Midnight was closing in, and the watchers still had no sign of their killer. doubts raced through their minds, ponderings, maundering of questions they couldn't answer, unless he came. Possible revelations roared through their sentience like bullets, each one noticeable, but too fleeting to grasp, and deadly if they struck home. Not a single one of them could grasp the significance of what they had seen so far, it being beyond their meagre comprehension, and the plan not fulfilled to the point where it would begin to make sense.

     Of them all, none was more worried than Bill Budd, as here was the love of his life now facing possible death, possible disembowelment, a possible stripping of everything that made her part of Barken, and part of the natural world. He found that love was a strange thing, for he felt it move through every fibre of his existence, light them aflame with passion, but yet also give them the comfort and gentle caring and nurture that a good relationship should have. All that was on the line tonight, and he just hoped he could keep himself together.

     Of course they all were feeling a certain sense of nervous anticipation. Her it was only ten minutes before the stroke of midnight, and nobody had showed up yet. They were all well hidden, though they each had a good view of the area and its environs. The front of the veterinary clinic was flanked by large bushes on both sides, constantly watered and taken proper care of. True it was a desert, but with the scientific research performed by Dr. Richard Swett and his team that had come here a year ago, plants were given a longer lifespan in the desert, though they required constant care. The front walk was brick inlay, with short grass growing on both sides; Olympia was lying down in the grass, her head looking over to where Bill lay inside one of the bushes, hidden from sight.

     The brick walk led right out to the cement sidewalk, which circled around both sides of the clinic, and then the main roads of Barken, both of which converged at this point in a 'V'. The clinic stood at this intersection between Main and Dinkel Ave. They kept watch down these streets. Rick White watched down both of the streets as he lay in hiding atop a building across the street, holding close to him his sharp-shooters rifle. Randy perched atop the clinic, looking down the rest of Main, and seeing no visible activity. All he had was his hand pistol, it would be all he needed.

     The others each scattered themselves about. Sheriff Davis hid himself in the dumpster across the street, watching through the garbage shoot the whole scenario. He did not have a wide panorama of the scene, and thus he depended on the eyes of Randy and Rick, each of whom had walkie-talkie's ready to relay anything of importance to him. Davis really didn't like the scents of the garbage, but they had managed to clean most of it up, and he lay on top of lots of newspapers, keeping himself sort of clean. He was hiding here as there simply weren't enough bushes to conceal them all, and putting too many people on the roofs would have drawn too much attention to themselves.

     Of the other three, all of them were hidden inside the bushes, Taylor, Joe, and Bill. They couldn't even see each other they were so well hidden. The object of course had been so that Randy couldn't have detected them, and they each did well at that. They also stayed in communication with Randy and Rick, as they each had a good view of the scene with Olympia lying down in the grass, but they couldn't see much more than that.

     And so they waited, they waited for the hour to strike midnight.

     Rick White peered down each road, trying to see if anything was coming. It the dark of the night, he caught momentary flickers as if something was moving in the dark, but nothing ever came of it. The flickers seemed more as if random tricks of the light of the street lamps; the flickers were not approaching them, some would be nearby, others quite distant. He needed to stay awake, as they had already been out here for four hours, and he was growing weary.

     He was one of the best sentries in town, which is why he was part of the 'inner circle' around Davis, but never before had he waited so much with such frantic anticipation, such worry over the time as it passed. He looked at his watch, ten minutes to midnight. Every second that passed seemed to take an eternity, and each one lasting longer and longer, as if midnight was never supposed to arrive except in the mythical dream-scapes of their imagination's. He had to stay awake though, stay awake to midnight; the continuous fear of the slowly approaching hour was tiring him, and he hoped he could persevere the last ten minutes.

     The roof was of a second story building, a rather modest antique store, whose proprietor not only ran the shop, but lived on the second floor of it as well. A nice chap, he'd only been too cooperative in letting Rick stand vigil on his roof. The roof was nice and nearly flat, with a railing around each side, which gave Rick sufficient cover should he be fired upon from below. The entire roof was slanted almost elliptically so that the rain would drain into the gutters at the four corners of the ceiling, thus keeping down the wear and tear of the roof. The rest of the roof had the usual antenna, and air ventilator. The only way to reach the roof was by climbing the ladder that was inside the building itself, unless they climbed up the side.

