There was no way to get used to the stink. Putrescence wasn't far advanced, but it was flavored with puffs of weird chemical reek from the speed glands.

"That's it," he finally whispered. "My arm is numb."

Skeeter One floated back in over the camp. They disconnected the last batteries and hooked them to the Skeeter's cargo hoist. Two men piled into the cabin, and the Skeeter rose up and disappeared into the fog.

Cadmann, Ricky and two other men stood in the center of a deserted camp. Beyond the fence the grendels growled and snored, utterly sated.

Cadmann used the comcard. "Greg! Come and get your ride."

"Yo." Far down the line of the inner fence, a shadow detached itself and jogged toward the lights.

"Damn, they're quiet now," Ricky said. He depressed the trigger of the flame thrower, testing. Fire squirted out and puddled on the ground.

"Not for long. They're gorged now. Come tomorrow their bellies will be empty again. Corpses will begin to putrefy. Maybe they're scavengers, and maybe not. Between the survivors here and the ones still coming north, we're going to have our hands full, believe it."

"Still... it's just too damned quiet."

Skeeter Two came in for them.

"Find me an empty barrel," he said to Rick. "Half fill it with water."

The little man tested two, then found one. "This'll do." He ran a hose in. Water thrummed against the side of the barrel.

Cadmann shook his arms. Drops of orange blood and superhemoglobin spattered against the ground. The wind shifted slightly, and grendels stirred, alarmed by the scent.

He dumped a quarter of the bucket into the barrel and sloshed the brew around with a stick. God, it stank.

"All right, you two squeeze into the cabin. Ricky, with me in the hoist."

Carlos leaned out of the Skeeter. "What's the plan, amigo?"

"Just take us up gently. Hover over the fence: I have an unpleasant present for our friends."

"Bueno. Send them my very best regards."

Cadmann touched his throat mike. "Jerry. Is everyone accounted for?"

"The whole camp. We haven't lost anyone. Just get out of there, will you?"

We made it! No one dead. Christians 2,000; Lions zip. "Marty."

"Yo."

"We're getting out of here. Give us five minutes and the Minerva's all yours. Five minutes, and you're gone when you want to be."

"Whoopee! Cad—look, I didn't mean to be a drag—" "Fine. Out." He took one last look around. "All right, Carlos. Up!

Wh--?"

Two shadows moved at surreal speed. The first grendel, the prey, hit the inner fence and died in a blue flare. The second smacked into the first in the same instant. The fence tore. The second, living grendel rolled, found its footing, swiveled its head. Its legs blurred and it.... expanded...

It was coming straight at him. Cadmann tried to bring up his rifle.

Twenty meters away, the grendel jarred to a stop. It screamed at him: a challenge.

In that moment Greg fired from the side.

The grendel was outraged. It whipped around and. was gone, charging into a second stream of bullets. It hit Greg and knocked him flying, turned, and was coming back at Cadmann when three streams of bullets chewed it to rags.

Rick sprinted toward the spot where Greg had fallen. Cadmann called, "Rick. Back. Now."

Rick stopped, looked, and found two grendels investigating the break in the inner fence. He ran.

Cadmann was set to lift the barrel. Rick, puffing, took the other side. They climbed into the cargo hoist and braced the barrel between them.

Cadmann's stomach lurched as the Skeeter swung up, lifting above the deserted camp. The lights were dimmed now, save for the beam from the belly of the Skeeter. The Colony looked asleep, almost peaceful.

"Any final words?" Rick asked bitterly.

The Skeeter flew over the fence. Its light revealed a dozen grendels burrowing their way into a heap of the dead. Three were at Greg, pulling him apart like a chicken.

"Yeah," Cadmann said flatly. "My challenge. Dump it!" They tipped the barrel over, and the gallons of bloody fluid rained down.

Suddenly there was a storm of activity. Speed-drunken grendels streaked from every direction, congregating beneath them in a hissing mass. He could hear their screams even above the whip of the rotors.

"Bastards."

Rick's eyes gleamed.

Cadmann hawked and spit down into the whirlpool of motion. "Carlos. Get me out of here. I have work to do."

Carlos spun them around and headed toward the swollen silhouette of Mucking Great Mountain.

GRENDELS IN THE MIST

When a strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace. But when a stronger than he shall come upon him, and overcome him, he taketh from him all his armor wherein he trusted, and divideth his spoils.

LUKE 11:21-22

Mary Ann watched the sun rise behind a roiling mountain of storm. The dark had shown her nothing of what was happening down there. Neither did the light.

She heard slow thumping behind her.

Hendrick was on crutches. One leg was encased in a balloon cast while the ruined calf muscle regenerated. He was awkward on the crutches, and tired too. "I thought we sent you to bed," he said.

Mary Ann shook her head. "You sent me to rest."

"You resting?"

"Yes. How's Terry?"

"In place. We perched him on that big rock you call Snail Head. You can see him from here."

She looked. Yes, a shadow-man sat on a big white boulder, rifle in his lap, legs in a wide V. She turned back to the clouds.

The covered veranda had become the fire-control area. It had a wonderful field of view, but hers from below the veranda was almost as good. She could see along the winding silver ribbon of Amazon Creek as far as the edge of the bluff, and beyond to the sea of storm.

Half a dozen colonists were digging up mines, altering them and burying them again. The mines had been set to be harmless to a dog, death to an adult grendel. Now they must be reset, and the dogs penned up, kept out of the field.

The dogs didn't like that at all. She could hear their protests from inside the house. Tweedledee and Tweedledum were teaching their litter brothers and companions how to howl.

Another Skeeter was landing above the house. "I'll take it," Hendrick said. She heard him thumping away.

"I'll show them," she said, but he was already going, and she didn't insist. It was her house. Her house, but she was tired. She should be in bed.

Hendrick and Jerry and others were running the defenses, enlarging the privy, caring for the livestock. Other voices maintained communications with Geographic, the Minervas, the Skeeters. But when a Skeeter load came in, room had to be found for the refugees.

The living-room floor, with the small stream running right down the middle, was the men's bedroom. No other room was that size, so women were bunking in smaller clumps. Newcomers had to be shown everything. "We have to ration. Talk to Cadmann if that's a problem for you. You don't raid the kitchen. Sorry. The privy is down through the minefield. Follow the marks. We made maps and copied them and they're on every wall. Wash up in the big tubs outside. The water comes in from upstream above the house. It's cold but it's safe.

"The only hot water is in the kitchen and the main bathroom, and there really isn't much of it because the heaters were designed for just two people. Sorry. We don't have energy to spare. Not for heat, not for lights. Sorry. There's soap, but there isn't much, and we're saving some for the medical people. Sorry."

Sorry. She was getting very tired of using that word.

It seemed that nobody but Mary Ann could find anything. Hendrick had found her in the kitchen finding utensils for the cooks. They had ordered her to bed, and seen her to her door before Terry went on duty.