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  The Major followed him across the grassy knoll to the diner and stood outside the phone booth as Fowler dialed and pushed in quarters. The phone rang five times before it was answered. McKinley residence, Thomas DeCleese speaking." Tom, this is Larry Fowler. Is Dot there?" No, Larry. I'm caretaking. She's gone off to Ohio. Said she was going to find you. Where are you?" Where was she going?" Dayton. She's been half-crazy the past few days, regretting things right and left. You two must have had some spat." Tom, how did she know about Dayton?" Last night, in the news about the panic. She tried to call somebody ... Sheila, I think" Yeah, Sheila Burnford." And she said she thought you and her husband would be working together. That made Dorothy suspicious. I don't follow her chain of reasoning, but she says you have to be in Dayton." Did she say where in Dayton?" She sure did. She has a friend who lives near the art museum therehere's the note. Louise Muhler, M U-H-L-E-R. And a phone number. Fowler jotted the number down. God bless female intuition, he said. You two must have had quite a spat." I don't know what we had, Tom. This is all crazy." What's going on with this country, Larry? I thought you two were good for each other. Now everyone's flying all over the place, and people are panicking. She said something about Lorobu. This have anything to do with Lorobu?" She's a very smart woman, Tom. I can't say any morehave to call this number. He glanced at the

  Psychlone Major, who stood outside the booth with his coat collar raised against the cold. Thanks for everything." You treat her right, you hear? Tom said. I hear. Good-bye, Tom. He put the receiver on the hook and felt a rush of exultation. Something had cracked through her crazy reaction. All the same, he would downplay what was happening. He hoped and prayed there was a line clear to Dayton. Major, I have to make another call. I've got enough change, I think." Jackson nodded. We have time. Just be mindful of security, Mr. Fowler. That's why we're in this mess." Fowler looked at his watch. The event was due at nine in the morning and it was now seven-thirty. He had to get her out of Dayton, or at least out of the area where the concentration was expected. He dialed the new number. A woman answered, quiet and tense. I have to speak to Dorothy McKinley." Who are you?" Larry Fowler." She's been waiting" Dorothy grabbed the phone and he heard her sudden rush of nervous laughter. My God, Larry, I've been going out of my mind! I didn't know how I was going to find you once I got here, and now everybody's leaving. The airports were jammed when my plane came in last night. Where are you? When can you be here?" I can't talk, Dot." The government has you?" Yes." Her voice tightened. You're helping them on something, aren't you? Something to do with the cabin and

  Lorobu." Yes." Larry, I can't take that now any more than I could."

  Psychlone I can't either, honey." They're holding you against your will?" Something like that." Goddamn them. I had to make up my mind and I couldn't think about just giving up on you, you know, just going away because you were weird." I don't want you to go away." The Major glanced at him apprehensively. Fowler held up his hand and shook his head. Dot, I can't talk." Can you get away?" I can try." Escape?" I suppose that's what it will take." Christ, I feel like a fucking spy. Larry, are you in any trouble or danger?" No." Am ... are we?" I don't know." I'm just a poor little rich girl. I can't take this. Let me think. If you're with the government, they probably flew you in to a military base."

  Jackson stuck his head into the booth, putting his hand on the mouth-piece. Come on, Mr. Fowler. That's enough." Just a few seconds, Fowler said. This is very important. We had a fight. I have to settle things, settle her mind, or she'll cause all sorts of trouble. For you, for Silent Night. She knows congressmen and stuff." Jackson shrugged and backed off, but left the booth door open all the way. They flew you in to Wright-Patterson. Dorothy said. Louise tells me that's the Air Force Base here. Are you there?" No. He lowered his voice. Four." What?"

  Four." Dorothy muffled the phone and talked with Louise. Louise says you must be on Highway Four. Is she right?"

  Yes."

  Can you get to the intersection of Valley Street and Four?"

  He tried to remember the streets they had passed. Yes, he said. I can."

  Then I'll be there to pick you up. Is that all right? In a blue Rabbita VW."

  Yes."

  Louise wants to know if it's safe where we are."

  I don't know. I don't think so."

  I've got to go. I'll meet you there. Louise will be with me. She knows some back roads that shouldn't be too crowded. In an hour?" Fine. I love you." Oh, Larry ... I'm glad you're where I thought you'd be. Thank God for everything ... almost everything." He hung up and stepped out of the booth. She's still mad at me, he told Jackson, but I don't think she'll cause any trouble. I have to use the restroom. I'll be back at the van in a few minutes." Jackson looked at him sharply. Jesus Christ, Major, I'm not going to do anything stupid. Where the hell would I go around here? I know next to nothing about Dayton."

