Billie, he thought with dismay. She’d been so quick to condemn, even with her children defending his veracity. It was over once that label had clicked into place. Vietnam vet. In fact he’d been amazed at her acceptance of it the day before. But let the least idiosyncracy show itself, the smallest glitch in his character or behavior and suddenly he wasn’t a man anymore. He was TV’s villain of the week, the poor, disturbed crazy-as-a-loon veteran, a shell-shocked loser whose hash-hazed mind couldn’t distinguish between present day and 1968. He could even evoke sympathy if he weren’t so busy looking for someplace to explode.

He was disappointed. He’d expected more from her.

Maybe your expectations were just too high, his conscience reckoned. You’ve got a lot of room to talk. Look at yourself. The Uzi, the pistols in your shoulder holsters, the bali-song in its belt sheath. Don’t sound so self-righteous. If anything, you propagate that myth as much as Rambo ever did, if not more. Just how did you expect her to react?

He couldn’t deny it. He considered going back to explain, but just as quickly he laughed at the idea. She’d have you locked up, idiot. You heard her earlier, saw the accusation in her eyes. She came that close to saying you beat up, even molested her sons. It was just a germ of suspicion but the only rational excuse to explain her boys’ condition and behavior. If she sees you again, that germ could fester into a full fledged warrant for your arrest.

Get out of town. It’s your only option.

But he knew that wasn’t an option at all. He would have to play his leaving-town-in-the-morning act carefully; Charlie Bean was not stupid. But he would stay within reach, along the fringes of Isherwood, and he would get word to Del and Bart not to worry, that they had a guardian angel watching over them and their mom. And then he would wait for the dying to begin. It was inevitable; sooner or later others would fall victim. Isherwood would finally acknowledge its plight and welcome his aid openly.

He hoped that was soon. Before the infected cadavers began spreading their thirst beyond the city limits.

The thought gave him a chill—Indiana crawling with the undead—and he expected to have a full-blown nightmare on the subject later, but by the time he got the key into the lock and shambled into the dark motel room, he knew he was too tired to dream of anything. The room helped too. The heater had kicked off or failed to come on at all and the chill of the air made him long for the warmth of bed. Billie fluttered through his mind in association but even that failed to fully arouse him. Only the total limbo of slumber could soothe him now.