“Take the gun,” Gwen commanded.
Stafford looked across at her for a second, but she never took her eyes off of Carson. Her face was frightening, radiating with unfliluted fury.
Stafford reached over and extracted the gun from Carson’s rigid fingers.
Carson’s skin felt hot and.feverish, but there was nothing wrong with his grip. Once he had the gun, he reached for the cylinder, but Gwen spoke again. “No! Don’t touch it,” she ordered. Then she stood up, as did the girl, their chair legs scraping on the linoleum.
“But we can’t leave this thing,” Stafford protested.
“Yes, we must. Feel it.”
Stafford reached out again and touched the cylinder this time. The metal was hot. “Hot,” he whispered. “It’s hot.”
“Yes. It’s going to burst. We must leave. Now.”
“Burst? Jesus Christ, Gwen, we can’t let that happen. That stuff can—”
But Gwen was already moving toward the door. “It’s going to burst. We must get out of the house and warn the others. Now.”
Carson’s left hand was gripping the cylinder so hard, his knuckles were white, but he was still staring into space. Stafford thought about grabbing the cylinder, but he realized it would take a lot of strength and both of own his hands to do it, and he didn’t have two hands.
Besides, did he want to. be standing there when that damned thing popped open? He looked down at Carson’s hand and saw tiny white blisters starting up where Carson’s skin was in contact with the metal. That did it.
He backed away hurriedly and followed Gwen and the girl down the hall.
Gwen turned on the porch lights and opened the front door. The headlights were still fixed on the front on the house, and the three of them were somewhat blinded as they came out. He closed the front door behind him and hurried down the steps. There appeared to be a commotion going on behind the headlights.
They trotted quickly down the front drive, Gwen, the girl, and Stafford, in a line. When they reached the first police car, they were surrounded immediately by state police, one of whom asked Stafford for the gun in his hand. Almost indifferently, he handed it over, and then he saw the general approaching, along with a man who looked like FBI. There was a lot of milling about and then people began asking Gwen questions, but she was suddenly surrounded by some Longstreet County deputies.
“Where is it?” Carrothers asked without preamble.
“It’s in there,” Stafford said. “But—”
“How the hell did you get out?” the FBI man “Where’s Carson?” His tone was not at all solicitous.
Stafford didn’t know what to say. “I’m not sure what happened,” lie replied. “He had some kind of seizure, and we got out of there. But he has the cylinder. And I — we— think it’s going to burst. It’s hot.”
“It’s hot!” The general exclaimed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. The house is shut up. All the doors and windows are closed. But I think it’s going to do something. He’s got it in his hand. He had me put it in the refrigerator earlier, but it’s hot.” He looked over toward Gwen for corroboration, but she was drawing away into the crowd, still surrounded by the deputies.
“Why the hell didn’t you take it away from him?” Carrothers thundered.
“I couldn’t,” Stafford said. “He’s got it in a death grip. It would have taken two hands.” He held up his left hand. “I don’t have two hands.”
The general swore forcefully and turned away, then stopped and turned back. “Mr. Kiesling, I strongly recommend you get all these people the hell out of here. We’re about to experience a catastrophic chemical emergency.”
“What the hell is that, a chemical emergency?”
“Let me put it this way: If that thing bursts, every living thing within five miles of this house is going to experience a grotesque death. I mean it. I’ve got to get some help up here. You get these people the hell out of here. Right fucking now!”
There was a sudden stunned silence on the road. The state cops and the county deputies had heard all this and were staring at Kiesling as if to say, What part of grotesque death don’t you understand? They parted for the general, who began running toward his vehicles in the nearby field.
The sight of the general running did it: The cops all started to back away from the house.
“Okay,” Kiesling said in an unnaturally loud voice. “You heard the man.
Let’s clear out. You — Stafford!”
Stafford, who had been looking for Owen, turned to face the FBI man.
“What?” He still felt dazed by what had happened inside.
“We want to talk to you. First I need to know what the hell happened in there. Then we want to discuss what you knew about this mess and when you knew it.”
Stafford nodded absently. He wasn’t thinking very clearly. He couldn’t forget the picture of Carson frozen at that table, as if in a state of suspended animation. And of himself, completely unable to act. He wanted very much to talk to Gwen, but she had disappeared in the great rush to get everyone out of there.
“Yeah, fine. Whatever,” he said. “Where’s Mrs. Warren?” “I don’t know,” Kiesling said, looking nervously over at the house, which was becoming visible in the dawn light. His tone became more solicitous. “Why don’t you come with us,” he said. “I think this is an Army problem from here on out. What the fuck happened in there? How did you guys get out?”
Stafford looked again for Gwen and finally saw her, still surrounded by her phalanx of deputies. There was some kind of altercation going on between the deputies and the state police. Cars were starting to move.
“I’m not sure,” Stafford said. “Carson’s pretty screwed up. Has a hell of a fever, looks like death warmed over.” I know what I saw in there, he thought. But I did not understand it. Yes, you do, a voice in his head told him. Where the hell was Gwen?
Kiesling was trying to hustle him along the line of state police cars, which were all trying to get turned around at the same time in a building circus of revving engines and crunching gravel. Up ahead the mobile command center was being disassembled and made ready for the road. “Well, shit, if he was that fucked up, why couldn’t you jump him?”
Kiesling asked over his shoulder.
Stafford stopped. “I couldn’t see him. Once he had us, he made us close all the curtains and blinds in the house. It was pitch-dark in there. He made sure I never got a look at him. But he’s on his last legs.” He finally spotted Gwen. “Look, I must talk to Gwen Warren.”
Kiesling stopped, and the camaraderie went out of his voice. “Well, I think it would be best if you came-with us. There are some things we need to sort out. After we get the hell out of here.”
“No,” Stafford said, turning around and dodging between two state police cars that were making serious tracks out of there. He didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to get to Gwen. Kiesling was suddenly stuck on the other side of the stream of fleeing vehicles, yelling after him.
By the time Stafford reached Gwen and the deputies, it was apparent that she was refusing to leave. Jessamine stood behind her, still holding her hand and looking apprehensive. The three large deputies were facing off with two state police officers and one young-looking FBI man. The latter was arguing vigorously with her.
“This is my house,” Gwen said as Stafford walked up. “I’m not leaving it.”
“But Mrs. Warren, you yourself said that thing’s gonna pop. You heard the generaclass="underline" Everybody has to clear out of here.”
The largest of the deputies got between Gwen and the FBI man. “Miz Warren don’t want to go, she don’t have to go,” he announced. He was considerably bigger than the FBI agent. The two state troopers looked at each other and made an unspoken decision to back right out of this little federal problem before all their vehicles left.