Ruth got some from what they said; some from the oddly distracted, oddly frightened way they looked; most from their minds.

Their two minds: the human one and the alien one. Always there came a point where the becoming might degenerate into madness-the madness of schizophrenia as the target minds tried to fight the alien group mind slowly welding them together… and then eclipsing them. This was the time of necessary acceptance. Thus, it was the time of the dance of untruth.

Mabel Noyes might have set it going, but she was not loved enough to make people dance. The Hillmans and the Browns were. They went far back in Haven's history, were well-loved and well-respected.

And, of course, David Brown was only a little boy.

The human net-mind, its “Ruth-mind,” one might say, thought: He could have wandered into the high grass of the Browns” back field and fallen asleep. More likely than Marie's idea that he went into the woods-he'd have to cross the road to do that, and he was well-behaved. Marie and Bryant both say so. More important, so do the others. He'd been told again and again and again that he was never to cross the road without a grownup, so the woods don't seem likely.

“We're going to cover the lawn and back field section by section,” Ruth said. “And we're not just going to walk around; we're going to look.”

“But if we don't find him?” Bryant's eyes were scared and pleading. “If we don't find him, Ruth?”

She didn't really have to tell him; she only had to think it at him. If they didn't find David quickly, she would begin making calls. There would be a much larger search party-men with lights and bullhorns moving through the woods. If David wasn't found by morning, she would call Orval Davidson up in Unity and have him bring his bloodhounds. This was a familiar enough procedure to most of them. They knew about search parties, and most had been on them before; they were common enough during hunting season, when the woods filled up with out-of-staters carrying their heavy-caliber weapons and wearing their new orange flannel duds from L. L. Bean's. Usually these lost were found alive, suffering from nothing but mild exposure and severe embarrassment.

But sometimes they found them dead.

And sometimes they never found them at all.

They would not find David Brown, and they knew it long before the search began. Their minds had netted together as soon as Ruth arrived. This was an act of instinct as involuntary as a blink. They linked minds and searched for

David's. Their mental voices united in a chorus so strong that if David had been in a radius of seventy miles, he would have clapped his hands to his head and screamed in pain. He would have heard and known they were looking for him at fives times that distance.

No, David Brown was not lost. He was just… not-there.

But because it was the Tommyknocker-mind which knew this, and because they still thought of themselves as “human beings,” they would begin the dance of untruth.

The becoming would demand many lies.

This one, the one they told themselves, the one that insisted they were really the same as ever, was the most important lie of all.

They all knew that, too. Even Ruth McCausland.

By eight-thirty, with dusk growing too thick to be much different from night, the five searchers had grown to a dozen. The news traveled quickly-a little too quickly to be normal. They covered all the yards and fields on the Browns” side, beginning at Hilly's stage (Ruth herself had crawled under there with a powerful flashlight, thinking that if David Brown was anywhere close by it should be here, fast asleep -but there was only flattened grass and a queer electrical smell that made her wrinkle her nose) and expanding the hunt outward in a beam-shape from there.

“You think he's in the woods, Ruth?” Casey Tremain asked.

“He must be,” she answered tiredly. Her head ached again. David was

(not-there)

no more in the woods than the President of the United States was. All the same…

In the back of her mind, tongue-twisters chased each other as restlessly as squirrels running on wire exercise wheels.

The dusk was not so thick she couldn't see Bryant Brown put a hand to his face and turn away from the others. There was a moment of awkward silence which Ruth finally broke.

“We need more men.”

“State cops, Ruth?” Casey asked.

She saw them all looking at her, their faces still and sober.

(no Ruth no)

(outsiders no outsiders we'll take care)

(take care of this business we don't need outsiders while)

(while we shed our old skins put on our new skins while)

(we “become')

(if he's in the woods we'll hear him he'll call)

(call with his mind)

(no outsiders Ruth shhhh shhhh for your life Ruth we)

(we all love you but no outsiders)

These voices, rising in her mind, rising in the still, humid dark: she looked and saw only dark shapes and white faces, shapes and faces that for a moment barely seemed human. How many of you still have your teeth? Ruth McCausland thought hysterically.

She opened her mouth, thinking she might scream, but her voice sounded-at least to her own ears-normal and natural. In her mind, the tongue-twisters

(pretty Patsy picked some Betty Bitter bought some)

turned faster than ever.

“I don't think we need them just now, Casey, do you?”

Casey looked at her, a little puzzled.

“Well, I guess that'd be up to you, Ruth.”

“Fine,” she said. “Henry… John… you others. Make some calls. I want fifty woods-wise men and women here before we go in. Everyone who shows up at the Browns” has got to have a flashlight with him or he's not going near those woods. We've got a little boy lost; we don't need to add any grown men or women.”

As she spoke, authority grew in her voice; the shaky fear lessened. They looked at her respectfully.

“I'll call Adley McKeen and Dick Allison. Bryant, go back and tell Marie to put on lots of coffee. It's going to be a long night.”

They moved off in different directions, the men who had calls to make headed in the direction of Henry Applegate's house. The Browns” was nearer, but the situation had become worse and none of them wanted to go there just now. Not while Bryant was telling his wife that Ruth McCausland had decided their four-year-old son was probably lost in the

(not-there)

big woods after all.

Ruth was overwhelmed with weariness. She wished she could believe she was just going mad; if she could believe that, everything would be easier.

“Ruth?”

She looked up. Ev Hillman was standing there, his thin white hair flying around his skull. He looked troubled and afraid.

“Hilly's doped off again. His eyes are open, but -” He shrugged.

“I'm very sorry,” Ruth said.

“I'm takin” him to Derry. Bryant “n” Marie want to stay here, o” course.”

“Why not Dr Warwick to start with?”

“Derry seems a better idea, that's all.” Ev looked at Ruth unwinkingly. His eyes were old man's eyes, red-rimmed, rheumy, their blue faded to something which was almost no color at all. Faded but not stupid. And Ruth suddenly realized, with a wallop of excitement that nearly rocked her head back on her neck, that she could barely read him at all! Whatever was happening here in Haven, Ev, like Bobbi's friend, was exempt. It was going on around him, and he knew about it-some-but he was not a part of it.

She felt an excitement which was followed by bitter envy.

“I think he'll be better off out of town. Don't you, Ruthie?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, thinking of those rising voices, thinking for the last time of how David was not-there and then pushing the lunatic idea away forever. Of course he was. Were they not human? They were. Were. But…