He's coming around, Carol thought as they turned up Second Avenue and put the sun to their backs. He wasn't getting there via an intuitive leap but by the only route he knew—a logical examination of the evidence at hand. He'd have made a good Sherlock Holmes.

"Do you really think it'll happen?" he said.

"What?"

"The 'nightworld' Glaeken was talking about. It's a real possibility, isn't it?"

"Yes, but not an inevitability if he can get some cooperation."

At first Carol had been furious with that Sylvia Nash woman. How could she talk to Glaeken like that? He was only trying to help everybody, and all he was asking was their cooperation to save their own hides. But Carol had to keep reminding herself that the truth was so difficult to accept—she remembered how she had fought it for years. Decades. And Sylvia Nash was afraid of something. Carol didn't know what, but she was sure she'd seen it in the younger woman's eyes as she walked past on her way out of Glaeken's apartment.

"Let's be optimistic," Hank said. "Let's say he gets the kind of cooperation he needs and he fashions and reactivates this 'focus' he was talking about. And let's even say he gets it to work and gets the sun to return to a normal pattern. That could take weeks, couldn't it? Maybe months."

"I don't know, Hank. What are you getting at?"

There was a strange new intensity about him, one she had never seen before. His eyes had taken on an almost feverish glow.

"Sunlight, Carol. What needs sunlight—regular, measured doses of sunlight—more than anything else?"

"Well…plants, I guess."

"Exactly! And right now, in the spring, sunlight is crucial for germination and seedling growth. If the daily dose of sunlight diminishes steadily over the next few weeks, there will be massive crop failures all across the globe."

"If Rasalom takes over, crop failures will be the least of our problems."

"But I told you, Carol: I'm thinking optimistically. I'm assuming Glaeken will win. But win or lose, we'll still be facing world-wide food shortages, maybe even famine."

The realization startled and sickened Carol. Even if they won, billions would starve in the aftermath. A Pyhrric victory was the best they could hope for. She wondered if Glaeken had foreseen this. She was tentatively proud of Hank. Tentatively…because his sudden agitation disturbed her.

"We've got to start making plans for that eventuality, Carol," he said. "Those who can anticipate the future can profit from it."

"Oh, no, Hank. You're not thinking of the stock market or anything like that, are you?"

"Of course not," he said. He seemed annoyed that she'd even suggested it. "If we lose much sunlight for any length of time, I don't see there even being a stock market, or a commodities exchange, for that matter. Grain futures might go through the roof, but what are you going to pay with?"

"I don't understand."

"Carol," he said, stopping and gripping her shoulders, "if we have worldwide crop failures, money—currency—won't be worth anything. It'll be just paper, and you can't eat paper. The only things that'll be worth anything are precious metals like gold and silver, probably diamonds and other jewels as well, and one other thing: food."

"How can you even think about something like that?"

"Somebody's got to think about it. Somebody's got to plan ahead. I'm thinking about us, Carol. When the crops fail and the grocery shelves are emptied, we're going to see food riots in this city—in every city. It's going to be a nasty time. And if we want to get through it alive, we'd better be prepared." He took her hand. "Come on."

They resumed their trek uptown, but at a faster pace now. Carol hurried to keep up. Hank seemed filled with urgent purpose. She'd never seen him like this. The mellow, laid-back number-cruncher was gone, replaced by a manic stranger.

As they neared their apartment, he led her into the Gristedes where she did most of her food shopping. He pulled two shopping carts free, rolled one in front of Carol and kept the other for himself.

"Hank, what are we doing?"

He glanced around nervously.

"Try to keep your voice down," he whispered. "We're stocking up—before the hoarding starts."

Carol started to laugh, mirthlessly, from shock.

"Do you hear yourself?"

"Come on, Carol. This is serious."

And she saw in his eyes then that he was afraid. I'm afraid too, she thought. She glanced down at the empty shopping cart before her. But am I this afraid?

"Just get canned and bottled goods, and things that will keep a long time, like pasta," he whispered. "Nothing that needs to be refrigerated. Load up as much as you can carry back to the apartment and put it on the Visa."

"Charge it? I've got cash."

"Save it. We'll charge everything to the limit. Who knows? If things get really bad, the credit card companies may not be around to collect."

"Why don't we go all the way, Hank?" she said, trying to keep her voice light. "Gristedes delivers. Why don't we just clear off the shelves and have them bring everything over later? Save us all the hassle of lugging heavy bags home."

"We've got to be discreet," he said, his eyes darting about again. "We can't let it get around that we've got a stockpile of food. People will be breaking down our door when things get tight."

She stared at him. He'd figured all this out during their short walk up from 57th Street.

"What a mind you have!"

"You'll thank me when the bad times come." He pointed to the left side of the store. "You go that way, I'll go this. We'll meet at the check-out."

And then he was on his way toward the canned goods section. Carol watched him in dismay.

It's the shock, she told herself. He's been barraged with too much today. He must be reeling, confused, frightened. I've had since 1968 to adjust and I still can't quite accept it all. Poor Hank has had his whole belief system trashed in the past few hours.

Carol headed for the pasta aisle. Okay. She'd play along. If stockpiling some food would allay some of Hank's fears, she'd help him out. It was the least she could do.

He'd come around. She was sure of it. She just hoped it was soon. She didn't like this new Hank.

CNN:

—same in country after country around the globe: gigantic holes, seemingly bottomless, averaging two hundred feet across, opening one after the other throughout the day. The governments of Iran, China, and Cuba deny the existence of any of such holes within their borders, but aerial reconnaissance says otherwise. And the question on everyone's mind is: Is each of these holes going to release a horde of vicious creatures like those that were loosed on Manhattan last night? And if so, what can be done to stop them?

In Manhattan, preparations are under way…