Part 19 (1/2)

She plunged off on hall patrol again before anyone could reply, the sneaker swinging from her wrist.

The Head looked at Jordan. 'Did you feel anything, son?'

Jordan hesitated, then said, 'I felt something. something. The hair on my neck tried to stand up.' The hair on my neck tried to stand up.'

Now the Head turned his gaze to the men on the other side of the table. 'What about you two? You were far closer.'

Alice saved them from having to answer. She ran into the kitchen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide, the soles of her sneakers squeaking on the tiles. 'They're coming,' she said.

22.

From the bay window the four of them watched the phone-crazies come up Academy Slope in converging lines, their long shadows making a huge pin-wheel shape on the green gra.s.s. As they neared what Jordan and the Head called Tonney Arch, the lines drew together and the pinwheel seemed to spin in the late golden sunlight even as it contracted and solidified.

Alice could no longer stand not holding the sneaker. She had torn it from her wrist and was squeezing it compulsively. 'They'll see what we did and they'll turn around,' she said, speaking low and rapidly. 'They've gotten at least that that smart, if they're picking up books again, they must have.' smart, if they're picking up books again, they must have.'

'We'll see,' Clay said. He was almost positive the phone-crazies would would go onto Tonney Field, even if what they saw there disquieted their strange group mind; it would be dark soon and they had nowhere else to go. A fragment of a lullaby his mother used to sing him floated through his mind: go onto Tonney Field, even if what they saw there disquieted their strange group mind; it would be dark soon and they had nowhere else to go. A fragment of a lullaby his mother used to sing him floated through his mind: Little man, you've had a busy day. Little man, you've had a busy day.

'I hope they go and I hope they stay,' she said, lower than ever. 'I feel like I'm going to explode.' She gave a wild little laugh. 'Only it's them them that's supposed to explode, isn't it? that's supposed to explode, isn't it? Them.' Them.' Tom turned to look at her and she said, 'I'm all right. I'm fine, so just close your mouth.' Tom turned to look at her and she said, 'I'm all right. I'm fine, so just close your mouth.'

'All I was going to say is that it'll be what it is,' he said.

'New Age c.r.a.p. You sound like my father. The Picture Frame King.' A tear rolled down one cheek and she rubbed it impatiently away with the heel of her hand.

'Just calm down, Alice. Watch.'

'I'll try, okay? I'll try.'

'And stop with the sneaker,' Jordan said-irritably, for him. 'That squelchy sound is making me crazy.'

She looked down at the sneaker, as if surprised, then slipped it around her wrist on its loop again. They watched as the phone-crazies converged at Tonney Arch and pa.s.sed beneath it with less pus.h.i.+ng and confusion than any crowd attending the Homecoming Weekend soccer match could ever have equaled-Clay was sure of that. They watched as the crazies spread out again on the far side, crossing the concourse and filing down the ramps. They waited to see that steady march slow and stop, but it never did. The last stragglers-most of them hurt and helping each other along, but still walking in those close groups-were in long before the reddening sun had pa.s.sed below the dormitories on the west side of the Gaiten Academy campus. They had returned once more, like homing pigeons to their nests or the swallows to Capistrano. Not five minutes after the evening star became visible in the darkening sky, Dean Martin began singing 'Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime.'

'I was worried for nothing, wasn't I?' Alice said. 'Sometimes I'm a putz. That's what my father says.'

'No,' the Head told her. 'All the putzes had cell phones, dear. That's why they're out there and you're in here, with us.'

Tom said: 'I wonder if Rafe's still making out okay.'

'I wonder if Johnny is,' Clay said. 'Johnny and Sharon.'

23.

At ten o'clock on that windy autumn night, under a moon now entering its last quarter, Clay and Tom stood in the band alcove at the home end of the Tonney soccer field. Directly in front of them was a waist-high concrete barrier that had been heavily padded on the playing-field side. On their side were a few rusting music stands and a drift of litter that was ankle-deep; the wind blew the torn bags and sc.r.a.ps of paper in here, and here they came to rest. Behind and above them, back at the turnstiles, Alice and Jordan flanked the Head, a tall figure propped on a slender rod of cane. Debby Boone's voice rolled across the field in amplified waves of comic majesty. Ordinarily she would be followed by Lee Ann Womack singing 'I Hope You Dance,' then back to Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Music Makers, but perhaps not tonight.

The wind was freshening. It brought them the smell of rotting bodies from the marsh behind the indoor-track building and the aroma of dirt and sweat from the living ones packed together on the field beyond the band alcove. If you can call that living, If you can call that living, Clay thought, and flashed himself a small and bitter inside smile. Rationalization was a great human sport, maybe Clay thought, and flashed himself a small and bitter inside smile. Rationalization was a great human sport, maybe the the great human sport, but he would not fool himself tonight: of course they called it living. Whatever they were or whatever they were becoming, they called it living just as he did. great human sport, but he would not fool himself tonight: of course they called it living. Whatever they were or whatever they were becoming, they called it living just as he did.

'What are you waiting for?' Tom murmured.

'Nothing,' Clay murmured back. 'Just* nothing.'

From the holster Alice had found in the Nickerson bas.e.m.e.nt, Clay drew Beth Nickerson's old-fas.h.i.+oned Colt.45 revolver, now once more fully loaded. Alice had offered him the automatic rifle-which so far they had not even test-fired-and he had refused, saying that if the pistol didn't do the job, probably nothing would.

'I don't know why the auto wouldn't be better, if it squirts thirty or forty bullets a second,' she said. 'You could turn those trucks into cheese-graters.'