  The Major nodded. He had been given no specifics about the civilians they were escorting; it was reasonable to assume they were reliable, or else they wouldn't be on the project in the first place. He turned and walked back to the convoy. Behind the diner, out of view of the highway and the trucks, was a thick patch of trees and brush. The trees were skeletal, but the brush was still fairly dense. He could run up the low hill and, with some luck, not be noticed for a few minutes. He did have to urinate, but it would have to wait. Behind the diner, by the men's room door, he wondered what the hell he was doing. He had never been so foolish and irresponsible in his life. Then again, he had never been held against his will before. He had always disliked government security. In his youth, he had had leanings toward libertarianism. Now, spurred by Dorothy, it was all welling up and he had to leave. He made a dash for the brush. From behind a tree, he looked at the convoy. No one was pursuinghe hadn't been spotted. The intersection was about half a mile east. As he walked, he wondered what penalties he'd be subject to. So far as he knew, martial law hadn't been declared in Dayton. As long as he kept details about Silent Night to himselfand he didn't know that much in the first placehe couldn't see any serious legal problems. If he kept quiet, he fulfilled the provisions of the paper he had signed. The ethical question was something else again. If the government really did know what was happening, and how to solve the problem, wasn't he obligated, as a citizen, to help them any way he could? There was the crux. He could think of no possible use for his expertise. He knew next to nothing about psychic phenomena, and his experience at the cabin had been limited. Clearly, the psychlone was not an elemental. He couldn't shake the suspicion that his usefulness on the project was nil, that he was being held only for security reasons. * * * * The intersection of Highway 4 and Valley Street was as much a mess as any other stretch of the road, but Valley Street itself was reasonably clear. He suddenly felt very, very lost. If something went wrong, he was in deep trouble. His position was untenable. Stop it, he told himself. He sat on the cold ground to wait. He was partly hidden by a concrete wall, but there was no way to avoid being seen by serious searchers. He hoped they'd be too busy with other matters to give chase. The ribbon of cars seemed to stretch on forever. Overhead, a helicopter with Air Force markings whickered noisily toward the convoy. Best of luck, he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Air pressure changed across a square mile of the city and windows blew outward with sounds like rifle fire. The forces rolled across the house tops, caving in shingles and beams. The cloud spread out, a pearly umbrella which gave the sun a faint blue halo. The cloud descended, and shadows marched down the streets, melting the asphalt behind them.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  It's in Dayton now, Machen said, listening to the phone report. Jacobs nodded, too numb to respond with words. They had been awake all night. Apparently it's in the evacuated area, just as we predicted. But its influence is spreading beyond." Trumbauer and Miss Unamuno sat on the couch, holding each other lightly. More power, more will, Trumbauer said. Jacobs picked up his steno pad and tried to record some of last nigh
t's impressions. The psychics had had a rough time of it. Trumbauer and Miss Unamuno had become feverish, then incoherenteven though both stoutly maintained they were closed tight as clams." Thesiger's body was in an Army truck, alongside Tim's. Jacobs wished them luck. His heart seemed to flood when he thought of Thesiger's last moments. Even if he was given a chance, he doubted if he could write about what had happened. Helicopters were coming for them. They would be transferred to Siloam Springs for this evening's event. The equipment, Machen said, was already in place. Jacobs looked out the window into the yard. The trucks were packed and ready to leave. The barn was clear in the white light of the overcast sky. The wind was cold and the snow was staying on the ground. They're starting fires, Machen said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Fowler smelled the smoke, but he had seen it several minutes earlier. It was thick and oily, lying close to the ground, climbing over the buildings and flowing onto the highways. In minutes, the sun glowed orange through it, then deepened into red. He had never seen anything like it, even in the middle of a brush fire. The odor was faintly nauseating. It was like a pork roast, but subtly, horribly different. The smoke was purple, A pall rose over the city, white and red. Then he could see the flames. They towered much higher than ordinary flames