Fred Bean held onto any object that came within reach to keep his balance - rails, mailboxes, parked cars, signposts, lampposts, walls...

And he hurried south, alongside the blocked road, underneath the concrete pillars of the elevated Blue Metro line, away from the station, away from the panicking crowd, away from the deathtrap it had become. A few others ran with him, but most people were unable to get out of the packed chaos at the train platform.

A few streetlights switched on automatically and flickered; most of the darkening city was without power. Car headlights formed bright bands of illumination, marking out the streets.

From somewhere above, through the shaking impacts of giant feet walking closer, Fred could hear the train come at last. On the platform, people screamed in anticipation of the train and the giants.

Fred turned around, slowing his pace briefly, to see what was happening. Two giants, coming from opposite directions, crossed the street in a few strides, smashing one or two cars. They roared at each other; between them were the mob and the station, with the train approaching from the north.

It seemed as if the giants were quarreling over turf. The somewhat larger and fatter giant shook its fists and made angered rumbling threats, sounding almost like speech. The thinner, yet massive giant on the opposite side howled and hissed, baring its broad set of crooked teeth, and took furtive short steps toward the station. Neither giant paid any attention to the crowd or the train just below their waists.

The wailing loud bleat of the train horn sounded, and both giants stopped their strutting display to turn and see what was coming. The mob pressed on, thousands of people as one voice, one writhing body, shouting at the train to stop for them. The train horn responded with a warning bleat, and there came no sound of brakes or slowing down; the mob spilled over the tracks, falling onto the rails, falling down to the ground, as more people pushed on from the packed stairwells.

Fred flinched away from the sight and went on running; behind him, the train screeched ear-piercingly as the driver hit the brakes too late, and the mob made a collective, childlike shriek; the train cars drove through and over the mob with a thudding noise, slowing down, sending human bodies careening off the platform and into the air.

The giants grumbled hungrily. Forgetting their mutual squabble, they moved in and plunged their hands into the mass of writhing, trapped humans and dug out fistfuls of squirming, choking men and women of all ages. The screaming and panic reached a fever pitch. Giants went into a feeding frenzy, gobbling two or even three people in each bite; the mob pushed down the stairs, trying to make its way between the giants' legs - but the giants responded by stomping on the crowd, smearing their feet with gore.

In the slow, mashing pumping of their fourteen-foot wide soles, the giants resembled nothing so much as peasants mashing grapes. A huge dark pool spread out from underneath the station platform: the giants' own brand of wine, made from humans.

Fred ran. Helicopters flap-flapped somewhere in the vicinity; an explosion rumbled in the distance. He ran past a smashed shop-window; four young men were busy hauling out home appliances through it. Fred's breathing became more labored and wheezing; he slowed down, turned into an alley, leaned his back against a wall and grasped his aching midsection.

"Hhh... hhh... hhh... hhh..."

The burglars came walking down the same alley, carrying their TV sets, mixmasters and air-conditioning sets. Fred, catching his breath, blocked the way.

"Hey, get out of my way," said one of them, more stressed than angry.

"Sorry." Fred stepped aside. "Say," he wheezed to the passing caravan, "could you give me a lift... out of town? I'll give you all the cash I've got..."

One skinny boy, no older than fifteen-sixteen, chuckled. "You kidding, man? We've got business in town! Ain't gonna leave yet!"

Staggering, propping himself up against the wall, Fred followed them. "It's death to stay here! The Army's going to come in any moment now, and it's gonna be a bloodbath! Can't you see? Can't you hear it?"

He followed the burglar quartet to a van that stood parked behind the shop; its headlights cast a cold yellow sheen on them. The one who seemed to be their leader, a heavyset young man with a bandana tied over his head, turned to Fred.

"Sorry, man. This ain't no bus. Beat it."

Fred took out his wallet; one boy whipped out a pistol and took aim at him. Hunching forward from exhaustion, Fred held out the wallet and showed them the bundle of dollar bills. The leader gestured at the boy to put away his gun. He snatched the money from Fred's hands and went to the van... ignoring Fred.

"I know a secret route out of town," Fred half-shouted, still catching his breath. "If you try to get through the main roads, you'll never make it. Ten million people are trying to leave. All normal roads are jammed."

Someone, Fred could not see who, said: "F*** him, man. Let's go." The others loaded the last of the stolen goods into the van and slammed the back doors shut.

The leader stopped, his hand on the driver's door, and seemed to think. "So where should we drive, man?" He pulled a gun of his own and aimed at Fred's head, execution-style. "Speak."

Fred made a laugh similar to a cough, drew a deep breath and straightened his back. "Shoot me and you'll never find out. You'll need me to show you directions. Those monsters are everywhere." A sound of thunder rolled in from another part of town. Jet aircraft roared above. "Hear that? They must be bombing the monsters, now that they found out that plain guns don't work on their skin. This city is toast. Forget about the main roads."

The gang leader scoffed. "And what makes you so good at finding the way... in the dark?"

Fred picked out his old ID badge from the wallet and held it to the glare of the headlights.

"See this?"

The badge, dated two years back, identified him as Fredric M. Bean; Safety Inspector, L.A. County Department of Public Works, Road Maintenance.

"I inspected roads for seven years. I know dirt tracks that are not even on the map! But my car got stuck downtown."

The leader put away his gun; he was a quick decision maker.

"All right... 'Mister Bean'... jump in. But don't f***in' try anything."

"Okay, fine." Fred took the shotgun seat; the leader started up the van and backed it around to aim the front at the exit alley. "Where do we get out of town, away from the cops and the military?"

Fred rubbed his temples. "You got a bottle or something? I could really use a drink right now."

The leader slapped the back of Fred's head and grabbed his scalp - hard.

"You a f***in' drunk? You'll show the way sober, or dead! Now get to work!"

"Ow! Leggo!" Fred was released, trembling. He nodded briskly. "Okay. Okay! Don't go west, north or south. All those roads are going to be blocked. And the monsters are attracted to crowds... right. You got a road map?"

"I thought you did."

"Heh... right. Take a right turn, then I'll point... what's your name?"

In the vertical beam of the ceiling lamp, their faces were sweaty sculptures cut through by drooping shadows.

"My friends call me Inches. To you, I'm Mister Inches." His eyes revealed only tension, rage and unblinking determination.

"Mister Inches, sir... drive right, please. And hurry."

From behind Fred's seat, someone put a hand on his shoulder.

"This had better work, 'Mister Bean. '"

"Sure."

The van accelerated out of the alley, swerved right into the street and went east.



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