"What do your dogs have to do with it?"
"They could feel the evil in the air pressin' in on 'em, that's what. It's the Devil's work. You notice how the Reverend Mr. Jarvis was one of the first to go. I know the signs."
Meridee sighed but didn't argue. She looked at the pot of chicken and dumplings keeping warm on the back of the stove. She was starving. Ever since yesterday afternoon she couldn't seem to get enough to eat.
Robbie sat on the davenport looking up at the quilting frame suspended just below the ceiling. Meridee started on it five months ago, but hadn't worked on it lately. "My belly gets in the way," she had said. There were about a dozen people in the parlor: a few of his relatives but mostly assorted Morgans. Some were sitting anxiously and some paced nervously while others talked quietly. He hadn't been listening until he heard his name.
"What?"
"I asked how many it is now," said his seventeen-year-old cousin Travis.
"How many what?"
"Were killed." It wasn't necessary to explain who "they" were.
"Oh. Uh ... forty-two, I think, known dead and missing."
Travis turned back to Meridee's father. "That's almost a fifth of the population."
Robbie was amazed at how calmly it was discussed now after the hysteria of those first few days. He stood up and rubbed his palms on his thighs. Doc had been in there for an hour. He went to the window, protected by bars made from wheel rims by the blacksmith, and looked out. There must be fifty people in the yard, he thought.
They had been gathering since Meridee went into labor. Her worries about the baby had spread. The entire valley wanted to know if the baby would be normal or like "them."
"Only way we could do it," Meridee's father said. "We work in groups of at least ten and half of 'em do nothin' but stand guard. It works out pretty good, but while you're helpin' someone else, your own crops ruin in the fields and they kill and eat your animals. There just aren't enough people to go around. Nearly half the farms are abandoned now, with relatives movin' in with each other for protection."
"Leo thinks the only way is to hunt 'em down and kill 'em."
"I agree, but there aren't enough men to do that and the work too. Besides, he's been out half a dozen times and hasn't seen a thing."
"They found those burrows in the creek bank."
"Yeah, but they didn't find any kids. They tried to smoke 'em out and nothin' happened. Even sent one of the dogs in but the burrow collapsed and smothered him. Doc thinks they musta moved somewhere else. What beats me is how they can eat so much."
Robbie went to the bedroom door and listened but could hear nothing. He fidgeted for a moment, then went to the kitchen for a drink of water. He had thought several times of suggesting they seek outside help, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. The people in the valley had been self-sufficient for two hundred years. It would never occur to them that they couldn't handle this alone. Also, there was a certain shame involved. How could they admit to outsiders that they were unable to handle their own little children?
Robbie stepped back into the parlor when he heard the bedroom door open. Ludie stood in the doorway, her face gray. She kept rubbing her arms and not looking at him. Everyone in the room was tensely silent.
He ran into the bedroom. Doc leaned against the bassinet. He turned to Robbie and shook his head. The sheet was pulled over Meridee's face. Robbie felt the bottom of his stomach drop away. He walked slowly to the bassinet and looked in.
His daughter looked back at him and bared her teeth.
Leo Whitman hunkered down behind the mill wheel watching the creek. He held the deer rifle lightly across his knees. He particularly watched a clump of hemlock hugging the water on the opposite side. He thought he saw a movement there a few minutes ago but he wasn't sure. His eyes burned from too many hours of trying to see in the dark. He wanted to point out the movement to the others, but he was afraid to make a sound.
He shifted his position slightly to keep his leg from going to sleep again and then had to move a stone that dug into his hip.
There it was again: a less dark flicker among the hemlock branches. Leo raised the rifle to his shoulder and sighted on the bush. After several minutes his vision began to blur. He lowered the rifle slightly and blinked his eyes.
Then one of them stepped from behind the hemlock and into the water. It was naked but he couldn't tell from this distance whether it was a boy or girl. It began wading slowly across the stream, looking around as if smelling the air. It stopped in mid-stream, the water up to its chest, and stood motionless. Did it suspect it was walking into a trap?
Leo sighted on the figure and hoped none of the others would go off half-cocked. Then the child moved forward again. Others slipped silently into the water. God, Leo thought, how quietly they move. He counted eight of them, all naked. Okay, everybody, he said under his breath, wait until they all reach the bank.
But someone didn't. A rifle shot rattled through the night as the first one stepped out of the water. It was a boy, he could see now. The naked child jerked and flopped in the grass. Leo sighted on another and fired. It threshed in the water, then floated face down. Other shots peppered the water with little geysers, but there was nothing to shoot at. The children had vanished; submerged in the creek and invisible.
"Damn!" Leo yelled and ran toward the stream. He waded into the water and hurriedly dragged out the floating corpse. The others joined him. They carried the two dead children quickly away from the creek, looking anxiously over their shoulders. But there was nothing to see, not a vagrant ripple where the children had been.
"Hurry up," Leo growled. "I don't trust 'em."
They ran down the dark street toward Doc's office. They could see him standing in the lighted window watching for them. He had the door open when they got there. Doc slammed the door and lowered the bar across it as they crowded in.
"How many did you get?" Doc asked quickly.
"Two," Leo grimaced. "Some idiot fired too soon and the rest of them clucked under water and disappeared."
"Put 'em on the table." Doc carried the lamp and held it over the bodies. There was a stunned silence as the men got their first clear look. Water puddled on the table, then seeped through the cracks to drip on the floor with soft thumps.
"My God," someone whispered.
"It's Mandy Pritchard and Wayne Williams," Leo said with a dull voice. "I'm glad Joe Bob isn't here."
"Is she . . .?"
"Yes," Doc said slowly.
Mandy's body lay loosely on its back. The bullet had destroyed one of her breasts, but the other was large and full. Her hair was matted and grimy and showed a bald spot where Mrs. Beatty had kicked her. Her skin was darkly tanned and her abdomen swelled hugely.
"But, she's only . . . What? Ten?" Leo asked.
"By our reckoning, she is," Doc answered peering close, "but I doubt if that's valid anymore. You'll notice they both have a full growth of pubic hair."
"That's not all. Wayne's got a full growth of," someone sniggered. "Most full-grown men wouldn't be ashamed of a pecker like that."
Doc fingered the boy's genitals. "He's fully developed all right."
"You think he's the father?"
"I don't know. He could easily be." Doc ran his hand over Wayne's stomach, pinching the cool damp skin. Then he felt Mandy's leg. "Feel their skin. It's as tough as leather. And look at their bodies. There's been a subtle change. They aren't the bodies of children anymore—and Wayne seems taller, don't you think?"
There was a murmur of assent. "Now we know why they needed so much food," Doc continued.