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her to make her move； and dragged her through the shattered rear door toward the kitchen。 Beyond the broken opening where the back door had been was the jungle's blackness。
Moore turned back。 They were shredding the flesh from Schiller's body。
Then he pulled Jana after him into the thick； clinging underbrush。 She was still dazed and tripped across vines。 He picked her up； ignoring the sharp protest of his injured shoulder； and struggled into the walls of foliage； feeling thorns grasp at his trousers and scrape across his arm。
There was no time to think； no time to let his nerves feel the pain； he had to get them as far away from the hotel as he could。 The terror still throbbed within him like the beating of a second heart。 He moved deeper into darkness； heedless of their direction； only knowing they had to find a place of safety。 His feet sank into the soft earth； slipping in standing puddles of water。 On the next step he lost his footing and crashed to the ground with Jana still in his arms； the shock on his injured shoulder made him cry out in pain。 Jana shook her head dazedly； the scratches livid on her face。 She tried to crawl away but Moore reached out and caught her。
And he heard the terrifying noises he had expected all along。 They were following； he could hear brush being crushed down beneath boots。 Closer。 Closer。
He pulled her up and went on； as though he were running headlong into a deep pit from which there was no escape。 He tore frantically at the vines which blocked their way。 A wild bird cried out and burst from the brush just in front of them。 The things were still ing； assisted by the path that Moore was breaking。 When he looked back over his shoulder he thought he could see a dozen or more of them approaching； shadows moving among other shadows。 The entire jungle was a morass of shadows； which burst through the foliage； reaching out for him with shapeless； spidery fingers。 Panic exploded within him and he fought on； dragging the girl with him； the muscles of his injured arm numb and useless。 There was nowhere to go； nowhere to hide； nowhere to find safety。
The things were almost on them； only a few yards behind and closing quickly。 Don't stop！ Don't weaken！ DON'T STOP！ He lost his footing； staggered to his knees； pulled himself up； grasping Jana's wrist in a fierce grip。 Thorns whipped into his face； his chest heaving with the exertion； around him birds screeched in a wild； loud cacophony； and through their piercing clamor Moore could hear a horribly familiar harsh； rasping breath。 His skin crawled； already sensing the claws that would reach for the back of his neck。
And then the shadows rose up in front of him。
He opened his mouth to scream； but the scream was drowned out by the ear…splitting roar of a shotgun blast。
The muzzle flare exploded past Moore and Jana into the shapes that reached toward them。 Shrieking in pain； they split their closed ranks and fought back the way they'd e。 The man with the shotgun raised his weapon again； bracing it against his bare shoulder； the gun bucked again； but the forms had already vanished into the all…consuming night。
Moore collapsed to his knees； his body racked with pain； and retched into the brush。 When he looked up he saw perhaps six or seven men； a few of them holding torches。 A firm hand reached down and caught Moore's wrist； drawing him to his feet。
The man who stood over him cradled the smoking shotgun in the crook of his muscular arm。 He was pletely bald but had a full white beard and mustache。 A small gold ring in the lobe of an ear glittered in the light of a torch； and a golden amulet hung about his thick neck。 But it was the face that both manded Moore's attention and repelled him； it was actually repellent to him…black； deep…set eyes glowered from beneath a high forehead； and the nose was as hooked as an eagle's beak。 One side of the face was terribly scarred and thickened； the scars streaking pink across the tawny skin； crisscrossing that side of the neck； as well as a large gouge across a shoulder。 He wore a T…shirt and dark trousers which had been ripped in numerous places by thorns。 The man motioned silently to several of the others； who began to move off in pursuit of the fleeing shapes。 They all carried guns or wicked…looking knives。
The man turned his attention to Moore and Jana。 〃Follow；〃 he ordered； and without waiting for them he began tracking back into the jungle from the direction he'd e。
Twenty…two
SMOKE WHIRLED ACROSS the Coquina roofs in the grip of a rising storm wind。 A lamp had been thrown over in a tinderbox shack near the wharfs； and red tendrils of flame greedily consumed the roof。 The dancing sparks spread； rapidly devouring other dwellings； leaping from roof to roof； caving in fiery timbers on the bodies that lay beneath。
The fires took hold； strengthened by the wind； and began to gnaw away at the semicircle of shanties clustered around the harbor。 The reddish light in the sky grew in intensity； the sea mirroring the flames。 A silence had fallen across the village； broken only by the noise of wood giving way beneath the fires and the thrashing of the ocean against Kiss Bottom。 Still； there remained the echoes of chaos； the screams that had filled the streets； the moaning and crying that had spilled through windows and doorways。
Kip roared through the smoke in his jeep； his eyes red and wild； his shirt hanging in tatters around his chest； ashes all over him； ragged scratches on his throat and cheeks。 His eyebrows had been singed； the flesh around them puffed from the heat。 He gripped the wheel； swerving to avoid the bodies littering High Street as he headed down for the harbor。 A corpse lay in a doorway frame…a woman； her face mangled beyond recognition…and another…a man in a pool of blood…alongside。 A body sprawled directly in his path； a mass of torn flesh he had known as James Davis； he wrenched the wheel to one side and whipped past。 More bodies； more pools of blood。 A child； arms and legs spread…eagled； eyes lifted to the sky； the man called Youngblood； the head almost torn from the body。 Windows above the Landfall Tavern had been shattered； and he saw the heavyset woman who had worked there sprawled out with sightless eyes。 There was a rotting corpse crumpled in a heap…one of the things from the U…boat…grinning even in death； a young girl…yes； the high yellow on her way to Trinidad…now beaten and torn； her beauty ravaged。 He shuddered； looked away； was forced to look back to keep from running over a corpse。
He had reached the village just before they attacked in full force； he had fired his rifle at them； struck some of them down with his jeep； shouted until he was hoarse to alert the sleeping islanders。 But he had known he was too late。 He heard the screaming begin； saw them crashing through glass and doors。 There were too many。。。 too many。。。 too many。。。 the streets crawling with death。 He'd fought them away even as they rushed him； trying to pull him from his jeep； and then he had raced to protect his own family。
And there he had found his house a shambles； windows broken； the doors caved in。 Tears stinging his eyes； he had rushed