Part 24 (1/2)

As a doctor, he might have thought melanoma, but not with borders that precise.

”On his back,” she said. ”He's dirty, they're never going to come for him.” She laughed a little. ”We're rejects.”

Again Tom Dryden slammed himself against the window.

”We can't let him just do that,” David said, attempting to pull him toward the door. As he did three more people appeared, all running to help, Amy Feiffer and Robert Noonan, both from the cla.s.s, and Mack Graham. Robert was the youngest son of George Noonan of Web development fame.

The group of them manhandled Tom through the door and into the grounds. David hated to do it, but getting him out of here was better than having him slam himself to pieces.

As they returned, they shut and locked the door.

”How come you're out, Mack?”

”Nurse Fleigler released me.”

”Yeah, well, okay, I can understand that.” Under these circ.u.mstances, n.o.body could be left in lockup. But with this man, it was tempting.

”What can we do to help?” Noonan asked.

Now there was a thunder of gunfire, and greenish-blue flashes stuttered in the violet of the new star.

Under this new light, all the colors were different. The gra.s.s was a washed out pinkish brown, the new leaves on the trees yellow instead of green, the trunks black. As it raced toward the firefight, a white SUV, one of the security vehicles, appeared bright pink. The perimeter wall, visible in the distance, had gone from gray to rose, its razor wire gleaming an odd pinkish red.

Dryden stood where Linda had stood, his face raised, screaming rage at the sky.

David heard a cry from inside, and he recognized the voice instantly, and he forgot everything, and ran back in.

Caroline stood before her empty easel, her face in her hands. The easel itself was just a frame with tatters of canvas around the edges.

In the way that people sharing a tragedy will, Mack laid an arm on her shoulder. She shrugged him off, but he persisted, and finally she leaned against him and sobbed.

”There are more materials,” Susan Denman said.

”Where are they?” Mack asked. ”I'll help you.”

”Caroline,” Susan said, ”why don't we go to the supply room together, you can pick out what you need.”

When Mack started to follow, David called him back.

”Mack, I want you to remain in sight of staff at all times.”

”Of course.”

He was suspicious of Mack. Of course, there was no proof of anything, but when you added this patient up, you got a sum that was wrong.

Looking out across the bizarrely colored landscape, David knew that this new light would affect the human brain profoundly. Serotonin, dopamine-all the neurotransmitters-were light dependent, and this radically different wavelength-violet-would have the effect of intensifying and changing not only colors, but also the mind and heart. Colors you could see, but what it might be doing to brain chemistry he could scarcely imagine.

Again there were shots, but this time they were so close that David instinctively ducked. Mack hurried back to the door, and David followed.

”Katie,” he called behind him, ”get the patients upstairs, keep them away from the windows.”

As Mack opened the door, David saw movement around the side of the house, and a figure backed into view. He was concentrated on whatever scene was unfolding before him. In his hands there was some sort of a gun, David did not know what sort. But a big one, certainly, oily black and complicated. David's own gun, the little Beretta he'd been issued by Glen, was in his pocket, but he dared not bring it out in the face of that monster.

The gun fired again, and this time the sound drew people out of the recreation area-and he saw that the patients-the real ones-had not gone upstairs at all, but were, in their panic, coming outside and straight into danger, with members of his cla.s.s trying and failing to control them.

”No,” he shouted, ”get back!”

On hearing the voice behind him, the figure turned around, and David saw that this was a boy of maybe fourteen or fifteen, a towhead with darting, frightened eyes made red by the new light.

As he aimed the weapon, David threw himself against the wall. An instant later the heat of bullets seared past his face, and he saw the child's thin frame hopping from the recoil.

Silence followed, then a single, ripping shriek. Turning toward it, David saw that a crowd of patients that had come out the door had been torn to pieces by the bullets.

Many lay screaming, holding themselves, crying and gagging. One man capered wildly, blood as dark as a beet spraying out of his neck. Another bubbled foam from his chest, his hands fluttering around the wound, his eyes darting like the eyes of a trapped animal. Others were still, one of them kneeling and praying with his hands folded, gazing up toward the glow of the star.

The boy came a few hesitant steps closer. His face was a child's, but it contained the cruel shadows of fear and desperation.

Quickly, the boy raised his gun to his shoulder, a snapping, oddly military gesture. Pink fire burst from the barrel and the praying man came sailing backward, his arms thrusting out, hands spread.

Suddenly, there was movement beside David. The light was so bizarre that it was difficult to see some things, such as a fast-moving figure, but as she ran past him, he saw that it was Caroline and she was going to the boy.

”No!”

The boy kept the weapon raised, his face intent.

”Caroline, we need you!”

David ran, trying to put himself between her and the child, but she was well ahead of him.

Then she was standing before the child.

”Don't,” she said to him.

”Mom got shot. You gonna help her, lady?”

”I can help her.”

”She's dead.” The voice was stark and cold. ”What's wrong with the sun?”

”That's not the sun. It's a different star.”

”It ain't the sun?”

”It's dangerous. You need to be inside.”

David tried again. ”Caroline, we can't afford to lose you.”

The boy said, ”I want a bowl of soup.”

”You can have a bowl of soup.”