should. The psychlone was changing its pattern. The central pillar of smoke was moving back and forth like something alive. It seemed to be moulding itself to a particular shape, yet the winds were steadily westward. It looked as if a bomb had been dropped on the city. He stood and brushed his pants off. If the smell was what he thought it was, thousands of people were burning to death in the city. But that hardly seemed likely. By now, most of the downtown area would be clear. Silvera had said everyone in the area of concentration, except for the experimental subjects, would be evacuated by ten last night. So it was most likely an illusion. The psychlone was creating a psychological atmosphere of terror and destruction, just as the elemental had at the cabin. Join He shook his head. The voice was dull but insistent. He didn't know what it meant. Without thinking, he started walking away from the highway toward Valley Street. He'd meet Dorothy before she could get to 4. At the first crash, he turned around. One by one, the cars were jamming into each other and angry motorists were climbing out. Overhead, the helicopternow carrying Burnford, Prohaska and the othershesitated, hovered, then flew on. He almost regretted leaving thembut if something was happening even this far out, how could the areas in Dayton be considered safe? The smoke was thick and cloying. He watched its rolling progress along the freeway. The level was rising and now the sky was almost black. A dull red sun peered through weakly and a pall of purple ash fell like snow in Hell. Feel Join The crashes were supplemented by screams. For a moment he thought they were animals, then he realized it was people screaming. He clenched his fists and ran stiff-armed. Valley Street was less crowded, but clusters of people still wandered away from their cars, stopping occasionally to stare up, mouths agape. Desolation It was more an image than a word; an image, and a command. He remembered the elemental's attempts to influence him, to influence Jordan and Henry. That must not happen again. He followed Valley Street under the darkness. Car headlamps shone faintly through the haze. He began to wander from car to car, peering through the windows, staying away as people leveled pistols and knives at him. Their faces were fearful, malevolent. They didn't seem to be killing each other, just milling around or staying in their stopped cars, some groups fighting and screaming, but none trying to killyet. On the highway things might be different, he thought. Avoid the highway. More people concentrated there, more flash powder to ignite. In the murk ahead there was a resounding whang and the sound of tearing metal and shattering glass. Cars bounded off the road, narrowly missing him. One rolled over and caught on fire, its rear exploding and throwing hot shrapnel. A piece nicked his arm. He was tossed on his butt by the force of the blast. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he wanted to do. Let them burn Most of the cars were off the road now. People were shambling down the center of the street, four and five abreast, clutching their coats and skirts about them, leaden-eyed, faces smudged. They looked like they were in line for Charon's boat ride. He smiled at that. Such comparisons proved he was sane. They warded off his urge to go down among them and... Fowler shook his head. Look for Dorothy. She'll get us away from here. Look for Dorothy." It had been over an hour. The smell was growing more intense, maddeningly sharp and cloying. It was a smell of burnt metal and citrus fruitoranges or tangerines. It made him want to retch. It wasn't unlike the smell of the elemental, but it wasn't the same, either. For a brief momentit had to be brief, but it seemed to last for hourshe thought he saw people walking on the air overhead. Their clothes and flesh hung from them. Their bones stuck out. Some were moving without legs, others crawling with barely a body. He shut his eyes and the vision disappeared in a whirl ofgreen hands? Yes. Green. Glowing. Dissipating wheels. An eternity laterthough his watch said it was only ten o'clockhe came across a tangled wreckage of cars. He frantically searched through them, but none of the bodies within were Dorothy. Then he looked up and saw another car. It had run off the road, perhaps trying to avoid the wreckage. It was wrapped around a tree, steam still escaping in spurts from the radiator, one half-deflated tire hanging from an upthrust axle. The mangled car was blue. It was all he could do to approach the solitary pile. There were two people in the car. OneDorothy's friend, he guessedhad gone through the windshield and then fallen back. Dorothy lay half out of one door. He bent down to look at her face closely. Her scalp was cut and blood soaked through the clothes around her stomach. Fowler reached for her wrist.

