Part 9 (1/2)

Clay peered out through the window over the sink. There was a neat little brick patio behind the house with a gas grill on it. Beyond the patio was Tom's yard, half-gra.s.s and half-garden. At the back was a high board fence with a gate in it. The gate was open. The bolt holding it closed must have been shot across because it now hung askew, looking to Clay like a broken wrist. It occurred to him that Tom could have made coffee on the gas grill, if not for the man sitting in his garden beside what had to be an ornamental wheelbarrow, eating the soft inside of a split pumpkin and spitting out the seeds. He was wearing a mechanic's coverall and a greasy cap with a faded letter B B on it. Written in faded red script on the left breast of his coverall was on it. Written in faded red script on the left breast of his coverall was George. George. Clay could hear the soft smooching sounds his face made every time he dove into the pumpkin. Clay could hear the soft smooching sounds his face made every time he dove into the pumpkin.

'f.u.c.k,' Clay said in a low voice. 'It's one of them.'

'Yes. And where there's one there'll be more.'

'Did he break the gate to get in?'

'Of course he did,' Tom said. 'I didn't see him do it, but it was locked when I left yesterday, you can depend on that. I don't have the world's best relations.h.i.+p with Scottoni, the guy who lives on the other side. He has no use for fellas like me,' as he's told me on several occasions.' He paused, then went on in a lower voice. He had been speaking quietly to begin with, and now Clay had to lean toward him to hear him. 'You know what's crazy? I know know that guy. He works at Sonny's Texaco, down in the Center. It's the only gas station in town that still does repairs. Or did. He replaced a radiator hose for me once. Told me about how he and his brother made a trip to Yankee Stadium last year, saw Curt Schilling beat the Big Unit. Seemed like a nice enough guy. Now look at him! Sitting in my garden eating a raw pumpkin!' that guy. He works at Sonny's Texaco, down in the Center. It's the only gas station in town that still does repairs. Or did. He replaced a radiator hose for me once. Told me about how he and his brother made a trip to Yankee Stadium last year, saw Curt Schilling beat the Big Unit. Seemed like a nice enough guy. Now look at him! Sitting in my garden eating a raw pumpkin!'

'What's going on, you guys?' Alice asked from behind them.

Tom turned around, looking dismayed. 'You don't want to see this,' he said.

'That won't work,' Clay said. 'She's got to see it.'

He smiled at Alice, and it wasn't that hard to smile. There was no monogram on the pocket of the pajamas Tom had loaned her, but they were blue, just as he had imagined, and she looked most dreadfully cute in them, with her feet bare and the pants legs rolled up to her s.h.i.+ns and her hair tousled with sleep. In spite of her nightmares, she looked better rested than Tom. Clay was willing to bet she looked better rested than he did, too.

'It's not a car wreck, or anything,' he said. 'Just a guy eating a pumpkin in Tom's backyard.'

She stood between them, putting her hands on the lip of the sink and rising up on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet to look out. Her arm brushed Clay's, and he could feel the sleep-warmth still radiating from her skin. She looked for a long time, then turned to Tom.

'You said they all killed themselves,' she said, and Clay couldn't tell if she was accusing or mock scolding. She probably doesn't know herself, She probably doesn't know herself, he thought. he thought.

'I didn't say for sure,' Tom replied, sounding lame.

'You sounded pretty sure to me.' She looked out again. At least, Clay thought, she wasn't freaking out. In fact he thought she looked remarkably composed-if a little Chaplinesque-in her slightly outsize pajamas. 'Uh* guys?'

'What?' they said together.

'Look at the little wheelbarrow he's sitting next to. Look at the wheel.'

Clay had already seen what she was talking about-the litter of pumpkin-sh.e.l.l, pumpkin-meat, and pumpkin seeds.

'He smashed the pumpkin on the wheel to break it open and get to what's inside,' Alice said. 'I guess he's one of them-'

'Oh, he's one of them, all right,' Clay said. George the mechanic was sitting in the garden with his legs apart, allowing Clay to see that since yesterday afternoon he'd forgotten all his mother had taught him about dropping trou before you did number one.

'-but he used that wheel as a tool. tool. That doesn't seem so crazy to me.' That doesn't seem so crazy to me.'

'One of them was using a knife yesterday,' Tom said. 'And there was another guy jabbing a couple of car aerials.'

'Yes, but* this seems different, somehow.'

'More peaceful, you mean?' Tom glanced back at the intruder in his garden. 'I wouldn't want to go out there and find out.'

'No, not that. I don't mean peaceful. I don't know exactly how to explain it.'

Clay thought he had an idea of what she was talking about. The aggression they had witnessed yesterday had been a blind, forward-rus.h.i.+ng thing. An anything-that-comes-to-hand thing. Yes, there had been the businessman with the knife and the muscular young guy jabbing the car aerials in the air as he ran, but there had also been the man in the park who'd torn off the dog's ear with his teeth. Pixie Light had also used her teeth. This seemed a lot different, and not just because it was about eating instead of killing. But like Alice, Clay couldn't put his finger on just how how it was different. it was different.

'Oh G.o.d, two more,' Alice said.

