I got to Mrs. Reppler, who was swaying on her feet and dead pale. I put an arm around her. “Thank you, young man,” she said. “I feel a bit faint.” “That's okay,” I said hoarsely. “I would have saved him if I could.” “I know that.” Ollie joined us. We ran for the market doors, the threads falling all around us. One lit on Mrs. Reppler's marketing basket and sank into the canvas side. She tussled grimly for what was hers, dragging back on the strap with both hands, but she lost it. It went bumping off into the mist, end over end. As we reached the IN door, a smaller spider, no bigger than a cocker spaniel puppy, raced out of the fog along the side of the building. It was producing no webbing; perhaps it wasn't mature enough to do so. As Ollie leaned one beefy shoulder against the door so Mrs. Reppler could go through, I heaved the steel bar at the thing like a javelin and impaled it. It writhed madly, legs scratching at the air, and its red eyes seemed to find mine, and mark me...
David!” Ollie was still holding the door. I ran in. He followed me. Pallid, frightened faces stared at us. Seven of us had gone out. Three of us had come back. Ollie leaned against the heavy glass door, barrel chest heaving. He began to reload Amanda's gun. His white assistant magager's shirt was plastered to his body, and large gray sweat-stains had crept out from under his arms. “What?” someone asked in a low, hoarse voice. “Spiders,” Mrs. Reppler answered grimly. “The dirty bastards snatched my market basket.” Then Billy hurled his way into my arms, crying. I held on to him. Tight.
X. The Spell of Mrs. Carmody. The Second Night in the Market. The Final Confrontation.
It was my turn to sleep, and for four hours I remember nothing at all. Amanda told me I talked a lot, and screamed once or twice, but I remember no dreams. When I woke up it was afternoon. I was terribly thirsty. Some of the milk had gone over, but some of it was still okay. I drank a quart.
Amanda came over to where Billy, Mrs. Turman, and I were. The old man who had offered to make a try for the shotgun in the trunk of his car was with her-Cornell, I remembered. Ambrose Cornell. “How are you, son?” he asked. “All right.” But I was still thirsty and my head ached. Most of all, I was scared. I slipped an arm around Billy and looked from Cornell to Amanda. “What's up?” Amanda said, “Mr. Cornell is worried about that Mrs. Carmody. So am I.” “Billy why don't you take a walk over here with me?” Hattie asked. “I don't want to,” Billy said. “Go on, Big Bill,.” I told him, and he went-reluctantly. “Now what about Mrs. Carmody?” I asked. “She's stirrin things up,” Cornell said. He looked at me with an old man's grimness. “I think we got to put a stop to it. Just about any way we can.” Amanda said, “There are almost a dozen people with her now. It's like some crazy kind of a church service.”
I remembered talking with a writer friend who lived in Otisfield and supported his wife and two kids by raising chickens and turning out one paperback original a year-spy stories. We had gotten talking about the bulge in popularity of books concerning themselves with the supernatural. Gault pointed out that in the forties Weird Tales had only been able to pay a pittance, and that in the fifties it went broke. When the machines fail, he had said (while his wife candled eggs and roosters crowed querulously outside), when the technologies fail, when the conventional religious systems fail, people have got to have something. Even a zombie lurching through the night can seem pretty cheerful compared to the existential comedy/horror of the ozone layer dissolving under the combined assault of a million fluorocarbon spray cans of deodorant.
We had been trapped here for twenty-six hours and we hadn't been able to do diddlyshit. Our one expedition outside had resulted in fifty-seven percent losses. It wasn't so surprising that Mrs. Carmody had turned into a growth stock, maybe. “Has she really got a dozen people?” I asked. “Well, only eight,” Cornell said. “But she never shuts up! It's like those ten-hour speeches Castro used to make. It's a goddam filibuster.” Eight people. Not that many, not even enough to fill up a jury box. But h understood the worry on their faces. It was enough to make them the single largest political force in the market, especially now that Dan and Mike were gone. The thought that the biggest single group in our closed system was listening to her rant on about the pits of hell and the seven vials being opened made me feel pretty damn claustrophobic.
“She's started talking about human sacrifice again,” Amanda said. “Bud Brown came over and told her to stop talking that drivel in his store. And two of the men that are with her—one of them was that man Myron LaFleur-told him he was the one who better shut up because it was still a free country. He wouldn't shut up and there was a... well, a shoving match, I guess you'd say.” “Brown got a bloody nose,” Cornell said. “They mean business. “ I said, “Surely not to the point of actually killing someone.” Cornell said softly, “I don't know how far they'll go if that mist doesn't let up. But I don't want to find out. I intend to get out of here.” “Easier said than done.” But something had begun to tick over in my mind. Scent. That was the key. We had been left pretty much alone in the market. The bugs might have been attracted to the light, as more ordinary hugs were. The birds had simply followed their food supply. 'But the bigger things had left us alone unless we unbuttoned for some reason. The slaughter in the Bridgeton Pharmacy had occurred because the doors had been left checked open-I was sure of that. The thing or things that had gotten Norton and his party had sounded as big as a house, but it or they hadn't come near the market. And that meant that maybe...
Suddenly I wanted to talk to Ollie Weeks. I needed to talk to him. “I intend to get out or die trying,” Cornell said. “I got no plans to spend the rest of the summer in here.” “There have been four suicides,” Amanda said suddenly.
“What?” The first thing to cross my mind, in a semiguilty flash, was that the bodies of the soldiers had been discovered.
“Pills,” Cornell said shortly. “Me and two or three other guys earned the bodies out back.” I had to stifle a shrill laugh. We had a regular morgue going back there. “It's thinning out,” Cornell said. “I want to get gone.” “You won't make it to your car. Believe me.” “Not even to that first rank? That's closer than the drugstore.” I didn't answer him. Not then. About an hour later I found Ollie holding up the beer cooler and drinking a Busch. His face was impassive but he also seemed to be watching Mrs. Carmody. She was tireless, apparently. And she was indeed discussing human sacrifice again, only now no one was telling her to shut up. Some of the people who had told her to shut up yesterday were either with her today or at least willing to listen-and the others were outnumbered.
“She could have them talked around to it by tomorrow morning,” Ollie remarked. “Maybe not... but if she did, who do you think she'd single out for the honor?”
Bud Brown had crossed her. So had Amanda. There was the man who had struck her. And then, of course, there was me. “Ollie,” I said, “I think maybe half a dozen of us could get out of here. I don't know how far we'd get, but I think we could at least get out.” “How?” I laid it out for him. It was simple enough. If we dashed across to my Scout and piled in, they would get no human scent. At least not with the windows rolled up. “But suppose they're attracted to some other scent?” Ollie asked. “Exhaust, for instance?” “Then we'd be cooked,” I agreed. “Motion,” he said. “The motion of a car through fog might also draw them, David.” “I don't think so. Not without the scent of prey. I really believe that's the key to getting away.” “But you don't know.” “No, not for sure.” “Where would you want to go?” “First? Home. To get my wife.” “David—” “All right. To check. To be sure.” “The things out there could be everyplace, David. They could get you the minute your dooryard “you stepped out of your Scout into your back yard.” “If that happened, the Scout would be yours. All I'd ask would be that you take care of Billy as well as you could for as long as you could.”