Part 13 (1/2)

'I think I know why she was on the street. This was in Topsfield, about ten miles east of here? Me and my people, we were in a Motel 6. She was walking that way. Only not really walking. Hurrying. Almost running. Looking back over her shoulder. I saw her because I couldn't sleep.' He shook his head. 'Getting used to sleeping days is a b.i.t.c.h.'

Clay thought of telling Handt they'd all get used to it, then didn't. He saw Alice was holding her talisman again. He didn't want Alice hearing this and knew there was no way to keep her from it. Partly because it was survival information (and unlike the stuff about the New Hamps.h.i.+re state line, he was almost positive this was solid information); partly because the world was going to be full of stories like this for a while. If they listened to enough of them, some might eventually begin to line up and make patterns.

'Probably just looking for a better place to stay, you know? No more than that. Saw the Motel 6 and thought, Hey, a room with a bed. Right up there by the Exxon station. Only a block away' But before she got even halfway, a bunch of them came around the corner. They were walking* you know how they walk now?'

Roscoe Handt walked toward them stiffly, like a tin soldier, with his newsboy's bag swinging. That wasn't how the phone-crazies walked, but they knew what he was trying to convey and nodded.

'And she*' He leaned back against the overturned truck and scrubbed briefly at his face with his hands. 'This is what I want you to understand, okay? This is why you can't get caught out, can't get fooled that they're getting normal because every now and then one or two of them has lucked into hitting the right controls on a boombox and started a CD playing-'

'You've seen that?' Tom asked. 'Heard 'Heard that?' that?'

'Yeah, twice. Second guy I saw was walking along, swinging the thing from side to side so hard in his arms that it was skipping like h.e.l.l, but yeah, it was playing. So they like music, and sure, they might be retrieving some of their marbles, but that's exactly why you have to be careful, see?'

'What happened to the woman?' Alice asked. 'The one who got caught out?'

'She tried to act like one of them,' Handt said. 'And I thought, standing there at the window of the room where I was, I thought, Yeah, you go, girl, you might have a chance if you can hang on to that act a little while and then make a break, get inside somewhere.' Because they don't like to go inside places, have you noticed that?'

Clay, Tom, and Alice shook their heads.

The man nodded. 'They will, will, I've seen em do it, but they don't like to.' I've seen em do it, but they don't like to.'

'How did they get on to her?' Alice asked again.

'I don't exactly know. They smelled her, or something.'

'Or maybe touched her thoughts,' Tom said.

'Or couldn't couldn't touch them,' Alice said. touch them,' Alice said.

'I don't know about any of that,' Handt said, 'but I know they tore her apart in the street. I mean literally tore her to pieces.'

'And this happened when?' Clay asked. He saw Alice was swaying and put an arm around her.

'Nine this morning. In Topsfield. So if you see a bunch of them walking up the Yella Brick Road with a boombox that's playing Why Can't We Be Friends'*' He surveyed them grimly by the glow of the flashlights strapped to the sides of his head. 'I wouldn't go running out yelling kemo sake, kemo sake, that's all.' He paused. 'And I wouldn't go north, either. Even if they don't shoot you at the border, it's a waste of time.' that's all.' He paused. 'And I wouldn't go north, either. Even if they don't shoot you at the border, it's a waste of time.'

But after a little consultation at the edge of the IGA parking lot, they went north anyway.

6.

They paused near North Andover, standing on a pedestrian overpa.s.s above Route 495. The clouds were thickening again, but the moon broke through long enough to show them six lanes of silent traffic. Near the bridge where they stood, in the southbound lanes, an overturned sixteen-wheeler lay like a dead elephant. Orange pylons had been set up around it, showing that someone had made at least a token response, and there were two abandoned police cruisers beyond them, one on its side. The rear half of the truck had been burned black. There was no sign of bodies, not in the momentary moonlight. A few people labored westward in the breakdown lane, but it was slow going even there.

'Kind of makes it all real, doesn't it?' Tom said.

