Abruptly, though she did not know how they had entered, roaches were thick on the floor of the bedroom, skittering greedily for her. Elizabeth choked in silent misery as she huddled against a wall. Why hadn’t she gone with Bonnie to the harbor? Why had she walked out alone? Why hadn’t she joined Peter on the fire truck? Why hadn’t Peter known there would surely be more than just stray roaches left!

With each whipping question, Elizabeth Carr ran again from the tide of insects now moving over the bedroom floor like dirty weed covering a beach. She bounded up a staircase to the Cannons’ third-­floor guest rooms. Thankfully, she saw she had gained a respite, though it would be short. For some reason, the roaches were not climbing as quickly now. It occurred to her they looked to be smaller bugs than the lighthouse army had been. Perhaps these were not as strong, being second-­line troops since the best fighters had been decimated. But they were certainly as vicious looking, and the implacability of their avid search for human blood was morbidly the same.

Now at the top of the house, where could she run? Elizabeth saw she had trapped herself. She had been stupid in her panic, she flagellated herself—she should have taken a chance and jumped from a lower window. True, there were attackers all over the lawn, but most of the roaches were already in the house. Her leap might have scattered the laggards and she might have gotten away.

But the second-­guessing was too late and futile now. There was only one possible hope of safety, and that exceedingly slim. Elizabeth made for what the Yarkie people called the “chicken ladder.” In many of the old buildings, it went steeply to the attic and on to the widow walk atop the house.

In another moment, Elizabeth was out in the open. The salty air was welcome to her lungs. The roach smell didn’t reach her here. Yet. If they found her and killed her, well, she preferred to die under the sky—now mockingly sunny and clear over Yarkie—than be devoured in the house.

She walked cautiously around the platform, testing its long-­untrod boards. They sagged under her weight, worn as they were with generations of weather. She could only hope they would hold her and not drop her bodily into the roaches she knew were piling into the room below.