a figure walked through the haze, favoring a right leg that folded up at the knee joint. "Come on, Scooter!" he said, and paused for the dog to catch up. Then he walked on, up to the front door of the Hammond house on Celeste Street. He knocked on the door, waited, and knocked again. "Nobody here!" he told Scooter. "Do we go home or set up campi" Scooter was undecided too. "She might show up," Sarge said. "This is where she lives." He tried the doorknob; it turned, and the door opened. "anybody homei" he called, but there was no answer from within. Scooter sniffed around the doorframe and took the first step inside the house. "Don't you go in there! We ain't been invited!" Sarge protested. Scooter had his own mind, though, and the dog trotted on in as fancy as you please.

But the decision was made. They would wait here for either the little girl or the Hammonds. Sarge walked in, shut the door, and found his way into a room where a lot of books lay on the floor. He wasn't much for reading, but he remembered a book his mother used to read to him: something about a little girl who went down a hole after a rabbit. His bad knee bumped a chair, and he let himself spill into it.

Scooter crawled up into his lap, and the both of them sat together in the dark.

about a quarter mile from the Hammond house, Curt Lockett entered his own front door. The raw left side of his face was covered with gauze, and adhesive strips held a pad of iodine-smeared cotton to the flayed skin over his ribs. He'd passed out in the back of the pickup truck and awakened as he was being carried over the Mexican's shoulder like a grain sack into the clinic. a nurse had given him a couple of painkilling shots and tended to his wounds, all the time while he was babbling like a crazy fool about the massacre at the Bob Wire Club. The nurse had called early McNeil in to listen, and Curt had told him about the trooper cars and the air-force men out on Highway 67. McNeil had promised to let the colonel know and wanted to put Curt in a room, but Curt couldn't stand that. The reek of disinfectant and alcohol was too much like Kentucky Gent; it reminded him of Hal McCutchins's brains gleaming in the lamplight and made him sick to his stomach.

He'd already seen that Cody's motorcycle wasn't here. The boy was probably up at the apartment building, like he figured. Darkness used to be no problem for him, but he had trouble going through the front room while visions of a charred black thing with a whipping tail dug into his brain. But he made the kitchen, fumbled in a drawer for candles and matches. He found a single stubby candle and a matchbook and lit the wick. The flame grew, and he saw that the matchbook advertised the Bob Wire Club.

There was evidence that Cody had been here: a candle was stuck to a saucer on the countertop. Curt opened the refrigerator, got out a bottle of grape juice - just a few swigs left in it - and finished it. The coppery taste of blood was still in his mouth, and two empty sockets where teeth had been pounded with his heartbeat.

He relit the candle in the saucer and took it with him to the bedroom. His best shirt, the red cowboy number, was lying on the floor and he gingerly shrugged into it. He sat on the bed, sweat crawling down his face in the rank heat.

He noticed that the little picture of Treasure on the bedside table had fallen over. He picked it up, stared at her face in the low yellow light. Long time gone, he thought. Long time.

The bed pulled at him. It wanted him to crawl into the damp sheets, hold Treasure's picture to his chest, curl up, and sleep. Because sleep was next to death, and he realized that was what he'd been waiting for. Treasure was in a place beyond his reach, and she still had golden hair and a smile like sunshine and she would be forever young while he just wore out a little more every day.

But by the candlelight he saw something in the picture that hadn't been evident to him before: Treasure's face had Cody in it. The thick, curly hair was the same as Cody's, yes, but there were other things too - the sharp jawline, the full eyebrows, the angular shape of the face. and the eyes too: even smiling, there was steel in Treasure's eyes, just like there was in Cody's. Treasure had to be mighty strong to put up with me, Curt thought. Mighty strong.

Cody was in Treasure. Right there he was, right in the picture. He'd been there all along, but Curt had never seen it until this moment.

and Treasure was in Cody too. It was as clear as a shaft of sunlight breaking through storm clouds, and darkness began to unlock in Curt's mind.

His hand pressed to his mouth. He felt as stunned as if he'd just taken a punch in the teeth. Treasure was in Cody. She had left him part of herself, and he'd tossed the gift aside like a snotty rag. "Oh Lord," he whispered. "Oh my Lord." He looked at the splintered tie rack that hung on the wall, and a moan ached for release.

He had to find Cody. Had to make the boy understand that his eyes had been blind and his heart sick. That wouldn't make up for things, and there was a lot of dirty water under the bridge - but it had to start somewhere, didn't iti He carefully removed the picture of Treasure, because he wanted Cody to see himself in her, and he gently folded it and put it in his back pocket.

