The Taking

"changing… almost alive," had not been attacked either by the beast that slaughtered their drunken father in the garage or by the agitated multitudes whispering in the walls.
        Eric, Elric, and Bethany had not been "floated" through the ceiling and into the storm with their parents and grandmother. And in the attic, they'd been rescued from the amorphous predator visible only in peripheral vision, the thing that smelled of "burnt matches, rotten eggs, and poop."
        In the church, although Bethany had a close call, all five of the children had been saved from certain death-and perhaps not entirely because of actions that Molly and Neil had taken.
        The inference that Cassie had intentionally been spared led to the further inference that at this point in the taking of the world, the war plan called for the ruthless extermination of most human beings above a certain age-but specified the preservation of the children.
        At first this seemed baffling if not inexplicable, but then in the mare's-nest of surreal events, among the tangle of dark wonders and impossibilities that defined the past twelve hours, Molly found and followed a thread of logic leading inexorably to a suspicion that chilled her.
        One by one, she met the eyes of each of the three dogs. Mutt, mutt, retriever: They regarded her forthrightly, expectantly, tails wagging tentatively.
        She scanned the floor, walls, ceiling.
        If her thoughts had been read, her suspicion known, she expected that something would enter the lavatory through one solid surface or another, take her face, and then her life.
        Here at the still point of the turning world, she waited to die-and didn't.
        "Come on, sweetie," she said to Cassie, "let's get out of here."

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    51
        
        THE OVERCAST REMAINED LOW, DENSE, PURPLE. THE livid half-light might henceforth be a permanent condition of the day-time, from dawn to dusk.
        Elsewhere in the dying town, the weeping of a woman was answered by the weeping of a man, which was answered by the weeping of another woman, each of the three expressing her or his misery in precisely the same series of wretched sobs and wails. The crawling white fungi seemed to be ceaselessly exploring or perhaps seeding new colonies where they found ideal conditions.
        Outside the tavern, after turning Cassie over to Neil's care and giving him a hug, Molly took the three Crudup kids aside to revisit the story they had told her during the journey from St. Perpetua's to the Tail of the Wolf. Fresh from her experience with Angie in the tavern receiving room, and with Cassie's account to consider, she should be able to make more sense of Eric, Elric, and Bethany's tale.
        Their mother and father had floated up from the family-room floor as if suddenly exempted from gravity. The couple had passed through the ceiling, then through the ceiling of the second-floor bedroom above, and finally through the roof, out of the house. As astonished and amazed as they were terrified, the kids had dashed up the stairs and then scrambled up the attic ladder, following their parents from level to level.
        This had occurred during one of the leviathan's transits over the town, when its hovering weight oppressed and when the silent throbbing of its engines could be felt in the bones. Therefore, the kids had reached the conclusion that their parents had been beamed aboard the mother ship.
        Their grandmother, of whom the children spoke with an affection that didn't characterize any mention of their parents, reacted with horror to the extraordinary ascent of her daughter and son-in-law. She had not been comforted by her grandchildren's assurances-based on movies and TV shows-that those who were beamed aboard an alien ship were always beamed down again, even if after rude examinations and sometimes painful experiments.
        Less than an hour later, when the grandmother abruptly floated off the floor toward the family-room ceiling, she had not let out a scream, as might have been expected, but only a small cry of surprise as her feet left the carpet. Looking down on her grandchildren, she astonished them by smiling, and she waved before she passed through the ceiling.
        By the time the kids caught up with her on the second floor, she was laughing. And in the attic, before she vanished through the roof, she said, "Don't worry about Gramma, darlings. I don't feel the