The woman stood quietly at the window, gazing unseeing at the day's yellow glare. A sudden jolt stirred her from an unnatural stillness, and she turned away with a swift gasp of fear. "What next?" she wondered aloud.

Her dash from the room was halted by the recoiling of the cat, which cowered, hissing, near her feet.

The woman's lips creased in a self-deprecating smile. "Damned cat," she whispered, recalling yesterday's words. "Which of us is damned now?"

The feline slunk away--hiding its tomcat's boldness beneath spiky hair and flattened ears.

Angry with the cat's reaction, the woman moved swiftly toward the far wall.

The cat--hidden now beneath a chair--dared a backwards glance, just in time to see the human figure drift through the solid plastered wood partition. He chased her departure with a bold yowl.

The walls echoed his cry, seeming to hold it for just a second too long. When it came back to his ears, the distorted wailing was no longer alone, but held the lonely misery of a human's despairing sigh.

"Ho, Rick!"

Rick could hear Cole's footsteps thudding up the hall.

"Wanna shoot a few?" Cole's shouts were interspersed with the pounding rhythm of a basketball.

Rick grinned, glanced at the pile of papers he had yet to read, and shook his head. "Go away. I'm busy," he yelled back.

Cole, certain now that Rick was home, jogged into the room. Rick was determinedly reading through some article--highlighting what must have been--for him--particularly edifying passages. "That's not busy--" Cole argued. He threw the ball at Rick's chair. It missed, rebounding instead off Rick's arm, and onto his Coke can. "Now, you'll be busy," Cole muttered, as he watched the sticky liquid flow towards Rick's stack of journals.

"Dammit, Cole!" Rick looked around for something to mop up the spill.

Cole pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and threw it to his friend.

Rick looked at it dubiously. "Got any forceps?" He took the cloth by the corner, and dropped it in the path of the runaway Coke.

Cole laughed. "If it sticks, it won't be because of the Coke--"

"If it sticks, I'll use your face to scrape it off."

"If you had more dirty clothes laying around, I wouldn't have to donate my stuff to the cause."

"Go away. I'm trying to concentrate."

"Why? Because you're on some fool fungus hunt?" Cole reached over, and flipped through the pages of the article Rick was trying to read. "What is this, anyway? 'Protein synthesis during spore formation in Aspergillus'? I hate to tell you this, Rick, but I think your brain is warped."

Rick gave him a shove. "At least with me, it stops at my brain."

"You should get a burglar alarm--"

Rick interrupted him. "To keep out unwelcome guests?"

Cole grinned, then grew serious. "I mean it, Rick. Half the time, you don't even remember to lock your door."

Rick shrugged. "Then, what's the point? I'd probably forget to set the alarm, too." He gestured at the stacks of books and journals. "What are they going to steal? My computer?" he asked seriously. "I'm insured, and all my files are backed up at the lab."

"What about your TV?" Rick shook his head. Cole tried again. "Your stereo?"

"Old. They wouldn't be able to unload it."

Cole grinned. "What about you? Isn't any of that so-called science worth something?"

"Only if you're in horticulture." Rick jumped up and plopped his journal on to the floor. Creeping to the window, he took a quick, guarded look outside, then flattened himself against the wall. "My God, you're right!" he whispered loudly, infusing horror into his voice. "The farmers--they're massing!" He fumbled with the cord to the drapes, as though his fingers were slippery with sweat. With a grand gesture, he yanked it, while the rod squeaked in protest. Dropping to his knees, he wiped his brow, and said dramatically, "I think we're safe now!"

Cole threw the basketball at him, and missed again--this time knocking over a stack of photocopied articles.