     As he stood there looking down Main and Dinkel, he felt the wind pick up a bit. He sniffed the air for any foreign scents, but no it was just the regular Barken breeze, nothing in the air except for the usual dog scent and a few others, which were ordinary. Looking at his watch again, he saw that it was now 11:53, seven whole minutes left to midnight, it was taking its sweet time in arriving, and he just wished it would get itself over and done with.

     The roof was empty, and he could see nothing moving, nor did he hear that noise again. He felt a tinge of fear creep into his heart, and he reluctantly turned back around, a little hesitant to call this one in yet. It was only moments later that he heard the sound again. This time he continued to stare back there trying to peer around every corner, and take in the scene completely. He even looked over that the roofs near him, but he saw nothing coming his way, no activity out of the norm. He was now positively frightened, this was too much, what was causing that sound!

     Then, while he was still looking back there, he heard it again, and his head riveted towards the origin of that sound. He looked straight at the air ventilator, and as he watched it carefully, he saw that behind it was a faint strip of metal that was swinging in the wind, and when it struck the side of the ventilator, it produced the clinking noise. It was just a stupid piece of metal, nothing more. Sighing, relief flooding over him, he turned back around to watch the streets again, his fear now greatly diminished. He even felt a bit embarrassed, being scared by a simple mechanical noise!

     It was only moments after he turned back around, that he felt that sharp pain in his butt. Feeling around, he felt something sticking out of it, and he pulled on it, and it came out in his hand. He turned over to look at it. A dart, most likely a tranquilliser dart. Already he could feel the heaviness of thought crushing away resistance. He looked back across the roof, and there before him he saw a figure ducking back into the shadows, and scrambling back over the far side of the roof. He smiled a bit, and then crumpled in a pile, completely sedated.

     Randy Kempe glanced back over the top of the parapet. The road was empty, just as it had been every other time he'd looked over, and the town clock standing just across the street from him, a block from the police station, read 11:55. Five minutes to midnight. So far no sign of their murderer, and everybody was getting a little ancy. Of course he was remaining his usual calm self. He prided himself on being a survivor, and that required cool thinking and reasoning, plus quick decision making skills. When in a fight against on of those Cherrier's, he needed to make the right decision immediately, or he could end up dead. So far, his record was nearly unblemished. True he had a few bad moments, the worst being when he'd shot Rev. Brandemas instead of Greg, but things turned out quite well despite that. In retrospect, he was glad he had missed, for Greg was turning out to be quite a fine lad, and was already working himself to becoming a sentry as well. Greg was showing real promise, and in another few years, he'd be out on patrol just like the rest of them.

     However, there were other times to, such as the time he'd followed Eddie down to Brownsville, and seen the greatest irony he'd ever seen; Eddie Jones, the most ruthless killer from Cherry as of date, had become what he most feared, a sort of Hell Hound. It was a night that he might have made a mistake, but now there was no turning back from that night, or any of the other nights he'd spent out under the stars, running with the coyotes, or stalking a hunter. Most of them he looked back on fondly, but others, he couldn't bring himself to dredge up the memories.

     What most perplexed him was how Cherry could claim to kill in the name of its God. He'd seen what people who really worshipped that God would do, and he respected that, even admired it; it gave him some semblance of even a rudimentary belief that such a loving deity might just exist after all. However, he could not bring himself to stand up with Cherry and worship their God, no matter how wrong they were about it, no matter how much they twisted its desires for them. It was simply too much to be asked of him.

     Suddenly, he heard some noise form behind him. Some scampering, as if somebody was clawing at the ground. He turned around and with one swift motion, shot into the dark. The scratching stopped. For such a night as this, he was using his silencer, but the slight sound was clearly audible to all of them, because he immediately heard a slight beeping on his walkie-talkie. Picking it up, still staring at the spot he'd heard the scratching come from, he opened up the channel.