He had agreed that this might be so, but reminded Alice that their object tonight was not destruction per se but ignition. Then he'd explained the highly illegal nature of the ammunition Arnie Nickerson had obtained for his wife's.45 fraggers. What had once been called dumdum bullets.

'Okay, but if it doesn't work, you can still try Sir Speedy,' she'd said. 'Unless the guys out there just, you know*' She wouldn't actually use the word attack, attack, but had made a little walking motion with the fingers of the hand not holding the sneaker. 'In that case, beat feet.' but had made a little walking motion with the fingers of the hand not holding the sneaker. 'In that case, beat feet.'

The wind tore a tattered strip of Homecoming Weekend bunting free of the Scoreboard and sent it dancing above the packed sleepers. Around the field, seeming to float in the dark, were the red eyes of the boomboxes, all but one playing without benefit of CDs. The bunting struck the b.u.mper of one of the propane trucks, flapped there several seconds, then slipped free and flew off into the night. The trucks were parked side by side in the middle of the field, rising from the ma.s.s of packed forms like weird metal mesas. The phone-crazies slept beneath them and so closely around them that some were crammed up against the wheels. Clay thought again of pa.s.senger pigeons, and the way nineteenth-century hunters had brained them on the ground with clubs. The whole species had been wiped out by the beginning of the twentieth* but of course they'd only been birds, with little bird-brains, incapable of rebooting.

'Clay?' Tom asked, low. 'Are you sure you want to go through with this?'

'No,' Clay said. Now that he was face-to-face with it, there were too many unanswered questions. What they would do if it went wrong was only one of them. What they would do if it went right was another. Because pa.s.senger pigeons were incapable of revenge. Those things out there, on the other hand- 'But I'm going to.'

'Then do it,' Tom said. 'Because, all else aside, You Light Up My Life' blows dead rats in h.e.l.l.'

Clay raised the.45 and held his right wrist firmly with his left hand. He centered the gunsight on the tank of the truck on the left. He would fire twice into that one, then twice into the other one. That would leave one more bullet for each, if necessary. If that didn't work, he could try the automatic weapon Alice had taken to calling Sir Speedy.

'Duck if it goes up,' he told Tom.

'Don't worry,' Tom said. His face was drawn into a grimace, antic.i.p.ating the report of the gun and whatever might follow.

Debby Boone was building to a big finish. It suddenly seemed very important to Clay that he beat her. If you miss at this range, you're a monkey, If you miss at this range, you're a monkey, he thought, and pulled the trigger. he thought, and pulled the trigger.

There was no chance for a second shot and no need of one. A bright red flower bloomed in the center of the tank, and by its light he saw a deep dent in the previously smooth metal surface. h.e.l.l appeared to be inside, and growing. Then the flower was a river, red turning orange-white.

'Down!' he shouted, and pushed Tom's shoulder. He fell on top of the smaller man just as the night became desert noon. There was a huge, whoos.h.i.+ng roar followed by a guttering he shouted, and pushed Tom's shoulder. He fell on top of the smaller man just as the night became desert noon. There was a huge, whoos.h.i.+ng roar followed by a guttering BANG BANG that Clay felt in every bone of his body. Shrapnel shot overhead. He thought Tom screamed but he wasn't sure, because there was another of those whoos.h.i.+ng roars and suddenly the air was growing hot, hot, hot. that Clay felt in every bone of his body. Shrapnel shot overhead. He thought Tom screamed but he wasn't sure, because there was another of those whoos.h.i.+ng roars and suddenly the air was growing hot, hot, hot.

He seized Tom partly by the scruff of the neck and partly by the collar of his s.h.i.+rt and began to drag him backward up the concrete ramp leading to the turnstiles, his eyes slitted almost completely shut against the enormous glare flowing from the center of the soccer field. Something enormous landed in the auxiliary stands to his right. He thought maybe an engine block. He was pretty sure the shattered bits and twists of metal under his feet had once been Gaiten Academy music stands.

Tom was screaming and his gla.s.ses were askew, but he was on his feet and he looked intact. The two of them ran up the ramp like escapees from Gomorrah. Clay could see their shadows, long and spider-thin in front of them, and realized objects were falling all around them: arms, legs, a piece of b.u.mper, a woman's head with the hair blazing. From behind them came a second tremendous BANG BANG-or maybe it was a third-and this time he he was the one who screamed. His feet tangled and he went sprawling. The whole world was rapidly building heat and the most incredible light: he felt as if he were standing on G.o.d's personal soundstage. was the one who screamed. His feet tangled and he went sprawling. The whole world was rapidly building heat and the most incredible light: he felt as if he were standing on G.o.d's personal soundstage.

We didn't know what we were doing, he thought, looking at a wad of gum, a tromped Junior Mints box, a blue Pepsi Cola cap. he thought, looking at a wad of gum, a tromped Junior Mints box, a blue Pepsi Cola cap. We didn't have a clue and we're going to pay with our f.u.c.king lives. We didn't have a clue and we're going to pay with our f.u.c.king lives.

'Get up!' That was Tom, and he thought Tom was screaming, but his voice seemed to be coming from a mile away. He felt Tom's delicate, long-fingered hands yanking at his arm. Then Alice was there, too. Alice was yanking on his other arm, and she was glaring glaring in the light. He could see the sneaker dancing and bobbing from its string on her wrist. She was spattered with blood, bits of cloth, and gobbets of smoking flesh. in the light. He could see the sneaker dancing and bobbing from its string on her wrist. She was spattered with blood, bits of cloth, and gobbets of smoking flesh.

Clay scrambled up, then went back to one knee, and Alice hauled him up again by main force. From behind them, propane roared like a dragon. And here came Jordan, with the Head tottering along right behind him, his face rosy and every wrinkle running with sweat.