rily inside
their prison。 Then； putting his hand firmly on top of the bowl so it wouldn't
slip； he went out into the hall。
〃ing to bed； Jack？〃 Wendy asked。
〃ing to bed； Daddy？〃
〃Have to go downstairs for a minute；〃 he said； making his voice light。
How had it happened？ How in God's name？
The bomb sure hadn't been a dud。 He had seen the thick white smoke start to
puff out of it when he had pulled the ring。 And when he had gone up two hours
later； he had shaken a drift of small dead bodies out of the hole in the top。
Then how？ Spontaneous regeneration？
That was crazy。 Seventeenth…century bullshit。 Insects didn't regenerate。 And
even if wasp eggs could mature full…grown insects in twelve hours； this wasn't
the season in which the queen laid。 That happened in April or May。 Fall was
their dying time。
A living contradiction； the wasps buzzed furiously under the bowl。
He took them downstairs and through the kitchen。 In back there was a door
which gave on the outside。 A cold night wind blew against his nearly naked body；
and his feet went numb almost instantly against the cold concrete of the
platform he was standing on； the platform where milk deliveries were made during
the hotel's operating season。 He put the puzzle and the bowl down carefully； and
when he stood up he looked at the thermometer nailed outside the door。 FRESH UP
WITH 7…up； the thermometer said； and the mercury stood at an even twenty…five
degrees。 The cold would kill them by morning。 He went in and shut the door
firmly。 After a moment's thought he locked it； too。
He crossed the kitchen again and shut off the lights。 He stood in the darknes