He raised his head above the lilacs and saw it: a yellow Ford Escort, parked in the next driveway over, right in the direction he was headed. The passenger side faced Sam, but he could see that the driver’s door hung wide open on the opposite side. The Escort’s dome light shone out in all directions through the smoky air.

From where he crouched, he could see no one inside the vehicle. It seemed to be just sitting there, unattended. All the same, he decided he would steer far clear of it as he went past.

He broke from the low bushes and sprinted diagonally across the road. He darted to the base of a tree, tucked himself into its shadow and listened again.

No nearby movement. He leaned past the tree and studied the street and adjoining yards. Nothing stirred.

He could see the driver’s side of the Escort from here. Just outside the car’s open door, a big plastic container lay on the driveway. It was white with a red cross on top—a huge first-aid kit, the size of a fishing tackle box. The thing lay broken open, its contents scattered on the pavement.

Sam realized what must have happened. The owner of the car was some kind of medical professional, and had planned on going to the scene of the crashed chopper. He or she had made it only as far as the Escort before breathing in too much of the airborne gas. Sam pictured the driver passing out right at the wheel, maybe just seconds after starting the car; now that same person was somewhere in the neighborhood, wreaking havoc like an animal.

Sam forgot about the Escort and stared ahead along the street again. The Coleman place was probably only three or four houses away now. It was tempting to just sprint to it from right here, without stopping again.

Don’t be stupid. Play it safe. You’re almost home free.

The thought had barely formed when he heard the strange, doglike panting sound from before. This time it came from somewhere in the darkness behind him.

Sam felt the skin prickle on his forearms. Staying crouched in the tree’s shadow, he pivoted slowly in place.

Thirty feet away, at the front corner of the nearest house, was the big man he had seen earlier. The guy in the blue jeans and undershirt.