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have been a dream. No way. It was too graphic, too intense.
    Or maybe she was just going Flip City.
    No. No, goddamnit, she wasn't flipping. The psychiatrist was full of shit. It was some sort of premonition. A warning. She could feel it in her She tried to make sense of it all, but it was an impossible task.
    Finally she gave it up and went back to bed.
    But she slept badly.
    SEVEN
    October 30, 3:01 A.M.
    The others slept for a while. He had promised them rest, all through the night and the next night. It was a long time to wait, and the waiting made his hands itch, but by now they were hunted. If they lay low for the rest of the day and most of tomorrow, things would probably loosen up. The law would most likely think they had made the Louisiana border, and would go looking for them there. That would give them some slack. Then he could make his move. Oh yeah, he was clever. It made him smile to think about it. Of course, he had help. He had Clyde inside his head.
    But this waiting . . . Man, he was tired of that. He opened the car door and got out.
    It was chilly, but not quite cold. The night had cleared and the moon was highly visible. It was so near full it looked that way at first glance. In a couple of days it would be completely filled out. Doing what he had to do beneath a full moon seemed like a good idea. He looked around him.
    Driving into this pasture, parking on the far side under these trees had been a stroke of genius (he couldn't remember if he had thought of it, or if Clyde had). How were the cops going to check all the pastures in this area? There were hundreds. The odds of them checking this particular one were one in a million. Even by air they couldn't see beneath these trees. It was a perfect spot for the time being.
    "What's that?" he said softly. He cocked his head, listened, said, "Yeah, yeah, I know, Clyde. Soon. Real soon."
    EIGHT
    October 30, 8:23 A.M.
    In the morning, the first thing they did was make instant coffee and unpack the box of stale doughnuts they had brought along. When they had eaten, Montgomery said:
    "I'm going to drive into Minnanette for some stuff. Want to go?"
    Becky smiled. The dreams were less haunting in the daylight, but their chill lingered on.
    "No. I'm going to stay here and read my magazines. I brought a whole herd of the buggers."
    Montgomery laughed. "All right, you can round up your herd of magazines while I'm gone. But let's make a list of things we need before I go. Anything special?"
    "Let's see."
    Becky found a pen and paper. They made a list, talking items back and forth, discarding some, seconding others.
    "Sure you can find Minnanette?" Becky asked. "Dean said to hit the blacktop,, drive ten miles and don't blink." "Sounds like Dean."
    They kissed at the door. Montgomery thought it was a lot like kissing a dry sponge.
    He went out to the Rabbit, backed it around, looked at the cabin in his rearview mirror.
    Becky was already inside. "Swell place," he said, and drove out of there. When he finished off mile ten, the first thing he saw was a gas station. Or rather a gas station and store combination. There was a big sign above the door that read "Pop's."
    Montgomery drove on past to inspect the town. Or was the proper word community?
    Either sounded like a polite euphemism for the place.
    But it was nice. Somehow seemed like a refuge. A small town where time moved slowly and nothing special ever happened.
    Then maybe it just seemed like that because he was away from Becky for awhile; away from those caged-animal eyes.
    He passed a laundromat with a sign that read "Minnanette Washateria." There was also a post office, a cubicle-sized bank and a sprinkling of stores. Not far from the road were a few houses. Blacktop and clay roads branched off in every direction, probably leading their way past what made up the population of Minnanette, which, according to Dean, was about five hundred, That figure seemed large to Montgomery, but then again, it wouldn't take much of