He didn't want to think about it.
Arriving home, he was still shaken. He picked up his phone, tried to dial Bill, but the line was dead, no dial tone even, and he immediately turned on his PC to check whether it was the phone or the line.
His monitor brightened into existence, but the screen, instead of displaying his usual menu, showed row after row of the same sentence, the same four words, moving up from the bottom of the screen and disappearing at the top:
THE STORE IS COMING
He closed his eyes, hoping this was just some sort of hallucination, a panic attack, but when he opened his eyes and looked at his monitor the words were still there, scrolling faster than ever:
THE STORE IS COMING THE STORE IS COMING THE STORE IS COMING THE STORE IS
COMING
Suddenly the scrolling stopped. The last appearance of the sentence remained at the top of the screen, followed, halfway down, by two new words:
FOR YOU
They knew! They'd captured Ben and now they were after him! His thoughts were racing a mile a minute, his mind filled with conflicting options and contingency plans, but his body was listening to some rational, logical section of his brain, and even as he tried to figure out what to do, he was turning off the PC, unplugging it, rolling up the cables and power cords.
He had to escape, he had to leave, he had to get out of Juniper.
After that, he could figure out what action to take.
He picked up his PC and, struggling mightily, ran with it out to the truck.
3
Street was gone.
Bill had wanted to meet with him and hash out what they could piece together about Ben's disappearance, but the shop was closed, and when he arrived at Street's house, the truck was not there, the front door was open, and his friend was nowhere in sight.
And Ben's car was in the driveway.
He walked slowly through the empty house. There was no sign of a struggle, no indication that anyone had broken in, and it was Bill's gut feeling that Street had simply panicked and fled.
But why?
Because he'd seen what had happened to Ben?
He walked into Street's bedroom. This was Juniper and not New York, so even though the door to the house was wide-open, nothing had been stolen or vandalized, but in a way that made it seem even more disturbing. He moved on to the guest room. Ben's disappearance, like most of the others recently, seemed to him a legitimate missing person case. But Street's truck was gone, and that said to him that Street had taken off on his own. Someone may have been after him, but he'd hightailed it out of here before they could catch him.
It was still strange that Street hadn't made even a token effort to get in touch, though. That was the only thing that worried him. Of course, he hadn't bothered to take his clothes or personal belongings, either, so maybe he simply hadn't had time.
_Maybe they'd captured him and taken him away in his own truck._
He didn't want to think about that.
Not yet.
He walked into Street's den, and the first thing he noticed was that the computer was gone. And the modem.
That made Bill feel better. Those were Street's priorities. He might not have had time to pack clothes or family photos, but he'd taken his computer.
Bill stared at the empty space on the desk for a moment, then turned around, walked out of the house, and headed over to the police station to file a missing persons report.
"Do you think we'll ever find out what happened to them?" Ginny asked quietly.
Bill shook his head, closing his eyes against the headache that had kicked the asses of four aspirin tablets and had been with him all afternoon.
"What about the police?" she said.
"What about them?"
"Aren't they supposed to be investigating this?"
He nodded. "_Supposed_ to be. And I'm sure they're going through the motions, filing all the paperwork, dotting every _i_ and crossing every _t_.
But, let's face it -- they're working for The Store."
"Can't we go above their heads? Talk to . . . I don't know, the FBI or something?"
He sighed tiredly. "I don't know."
She sat down on the couch next to him. "There's going to be no one left in this town pretty soon."
"Except Store employees."
She did not respond.
"Maybe we should move," he said. "Get out while we can."
She was silent for a moment. "Maybe we should," she said finally.
After dinner, while Ginny did the dishes, he snuck back into his office and checked his E-mail.
There was a message from Street.
It was what he'd been hoping for, and he excitedly called it up.
A message appeared in the center of the screen:. "Pages 1 and 2 of this message have been deleted."
Shit!
He scrolled forward, to the end, saw only half a page of text: ". . . So that's what happened. I know The Store owns this shitty little online service.
So I'm not sure if they'll even let this through. But I had to contact you and tell you what went down. I won't be able to do it again, and it may be some time before I see you, so I just wanted to tell you to keep fighting the good fight.
I'll miss you, good buddy. You're one of the true. To quote the mighty C. W. McCall, 'We gone. Bye bye.' "
He stared at the screen, unmoving, and it was not until Ginny came into the office, calling his name, that he realized he was crying.
TWENTY-NINE
1
Shannon arrived early for work. She walked into the locker room to change into her uniform and saw on the bulletin board a new notice:
KEEP OUR STREETS CLEAN!
VOLUNTEER CREWS NEEDED
FOR SATURDAY MORNING SWEEPS.
PARTICIPATION MANDATORY.
SIGN UP IN PERSONNEL.
She stared at the sign as she pulled down her pants and slipped off her panties. Above the row of lockers, she heard the click-hum of the security camera as it adjusted to her movements. She quickly put on the leather Store underwear, covering what she could. She pulled on the tight pants of her uniform, sucking in her stomach so she could fasten the snap.
She wondered if Jake was the one monitoring the cameras that videotaped her dressing.
She wondered if he was the one who monitored the cameras in the bathroom.
As quickly as she could, she took off her blouse and bra and slipped on the leather Store bra and uniform top. She glanced again at the notice on the bulletin board as she sat on the bench and pulled on her boots.
_Morning sweeps_.
She didn't like the sound of that. And the fact that participation was mandatory for a "volunteer" crew didn't set well with her, either. Of course, it could be totally innocent. Maybe The Store was promoting environmentalism. Maybe these cleanup crews would simply walk along the highway and the roads, picking up the trash and debris that ignorant drivers tossed out of their vehicles.
Maybe the vigilante overtones she was reading into the notice weren't really there.
Maybe.
But she didn't think so.
Putting on her Store hat, she walked out of the locker room and onto the floor.
Shannon showed up early for the sweep. Holly was there already. So was Francine. And Ed Robbins. The three of them stood in the parking lot at the designated meeting place, trying to keep warm. Summer was winding down, and the mornings and evenings had started to get chilly, a foreshadowing of fall.
"Should've made us some coffee," Holly said. She smiled at Shannon. "Or hot chocolate."
"And brought some doughnuts," Ed said.
Francine rubbed her arms. "Anything sounds good to me."
They kept their conversation light, trivial, purposely avoiding the reason they were gathered here this morning.
It was exactly what Shannon had feared. They'd had training on Wednesday evening, from a policeman, and he'd shown them how to work in teams of two to subdue a person, how to load a recalcitrant subject into a police van, how to manacle an individual if necessary.