     "What was that?" Davis's called out

     "I think it was just a rat. I couldn't tell in the dark, but it seems to be dead now." Randy whispered back.

     "Fine." then Davis clicked off, and Randy set the walkie-talkie back down, and continued to stare into the darkness. He slipped down onto his belly, and crawled over a little bit, being careful not to make any noise, until he was close enough to see. He felt a strange sensation coming to him, a slight dizziness as he neared the place he'd shot towards, and the feelings made him quite apprehensive. However, he was a survivor, probably just a momentary lapse of vertigo or something like that.

     He neared the object, yet the shadows still obscured it somewhat. It looked like it was a small object probably a rat, but he had to see it to be sure. Once he was close enough - god gosh, he was feeling even more hazy by the moment, what was going on with that - he reached out with his left hand and grasped the object. Immediately, he felt as if he had grabbed a pin cushion, for he pierced his hand in several places. Pulling it back, he brought the object into the light.

     It looked much like a mouse, but was obviously plastic, looking like a child's toy almost, but with several needles pushed through the skin, which he had impaled his hand upon. Also, the tiny hole his bullet had made was pushing itself out, as the mouse began to deflate. Air had been trapped inside that thing, and with a sudden start, a moment of clear lucidity for his mind, the last before he lapsed into unconsciousness. It was a poisonous gas, the needles were probably tipped with some fast working poison, the whole thing had been a trap, and he'd fallen right into it.

     Bill Budd watched out the bushes, glancing at his watch every few moments, wanting some way for midnight to come, but in others for it to never arrive. He feared and yet yearned for midnight, the thoughts of that hour striding through his mind. They had been successful in ensuring that only Olympia was a dog tonight, and so therefore, if the murderer wanted another skin, he would have to come here. So far, no sign of him, and it was nearing midnight.

     He felt every muscle in his body tense with anticipation. His fear of that time was beginning to manifest itself, as he was having trouble keeping himself still, every aspect of him raging for the moment. He wanted it over, yet he didn't want to see Olympia get hurt. He really should have been the one that was the bait, he was more capable of taking care of himself. True Olympia's breed, a Sable Collie, was not one that should be easily dismissed, but their killer had taken on even tougher dogs than her, and won without getting himself so much as scratched.

     He glanced at his watch once more, 11:58. Two minutes left, he could barely contain his excitement, his dread. In these next two minutes they would find out if their killer would show. Being a serial killer, how could he break his pattern. perhaps he only did kill males, and this being a female, simply refused to kill anybody tonight. There had been one day where they hadn't found any bodies, so it was possible that he wouldn't mind skipping a night, especially if he thought they were lying in wait for them. Could he have known? It was entirely possible, the word had spread around town, but then again, supposedly, they liked living near the edge, and the danger of the situation might just encourage him to make an attempt.

     Suddenly, he caught a sound in the distance. It sounded like somebody walking along the street. He could tell the person was coming down Dinkel, and he looked to his walkie-talkie to see if Rick was going to tell them who it was. He felt the first stirring's of fear, as Rick was not sending them a message. As he listened he could hear the footsteps coming closer. They sounded brisk, no attempt at subterfuge was being made, and the time between each step made Bill fancy that it was simply somebody out for a late night walk. However, he knew that was almost certainly not the case.

     He looked at his watch again, 11:59, and the man came into view before the clinic, and all eyes were almost certainly poised on him. He had stopped, and was staring questioningly at Olympia, as if he found the sight out of the ordinary. He made no move to attack her though, which made Bill Budd stop and wonder. What made him baulk even more was the fact that he recognised the face. It was Andy Cobb, the man who operated the post office for Barken. He knew Andy quite well, they were in fact good friends, what was he doing here, could he be behind the murders? No that was impossible, his ears were the same size, the killer's weren't.

