(Abra are you there)
(yes)
Not so panicky now, and that was good.
(you need to have your friend's mom call the police and tell them you're in danger Crow's in Anniston)
Bringing the police into a business that was, at bottom, supernatural was the last thing Dan wanted, but at this moment he saw no choice.
(I'm not)
Before she could finish, her thought was blotted out by a powerful shriek of female rage.
(YOU LITTLE BITCH)
Suddenly the hat woman was in Dan's head again, this time not as part of a dream but behind his waking eyes, her image burning: a creature of terrible beauty who was now naked, her wet hair lying on her shoulders in Medusa coils. Then her mouth yawned open and the beauty was torn away. There was only a dark hole with one jutting, discolored tooth. Almost a tusk.
(WHAT HAVE YOU DONE)
Dan staggered and put a hand against the Riv's lead passenger car to hold himself up. The world inside his head was revolving. The hat woman disappeared and suddenly a crowd of concerned faces was gathered around him. They were asking if he was all right.
He remembered Abra trying to explain how the world had revolved on the day she had discovered Brad Trevor's picture in The Anniston Shopper; how all at once Abra had been looking out of the hat woman's eyes and the hat woman had been looking out of hers. Now he understood. It was happening again, and this time he was along for the ride.
Rose was on the ground. He could see a broad swatch of evening sky overhead. The people crowding around her were no doubt her tribe of child-killers. This was what Abra was seeing.
The question was, what was Rose seeing?
16
Snake cycled, then came back. It burned. She looked at the man kneeling in front of her.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" John asked. "I'm a doctor."
In spite of the pain, Snake laughed. This doctor, who belonged to the men who had just shot the True's doctor to death, was now offering to help. What would Hippocrates make of that one? "Put a bullet in me, assface. That's the only thing I can think of."
The nerdy one, the bastard who'd actually pulled the trigger on Walnut, joined the one who said he was a doctor. "You'd deserve it," Dave said. "Did you think I was just going to let you take my daughter? Torture and kill her like you did that poor little boy in Iowa?"
They knew about that? How could they? But it didn't matter now, at least not to Andi. "Your people slaughter pigs and cows and sheep. Is what we do any different?"
"In my humble opinion, killing human beings is a lot different," John said. "Call me silly and sentimental."
Snake's mouth was full of blood and some lumpy shit. Teeth, probably. That didn't matter, either. In the end, this might be more merciful than what Barry had gone through. It would certainly be quicker. But one thing needed straightening out. Just so they'd know. "We're the human beings. Your kind . . . just rubes."
Dave smiled, but his eyes were hard. "And yet you're the one lying on the ground with dirt in your hair and blood all down the front of your shirt. I hope hell's hot enough for you."
Snake could feel the next cycle coming on. With luck it would be the last one, but for now she held tight to her physical form. "You don't understand how it was with me. Before. Or how is with us. We're only a few, and we're sick. We've got--"
"I know what you've got," Dave said. "Fucking measles. I hope they rot your whole miserable Knot from the inside out."
Snake said, "We didn't choose to be what we are any more than you did. In our shoes, you'd do the same."
John shook his head slowly from side to side. "Never. Never."
Snake began to cycle out. She managed four more words, however. "Fucking men." A final gasp as she stared up at them from her disappearing face. "Fucking rubes."
Then she was gone.
17
Dan walked to John and Dave slowly and carefully, putting his hand on several of the picnic tables to keep his balance. He had picked up Abra's stuffed rabbit without even realizing it. His head was clearing, but that was a decidedly mixed blessing.
"We have to go back to Anniston, and fast. I can't touch Billy. I could before, but now he's gone."
"Abra?" Dave asked. "What about Abra?"
Dan didn't want to look at him--Dave's face was naked with fear--but he made himself do it. "She's gone, too. So's the woman in the hat. They've both dropped out of the mix."
"Meaning what?" Dave grabbed Dan's shirt in both hands. "Meaning what?"
"I don't know."
This was the truth, but he was afraid.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CROW
1
Get with me, Daddy, Barry the Chink had said. Lean close.
This was just after Snake had started the first of the porn DVDs. Crow got with Barry, even held his hand while the dying man struggled through his next cycle. And when he came back . . .
Listen to me. She's been watching, all right. Only when that porno started up . . .
Explaining to someone who couldn't do the locator thing was hard, especially when the one doing the talking was mortally ill, but Crow got the gist of it. The fucksome frolickers by the pool had shocked the girl, just as Rose had hoped they might, but they had done more than make her quit spying and pull back. For a moment or two, Barry's sense of her location seemed to double. She was still on the midget train with her dad, riding to the place where they were going to have their picnic, but her shock had produced a ghost image that made no sense. In this she was in a bathroom, taking a leak.
"Maybe you were seeing a memory," Crow said. "Could that be?"
"Yeah," Barry said. "Rubes think all kinds of crazy shit. Most likely it's nothing. But for a minute it was like she was twins, you know?"
Crow didn't, exactly, but he nodded.
"Only if that's not it, she might be running some kind of game. Gimme the map."
Jimmy Numbers had all of New Hampshire on his laptop. Crow held it up in front of Barry.
"Here's where she is," Barry said, tapping the screen. "On her way to this Cloud Glen place with her dad."
"Gap," Crow said. "Cloud Gap."
"Whatever the fuck." Barry moved his finger northeast. "And this is where the ghost-blip came from."
Crow took the laptop and looked through the bead of no doubt infected sweat Barry had left on the screen. "Anniston? That's her hometown, Bar. She's probably left psychic traces of herself all over it. Like dead skin."
