Both women had the same horrifying thought—the insects had found Wanda Lindstrom and were at her body. From the loudness and scuffling, it was clear that this invasion of the lighthouse was not just strays or a small group but a multitude of ghouls.

Despite the horror upstairs, the women were thankful. At least they had a chance to warn the others and to escape.

Grabbing clothes blindly, the two dashed into the men’s dormitory. They took care to be as quiet as possible. They were veterans of roachmanship now, Elizabeth thought wryly. They knew too well that they must avoid sending vibration signals of their own to the invaders.

Elizabeth whispered to awaken Peter Hubbard, as Bonnie did to Craig Soaras. Hubbard jumped off his bed wearing pajamas. Craig leaped up stark naked. It was no time to be embarrassed. The men ducked for their clothes, waking Elias Johnson, Russell Homer and Amos Tarbell.

The sheriff directed, “Everybody grab a tank and get outside to the cars! We’ll be able to freeze them off if they come after us.”

Peter Hubbard handed a specimen jar to Russell Homer. “Save this one!” He himself ran for the red box in the corner.

At that moment, before anyone could reach the door, the ceiling gave way, blocking the exit. It was the rot of the old wood, newly strained by the storm.

Avalanching with the debris, with Wanda Lindstrom’s doubly ravaged body, with the dust, and the sand, came a cascade of the deadly cockroaches. For a moment, the falling insects were as stupefied as the humans, but they immediately scuttled to reorganize into attacking formations. A fresh imperative knit them quickly into a new army against the humans. It was almost as if the roach leaders had raised flags and pennants proclaiming these humans the Enemy they had been dispatched to fight and destroy. The Dome had not sent them for the corpse higher up. That had been an accident, a diversion they should not have allowed themselves. Now they were in harmony with each other and with the Dome again. They knew where the signals had come from—their fellow roaches, captive in the jars on the shelves! The signals from their maddened brothers were overwhelming now—not only the call for assistance, but the companion message: Protect the Nest! . . . Destroy the Enemy!

The invisible pheromonic surges were sweeping the air powerfully between the Nest and the room: March! Kill! Protect! . . . Consume the Enemy, that it will not consume the Nest!