Phantoms

had a diameter of twelve to fifteen feet.
    A canvas-wrapped bundle, somewhat larger than a man, was pushed out of the chopper. It was attached to a cable, which was reeled out by an electric winch. Initially, the bundle descended slowly, then slower still, at last settling to the pavement in the center of the circle, so gently that it seemed the chopper crewmen thought they were delivering raw eggs.
    Bryce broke out of the formation before the package touched down and was the first to reach it. He located the snaplink and released the cable by the time Sara and the others joined him.
    As the chopper reeled in the line, it swung toward the valley below, moved off, out of the danger zone, gaining altitude as it went.
    Sara crouched beside the bundle and started loosening the nylon rope that was threaded through the eyelets in the canvas. She worked feverishly and, in a few seconds, unpacked the contents.
    There were two blue cannisters bearing white stenciled words and numbers. She sighed with relief when she saw them. Her message had been properly interpreted. There were also three aerosol tank sprayers similar in size and appearance to those used to spread weed killer and insecticide on a lawn, except that these were not powered by a hand pump but by cylinders of compressed air. Each tank was equipped with a harness that made it easy to carry on the back. A flexible rubber hose, ending in a four-foot metal extension with a high-pressure nozzle, made it possible to stand twelve to fourteen feet from the target that you wished to spray.
    Sara lifted one of the pressurized tanks. It was heavy, already filled with the same fluid that was in the two spare, blue cannisters.
    The helicopter dwindled into the Western sky, and Lisa said, “Sara, this isn’t everything you asked for—is it?”
    “This is everything we need,” Sara said evasively.
    She looked around nervously, expecting to see the shape changer rushing toward them. But there was no sign of it.
    She said, “Bryce, Tal, if you’d take two of these tanks…”
    The sheriff and his deputy grabbed two of the units, slipped their arms through the harness loops, buckled the chest straps, shrugged their shoulders to settle the tanks as comfortably as possible.
    Without having been told, both men clearly realized the tanks contained a weapon that might destroy the shape-changer. Sara knew they must be eaten by curiosity, and she was impressed that they asked no questions.
    She had intended to handle the third sprayer herself, but it was considerably heavier than she’d expected. Straining, she would be able to carry it, but she wouldn’t be able to maneuver quickly. And during the next hour or so, survival would depend on speed and agility.
    Someone else would have to use the third unit. Not Lisa; she was no bigger than Sara. Not Flyte; he had some arthritis in his hand, of which he’d complained last night, and he seemed frail. That left Jenny. She was only three or four inches taller than Sara, only fifteen or twenty pounds heavier, but she appeared to be in excellent physical condition. She almost certainly would be able to handle the sprayer.
    Flyte protested but then relented after trying to heft the tank. “I must be older than I think,” he said wearily.
    Jenny agreed that she was the one best suited, and Sara helped her get into the harness, and they were ready for the battle.
    Still no sign of the shape-changer.
    Sara wiped sweat from her brow. “All right. The instant it shows itself, spray it. Don’t waste a second. Spray it, saturate it, keep backing away if possible, try to draw more of it out of hiding, and spray, spray, spray.”
    “Is this some sort of acid—or what?” Bryce asked.
    “Not acid,” Sara said. “Although the effect will be something very like acid—if it works at all.”
    “So if it’s not an acid,” Tal said, “what is it?”
    “A unique, highly specialized microorganism,” Sara said.
    “Germs?” Jenny asked, eyes widening in surprise.
    “Yes. They’re suspended in a liquid growth culture.”
    “We’re gonna make the shape-changer sick ?” Lisa asked, frowning.
    “I sure to God hope so,” Sara said.
    Nothing moved. Nothing. But something was out there, and it was probably listening. With the ears of the cat. With the ears of the fox. With highly sensitive ears of its own special design.
    “Very, very sick, if we’re lucky,” Sara said. “Because disease would seem to be the only way to kill