At the front door a white gloved hand on a tubular black wrist puts itsfinger to the doorbell button.Back in his gloomy lair Fred hears the DING! DONG... and sets down thebullhorn, "Hmmmmmmm, now who could that be?"====>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>=>===Phelps's house may be run down and desperately in need of a paint job,but it has a nice porch. Or at least it's a large one- with a pair ofsculpted wooden columns holding up the roof above it, a rusted ironhibachi and a couple of large clay pots. The homes he passed for the most part, were darkand quiet. Every once in a while, a dog would smell the danger in theair and begin barking wildly to warn of the impending doom on the air. When he collapsed from near exhaustion he had made it across most ofPennsylvania to a spot on the map known as Drytown.Based on the evidence on the floor of the cave where he now hid, therewas little doubt as to what was happening. His blood ran out in smallwinding rivulets to small pools of slow running. More

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