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black scales and claws and teeth. The pulse beam had only grazed the screaming creature. Most of the energy had
been absorbed by the wall and door frame, and flames were rippling up the side of the door beneath a boiling cloud of
smoke. Doris aimed again, willing the recharge to hurry... but the creature had ducked back and out of sight.
"Macklin!" Doris yelled, keeping the pulser aimed at the blazing, shattered door. "The window!" Macklin backed away
from the door, keeping the Smith & Wesson aimed at the opening. Then he reached the window , threw it open, and
leaned out, looking into the night. Turning, he snatched the sheet off the bed, tore it down the middle, and knotted a
makeshift rope. Tying one corner to the bedpost, he tossed the other end out the window. Next, he scooped up
clothing, his and Doris's both, and tossed a double armful out into the night. "Let's go!" he shouted. The flames filled
the doorway
now and the hall beyond, feeding greedily on floral-print wallpaper. "We'll still have a drop at the bottom!" "You go
first! I'll cover us!" Grabbing his boots and Doris's shoes, which he tossed out after the clothing, Macklin swung his
bare legs over the windowsill, then lowered himself down the sheet. Doris stood there for a moment longer, then
turned, slipped through the window, and holding the pulser in one hand, let herself down the sheet with the other. The
sheet reached only halfway to the ground, and when she came to the end, she let go. Macklin caught her as she let go
and dropped the last ten feet. Smoke was billowing out of the upstairs window now, and they could hear shrill yells of
"Help!" and "Fire!" coming from inside. Macklin was struggling into his jeans. "Never mind that," Doris told him.
"We've got to get out of here! They'll be after us any moment!" "Who? What were those things?" "Never mind!" She
scooped up the last of her clothing. "Run!" A blue-violet thread of energy snapped down at them from the open
window, striking the ground with a crack and a brilliant flash and a stink of ozone. Doris and Macklin ran, keeping
close to the house until they could break away and duck through an alley. In a few moments more, they reached a shed
at the corner, where they could catch their breath, finish pulling on clothes and boots, and take stock. "We should go
back!" Macklin told her. "Those people -" "We can't, Macklin!" she said. "The Kra'agh are probably on our trail at this
moment! We've got to move!" "But-" "You hear that bell? That's the local fire brigade. They'll
take care of the fire ... and the people. We need to get out of here now!" She heard the crunch of heavy feet running
outside and motioned to Macklin to keep quiet. When the sound had faded into the distance, she signaled, and the
two of them slipped back out into the night. Behind them, dozens of people were spilling out into the street, screaming,
shouting , barking orders, crying. She thought she knew a place where they could hide....
"HEY, SHERIFF!" NED COURTNEY CALLED, DUCKING INTO THE saloon. "they's trouble over at the Nevers's
place!" "What kind of trouble?" Behan demanded, looking up from his cards. "Dunno, Sheriff. But there's a hell of a lot
of shoutin' and hollerin'!" "Oh. Fer the love of-" "I'll go," Virgil said, pushing back from the table. "Need to stretch my
legs anyhow." "Aw, shoot," Ike said. "Probably ain't nothin'. Finish the game." "I'm folding. Bad hand." "Lemmee
know what's goin' on, Marshal," Behan called. "Johnny, you ought t'go, not the marshal." "What's the matter, Ike?"
Wyatt said, suspicious. "You don't want Virgil out of your sight?" "Uh, no. It's not that at all...." "Then play your
damned hand." "Thanks for your concern, Ike," Virgil told him, "but I'll be fine!" Chuckling, Virgil walked out into the
night. Oh, God, he thought as he neared the Nevers boardinghouse a few minutes later. Another fire! In June, a fire,
beginning at the Arcade Cigar Store and Saloon, had swept down Allen Street, reducing sixty-five businesses and
most of one whole block to ashes. There'd been quite a to-do about it, too, with most of the citizens blaming the town's
two law enforcement branches and their ongoing feud as the reason the fire had gotten out of hand. Not that that
made all that much sense; politics rarely did. But fear of a major fire was never far from any town- or city-dweller's
mind, especially when most of the buildings were constructed of wood and canvas, and lit by gas or lanterns.
Fortunately, this fire had been caught early enough and was already out. The firehouse was on Toughnut, only three
blocks down the street, and the Tombstone Citizens' Volunteer Fire Brigade had arrived in moments with their
hand-operated pumpers. A huge crowd of people was milling about in front of the house, though, most in robes and
nightgowns, as smoke continued to rise from several of the fire-blackened upper windows of the place. One woman
was sobbing hysterically, surrounded by a number of well-meaning townspeople and lodgers. As Virgil approached,
he recognized Sarah Nevers, the boardinghouse owner. "What happened here?" he asked. "Damfino, Marshal," one
man in a seedy-looking bathrobe said. His face was smoke-grimed, and Virgil thought he must have been helping to
put out the blaze. "I heard screaming, then gunshots. By the time I got up, the whole upstairs of the place was full of
smoke." "You're a lodger here?" "Harry Fulbright," the man said. "That's right. Mrs. Nevers, here, kept talking about
seein' something. Don't rightly know what." "Well, I heard somethin' in there," another man said. "Sounded like a
cougar caught in a trap!"
"Mrs. Nevers? Mrs. Nevers? Are you all right?" But the woman continued to sob, shaking her head, trying to point,
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