'No,' Alice said. She sounded indifferent. 'To me it looks like a special effect in some big summer movie. Buy a bucket of popcorn and a c.o.ke and watch the end of the world in*what do they call it? Computer graphic imaging? CGI? Blue screens? Some f.u.c.king thing.' She held up the little sneaker by one lace. 'This is all I need to make it real. Something small enough to hold in my hand. Come on, let's go.'

7.

There were plenty of abandoned vehicles on Highway 28, but it was wide-open compared to 495, and by four o'clock they were nearing Methuen, hometown of Mr. Roscoe Handt, he of the stereo flashlights. And they believed enough of Handt's story to want to be under cover well before daylight. They chose a motel at the intersection of 28 and 110. A dozen or so cars were parked in front of the various units, but to Clay they had an abandoned feel. And why wouldn't they? The two roads were pa.s.sable, but only if you were on foot. Clay and Tom stood at the edge of the parking lot, waving their flashlights over their heads.

'We're okay!' Tom called. 'Normal folks! Coming in!'

They waited. There was no response from what the sign identified as the Sweet Valley Inn, Heated Pool, HBO, Group Rates.

'Come on,' Alice said. 'My feet hurt. And it'll be getting light soon, won't it?'

'Look at this,' Clay said. He picked up a CD from the motel's turn-in and shone the beam of his flashlight on it. It was Love Songs, Love Songs, by Michael Bolton. by Michael Bolton.

'And you said they were getting smarter,' Tom said.

'Don't be so quick to judge,' Clay said as they started toward the units. 'Whoever had it threw it away, right?'

'More likely just dropped it,' Tom said.

Alice shone her own light on the CD. 'Who is is this guy?' this guy?'

'Honeybunch,' Tom said, 'you don't want to know.' He took the CD and tossed it back over his shoulder.

They forced the doors on three adjoining units-as gently as possible, so they could at least shoot the bolts once they were inside-and with beds to sleep in, they slept most of the day away. They were not disturbed, although that evening Alice said she thought she had heard music coming from far away. But, she admitted, it might have been part of a dream she was having.

8.

There were maps for sale in the lobby of the Sweet Valley Inn that would offer more detail than their road atlas. They were in a gla.s.s display cabinet that had been smashed. Clay took one for Ma.s.sachusetts and one for New Hamps.h.i.+re, reaching in carefully so as not to cut his hand, and saw a young man lying on the other side of the reception counter as he did so. His eyes glared sightlessly. For a moment Clay thought someone had put an oddly colored corsage in the corpse's mouth. Then he saw the greenish points poking out through the dead man's cheeks and realized they matched the broken gla.s.s littering the shelves of the display cabinet. The corpse was wearing a nametag that said my name is hank ask me about weekly rates. Clay thought briefly of Mr. Ricardi as he looked at Hank.

Tom and Alice were waiting for him just inside the lobby door. It was quarter of nine, and outside it was full dark. 'How did you do?' Alice asked.

'These may help,' he said. He gave her the maps, then lifted the Coleman lantern so she and Tom could study them, compare them against the road atlas, and plot the night's travel. He was trying to cultivate a sense of fatalism about Johnny and Sharon, trying to keep the bald truth of his current family situation front and center in his mind: what had happened in Kent Pond had happened. His son and his wife were either all right or they weren't. He would either find them or he wouldn't. His success at this sort of semi-magical thinking came and went.

When it started slipping, he told himself he was lucky to be alive, and this was certainly true. What balanced his good luck out was that he'd been in Boston, a hundred miles south of Kent Pond by even the quickest route (which they were definitely not not taking), when the Pulse happened. And yet he'd fallen in with good people. There was that. People he could think of as friends. He'd seen plenty of others-Beer-Keg Guy and Plump Bible-Toting Lady as well as Mr. Roscoe Handt of Methuen-who weren't as lucky. taking), when the Pulse happened. And yet he'd fallen in with good people. There was that. People he could think of as friends. He'd seen plenty of others-Beer-Keg Guy and Plump Bible-Toting Lady as well as Mr. Roscoe Handt of Methuen-who weren't as lucky.