  Her eyes opened slowly, then widened. Larry, she said. Blood dribbled out of her mouth.

  Shh, Fowler said softly. You're hurt. Don't move."

  We have to get out of here, Dorothy said.

  I don't know how I'm going to move you, honey."

  I don't feel anything. Move me now."

  You don't understand"

  Larry. Her tone was steady. I can feel them up there."

  If I move you now, I'll hurt you more."

  I can't die here, she said. He tried to wipe away the blood around her mouth with one hand, but there was too much. She began to cry. Larry, Larry, they'll get me. I can't die here." You're not dying, honey." I'd be dead already, but I can't die here." Shh, he said, helpless. She tried to say something but coughed. She moaned after the fit was over. Get me away, she said again, almost inaudibly. She stopped breathing, but her body didn't relax. He held her for what seemed an endless time, then let her fall back. He didn't remember picking her up to hug her, but he had, and there was blood all over his clothing. He didn't know what to do. Nothing mattered now. Everything was over. He had forsaken any hope of ... anything. He walked a few yards away from the wreck and sat. His eyes stung, but not with tears. He was too numb. Feel I know, damn you, he said, choking on the smoke. Know Whatever the psychlone was, it was having its revenge now. Great waves of simple, derisive messages flowed from the city, exulting. Animal exultation, lion over its kill, wasp over the paralyzed spider. Merciless. Dead. Beyond hatred. There was blood on his hand. He wiped it on the grass. There was nothing left to do but try to sleep until it was all over. He felt very tired. Of course, the dreams wouldn't be pleasant.... Dorothy opened her eyes. Fowler took one last look at her, saw her eyes were open, and stood. He would have to close them. That was the thing to do. Her hand moved. The arm came down like a mechanical limb, searching. It found a piece of window glass and slowly, easily tore it from its frame. Her face was expressionless, eyes focused intently on Fowler. The other body jerked against the restraining seat belt. For a moment, he felt a surge of crazy hope. Then he knew. Dorothy climbed from the wreck, her mouth working. She dragged one leg as she crawled. Fowler almost welcomed her. There was no horror left in him. The glass glittered orange in the smoky pall, then fell. On the highway, the noises faded. The smell of burnt metal and smoke merged, danced, and became dusty, like a forgotten attic.
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br />   CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Mount Metcalf looked over the small town of Siloam Springs. A fire trail had been expanded and compressed by heavy equipment the day before. On a natural plateau three hundred feet above the town, six olive-green trucks were parked, the bulky loads on their trailers covered by tarpaulins and guarded by thirty heavily armed Marines. At a distance of twenty-five feet surveyors stakes connected by yellow ribbon indicated a perimeter beyond which no one but specially dressed project members could pass. On the opposite end of the plateau, a command truck had been parked. A cable snaked down the trail to units at the base of Mount Metcalfe. Beamed transmissions were unreliable for several reasonsinterference from the psychlone, and whatever effect such transmissions might have upon it. George Burnford stood by the truck, eating from a tin plate of reconstituted eggs. His eyes were bloodshot and his arm was in a sling. The helicopter had made a rough landing in Dayton and he had sprained his shoulder. When he was through, he put the plate down on a wooden folding table and leaned into the doorway of the mobile command room. Machen and an aide were poring over maps and charts. How long? he asked. Four hours, Machen said. Too long. I'll be asleep by then." I doubt it." Could you hand me my notebooks and the calculator? Burnford asked. Machen's aide picked up the plastic folders and the slim case and passed them down to him. Burnford put the material on the wooden table, pocketed the calculator, and walked to the edge of the plateau. Siloam Springs was empty. The evacuation had gone more smoothly here. The town only had a population of seven hundred and eighty. So many small towns, he said. How many American casualties in World War II had come from small towns? It didn't much matter now. The psychlone didn't discriminate. It affected whatever it could and then went on its way. If they didn't stop it here, its next target would be either Akron or Cleveland, and then Pittsburgh. If the tapes of Thesiger's last statements gave any real clue to the psychlone's nature, it would finish its tour of the POW home towns, then branch out to take in the homes of its new victims. It had to stop here. His work had to be accurate. Burnford wasn't the only physicist working on Silent Nightfor which he was gratefulbut he was the only one who would be on the mountain, observing. He returned to the wooden table and sat on a folding chair. Carefully, following a ritual, he laid down a mechanical pencil, opened his scratchpad, and removed the calculator from its case. It was a new model with no moving partsno buttons or mechanical on-off switch. It was about the size of his hand and barely a centimeter thick. The liquid-crystal display consisted of black numerals and characters against an eye-saving yellow background. He considered it one of his more useful toysit had the calculating power of a small computer. He lined up all his tools, then opened the large black notebook where his final figures were kept. A few hours earlier, he had written down key statements from Jacobs and Thesiger and was now preparing to see what they implied. First: the elemental in California had responded to the solution. If the psychlone was relatedand all evidence indicated it was generically similarthe solution would work on it, too. Second: if, as Thesiger had apparently confirmed, the psychlone had been created in the fireball of a nuclear explosion, then the environment of the solution would come very close to replicating