“First, even in the jars where they have room, they are huddled together. That’s unusual for cockroaches, which are normally loners.” Hubbard pointed to the largest jar holding many scores of roaches. “And here we see them resting layer upon layer, the way Dr. Lindstrom said they might.”

“But most important,” the woman said forcefully, “notice how every single flask shows the roaches congregated in one corner! The same corner!”

“And watch this!” Hubbard rotated a jar. The roaches scurried across to the corner opposite their original resting place. The men gulped in wonder. Hubbard declared, “These roaches are definitely getting pheromone signals through the air holes of these flasks. And those chemical signals are definitely coming from one direction!”

“A nest?” Amos Tarbell ventured.

“That’s my bet,” Peter Hubbard said flatly.

“The dump!” Russell Homer gasped. “They’re pointing to the dump!”

“Or a hundred other places out that general direction,” Elias Johnson corrected him dryly. But he went on, “Seems to me the only sensible thing is to check out the dump, and the sooner the better.”

“And get ourselves torn apart?’ Stephen Scott rasped.

The old man kept himself calm. “Now look. It’s only around four o’clock, and it stays light until nearly nine. We dress as tight as we can—diving suits or whatever you have in your warehouse, Stephen. We wear snorkeling goggles. We take these dry-­ice extinguishers Craig has brought.” Johnson lifted the red hose of one of the fire tanks, and petted the plastic black horn that hung like a narrow mega­phone at the end of the tube. A trigger on the top handle of the extinguisher shot the carbon dioxide through this horn, where the chemical turned to dry ice on contact with the air. Firemen used this equipment specifically for oil and electric fires, where water would only make things worse. The old man continued, “We take guns along, and we take flares.” He looked over at Peter Hubbard steadily. “And we go hunting.”

The scientist met his eyes as steadily and answered as quietly, “We go hunting.” He had his own fury. He prayed silently the children had been drowned first.

“No ‘search and reconnaissance,’ ” Elias Johnson bit the words out. “Search and destroy!”

The scientist understood, and nodded, but said, “Depending on what we find.”

The men rose, ready, fierce. Hubbard held them. “Before we try the dump area, I would like to look at Dickens Beach . . .”

Johnson told him brusquely, “It’s under water now!” Under his breath he added, “Thank God.”

Hubbard said, “I mean the woods where the roaches came out. We might see where they tunneled . . .”