His boots clumped across the crooked boards with the noise of someone who has found a destination. The screen door slammed at his back, and he walked to Sombra Street and turned north where it met Travis.

at the Inferno Clinic, Ray Hammond finished putting on his clothes, blood-splattered shirt and all, and left his room. His glasses were gone and everything was blurry around the edges, but he could see well enough to walk without bumping into walls. He had almost made it to the nurses' station when a nurse - Mrs. Bonner, he thought it was - suddenly came out of a door on his right and said, "Where do you think you're going, young mani" "Home." His tongue was still swollen and the hinges of his jaw ached when he talked.

"Not until Dr. McNeil gives you the okay." She had that rough authority in her voice, like Cross eyes Geppardo. "I'm giving myself the okay. I can't sleep, and I'm not going to lie in there and stare at the ceiling." "Come on." She took his arm. "You're going back to bed." Somebody else trying to get me out of the way, he thought, and a flash of anger lit him up inside. "I said I'm going home." Ray jerked his arm free. "and I didn't say you could touch me, either." even without his glasses he could see her mouth purse with indignation. "Maybe I'm a kid, but I've got rights. Like going to my own house if I want to. Thanks for patching me up, and adios." He walked past her, limping a little bit. He expected her hand to grasp his shoulder, but he was three strides away before he heard her start calling for Dr. McNeil. He went past the front desk, said good night to Mrs. Santos, and kept on going out the door. Dr. McNeil didn't come after him. He figured the doc had more important things to do than chase him down. He could barely see ten feet ahead for all the haze and his own bad eyes, and the air smelled like a chem lab stinkbomb, but he kept on trudging along Celeste Street, his sneakers crunching on bits of glass from the shattered windows.

as Ray was starting home, Cody Lockett pulled his motorcycle to the steps of Bordertown's Catholic church. He lifted his goggles and sat for a moment with the engine popping under him. Candlelight shone through the church's stained-glass windows, and he could see people moving around in there. On any other night, his ass would be grass for being over here, but tonight the rules had changed. He cut the engine and headlight and got off, and that was when he saw the figure standing in a yard just across First Street, less than fifteen feet away. His hand settled on the nail-studded bat taped to the handlebar.

Cody couldn't make out the face, but he could see that the black hair hung over the figure's shoulders in oily ringlets. "Crowfieldi" he said. Louder: "That you, Crowfieldi" Sonny Crowfield didn't move. Maybe there was a smile on his face, or maybe it was more of a leer. His eyes gleamed wetly in the church's candlelight.

"Better get off the street, man!" Cody told him. Still Crowfield didn't respond. "You gone deaf or somethi - " a hand closed on his arm. He hollered, "Shit!" and whirled around.

Zarra alhambra stood on the steps. "What're you doin' over here, Locketti You gone crazyi" Rick had put him on guard at the door, and he'd heard Lockett's motorcycle and then the boy talking to somebody.

Cody pulled his arm free. "I came over to see Jurado." He didn't say which one. "I was tryin' to tell Crowfield he'd better find some cover." He motioned across the street.

Zarra looked in that direction. "Crowfieldi Wherei" "Right there, man!" He pointed - and realized his finger was aimed at empty space. The figure was gone. "He was standin' over there, in that yard," Cody said. He looked up and down the street, but the smoke had taken Sonny Crowfield. "I swear it was him! I mean... it looked like him." The same thought hit both of them. Zarra retreated a couple of steps, his eyes wide and darting. "Come on," he said, and Cody quickly followed him into the church.

The sanctuary was packed full of people, sitting on the pews and in the aisles. Father LaPrado and six or seven volunteers were trying to keep everyone calm, but the babble of frightened voices and the wail of babies was like the din of a madhouse. Cody figured there were at least two hundred Bordertown residents inside the sanctuary, probably more in other parts of the church. at the altar a table had been set up with paper cups and bottled water, sandwiches, doughnuts, and other food from the church's kitchen. Dozens of candles cast a tawny glow, and a few people had brought kerosene lamps and flashlights.

Cody was about four strides through the doorway when someone planted a palm against his bruised breastbone and shoved him backward. Len Redfeather, an apache kid almost as big as Tank, snarled, "Get your ass out, man! Now!" Somebody else was beside Cody, shoving him too, and at the sign of a ruckus three more Rattlesnakes pushed their way to the back of the church like a human wedge. Redfeather's next thrust slammed Cody up against the wall. "Fight! Fight!" Pequin started yelling, jumping up and down with excitement. "Hey, I don't want any trouble!" Cody protested, but Redfeather kept shoving him, banging his back up against the cracked plaster.

"Stop that! There'll be no fighting in here!" Father LaPrado was coming up the aisle as fast as he could, and Xavier Mendoza stood up from his seat beside his wife and uncle and tried to get to Cody's defense.

Now there were Rattlesnake faces all around Cody, taunting and shouting. Redfeather's hand gripped the front of Cody's T-shirt, started to rip it off him, and Cody whacked his arm into the apache's elbow and knocked the hand away. "No fighting in my church!" the priest was hollering, but the knot of Rattlesnakes had closed around Cody, and neither LaPrado nor Mendoza could break through. Redfeather grabbed Cody's shirt again, and Cody saw the boy's battle-scarred fist rise up and he knew the punch was going to pop his lights out. He tensed, just about to block the blow and drive a knee into Redfeather's groin.