those conditions. Perhaps the process that had created it would eventually lead to its total destruction. He made a nervous checkmark next to his notes at that point. For a few minutes, he lost himself in a side branch of speculation. He reconstructed a few of the equations describing conditions in the early moments of the universe, before the appearance of matter. Making comparisons, he saw that no complex of fields like the elemental or the psychlone could have survived in those conditions. Orand he reworked part of the key frameworkno such complex could survive independently. If the early universe had been pervaded by such a field, a single entity could have survived. After the formation of matter, it would have broken up. Taking the human soul as a similar field The calculator beeped. He jerked and looked down at the display. When it was turned onactivated by a pressure-sensitive switchit beeped. Each subsequent entry also caused it to beep. It automatically shut itself off after three minutes if no entries were made. Apparently he had bumped against it with his insensitive elbow and sling. The display read: 2.7182818. He frowned. To get that, he would have to have pressed the ex buttonthe natural number e to a certain exponent, namely, e1to bring the number itself on the display. That was two distinct entries, very hard to get by accident. He cleared the calculator and pressed the on-off switch. A helicopter bass-drummed the air as it flew over the mountain. Burnford looked up, shaded his eyes, and saw it hovering before coming down on the plateau. Machen came out of the command truck and walked to the makeshift landing area. Burnford returned to his notebooks. From there on, the details became very technical. Despite the fact that everything seemed to work, his assumptions were shaky. He was on the fringes of accepted physics, leaning precariously over an abyss of unconfirmed theory. Whatever the field of the elemental had been, it had violated several near-sacred tenets. He rubbed his eyes and yawned to bring moisture to them. The air was cold but still. In his jacket, the cold didn't bother him, but it was dry and he had always had eye trouble in dry weather. The calculator beeped. This time he knew he hadn't pressed it. As he watched, a number marched across the display, digit by digit: 2.7182818. Something's wrong with the damn thing, he said, picking it up and shaking it. He set it down and turned it off again. Just as quickly, it beeped on, and beeped for each entry in a new set. Digit by digit: 3.1415927. Pi, another number easily available on the calculatorthere was a button for itbut not digit-by-digit. The calculator was generating non-random numbers by itself. Then the display cleared. He moved his seat back quickly and stood up, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. Digit-by-digit: 12 (clear display) 6. Twelve and six. He reached down gingerly and pressed it off. It beeped on again. Twelve (clear) six, (clear), twelve (clear) six, (clear). Goddamn! he said. He reached out to shut it off again, then hesitated. Twelve and six, twelve and six ... e and pi. If communicating across interstellar space, two species would begin by recognizing each other as intelligent. They would send signals which would not be replicated by the whims of natureconstants of mathematics, perhaps. His heel caught one leg of the chair and pulled it over. Following the first signal, some code would have to be arranged. He almost stumbled and fell backward. He was now about two yards from the table and couldn't see the display clearly. Twelve and six. The helicopter blew clods of dirt and water from snow puddles as it landed. Burnford watched it, hand thrust hard in his jacket pocket. Jacobs and the two remaining psychicshe couldn't remember their names nowclimbed down. It was obvious they weren't allowing Prohaska on the mountain during the enactment of the solution. This was the last flight. Two men he had never seen before left the aircraft and the group walked to the command truck. Jacobs greeted Burnford with a nod and his usual intense gaze. Machen accompanied the two strangers and climbed into the back of the truck with them. Almost surreptitiously, he pulled the door shut behind, telling Burnford, Keep our colleagues entertained for a few minutes, will you?" Your arm, Jacobs said. I injured it in Dayton. A rough helicopter landing. The pilot was affectednot badly, thank God for us. I'm sorry if I'm a bit distracted. I've been working on" Who's here? Miss Unamuno said, looking around, her nose wrinkled. Looks like they're preparing to set up a circus, Trumbauer said, as it were. So many trucks and tarps." All top secret, Burnford said. Don't try to get near them. The Marines are fluttery enough as is." Is somebody here? Miss Unamuno asked Trumbauer. I don't know." Very weak." What's the matter? Jacobs asked. Psychlone I'm not sure, Miss Unamuno said. Mr. Burnford, is your side hurt?" No, just the arm." Somebody has a cut in the side. Very seriousof course it's nobody here. But She stiffened. The calculator was beeping again. Something's wrong with it, Burnford said. For God's sake. Jacobs picked it up and examined it. The beeping stopped, leaving a number on the display. I thought these things were foolproof." It worked fine until just a few minutes ago." Trumbauer tapped Jacobs on the shoulder. Franklin, our guide
s won't be back for some time. But I think someone needs to talk." What's all this mysterious shit? Burnford said, a bit too loudly. You're right about the circus." Miss Unamuno shivered. Are we going to stay out here all night?" They'll have a tent up in an hour, Burnford said. They're not very organized yet." Jacobs put the calculator down. It beeped four times. It's flashing numbers now, he said. Twelve and six." It's been doing that. Must be the keys." Twelve and six, Miss Unamuno said. L and F, Trumbauer added. What? Burnford asked. L is the twelfth letter in the alphabet, F is the sixth. L and F." It's that man from the cabin, Miss Unamuno said. Fowler." He's not here, Burnford said. We don't know where he is." He's dead, Trumbauer said.