The others had grown silent upon seeing Danner and now stood there stoically in the welling fog and the cold wash of moonlight, waiting before him like foot servants called to their master’s side. It did not evade his notice. He grinned. Yes, that was it. His frustration began to ease. Perhaps they could be of use to him after all. He limped across the yard to the driveway pavement, in between a Datsun and a Chevy parked there, and approached them. Some backed away apprehensively, but not far. All listened. “There are people here,” he said, his soft tone carrying up and down the street with remarkable clarity. “Food. They are here. But they are hiding.” He leaned against the Datsun’s hatchback for support. “You will find them for me.” Each licked his or her lips in unison with the others, like individual cells forming a larger, more malignant entity. They nodded their agreement.

“Then go. But mark me, no one is to feed.” They looked at him blankly. “At least not until I do. I demand first blood. Bring them to me.” His brow furrowed at any sign of discontent among them. His tone deepened. “Is that clear?”

All nodded. All but one. A young woman in ragged pink pajamas was standing near the front of the small mob, but she was barely listening to him. Instead she wore a puzzled expression and kept fingering a length of yellow cord that looped twice about her neck. It was apparent that she had not put it there. Others sported the thick strings as well; about their throats or waists, their thighs, even around their foreheads like rolled bandanas. The girl turned the cord over and revealed a thinner wire leading away from it down her back, where she couldn’t see. But Danner could. A taped packet was pinned to the back of her pajama shirt, where a solenoid and miniature Radio Shack receiver were secreted.