“That’s why it’s important for you to know it now!” Hubbard warned. “Conceivably, these roaches can be organized like wolf packs, or worse. You know, when army ants go on their raids, they do more intricate maneuvers than wolves, and wolves are wilely enough!”

Amos Tarbell nervously fingered his large belt buckle with the official county insignia. “Which leads to the obvious question. What do we do about it?”

Peter Hubbard frowned again. “We can’t lose anything by going on the assumption that our theory about a mutation is correct. So let’s figure there is a roach gathering place somewhere in the woods up on High Ridge, or near the dump. We try to find it.”

The sheriff stood up briskly. “At the dump! Let’s get out there and fire it!”

His friends were on their feet, glad again for action. “Right!”

“Good idea!”

“Let’s move!”

“Not yet, please!” Peter Hubbard was waving his pipe at them.

They waited, wondering why Hubbard would delay the obvious.

“First of all, the new poisons have apparently changed the dump—if a nest was ever there in the first place. Second, a fire wouldn’t do the job anyway. A nest would be deep in the garbage. Before fire or even smoke could reach it, every insect and animal in the dump would be out of there.”

“Even with gasoline?” Amos Tarbell wanted to know.

“The top layer would burn, the rest would smolder. I’m afraid all you’d accomplish is to chase the cockroaches and rats out of the woods entirely!”

Scott blurted. “Hell, that’s the last thing we want!”

“Obviously,” Hubbard said.

The sheriff shifted impatiently. “Then what do we do?”

Johnson intervened and said, to Hubbard, “I want to get this clear. You’re saying the nest wouldn’t be at the dump?”

“Odds are it would be someplace else,” the scientist repeated.

Johnson said to the others, “Well, we know where the kettle holes are . . .”

Tarbell made a sound of frustration, “Hell, Elias, they’re all over the island. Take us a month of Sundays . . .”

Wanda Lindstrom suggested, “Why don’t we start by mapping where roaches have been seen so far?”

The table buzzed agreement.

Ben Dorset voiced a common reservation. “Suppose we decide on places to look, what do we use for protection?”

Russell Homer offered, “Flashlights?”

Hubbard shook his head, “Nowhere near strong enough.”

Amos Tarbell said, “Guns are no damn good, I can tell you that.” His bullets and Ben’s might as well have been water pistols. It was funny to be wishing the cockroaches were wolves! You’d have something to shoot at, something you could use your own power on! Insects, it turned out, were a hell of a bigger challenge.

Wanda Lindstrom inquired, “Do you have things like flares? Fire would keep the roaches away, I’m sure.”

Craig Soaras answered, “The woods are too dry to chance fire, m’am!”