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It rolled in on angry； brooding tiers： swollen blue…black cumulus and ghostly； low…slung nimbostratus； crowding the ceiling of the sky。 It made the oxygen in the air itself press； turn chill and thick； absorbed or displaced by the moisture that blackened and bloated the heavens。
And there was a stench in the air； an unsettling chemical tang that clung to the tongue like a tinfoil tourniquet。 It rode in on the mist that now descended： a clammy； diaphanous veil； settling over the woodlands and farmlands； the suburbs and industrial parks that encircled and squeezed the densely packed concrete heart of the city。
Violent gusts of warmer breeze attempted to flee the ing darkness； sent stray cans pinging down the streets and newspaper fluttering in their wake。 Windows rattled in their casements。 Trees whispered and arched their backs。 Wind razored； whistling； through the cracks in the walls of Paradise。
Very quickly； the downtown sidewalks began to clear。 Hangers…out went in； drove off； or hunkered in doorways。 All watching the skies。 What stragglers on foot remained were either headed somewhere fast or had no place to go。
In the outlying regions； as well； the curtain began to e down on literally hundreds of unfortunate outdoor events。 Ball games and barbecues。 Weddings and funerals。 Camping trips； keggers and KKK rallies。 All of them； racing against the clock： one eye on their cars； one eye on the ing darkness。
There were just over a hundred and eighty…seven thousand living people in Paradise County。 The wind blew through their souls。 Their heads felt light。 Their lungs felt heavy。 They sweated； despite the cold。 Slow…blossoming； ill…defined dread constricted their throats and coated their bellies like a living liquid； a sentient glandular secretion。 They could literally feel the atmosphere inside their bodies change。
In final preparation。
For the storm。
Forty…Four
There were certain things； Lydia maintained； that one simply did not do。 Like putting an electric blanket on a water bed； for instance。 Or eating pork sushi。 Or autoerotic strangulation。 You didn't do these things； not because of the law； but because they were basically stupid ideas。
So it wasn't the Art Crime； or the threat of getting busted； that was making her antsy。 It was the fact that they were doing it so close to a major body of water。
And the storm was almost here。
Garth and Lydia stood at the foot of the steep； rocky incline that led down into the Codorus Basin； where the creek cut through the center of town on its way to Black Bridge and the river beyond。 Standing in the shadow of the Philly Street Bridge； they were pretty well hidden from the road above。
At night； the rocky banks and shadowed overhang were a hangout zone for wayward inner…city youth； but by daylight they were desolate； with only the broken beer bottles； empty lipstick tubes and used condoms to remind you that you were in hell and found your pleasure where you could。
Directly across the creek lay the End Zone； Paradise's premier yuppie sports bar。 Frank Vickers's environmental action group had convened there； as usual； to save the world while keeping track of the NFL action。 After doing such a swell job on Garth's old man； it was only fair to spread a little joy in Frank's direction。
Under the shadow of the bridge； they couldn't see you from the road； but the terrace of the End Zone had an unobstructed view。 On the concrete wall of the pumping station spillway； Garth was spray…painting their little love note in jagged letters three feet high：
DRINK UP AND DIE；
YUPPIE SCUM！
And it was lotsa fun and all； but Lydia was getting wired。 From where they stood； it was less than ten feet to the rank…smelling； shit…churning； Guinness…colored waters of the mighty Codorus。 Worse yet； they were less than a dozen feet from the dam： a reinforced concrete retainer wall； inset every few feet with jutting steel teeth； each one a yard long。 The teeth acted as a flood stop and general shit…catcher for the fetid creek； but at the moment； they were doubling as the county's largest instant lightning rod。
And the storm was almost here。
〃This is weird；〃 she said； gazing up。 〃We should split。〃
〃Can't；〃 Garth said。 He was working on the ma。
〃You really wanna die in an electrical storm？〃
He shrugged； his back to her。
〃ARGH！〃 she growled； arms flapping in frustration。 Then she turned to address the storm。 〃Go ahead；〃 she told it。 〃This man is too stupid to live。〃
Garth shook his head； still spraying。 Thinking about his old man； and hers。
〃No such thing；〃 he assured her。
When the first peal of apocalypse thunder broke； it was eight minutes to three。
Forty…Five
The convoy headed south。
It paced itself： an advance battalion； running just minutes ahead of the storm。 From the north side of town…as yet unaffected…the traffic was sparse； nigh unto barren。 There was nothing to stow them down。
At seven minutes to three； it came to a red light just outside the city limits。 From this point on； stoplights dotted Route 30 as far as the eye could see。 They had left the boondocks and entered the land of fast…food drive…thrus； auto…service franchises and largely deserted strip malls； all garishly hawking the good life。
Red lights were not part of the plan。
The convoy went through。 From its position in the lead； the Boonie…spawn surveyed the point where the Route 30 bypass crossed Interstate 83。 Overmind cannibalized his memory； sucking shreds of knowledge from every synapse like meat off a chicken bone。
These were the major east…west and north…south highways。 This was the hub of the wheel。 Philly and New York； Baltimore and D。C。： all were within one to four hours of driving time。
Going the speed limit。
Har har har。
Inside Boonie； Overmind chuckled； the body did its best to second the motion。 Crusty； gravid face…tissue crinkled； popped； and spurted with mirth。 More scabs tore loose。 They hung in strips。
In the raw meat beneath； there were no longer extra eyes。
Now they were eggs。
Almost ready to hatch。
The Boonie…spawn's truck headed south。 The tankers split off： one east； one west。 The tankers would lock down the grid； reconnoiter on the far side of town； and then take this show on the road。 Spreading the word。
But for the Boonster； this was good…bye。
Ah； well。 It was fun while it lasted。 They laughed as they went their separate ways。 The roads stretched like arteries through the city； the county； the body of the world。
How convenient。
Forty…Six
The whole way back to 'PAL； Kirk's mind was a thing unchained： racing ahead of him； flashing back； preediting tape in his head。
All around him； near and distant； sirens whooped and shrieked and wailed。 Fire trucks； staters； city cops went smoking past； to God knows where。 The radio was no help at all； and the TAC frequencies weren't any better。 People were stepping all over each other。 Everyone knew something was happening。 But they didn't know what。
And that was where Kirk came in。 Kirk Bogarde…Renegad