By that time Clint staggered to the scene. He looked like shit, his hair burned in patches and his breathing was a bit labored. But thank heavens his healing factor was almost off the charts, as he was already healing from that. And he told us what I had not seen on the TV. That when he heard Clint’s trike arriving, he hid and waited for Clint.That was not just an attack, it was an ambush. And there were a lot of questions we had for the Roaster, he had a lot to answer for. We gave our statements, and with a lump in my throat, I headed home.I pulled the van into the garage and paused long enough in Dire’s apartment to change us twice. What was coming was going to be rough enough already, without Fang’s muzzle, face, and chest still covered in blood. I carefully went inside, and Fang followed. And I was more than half surprised to see Doug sitting on the couch, watching what had happened on the news. He jumped up when we came in, and I waited for what I knew was to come.But his first. They had laid the heavy and useless lighting machines either side of their little shelter, ballast to keep the plastic sheet in place. Pots and pans were in the cupboard and so was the precious tins what few were left, the shelter was in the lee of a sand bar topped with the red and yellow trumpet flowers, and coconut palms they could see a storm coming, he putting out saucepans to catch as much water as was possible, preying for rain, it had been a near thing, they had nearly had to resort to drinking urine, though they knew that form of recycling would not last long, it might have made the difference. The storm struck, it was hard, the wind tearing and whistling at the palms, howling through the tree tops whining through the undergrowth, the waves crashing onto the beach, and finally rain, precious and wetting rain, so precious that they stood laughing, holding one another the water dripping and splashing from noses, her tits and his prick like the outfall of a winter storm from.
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