Flies in a jar, he thought. That’s all you are now, boys and girls. As to what happens to you next…
That, thankfully, wasn’t his problem. What happened to them after the loose end in South Carolina had been snipped off was up to Mrs. Sigsby.
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks, Julia,” he said, and settled back in his chair to watch a bunch of the kids—now led by Wilholm—go back and try the door they had come through. With no result. The Wilholm brat threw back his head. His mouth opened. Stackhouse wished for audio, so he could hear that scream of frustration.
“We have contained the problem,” he said to Hendricks.
“Um,” Hendricks said.
Stackhouse turned to look at him. “What does that mean?”
“Maybe not quite.”
28
Tim put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “If you feel up to it now, we really need to go back inside and sort this out. We’ll get you that Coke, and—”
“Wait.” Luke was staring at the hand-holding couple crossing the street. They hadn’t noticed the trio standing at the mouth of Orphan Annie’s alley; their attention was focused on the cop-shop.
“Got off the interstate and got lost,” Wendy said. “Bet you anything. We get half a dozen a month. Want to go back in now?”
Luke paid no attention. He could still sense the others, the kids, and they sounded dismayed now, but they were far back in his mind, like voices coming through a ventilator from another room. That woman… the one in the flowery dress…
Something falls over and wakes me up. It must be the trophy from when we won the Northwest Debate Tourney, because that’s the biggest and it makes a hell of a clatter. Someone is bending over me. I say mom because even though I know it isn’t her, she’s a woman and mom is the first word to come into my still-mostly-asleep mind. And she says—
“Sure,” Luke said. “Whatever you want.”
“Great!” Wendy said. “We’ll just—”
“No, that’s what she said.” He pointed. The couple had reached the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s station. They were no longer holding hands. Luke turned to Tim, his eyes wide and panicky. “She’s one of the ones who took me! I saw her again, in the Institute! In the break room! They’re here! I told you they’d come and they’re here!”
Luke whirled and ran for the door, which was unlocked on this side, so Annie could get in late at night, should she so desire.
“What—” Wendy began, but Tim didn’t let her finish. He ran after the boy from the train, and the thought in his mind was that just maybe the kid had been right about Norbert Hollister after all.
29
“Well?” Orphan Annie’s whisper was almost too fierce to be called one. “Do you believe me now, Mr. Corbett Denton?”
Drummer didn’t reply at first, because he was trying to process what he was looking at: three vans parked side by side, and beyond them, a cluster of men and women. Looked like nine of them, enough to field a damn baseball team. And Annie was right, they were armed. It was twilight now, but the light lingered long in late summer, and besides, the streetlights had come on. Drummer could see holstered sidearms and two long guns that looked to him like HKs. People-killing machines. The baseball team was clustered near the front of the old movie theater, but mostly shielded from the sidewalk by its brick flank. They were obviously waiting for something.
“They got scouts!” Annie hissed. “See them crossing the street? They’ll be checking the sheriff’s to see how many are in there! Will you get your goddam guns now, or do I have to go get em myself?”
Drummer turned, and for the first time in twenty years, maybe even thirty, broke into a full-out run. He mounted the steps to the apartment over his barber shop and stopped on the landing long enough to tear in three or four huge breaths. Also long enough to wonder if his heart would be able to stand the strain or if it would simply explode.
His .30–06, which he planned to shoot himself with one of these fine South Carolina nights (might have done it already, if not for an occasional interesting conversation with the town’s new night knocker) was in the closet, and it was loaded. So were the .45 automatic pistol and .38 revolver on the high shelf.
He took all three weapons and ran back down the stairs, panting and sweating and probably stinking like a hog in a steambath, but feeling fully alive for the first time in years. He listened for the sound of shooting, but so far there was nothing.
Maybe they’re cops, he thought, but that seemed unlikely. Cops would have walked right in, showed their IDs, and announced their business. Also, they would have come in black SUVs, Suburbans or Escalades.
At least that was the way they did it on TV.
30
Nick Wilholm led the ragtag troop of lost boys and girls back down the slightly slanted tunnel to the locked door on the Front Half side. Some of the Ward A inmates followed; some just milled around. Pete Littlejohn began to hit the top of his head again, yelling, “Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya.” There was an echo in the tunnel that made his rhythmic chant not just annoying but maddening.
“Join hands,” Nicky said. “All of us.” He lifted his chin to indicate the milling gorks, and added, I think it will bring them.
Like bugs to a bug light, Kalisha thought. It wasn’t very nice, but the truth so seldom was.
They came. As each one joined the circle, the hum became louder. The sides of the tunnel forced their circle into more of a capsule shape, but that was okay. The power was here.
Kalisha understood what Nicky was thinking, not just because she was picking it up but because it was the only play they had left.
Stronger together, she thought, and then, out loud to Avery: “Bust that lock, Avester.”
The hum rose to that feedback scream, and if any one of them had still had a headache, it would have fled in terror. Once again Kalisha had that sense of sublime power. It came on sparkler nights, but then it was dirty. This was clean, because it was them. The Ward A children were silent, but smiling. They felt it, too. And liked it. Kalisha supposed it was the closest to thinking they might ever get.
There was a faint creaking noise from the door, and they could see it settle back in its frame, but that was all. Avery had been standing on his tiptoes, his small face clenched in concentration. Now he slumped and let out his breath.
George: No?
Avery: No. If it was just locked, I think we could, but it’s like the lock isn’t even there.
“Dead,” Iris said. “Dead, dead, can’t be fed, that’s what I said, the lock is dead.”
“Froze them somehow,” Nicky said. And we can’t bust through, can we?
Avery: No, solid steel.
“Where’s Superman when you need him?” George said. He scrubbed his hands up his cheeks, producing a humorless smile.
Helen sat down, put her hands to her face, and began to cry. “What good are we?” She said it again, this time as a mental echo: What good are we?
Nicky turned to Kalisha. Any ideas?
No.
He turned to Avery. What about you?
Avery shook his head.