust of wind.

“Henry,” Owen said, “I don’t know what bee he’s got in his bonnet, but if Kurtz is really close-”

But then Duddits nodded, got back in the Hummer, and pointed toward the exit sign. He looked more tired than ever, but he also looked satisfied.

“What in God’s name was that all about?” Owen asked, mystified.

“I think he switched cars,” Henry said. “Is that what he did, Duddits? Did he switch cars?”

Duddits nodded emphatically. “Tole! Tole a car!”

“He’ll be moving faster now,” Henry said. “You’ve got to step it up, Owen. Never mind Kurtz-we’ve got to catch Mr Gray.”

Owen looked over at Henry… then looked again. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve come over all pale.”