When Hilda Cannon left her house for a lunch date at twelve-­forty-­five, her daughters grabbed their field glasses and hurried through High Ridge Woods toward the cliff from which the cove could be viewed.

“Momma’ll kill us if she ever finds out,” Ruth said nervously.

Rebecca put on a studious expression. “We’re allowed to go bird-­watching, aren’t we?”

Ruth flushed. “Not for these kinds of birds.” She held back. “Becky, the fire truck said to stay out for the spraying.”

Rebecca sniffed the air. “They haven’t reached here yet.” She went faster through the trees. “I hope old Amos Tarbell doesn’t chase those fellows before we get there!”

“We should have had the goshdarn glasses before!”

“I got a good look anyway. Did you ever see the one with the beard?”

“I wasn’t looking at his beard . . .”

The girls’ exchange tinkled through the trees as they plunged on, breathing hard with both their exertion and their anticipation.

Ruth stopped abruptly. “Hey, wait! What’s that?”

Rebecca pushed ahead impatiently. “You’re gonna make us miss them!”

Ruth called after her sister with fear shaking her voice. “Becky, stop!”

Rebecca shouted back through the trees, “Amos is going to chase them away!” But she skidded to a halt at the sight to which her sister was pointing in horror.

In this elevated section of the woods, the ridge was only sparsely covered. On a stony ledge before the girls, the wind-­blown pines were dwarf-­size and twisted like Japanese bonsai. The open platform was swarming with rats. They were large, fat brutes, disgusting with their swollen bellies, narrow rodent faces, and snaking tails. That was revolting enough, but the freakish spectacle was the dance the rats seemed to be doing.

One after another, rats leaped into the air. Their thin legs kicked wildly, their long tails whipped madly, their heads jerked from side to side. In the macabre ballet, scores of rats were in the air at one time, colliding, snarling, snapping with squeals of fury.

In their berserk acrobatics, many rats flung themselves off the cliff, as if their maddened brains imagined they could fly like birds. They plummeted to their death in the sea below, to be scavenged by quickly gathering fish and birds.

“Let’s get out of here!” Ruth trembled.

Rebecca had her binoculars up. She screamed in surprise and horror. “It’s roaches!”

“Roaches?” Ruth was incredulous.

“Cockroaches! Millions of them! Great big King King cockroaches!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Big cockroaches all over the rats!”