Worse, many hybrids were now wearing human skins. They appeared human, but moved with the serpentine grace of the hybrid.

When they had come here, Gina and Mark had both had the same experience: they had discovered that they knew the streets. Gina had been the first to notice this, but now Mark found them as familiar as she did.

They both also had dim memories of the building where their classroom had been—where they had spent a happy childhood together. No wonder there had been such a sense of déjà vu when they met in Washington.

The bird dropped down into the cul-de-sac where they were hiding. Nearly filling the space, it regarded them first with one yellow, staring eye and then the other.

As soon as it had them in its gaze, nearby drums immediately began to get louder. Obviously, it was somehow broadcasting to the hybrids and had communicated their location.

“Let’s do this,” he said. He and Gina were not mentally linked, but she was the most intuitive combat partner he had ever had, and she immediately stepped up to the thing and grabbed it by the neck.

The big, powerful bird screamed, but it was too late for it to defend itself. In an instant, its neck was broken, then Mark stepped in and cut off the head.

The body flew off, pitching and jerking in the air, finally falling and tumbling along the street, a jumble of black feathers.

He had seen the animal in its eyes, but also the soft and desperate touch of human consciousness that was a heartrending part of all the living machines. Mark wondered, did they also have memories of the human lives that had gone into their creation? His hope was that some sort of peace came to them when they were destroyed.

“We need to move,” he said. But to do that, they had to go out onto the sidewalk again. Gina’s knife slipped into her right hand, Mark’s into his left.

They stepped up onto the pavement. To the south, a large crowd of hybrids milled, all of them sniffing the air, their nostrils flaring, their scales gleaming.

Across the street, the gothic mass of Grace Cathedral strove toward a cloudless sky. A quarter of a mile farther on, California Street disappeared into its steep journey down Nob Hill to the Embarcadero … passing, at the corner of Front Street, a building with a large sign identifying it as KFSF-TV.

“Down there,” Mark said quietly.

Gina nodded.

It was a television station now, but ten years ago it had been something very different—their home.

From the parapets of the church came long howls, sounding as if a pack of wolves had infested the place. In the short, trimmed trees that lined the street, human skins hung.

Now from the church came a tall hybrid in a black cloak.

“What in hell is that?” Gina blurted.