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But they were almost out of time。 There was no doubt about it。 Upstairs； Francine and Lance were entertaining the spawn of Franklyn and Pyle； and while that was fine…there were no innocents…it was certainly no substitute for justice； either。 As the head detached； the Deitz…thing found itself looking at the watch on the dead man's wrist。
Two minutes to three； it said。
（I swear upon my soul）
Two minutes to three。
And suddenly； Deitz remembered。
In the few short hours since his death and rebirth； Austin Deitz had been thrust so deeply into the horror that he'd virtually forgotten what it was。 No longer。
It was back； with a name and a face。
Horror was a woman named Jennifer Quirez； with a gift for persuasion； a love of the stars； and the clearest； finest deep brown eyes he'd ever seen。 Horror was that woman； trapped alone at the Shop 'N' Go； with no transportation； no one to help her； and no idea what Hell was about to break loose。
Horror was loving that woman…in the last few grinding turns of the wheel…and knowing that he was powerless to save her。
Horror was love； in this Brave New Hell： the capacity for caring； and for sharing pain。 To find oneself both in love and in Hell was more than torture； worse than madness。
It was tantamount to sin。
But for Deitz； the fallen angel 。。。
Suddenly； he changed the agenda； to do so was still within his power。 He climbed the stairs； severed Vulich…head in hand； understanding that it was the last one he'd be getting。 At least for now。
Then he headed for his truck。
And if he was mad； then it was certainly understandable； if he failed； it would certainly be nothing new。 But he was less than five miles from the woman he loved。
And…New World or not…he would save her if he could。
Fifty…One
By two fifty…eight Werner Blake was high over Paradise； taking his last look at the land he called home。
Getting the plane had not been a major problem； he'd long ago talked the county Emergency Management Agency into keeping a Cessna 152 hangared for aerial observation and emergencies and such。 The ground personnel had cautioned him about the ing storm； but Blake was nothing if not persuasive。
Far more troublesome for him would be what to tell Approach Control at Baltimore/Washington International： at the rate everything was ing unglued； they might just be hearing about it by the time he got there。 If his timing was on and his bullshit solid； he'd be able to slide through the cracks and disappear。
And if not 。。。
I'll burn that bridge when I e to it； he thought。 First things first。
Blake reached a nominal cruising altitude of three thousand feet。 The ground below took on a toylike quality； with wonderfully reproduced miniatures。 His bags were stuffed into the cramped cockpit space behind him。 God was not his copilot； the attaché case occupied that position； the better to not let it out of his sight。 Inside； a little over one point two million awaited； the seeds of a new life。
He sighed； relieved to be airborne。 Things always seemed clearer when he was flying。 Everything was going to be fine； he realized。 Everything was going to work out。
Blake sighed and worked the controls。 The Cessna banked south； heading for the promised land。
And straight into the ing storm 。。。
In the last sixty seconds before three o'clock； the Drew…thing stirred。 It had been dreaming again： more and more as its function diminished in importance； gave way to Overmind。
In the dream； he was an infant again： laying face…up in his crib； playing with something like a mobile。 He was happy and content。
Then a shadow passed over； saying time to wake up now 。。。
The Drew…thing awoke。
It was groggy from glut； its body swollen huge beyond all human scale or prehension。 It was a miracle of mutant creation； the wild experimentation giving way to a symmetry； as form followed function 。。。
It was conical in shape； growing up as it expanded outward like a massive organic pyramid； imitating the mandala shapes of the natural world it subsumed and replaced。
Dozens of mouths ringed its base； yard…long vertical gashes that hung open obscenely； willing portals in the mottled flesh。。 Segmented proboscises snaked out of them； lightning…fast and fluid。 They slithered along the endless corridors of drums； blind beaked heads knocking over barrels； cracking drums like eggs。
And feeding； feeding the bloated ticklike monstrosity of its body； a hundred thousand gallons of liquid nightmare and more already inside it； the overspill sloshing from the ruptured husks； pooling together； forming an enormous toxic lake that deepened and spread 。。。
The Drew…head lolled on its great bloated perch； a perverse and temporary place of honor。 It stared at the sky with its one remaining eye； the other dangled downward； dry as a forgotten spring onion。
Somewhere overhead； an airplane buzzed its insect engine…drone。 The Drew…head batted at it lazily； one of its hands ing up to wave the nuisance away。
The drone grew louder。
The next thirty seconds of Blake's life were rich with irony。
At two fifty…nine Blake realized that his flight path took him almost directly over the dump。 Some deeply perverse impulse gained dominion over him at that moment； and he banked west； he wanted to catch one last fly…by of the thing that had so forever altered his life。
The Cessna crossed the outside aerial perimeter of the dump at just over one hundred and ten miles per hour。 Blake leaned into the joystick and dove down to two thousand feet； buzzing the pools and pits that marked the outer edge。 As the ground swept by； he noticed the drums toppling； the tendrils pulling them down。
The plane raced on； passing over the heart of the dump 。。。
。。。 and suddenly Blake found himself looking down in helpless； morbid fascination and awe； staring at the great gray malignancy that had enveloped Paradise Waste。
From above； it looked like a jellyfish； an anemone； a vast ganglionic tumor floating in a sea of spilled sludge。 Fat tendrils snaked out between the rows and rows of barrels that spanned its seven…acre breadth； binding it inextricably to the dump。
Then the air around it moved： a vaporous shimmer of anticipation like a heat wave； a visible coiling of energy。 The little plane buffeted； and Blake felt dread clench like a fist in his throat； felt his bowels go slack and his adrenaline surge。 He gasped； and felt his lips go utterly numb。
Oh god； Blake thought； oh shit。
He banked and rolled the Cessna hard； the engine whined in a desperate last…minute bid for freedom。
But he was already out of time。
Weedle…eedle…eeee 。。。
The Drew…head looked up and saw the silver bird： a bright toy against the mad black churning sky。 It giggled and groped for it like an infant。 It could not hope to reach it。
But in doing so； it caught a glimpse of something familiar。
Something wonderful。
Another bright toy； easily within reach。
The little digital watch…game was still strapped to its wrist。 The arm had trebled in size until the strap had pinched off the