     Just then they heard a beeping noise emanating from Andy, and Bill pulled out his pistol, ready for anything. Friend or no, he shouldn't be here at this time, definitely not now, and definitely not doing anything suspicious. Andy reached for his belt, and pulled out a beeper, which was beeping. He looked at it, and then pressed a button on its face. What happened next was too fast for Bill to differentiate. The dumpster Sheriff Davis was lying in, exploded down the street just as soon as he pushed the button, sending huge columns of flame to spurt from between the opening. Andy then dropped to the ground, pulling two guns out from his coat, and pointing them directly at the bushes, and began to empty the clips into them. He heard cries of pain coming from the others, and himself, as both of his kneecaps were smashed to pieces. His own reflexive shots, as well as the others, sailed comfortably over the man's body.

     Bill crumpled to the ground, trying to shoot the man, but before he could act on Andy's new location, he was up with a jump, one of the guns dropped to the ground, as well as the beeper, a knife now pulled out, as he lunged towards Olympia. Why wasn't Rick or Randy doing anything! They needed them now! Just then Joe stumbled out from the bush, his gun being held flimsily in his hand, the blood spurting from the gunshot wound to his arm, and he fired at Andy, striking him in the left leg. The impact of the bullet, sent Andy sprawling to the ground, spinning as he went. However, the knife still met its target, sinking deeply into Olympia's hindquarters. He pulled it out quickly, and stabbed her again in the back. Olympia yet out a yowl of pain, and the tried to bite at his face.

     Joe continued to stumble forward, firing more bullets, though all of his other shots missed. Andy rolled over after stabbing her twice, and used his other gun, and shot Joe in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the bush, the impact knocking him out. bill and Taylor came crawling out of the bushes, Taylor's right foot a bloody stump, and his left shoulders shattered by the impact of the bullet. He pulled out his gun, stumbling towards Andy, who saw him coming, and pulled his own trigger, but the chamber was empty, so he instead brought his right leg up, and smashed Taylor in the groin, and the kicked him to the side of the face, sending him into the ground.

     Bill grabbed at Andy's wound, and yanked at the bullet hole. The man screamed in pain, and then brought his knife hard down into Bill's chest. It didn't penetrate his heart, thank goodness, but he was immediately without breath, and he reflexively let go, trying to grab the man's arm, to hold the knife in place. Andy was stronger however, and yanked his knife back, and was about to turn to take care of Olympia again, when he looked at his watch.

     He swore under his breath, and then tried to stand up, but he fell back to the ground, as Olympia had bitted him on the ear, and yanked him back to the ground. Andy then twisted around to get back up, and Bill saw the most amazing thing happen. Andy's ear simply came clean off, the entire thing, no blood or nothing when it did either. With a start, he realized that Andy was wearing a mask, no, it wasn't Andy, but somebody else dressed up to look like Andy.

     The fake Andy then swung around, knowing his disguise was revealed. He punched Olympia's muzzle, and grabbed the false ear up, and then picked up his other gun and his beeper. He then pulled something else out of his pocket, and to Bill's horror he saw that it was a grenade. Before he could do anything, 'Andy' pulled the ring out, and dropped the grenade, on the ground, as he stumbled away back down the street, tying off the wound on his leg as he did so.

     Bill reached for the grenade, trying desperately to get to it before it went off. He didn't even get within five meters of it before it went off, sprawling him backwards, his skin ignited with flame. It had been a flash grenade, and now he and the others were burning up.

     Taylor was still more mobile than any of them, and he made his was into the clinic, and came out with a fire extinguisher, and quickly hosed them and the grass that had caught aflame down. He then made his way over to the dumpster which Davis had futilely crawled out of, his entire body lit up like a torch, before he'd collapsed in the street. He sprayed the stuff over him, putting out the flame. It looked to him like Davis was suffering first or second degree burns over his entire body. He felt for a pulse, and to his relief, he found one. He then picked up his walkie talkie which remained unharmed through out the entire chaos and nearly screamed into it, "We need paramedics down here at the vet's now! Also, the killer looks like Andy Cobb! He's headed down Dinkel, and he has a limp in his left leg! Get that bastard, just get that bastard now!"