Through the open back gate came a woman of about forty in a dirty gray pants suit and an elderly man dressed in jogging shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt with gray power printed across the front. The woman in the pants suit had been wearing a green blouse that now hung in tatters, revealing the cups of a pale green bra beneath. The elderly man was limping badly, throwing his elbows out in a kind of buck-and-wing with each step to keep his balance. His scrawny left leg was caked with dried blood, and that foot was missing its running shoe. The remains of an athletic sock, grimed with dirt and blood, flapped from his left ankle. The elderly man's longish white hair hung around his vacant face in a kind of cowl. The woman in the pants suit was making a repet.i.tive noise that sounded like 'Goom! Goom!' 'Goom! Goom!' as she surveyed the yard and the garden. She looked at George the Pumpkin Eater as though he were of no account at all, then strode past him toward the remaining cuc.u.mbers. Here she knelt, s.n.a.t.c.hed one from its vine, and began to munch. The old man in the gray power s.h.i.+rt marched to the edge of the garden and then only stood there awhile like a robot that has finally run out of juice. He was wearing tiny gold gla.s.ses-reading gla.s.ses, Clay thought-that gleamed in the early light. He looked to Clay like someone who had once been very smart and was now very stupid. as she surveyed the yard and the garden. She looked at George the Pumpkin Eater as though he were of no account at all, then strode past him toward the remaining cuc.u.mbers. Here she knelt, s.n.a.t.c.hed one from its vine, and began to munch. The old man in the gray power s.h.i.+rt marched to the edge of the garden and then only stood there awhile like a robot that has finally run out of juice. He was wearing tiny gold gla.s.ses-reading gla.s.ses, Clay thought-that gleamed in the early light. He looked to Clay like someone who had once been very smart and was now very stupid.

The three people in the kitchen crowded together, staring out the window, hardly breathing.

The old man's gaze settled on George, who threw away a piece of pumpkin-sh.e.l.l, examined the rest, and then plowed his face back in and resumed his breakfast. Far from behaving aggressively toward the newcomers, he seemed not to notice them at all.

The old man limped forward, bent, and began to tug at a pumpkin the size of a soccer ball. He was less than three feet from George. Clay, remembering the pitched battle outside the T station, held his breath and waited.

He felt Alice grasp his arm. All the sleep-warmth had departed her hand. 'What's he going to do?' she asked in a low voice.

Clay only shook his head.

The old man tried to bite the pumpkin and only b.u.mped his nose. It should have been funny but wasn't. His gla.s.ses were knocked askew and he pushed them back into place. It was a gesture so normal that for a brief moment Clay felt all but positive that he he was the one who was crazy. was the one who was crazy.

'Goom!' cried the woman in the tattered blouse, and threw away her half-eaten cuc.u.mber. She had spied a few late tomatoes and crawled toward them with her hair hanging in her face. The seat of her pants was badly soiled. cried the woman in the tattered blouse, and threw away her half-eaten cuc.u.mber. She had spied a few late tomatoes and crawled toward them with her hair hanging in her face. The seat of her pants was badly soiled.

The old man had spied the ornamental wheelbarrow. He took his pumpkin to it, then seemed to register George, sitting there beside it. He looked at him, head c.o.c.ked. George gestured with one orange-coated hand at the wheelbarrow, a gesture Clay had seen a thousand times.

'Be my guest,' Tom murmured. 'I'll be d.a.m.ned.'

The old man fell on his knees in the garden, a movement that obviously caused him considerable pain. He grimaced, raised his lined face to the brightening sky, and uttered a chuffing grunt. Then he lifted the pumpkin over the wheel. He studied the line of descent for several moments, elderly biceps trembling, and brought the pumpkin down, smas.h.i.+ng it open. It fell in two meaty halves. What happened next happened fast. George dropped his own mostly eaten pumpkin in his lap, rocked forward, grabbed the old man's head in his big, orange-stained hands, and twisted it. They heard the crack of the old man's breaking neck even through the gla.s.s. His long white hair flew. His small spectacles disappeared into what Clay thought were beets. His body spasmed once, then went limp. George dropped it. Alice began to scream and Tom covered her mouth with his hand. Her eyes, bulging with terror, peered over the top of it. Outside in the garden, George picked up a fresh chunk of pumpkin and began calmly to eat.

The woman in the shredded blouse looked around for a moment, casually, then plucked another tomato and bit into it. Red juice ran from her chin and trickled down the dirty line of her throat. She and George sat there in Tom McCourt's backyard garden, eating vegetables, and for some reason the name of one of his favorite paintings popped into Clay's mind: The Peaceable Kingdom. The Peaceable Kingdom.

He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Tom looked at him bleakly and said: 'Not anymore.'

13.

The three of them were still standing there at the kitchen window five minutes later when an alarm began to bray at some distance. It sounded tired and hoa.r.s.e, as though it would run down soon.

'Any idea what that might be?' Clay asked. In the garden, George had abandoned the pumpkins and dug up a large potato. This had brought him closer to the woman, but he showed no interest in her. At least not yet.

'My best guess would be that the generator at the Safeway in the Center just gave up,' Tom said. 'There's probably a battery-powered alarm in case that happens, because of all the perishables. But that's only a guess. For all I know, it's the First Malden Bank and T-'

'Look!' Alice said.

The woman stopped in the act of plucking another tomato, got up, and walked toward the east side of Tom's house. George got to his feet as she pa.s.sed, and Clay was sure he meant to kill her as he had the old man. He winced in antic.i.p.ation and saw Tom reaching for Alice, to turn her away. But George only followed the woman, disappearing around the corner of the house behind her.

Alice turned and hurried toward the kitchen door.

'Don't let them see you!' Tom called in a low, urgent voice, and went after her.