She was nervous about leaving the engine running； because the sound of it would mask the approach of another vehicle in case Vess came home earlier。 But she needed lights； and she didn't want to risk depleting the battery。
From the drawer； she withdrew the package of gauze pads； the roll of cloth tape； and the scissors。
In the lounge area behind the cockpit； she sat in one of the armchairs。 Earlier； she had stripped out of all the protective gear。 Now she removed her right shoe。 Her sock was sodden with blood； and she peeled it off。
From two punctures in the top of her foot； blood welled dark and thick。 It was seeping； however； not spurting； and she wasn't going to die from the wound itself anytime soon。
She quickly pressed a double thickness of gauze pads over the seeping holes and fixed them in place with a length of cloth tape。 By tightening the tape to apply a little pressure； she might be able to make the bleeding slow or stop。
She would have preferred to saturate the punctures with Bactine or iodine； but she didn't have anything like that。 Anyway； infection wouldn't set in for a few hours； and by then she would have gotten away from here and obtained medical attention。 Or she'd be dead of other causes。
The chance of rabies seemed small to nil。 Edgler Vess would be solicitous of the health of his dogs。 They would have received all their vaccinations。
Her sock was cold and slimy with blood； and she didn't even try to pull it on again。 She slipped her bandaged foot into her shoe and tied the lace slightly looser than usual。
A folding metal stepstool was stored in a narrow slot between the kitchen cabinetry and the refrigerator。 She carried it into the short hallway at the end of the vehicle and opened it under the skylight； which was a flat panel of frosted plastic about three feet long and perhaps twenty inches wide。
She climbed onto the stool to inspect the skylight； hoping that it either tilted open to admit fresh air or was attached to the roof from the interior。 Unfortunately； the panel was fixed； with no louver fimction； and the mounting flange was on the exterior； so she could not get at any screws or rivets from the inside。
Under her padded clothing； she had worn a tool belt that she'd found in one of the drawers of Vess's workbench。 She had taken it off with the rest of the gear。 Now it was on the table in the dining nook。
Unable to be certain what tools she would need； she'd brought a pair of standard pliers； a pair of needle…nose pliers； both flat and rat…tail files； and several sizes of screwdrivers with standard blades and Phillips heads。 There was also a hammer； which was the only thing that she could use。
When she stood on the first step of the two…step stool； the top of her head was only ten inches from the skylight。 Averting her face； she swung the； hammer with her left hand； and the flat steel head met the plastic with a horrendous bang and clatter。
The skylight was undamaged。 Chyna swung the hammer relentlessly。 Each blow reverberated in the plastic overhead but also through all of her strained and weary muscles； through her aching bones。
The motor home was at least fifteen years old； and this appeared to be the original factory…installed skylight。 It wasn't Plexiglas but some less formidable material； over many years of sunshine and bad weather； the plastic had grown brittle。 Finally the rectangular panel cracked along one edge of the frame。 Chyna hammered at the leading point of the fissure； making it grow all the way to the corner； then along the narrow end； and then along the other three…foot length。
She had to pause several times to catch her breath and to change the hammer from hand to hand。 At last the panel rattled loosely in its frame； it now seemed to be secured only by splinters of material along the fissures and by the uncracked fourth edge。
Chyna dropped the hammer； slowly flexed hcr hands a few times to work some of the stiffhess out of them； and then put both palms flat against the plastic。 Grunting with the effort； she pushed upward as she climbed onto the second step of the stool。
With a brittle splintering of plastic； the panel lifted an inch； jagged edges squeaking against each another。 Then it bent backward at its fourth side； creaking； resisting her 。。。 resisting 。。。 until she cried out wordlessly in frustration and； finding new strength； pushed even harder。 Abruptly the fourth side cracked all the way through； with a bang！ as loud as a gunshot。
She pushed the panel out through the ceiling。 It rattled across the roof and dropped to the driveway。
Through the hole above her head； Chyna saw clouds suddenly slide away from the moon。 Cold light bathed her upturned face； and in the bottomless sky was the clean white fire of stars。
Chyna backed the motor home off the driveway and alongside the front of the house； parallel to the porch and as close to it as she could get。 She let the big vehicle roll slowly； anxious not to tear up the thick grass； because under it the ground might be muddy even half a day after the rain had stopped。 She didn't dare bog down。
When she was in position； she put the vehicle in park and set the emergency brake。 She left the engine running。
In the short hall at the back of the motor home； the stepstool had fallen over。 She put it upright； climbed the two steps； and stood with her head in the night air； above the open frame of the broken…out skylight。
She wished the stool had a third step。 She needed to muscle herself out of the hallway； and she was at a less advantageous angle than she would have liked。
She placed her hands flat on the roof on opposite sides of the twenty…inch…wide rectangular opening and struggled to lever her body out of the motor home。 She strained so hard that she could feel the tendons flaring between her neck and shoulders； her pulse pounding like doomsday drums in her temples and carotid arteries； every muscle in her arms and across her back quivering with the effort。
Pain and exhaustion seemed certain to thwart her。 But then she thought of Ariel in the living…room armchair： rocking back and forth； hugging herself； a faraway look in her eyes； her lips parted in what might have been a silent scream。 That image of the girl empowered Chyna； put her in touch with hitherto unknown resources。 Her shaking arms slowly straightened； pulling her body out of the hallway； and inch by inch she kicked her feet as if she were a swimmer ascending from the depths。 At last her elbows locked with her arms at full extension； and she heaved forward； out through the skylight； onto the roof。
On the way； her sweater caught on small fragments of plastic that bristled from the skylight frame。 A few jagged points pierced the knit material and stung her belly； but she broke loose of them。
She crawled forward； rolled onto her back； hiked her sweater； and felt her stomach to see how badly she had been cut。 Blood wept from a couple of shallow punctures； but she wasn't hurt seriously。
From far off in the night came the howls of at least two injured dogs。 Their pathetic cries were so filled with fear； vulnerability； misery； and loneliness that Chyna could hardly bear to listen。
She eased to the edge of the roof and looked down at the yard to the cast of the house。
The uninjured Doberman trotted around the front of the motor home and spotted her at once。 It stood directly under her； gazing up； teeth bared。 It seemed unfazed by the suffering of its three rades。
Chyna moved away from the edge and got to her feet。 The metal surface was somewhat slippery with dew； and she was thankful for the rubber tread on her Rockports。 If she lost her footing and fell off into the yard； with no weapons and no protective clothing； the one remaining Doberman would overwhelm her and tear out her throat in ten seconds flat。
The motor home was only a few inches below the edge of the porch roof。 She had parked so close that the distance between the vehicle and the house was less than a foot。
She stepped up and across that gap； onto the sloped roof of the porch。 The asphalt shingles had a sandy texture and weren't nearly as treacherous as the top of the motor home。
The slope wasn't steep either； and she