     Avery Perkins got the call, and he immediately sent message to the Houston police department. They were the closest hospital, and they would be out here in an half-hour at most. When they wanted to those cops and ambulance drivers drove like bats out of Hell. He was not the only one to make the call though, as he could hear on his walkie-talkie other people making similar calls, boy would this force be mobilized now. They hated to bring the Houston police department into this, but there was no other way around it. They had done it before, but so far they had been able to keep them from investigating into anything, as everything that had occurred had been in Barken jurisdiction, but the only thing they didn't have that Houston did have was the hospital, and he was going to trust T. Bruce on this one.

     Of course he was close to the end of Dinkel Ave, as the road simply ended emptied into the desert, and there was nothing else to it. He had his field-glasses, and he scanned down the road. He could see the figure moving at incredible speeds for one with a limp, he could see the limp, though he appeared to have cinched it up so that he was no longer bleeding from it. The tourniquet looked to be very tight, he was amazed he could still even move the leg. He headed straight down Dinkel for a good time, and Avery tracked his move, moving in slowly, closer and closer. He could tell there were a few other sentries also closing in on the escaping murderer. He was amazed the guy had even escaped the gauntlet they had set up for him to walk into. He found it unbelievable that the man only suffered from a gunshot wound to the leg.

     After only a few blocks, the man abruptly turned down a side street. He knew that it was Clover Drive, and he told the others over his walkie-talkie where the man was headed. What was most distressing to him was that he could no longer see him. Moving as swiftly as he could, he made his way down to Clover Drive, and looking down the way he went, he could just see him in the distance turning down another street. He checked over to see if anybody else could see him. He got affirmative answers from three different people. They were closing on all sides of him, it was simply a matter of time before they had him trapped.

     Avery quickly ran to the next street over, and moved down it towards Billings St, where he was now. Looking both ways, he saw the man slip into an alley just a block away from him. He saw one of the others, Vance Lawford, just another block past that. both had seen it, and they both knew the alley was a dead end. They quickly converged on the alley way, the two others coming in closely behind them. As Avery and Vance peered down the alley, guns going in first, they saw nothing down there except the refuse of society, beer bottles, empty cans which had been the feast of vermin, vomit from the last drunk who had wandered in here, and on one side, an open dumpster which reeked. It should have been closed, as all of them were.

     Avery and Vance looked at each other, and nodded. Vance moved over to check out the open dumpster, pushing his rifle in first, while Avery covered him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught some movement, and then he saw that behind the dumpster was a rather large shadowy figure, almost certainly canine. He pointed his gun at it, when suddenly it leaped at him, something in its mouth, gleaming in the pale light of the street lamps.

     Avery was knocked back from the force of its blow, and Vance turned to see it just in time to be knocked back into the dumpster, hitting his head hard against the side. He fell to the ground, unconscious. As they watched, the creature lopped off out the alley, and was gone from their view. Avery looked behind the dumpster where the creature that looked like a dog had been, in its haste he had not gotten a good look at it. He saw there what looked to be a pile of clothes, some plastic material, possibly a mask, and an assortment of two guns, a beeper, and a grenade. The grenade did not have a pin in it.

     Avery jumped to his feet, and grabbed Vance, and began to haul him away from the site, when the grenade wen toff, sending him flying out of the alley, where he smacked his head against the pavement, and all went black.

     The creature was waiting, hiding in the dark shrouds of the shadows, waiting for him to return. it was nearly one when he got back, and he was drenched with sweat, and he could smell the bitter scent of blood on him. He looked quite angered too, a scowl across his face, and he was limping on his left leg. He carried no skin with him that night

     "What happened?" he asked, slinking through the shadows, staying out of sight of even this man.

     "Hubris." the man replied, untying the tourniquet, and inspecting the wound. "It will take almost a week before I can walk without a limp again."

     "No skins?"

     "No. I'm going to have to get to Houston." he said cryptically, squeezing the wound, the pain dulled already. "This work is not finished."

     The shadowy figure grunted in tacit agreement.