"Stop." It was not a shout, but the command was spoken with absolute authority. Redfeather's fist paused at its apex, and his rage-dark eyes flickered to his left. Rick Jurado pushed past Pequin and Diego Montana, stared intensely at Cody for a few seconds. "Let him go," Rick said.

Redfeather gave Cody one more hard shove for good measure, then released his handful of T-shirt and uncocked his fist.

Rick stood right in front of Cody, not allowing him any room to move. "Man, you've gone around the bend for sure. What're you doin' over herei" Cody tried to look around the sanctuary, but he couldn't see Miranda amid all the people and Rick shifted to block his view. "I thought I'd come say thanks for savin' my skin. No law against that, is therei" "Okay. Thanks accepted. Now get out." "Rick, he says he saw Sonny Crowfield outside, standin' across the street." Zarra pushed his way next to Rick. "I didn't see him, but I thought... you know... that it might not be Sonny anymore." "Right," Cody said. "It might be one of those things, like the Cat Lady. He was across from the church; maybe he was watchin' the place." Rick didn't like that possibility. "anybody seen Sonny Crowfieldi" he asked the others.

"Yeah!" Pequin spoke up. "I saw him about an hour ago, man. He said he was headin' home." Rick thought for a moment. Crowfield lived in a shack down at the end of Third Street; he wasn't among Rick's favorite people, but he was a Rattler and that made him a brother too. all the other Rattlers were accounted for, except the five who were laid up at the clinic. Rick's Camaro was still parked in front of his house on Second Street. "Your motor outsidei" he asked Cody.

"Yeah. Whyi" "You and me are gonna take a ride over to Crowfield's house and check it out." "No way! I was just leavin'." Party time was over, and Cody edged toward the door, but a crush of Rattler bodies hemmed him in.

"You came in here to show how brave you are, didn't youi" Rick asked. "Maybe another reason, too." He'd seen Cody rubbernecking around, and he knew who the boy was searching for. Miranda sat with Paloma in a pew about halfway along the center aisle. "You owe me. I'm collecting, right now." He pulled the reloaded .38 out of his waistband and spun the cylinder a few inches in front of Cody's face. "You up to it, macho mani" Cody saw the haughty defiance in Rick's eyes, and he smiled grimly. "Have I got a choicei" "Stand back," Rick told the others. "Let him go if he wants to." They moved away, and a path was open to the door.

Cody didn't give a kick about Sonny Crowfield. He didn't care for another meeting with Stinger, either. He started to head for the door - but suddenly there she was, standing just behind her brother. Sweat sparkled on her face, her hair lay in damp curls, and dark hollows had gathered under her eyes, but she was still a smash fox. He nodded at her, but she didn't respond. Rick saw the nod and turned. Miranda said, "Paloma's afraid. She wants to know what's going on." "We're about to throw some garbage out on the street," he answered. "It's okay." Her gaze returned to Cody. He was about the most bedraggled and beat-up thing she'd ever seen. "Hi," he said. "Remember mei" and then Rick pressed the pistol's barrel up against Cody's cheek and leaned forward. "You don't talk to my sister," Rick warned, his eyes boring into Cody's. "Not one word. You hear mei" Cody ignored him. "Your brother and I are gonna go for a little spin on my motor." The gun barrel pressed harder, but Cody just grinned. What was Jurado going to do, shoot him right here in front of the priest, his sister, God, and everybodyi "We won't be too long." "Leave him alone, Rick," Miranda said. "Put the gun down." Never in Rick's wildest nightmares had he ever envisioned anything like this: Cody Lockett not only on Rattler turf, but in the church! and talking to Miranda like he actually knew her! His guts writhed with fire and fury, and it was all he could do not to smash his fist into Lockett's grinning face.

"Rick!" Now it was the snap of Mendoza's voice as he pushed people out of his way and came forward. "Cody's all right! Leave him alone!" "It's okay," Cody said. "We're on our way out." He reached up, grasped Jurado's gunhand, and eased it aside. Then, with a last lingering glance and a smile at Miranda, he walked through the Rattlesnakes and paused at the door. "You comin', or noti" he asked.

"I am," Rick said. Cody slid the goggles over his eyes and went down the steps to the motorcycle.

In another few seconds Rick followed, the .38 in his waistband again. Cody got on the Honda and started the engine, and Rick straddled the passenger seat behind him. Over the motor's snarl, Rick said, "When we get out of this, I'm gonna beat you so bad you'll wish I'd left you down in that ho - " Cody throttled up, the engine screamed, and the front tire reared up off the pavement, and Rick held on for dear life as the machine shot forward.