"Reading grendel minds is a full-time hobby," Cadmann answered. "What are they going to do next?"

Greg shrugged. Cadmann kept walking.

For now, the grendels had little incentive to try to break through the inner fence. They looked up curiously as lights shone on them. If someone fired—it still happened but not often—the wounded grendel ran amuck until it aroused others to sufficient fury to attack it.

His tour of the fence completed, Cadmann took the opportunity to sit down. He was exhausted. Adrenaline could certainly carry him further, but it was good to snatch the rest while he could. He pulled a barrel up to the fence and sat heavily.

A groggy, full-bellied grendel walked up to the wire. The tower searchlight slid across the minefield and touched them, joined human and grendel in its bright yellow oval.

The monster stared at Cadmann with the detached interest of a man selecting tomorrow's lobster.

Cadmann's teeth showed in a tired grin. "I'm not finished with you yet. Just wait." He slapped his pockets, looking for a nonexistent cigarette. "Just wait."

The grendel waddled closer and brushed against the fence. It shied back, whipped its spiked tail at Cadmann. The fence sparked again. The grendel disappeared over the twisted outer wire and into the darkness. There was a scramble of claws and teeth.

Then silence once again. Another searchlight slid over Cadmann, and he shielded his eyes with a grimy hand. He held it out in front of his face, looking for a tremor. It was there, all right, and his craving for nicotine grew stronger. There were no longer cigarettes on Avalon.

Cadmann's earphone buzzed. Jerry's voice came on line. "Cadmann... rerouting a message from Sylvia. Hold on."

"Cad?"

"Right here, lady. Your signal's a little weak."

"How are you holding up?'

"So far, so good. Evacuating the main camp. A few injuries, no casualties."

"None? You're wonderful."

"Lucky at any rate."

Grendels wandered around outside the fences, gorged on meat, their bellies heavy. They watched one another suspiciously. Something happened—Cadmann, watching with professional interest, still couldn't tell what sparked it, but two grendels blurred into speed, passed each other, curved back in a mist of pink blood, attacked like a pair of enraged buzz saws.

Sylvia said, "Get out of there fast. You're going to be up to your hips in rain. It's a major storm. You can't electrify the fences in the rain, can you?"

"No. How long have we got?"

"An hour. Then it'll last for days."

"Rain! You won't need me!" Marty's voice broke in.

"Right. We won't need you," Cadmann said wearily. "But we do need to get the Skeeters up to full charge. And the spare fuel cells. Marty, if the fences go, you can get out of here. We can't."

"Marty—" Sylvia's voice was horror held under rigid control.

"Hey, look," he said. "Dammit, I'll do my duly! But bloody hell,

Cadmann, I don't even know if I've still got motors, and you can't hold on in rain!"

"I know, and it's hardly a surprise. We're already sending people out.

You want anything else?"

"No."

"Then shut the fuck up for a while. Sylvia, you have any good news?"

"Actually, yes." Even through the static, her excitement was plain.

"Cad, this ‘superhemoglobin' in the sacs above their lungs is what gives them their speed. The speed is attack mode—for hunting and for defense against other grendels."

"Right."

"Jerry seconds my assumption. We know that they trigger on the smell of blood. In the water they undoubtedly trigger on the smell of superhemoglobin metabolites as well. Almost certainly it's an involuntary response."

Her voice dissolved into static for a moment, and Cadmann tapped his earpiece. "Wait a minute. Jerry? I need some enhancement here. Filters.... something. Thanks."

The static died down.

"Can you hear me now?"

"Better. Go ahead."

"Collect grendel corpses. Cut out the sacs, liquefy in water and feed it through one of the Skeeter crop-spraying attachments. Spray it over a mass of grendels. It should drive them berserk. "

Despite his fatigue, Cadmann grinned. "Thanks, hon. That just might work."

"My pleasure. Cadmann... how is Terry holding out?"

"He's all right. Already up at the Bluff."

The floodlights flickered, dimmed, then strengthened again. "That's all the talk, Sylvie. We're losing the lights."

"How many of you are left?"

Cadmann made a quick assessment. Skeeter Two was just humming back in.

"Seventeen. Another three loads. We should be all right for that long. These grendels are feeling lazy. I'll talk to you later. Jerry? Are you there?"

"Nowhere else."

"Good. Get someone digging through the miscellaneous equipment up there. We need a blender, food processor, something like that. And the crop-spraying attachment for the Skeeters. Have both ready in an hour."

"Got it."

Skeeter Two was fully charged. In an orderly fashion, the men retired from their positions and retreated to the makeshift landing pad. Two climbed up into the cabin. Three crammed into the cargo hoist beneath.

Skeeter Two swooped back out. Skeeter One was coming in. He'd want to put a full charge on it for what he had in mind. Cadmann counted rapidly. There were only six men left, quickly and quietly dismantling the machine guns. The grendels displayed only token interest.

"Rick," Cadmann called softly. The little machinist left his post and scurried over.

Cadmann was examining a section of fence that bulged inward with dead grendels. "They killed each other here, drove each other across the mine field and into the fence. They pushed from behind while the ones in front burned." His voice held a savage satisfaction. "I want to cut a piece away here. Can we get a bypass on the current, cut a hole in the fence and drag some of these bastards through?"

"Can do. What do you have in mind?"

"Butchery. I need one man to stand guard with a flame thrower. Someone to cut the fence and monitor the current. A man to drag them through. I'll do the rest. That's four of us. Two more at the north and south corners of the camp to give warning. Right now, I don't think we have much to worry about. You choose the crew, and make it fast."

Rick scrambled from man to man, whispering to them. One at a time they left their posts, and joined Cadmann. As if by magic, tools appeared, and wire, and a voltmeter.

The fog drifted in quickly as the air lost heat. Its mist cloaked them as they worked.

Rick whispered, "Now,"" and shut down the power. The camp lights brightened as the overworked batteries were unburdened. Two men, working quietly and swiftly, ran a cable from one fence post to the next, severed the electric leads, and spliced. They nodded, and Rick threw the switch. The camp lights dimmed and then strengthened.

They tested the fence section: not a flicker from the voltmeter.

Cadmann grabbed a pair of clippers and locked their jaws into the fence links. He gritted his teeth, scissoring the handles. One at a time the links broke, and he moved on to the next until they had cut a semicircle two feet in diameter.

A grendel head popped through the hole, inverted, looking up at them with fixed, milky, dead eyes. Cadmann sank a baling hook into its neck and dragged it through the opening.

Rick said quietly, "You wouldn't want to do that to a live and curious grendel. Whack the tail with a stick first and see if it wiggles."

"Hell, Ricky, there isn't any back end to this one." Cadmann went for another, but he picked up a stick first.

The mass of grendels outside the fence were only vaguely interested in the butchery. One at a time, corpses were pulled through and hacked apart with a machete. Cadmann chopped the glands out, tossed them into a bucket. He slashed the corpses until his arms ran with blood.