"Kicking. Stupid but kicking."

For the moment there were no more grendels. "Hang on here a minute,"

Cadmann said. Carlos nodded. Cadmann sprinted across the veranda to the eastern corner where Omar and Rick had set up a machine gun. Five riflemen stood with them.

"Omar. Take the gun over to Carlos and set up there."

"Uh—"

"Over there. By Carlos. Set up there," Cadmann said.

"All right." Rick reached out to lift the gun.

"Not by the barrel," Cadmann said.

"Oh." The barrel wasn't glowing, but it was hot enough to boil water.

Cadmann stood on the wall and used his binoculars to scan the area downstream. Seems strange to do this in a battle. Never to worry about them shooting back.

Grendels all along Amazon Creek. Too many of them. But for every grendel in the water, six more faced them on land. In twos and threes they toppled from the internal heat; in twos and threes they attacked the defenders of the stream, and died or won—and if they won, they became the new defenders. Grendels on speed, grendels cooking themselves from inside, couldn't reach the water because other grendels kept them from it. And none of those presently threatened the house.

But there were attackers enough.

If they could be stopped far enough away—But they couldn't be.

Cadmann touched numbers on his comcard. "Ida. What's your status?"

The dentist's voice was strained. "Maybe five minutes of power in the Skeeter. No more than that."

Five minutes. They'd spread the solar panels, but the sun hadn't come out in time. "Not enough time. Unload the superspeed. Load up the kerosene."

"Kerosene. You want me to fly around with kerosene with five minutes' flying time?"

"That I do."

"And then what?"

"Ida, the next wave may get through. If they do, you and that kerosene will be critical. Spray around the house, just below the veranda. Then throw flares into the soup. Then go uphill and land."

"And pray I'm far enough from the fire."

"Something like that. Will you do it?" If she wouldn't, who would?

Fifteen minutes to put another pilot in place. Carlos? Me?

"Yeah, I guess so—"

Explosions rocked the plateau. The cattle, penned to the east, lowed and stomped.

And attracted grendels.

Some sped across the perimeter. Cadmann saw several of them actually collapse before they could reach the cattle. Ran out of speed. They're burning up.

Wiser, stronger siblings hooked the twitching dead and dragged them away.

Everywhere grendels were dying, but the line of corpses moved closer and closer to the house. Grendels fought each other, dragged each other away, climbed over their own dead in a mindless fever to reach the house.

A cluster of grendels broke through the mob, racing for the livestock. Omar Isfahan clambered out onto the hill. He lifted a spear gun, sighted with unsteady hands.

He missed. The grendels became suddenly, horribly aware of his presence, and streaked for him. Before Cadmann had time to yell warning, Isfahan was down, three grendels at him. He screamed once, and then there was nothing left to scream with.

"Jerry! Inside," Cadmann ordered.

The doctor hesitated for a brief second. "Right. Going."

The cattle had gone mad. They broke free of the pens and stampeded.

Grendels brought them down one by one. Grendels died of heat prostration trying to drag butchered cows to safety, or they ran out of speed and were crushed beneath the hoofs of the herd.

The cattle raced to the low wall, over, down the mountainside.

Grendels followed.

It was as if a signal had been given. The grendels surged forward, up the hill. Grendels exploded in the minefield, but others were weaving along the safe path. Bullets found some of them; other grendels stopped, considering, looking for an enemy. Too many came on.

Gunfire erupted from within the house. And grendels fell. Flame throwers coughed their last bit of jellied fuel, and scorched monsters reeled away, streaking for the stream.

Monsters crowded up the hill.

"Ida? Now."

"Need a couple more minutes," she answered. "Getting that damned water tank out—"

"Right. But get going as soon as you can." Cadmann raced across the veranda. "Deadfall," he shouted.

"Si." Carlos followed. They left the veranda and raced down the hill.

The deadfall: an enormous boulder, held in place by large chocks.

Above it were dozens of smaller boulders ready to plunge down, along the cleared path through the minefield.

Chocks held the deadfall boulder in place. A dying grendel crouched against the chocks.

"Son of a bitch!" Cadmann shouted.

Carlos grinned and fired. The explosive shell struck the grendel in the chest. It leaped upward—and struck its head on the boulder above, and fell in a heap, still blocking the chocks.

"Aw, shit," Carlos said.

"You said it. Here." Cadmann handed him the rifle. "Hold ‘em off while I pull."

"You'll need help—

"Bullshit I need help! You watch for grendels."

"All right."

The corpse might have weighed eighty kilos. They were getting big, and this one must have fed well. Not too much to drag, but awkward. Cadmann reached for the tail. It lashed. Spikes caught his thigh. He fell heavily against the boulder.

"Amigo—"

"Look out ahead!" Cadmann shouted.

More grendels coming. Cadmann desperately reached the lines holding the chocks in place. "I got it. Be out of the way!"

"For sure."

He heaved against the lines. The chock moved slightly. He pulled again. It was hard to brace his good leg against the rocks and still have purchase on the line. He pulled again. The corpse moved; crimson foam ran from its back, frothed down against the wooden chocks. This time when he pulled, the chocks moved—

Carlos was firing rapidly now.

One final heave. The chocks came loose. The massive boulder seemed poised in space. Then it began to roll. Down, followed by a mass of others.

Carlos joined in his shout of triumph.

A grendel came over the large boulder, sprang between the smaller boulders, tried to dance among them. It didn't quite succeed. A rock the size of a footstool hit it in the side. Carlos shot it twice more. Still it thrashed forward, toward Cadmann, who lay with his legs toward it, legs spread, monster crawling up, up, between his legs. Cadmann writhed, twisted. The grendel fell onto his uninjured leg. Something snapped. Pain surged.

Carlos stood staring wildly. Grendels below them. He couldn't shoot and carry Cadmann at the same time. He looked the question.

"How the fuck do I know?" Cadmann said. He was surprised at how soft his voice was. The grendel hadn't moved. Sixty kilos of dead meat. Both legs screamed their agony in his brain; he couldn't think past that. I've used up all my adrenaline. Like a goddam grendel uses up its speed. No adrenaline, and I don't even care what happens.

Carlos fired twice. Cadmann couldn't see what he was shooting at.

The grendels leaped like fleas among the bounding boulders. The deadfall was taking its toll: he could see smashed grendels, he could hear the weakened challenge-screams of grendels facing death. How do you see death, amigos? A mature grendel the size of a mountain?

But a grendel in the air had no control of its path. They leaped, and Carlos took them at apogee, rapid-fire practice with pop-up targets, shoot and forget.

It was over. The slide continued, a horde of rocks among the horde of grendels, crossing the brook and onward. How long had it taken? A minute? Less.

And he had leisure to help his friend.

Cadmann was no more than half conscious. One leg was crushed; the other looked broken. Carlos worked his way under him and heaved. Cadmann was lifted from the ground, a big man in high gravity, and Carlos walked. Weaponless. Both hands occupied.