Mark had been effective against amazing numbers of them, but he could not expect that to last forever. Initially, his speed had probably surprised them. He could not expect to retain that advantage.

He had watched dawn creeping into the sky, and as it gradually gave definition to the gray shapes of Willoughby’s silent storefronts, he had come to a clear understanding that they had to leave this place or risk being overwhelmed. Even so, the combat calculation was not favorable. It was quite likely that all three of them were going to die in any escape attempt.

The hybrids had done nothing to the ambulance convoy as it pulled out. What might have happened to it on the road, though, Mark did not wish to contemplate. He had wanted to protect those poor people, but he couldn’t do more than he had. They were too injured to stay here, and suffering terribly, so he’d let them go, and it had made him sick in his heart. Still, better for them to try for life than to face the certain death of remaining in Willoughby.

There was no electricity, and so they had not been able to listen to the radio that was here in the Redwoods Café, where they’d made their ad hoc command post. Soon, they’d move out and commandeer a vehicle. Then they’d find out more.

At least there was adequate food here, and coffee if you liked it cold. Mark didn’t care. Living as he had since his college days—and during them, for that matter—he was not particular.

For some time now, he had been listening to a buzzing sound rising and falling. So far, the others hadn’t heard it, but it was getting steadily louder and finally Pete asked, “What is that?”

“An engine,” Mark said softly.

“What kind of an engine?” Linda asked.

“Single cylinder.”

“Hybrids?”

“Why would hybrids bother with a scooter?”

“Good point.”

“We need to get out of here,” Mark said. “The depth of threat is increasing too fast.”

Linda said, “We’re alone, it’s quiet.”

“Yeah,” Pete said, “there’s nothing out there except that engine, which is probably some citizen trying to get the hell out of the area.”

“A few minutes ago, a patrol of hybrids passed ten feet from the back door of this place.”

The buzzing resolved itself into a clear sound. It had crested the hill that separated Willoughby from the Big Basin area. It was closing in on the town, and going flat out.

“Ready your weapons,” Mark said.

They didn’t need to be told.

The scooter now appeared, speeding down the middle of the road, a red Vespa with two people on it. It was driven by a young woman with blowing blond hair. Behind her, another figure clung tightly to her.