They had sensed him again. Through his still-­fogged eyes, he could make out hazy forms crawling toward his shoes. Sickeningly, there were new wings fanning around his head. With his hands up, Hubbard made for the door. With only half-­vision, he stumbled into a crate from which Wanda had been taking fresh apparatus. He tripped. As he flung his arms out to regain his balance, the flailing kept the flying roaches from him. He stamped at others on the floor, and slid frighteningly on the slippery mess they made, almost going down.

He grabbed a table, clung to it, breathing heavily, wishing his eyes would clear. He needed to get to the sink and water. But if he stumbled or skidded again he might fall, and if he fell they would be over him in an instant.

The kitchen door flew open. After hearing the commotion in the laboratory, it had taken Elizabeth minutes to free a carbon dioxide extinguisher from the packs tied in the shed. She had realized at once what must have happened. Now she burst into the room with the black tank nozzle held out like a gun, her legs apart, ready to let loose a dry-­ice bombardment.

She took in the scene immediately, and pressed the trigger violently. The white, freezing stream blasted onto the roaches circling the floor threatening Hubbard.

Elizabeth Carr had no time for the revulsion that wrenched her insides when she saw Wanda Lindstrom, with cockroaches invading the bloodied corpse. She turned the spray on the bugs with new imprecations. She saw the woman was gone, the dry ice could do her no harm now. As the insects died, Elizabeth heard herself shrilling, “Come on, you spawn of hell! Just come after me, damn you!”

Behind her came Bonnie’s uncertain voice. “What’s happening, Liz?”

Elizabeth screamed hoarsely, “Get out, Bonnie! Close the goddamn door!”

But Bonnie was beside her friend, pulling away a roach that had reached Elizabeth’s ear. The black woman warned frantically, “They’re getting at you, Liz!”

Peter Hubbard was at the lab sink, furiously trying to get his eyes clear. But water seemed to have been a mistake. Whatever chemical the roach had left on his face made an acid that blurred his vision rather than clearing it. He had to stand by helplessly while the two women were trying to fight off the insects.

Bonnie Taylor went down on her knees in a reflex of fury, and was chopping at every roach within reach with the kitchen knife she held in her hand. With each hacking blow she gave out a loud grunt of satisfaction as the sharp blade slashed giant roaches into pieces. She shuddered in new horror when she saw both pieces of a roach body continue to scuttle about for a moment after being sliced apart.