I thought, Haven't I done this before?

I looked at my watch. It was just three hours since I had narrowly escaped the last attack. I bent over and put my hands on my knees. I stared at the floor and waited for the airlock to become free. I glanced over at Ricky and Bobby. They were yelling, pointing to their ears. I shook my head.

Couldn't they see I didn't have a headset?

I said, "Where's Charley?"

They answered, but I couldn't hear them.

"Did he make it? Where's Charley?"

I winced at a harsh electronic squeal, and then over the intercom Ricky said, "-not much you can do."

"Is he here?" I said. "Did he make it?"

"No."

"Where is he?"

"Back at the car," Ricky said. "He never got out of the car. Didn't you know?"

"I was busy," I said. "So he's back there?"

"Yeah."

"Is he dead?"

"No, no. He's alive."

I was still breathing hard, still dizzy. "What?"

"It's hard to tell on the video monitor, but it looks like he is alive…"

"Then why the fuck don't you guys go get him?"

Ricky's voice was calm. "We can't, Jack. We have to take care of Mae."

"Someone here could go."

"We don't have anyone to spare."

"I can't go," I said. "I'm in no shape to go."

"Of course not," Ricky said, turning on his soothing voice. The undertaker's voice. "All this must be a terrible shock to you, Jack, all you've gone through-"

"Just… tell me… who's going to get him, Ricky?"

"To be brutally honest," Ricky said, "I don't think there's any point. He had a convulsion. A bad one. I don't think he has much left."

I said, "Nobody's going?"

"I'm afraid there's no point, Jack."

Inside the airlock, Bobby was helping Mae out and leading her down the corridor. Ricky was standing there. Watching me through the glass.

"Your turn, Jack. Come on in."

I didn't move. I stayed leaning against the wall. I said, "Somebody has to go get him."

"Not right now. The wind isn't stable, Jack. It'll fall again any minute."

"But he's alive."

"Not for long."

"Somebody has to go," I said.

"Jack, you know as well as I do what we're up against," Ricky said. He was doing the voice of reason now, calm and logical. "We've had terrible losses. We can't risk anybody else. By the time somebody gets to Charley, he'll be dead. He may be dead already. Come on and get in the airlock."

I was taking stock of my body, feeling my breathing, my chest, my deep fatigue. I couldn't go back out right now. Not in the condition I was in.

So I got into the airlock. …

With a roar, the blowers flattened my hair, fluttered my clothes, and cleaned the black particles from my clothes and skin. My vision improved almost immediately. I breathed easier. Now they were blowing upward. I held out my hand and saw it turn from black to pale gray, then to normal flesh color again.

Now the blowers came from the sides. I took a deep breath. The pinpricks were no longer so painful on my skin. Either I was feeling them less, or they were being blown off my skin. My head cleared a little. I took another breath. I didn't feel good. But I felt better. The glass doors opened. Ricky held out his arms. "Jack. Thank God you're safe."

I didn't answer him. I just turned around, and went back the way I had come.

"Jack…"

The glass doors whished shut, and locked with a thunk. "I'm not leaving him out there," I said.

"What're you going to do? You can't carry him, he's too big. What're you going to do?"

"I don't know. But I'm not leaving him behind, Ricky."

And I went back outside.

Of course I was doing exactly what Ricky wanted-exactly what he expected me to do-but I didn't realize it at the time. And even if somebody had told me, I wouldn't have credited Ricky with that degree of psychological sophistication. Ricky was pretty obvious in the way he managed people. But this time, he got me.

The wind was blowing briskly. There was no sign of the swarms, and I crossed to the shed without incident. I didn't have a headset so I was spared Ricky's commentary. The back passenger door of the Toyota was open. I found Charley lying on his back, motionless. It took me a moment to see he was still breathing, although shallowly. With an effort, I managed to pull him into a sitting position. He stared at me with dull eyes. His lips were blue and his skin was chalky gray. A tear ran down his cheek. His mouth moved. "Don't try to talk," I said. "Save your energy." Grunting, I pulled him over to the edge of the seat, by the door, and swung his legs around so he was facing out. Charley was a big guy, six feet tall and at least twenty pounds heavier than I was. I knew I couldn't carry him back. But behind the backseat of the Toyota I saw the fat tires of a dirt bike. That might work. "Charley, can you hear me?"

An almost imperceptible nod.

"Can you stand up?"

Nothing. No reaction. He wasn't looking at me; he was staring into space.

"Charley," I said, "do you think you can stand?"

He nodded again, then straightened his body so he slid off the seat, and landed on the ground. He stood shakily for a moment, his legs trembling, and then he collapsed against me, clutching me to hold himself up. I sagged under his weight.

"Okay, Charley…" I eased him back to the car, and sat him down on the running board. "Just stay there, okay?"

I let go of him, and he remained sitting. He still stared into space, unfocused.

"I'll be right back."

I went around to the back of the Land Cruiser, and popped the trunk. There was a dirt bike, all right-the cleanest dirt bike I had ever seen. It was encased in a heavy Mylar bag. And it had been wiped down after it was used. That would be David's way, I thought. He was always so clean, so organized.

I pulled the bike out of the car and set it on the ground. There was no key in the ignition. I went to the front of the Toyota, and opened the passenger door. The front seats were spotless and carefully ordered. David had one of those suction cup notepads on the dashboard, a cradle for his cell phone, and a telephone headset mounted on a little hook. I opened his glove box and saw that the interior was neatly arranged, too. Registration papers in an envelope, beneath a small plastic tray divided into compartments containing lip balm, Kleenex, Band-Aids. No keys. Then I noticed that between the seats there was a storage box for the CD player, and beneath it was a locked tray. It had the same kind of lock as the ignition. It probably opened with the ignition key.

I banged the tray with the heel of my hand, and heard something metallic rattle inside. It might have been a small key. Like a dirt bike key. Anyway, something metal. Where were David's keys? I wondered if Vince had taken David's keys away on arrival, as he had taken mine. If so, then the keys were in the lab. That wouldn't do me any good. I looked toward the lab building, wondering if I should go back to get them. That was when I noticed that the wind was blowing less strongly. There was still a layer of sand blowing along the ground, but it was less vigorous.

Great, I thought. That's all I need now.

Feeling new urgency, I decided to give up on the dirt bike and its missing key. Perhaps there was something in the storage shed that I could use to move Charley back to the lab. I didn't remember anything, but I went into the shed to check, anyway. I entered cautiously, hearing a banging sound. It turned out to be the far door, banging open and shut in the wind. Rosie's body lay just inside the door, alternately light and dark as the door banged. She had the same milky coating on her skin that the rabbit had had. But I didn't go over to look closely. I hastily searched the shelves, opened the utility closet, looked behind stacked boxes. I found a furniture dolly made of wooden slats with small rollers. But it would be useless in sand. I went back outside under the corrugated shed, and hurried to the Toyota. There was nothing to do but try to carry Charley across to the lab building. I might be able to manage it if he could support part of his own weight. Maybe by now he was feeling better, I thought. Maybe he was stronger.