He’ll have to kill the people inside, he thought. That’s pretty much automatic. But the cop only bent, offloaded his burden, then backed out onto the porch’s little stoop again. He closed the door and then wiped his hands above it, leaving smears of blood on the lintel. He was so tall he didn’t even have to reach to do this. The gesture gave Johnny a deep chill—it was like something out of the Book of Exodus, instructions for the Angel of Death to pass on by . . . except this man was the Angel of Death. The destroyer.