"Sure. Memories. Daydreams. All kinds of crazy shit. What I said."
"And it's gone now."
"Yeah, but . . ." Barry grasped Crow's wrist. "If she's as strong as Rose says, it's just possible that she really is gaming us. Throwing her voice, like."
"Have you ever run across a steamhead that could do that?"
"No, but there's a first time for everything. I'm almost positive she's with her father, but you're the one who has to decide if almost positive is good enough for . . ."
That was when Barry began cycling again, and all meaningful communication ceased. Crow was left with a difficult decision. It was his mission, and he was confident he could handle it, but it was Rose's plan and--more important--Rose's obsession. If he screwed up, there would be hell to pay.
Crow glanced at his watch. Three p.m. here in New Hampshire, one o'clock in Sidewinder. At the Bluebell Campground, lunch would just be finishing up, and Rose would be available. That decided him. He made the call. He almost expected her to laugh and call him an old woman, but she didn't.
"You know we can't entirely trust Barry anymore," she said, "but I trust you. What's your gut feeling?"
His gut felt nothing one way or the other; that was why he had made the call. He told her so, and waited.
"I leave it with you," she said. "Just don't screw up."
Thanks for nothing, Rosie darlin. He thought this . . . then hoped she hadn't caught it.
He sat with the closed cell phone still in
his hand, swaying from side to side with the motion of the RV, inhaling the smell of Barry's sickness, wondering how long it would be before the first spots started showing up on his own arms and legs and chest. At last he went forward and put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder.
"When you get to Anniston, stop."
"Why?"
"Because I'm getting off."
2
Crow Daddy watched them pull away from the Gas 'n Go on Anniston's lower Main Street, resisting an urge to send a short-range thought (all the ESP of which he was capable) to Snake before they got out of range: Come back and pick me up, this is a mistake.
Only what if it wasn't?
When they were gone, he looked briefly and longingly at the sad little line of used cars for sale at the car wash adjacent to the gas station. No matter what transpired in Anniston, he was going to need transpo out of town. He had more than enough cash in his wallet to buy something that would carry him to their agreed-on rendezvous point near Albany on I-87; the problem was time. It would take at least half an hour to transact a car deal, and that might be too long. Until he was sure this was a false alarm, he would just have to improvise and rely on his powers of persuasion. They had never let him down yet.
Crow did take time enough to step into the Gas 'n Go, where he bought a Red Sox hat. When in Bosox country, dress as the Bosox fans do. He debated adding a pair of sunglasses and decided against them. Thanks to TV, a fit middle-aged man in sunglasses always looked like a hit man to a certain part of the population. The hat would have to do.
He walked up Main Street to the library where Abra and Dan had once held a council of war. He had to go no farther than the lobby to find what he was looking for. There, under the heading of TAKE A LOOK AT OUR TOWN, was a map of Anniston with every street and lane carefully marked. He refreshed himself on the location of the girl's street.
"Great game last night, wasn't it?" a man asked. He was carrying an armload of books.
For a moment Crow had no idea what he was talking about, then remembered his new hat. "It sure was," he agreed, still looking at the map.
He gave the Sox fan time to depart before leaving the lobby. The hat was fine, but he had no desire to discuss baseball. He thought it was a stupid game.
3
Richland Court was a short street of pleasant New England saltboxes and Cape Cods ending in a circular turnaround. Crow had grabbed a free newspaper called The Anniston Shopper on his walk from the library and now stood at the corner, leaning against a handy oak tree and pretending to study it. The oak shielded him from the street, and maybe that was a good thing, because there was a red truck with a guy sitting behind the wheel parked about halfway down. The truck was an oldie, with some hand-tools and what looked like a Rototiller in the bed, so the guy could be a groundskeeper--this was the kind of street where people could afford them--but if so, why was he just sitting there?
Babysitting, maybe?
Crow was suddenly glad he had taken Barry seriously enough to jump ship. The question was, what to do now? He could call Rose, but their last conversation hadn't netted anything he couldn't have gotten from a Magic 8 Ball.
He was still standing half-hidden behind the fine old oak and debating his next move when the providence that favored the True Knot above rubes stepped in. A door partway down the street opened, and two girls came out. Crow's eyes were every bit as sharp as those of his namesake bird, and he ID'd them at once as two of the three girls in Billy's computer pix. The one in the brown skirt was Emma Deane. The one in the black pants was Abra Stone.
He glanced back at the truck. The driver, also an oldie, had been slouched behind the wheel. Now he was sitting up. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. On the alert. So she had been gaming them. Crow still didn't know for sure which of the two was the steamhead, but one thing he was sure of: the men in the Winnebago were on a wild goosechase.
Crow took out his cell but only held it in his hand for a moment, watching the girl in the black pants go down the walk to the street. The girl in the skirt watched her for a second, then went back inside. The girl in the pants--Abra--crossed Richland Court, and as she did, the man in the truck raised his hands in a what gives gesture. She responded with a thumbs-up: Don't worry, everything's okay. Crow felt a surge of triumph as hot as a knock of whiskey. Question answered. Abra Stone was the steamhead. No question about it. She was being guarded, and the guard was an old geezer with a perfectly good pickup truck. Crow felt confident it would take him and a certain young passenger as far as Albany.
He hit Snake on the speed dial, and wasn't surprised or uneasy when he got a CALL FAILED message. Cloud Gap was a local beauty spot, and God forbid there should be any cell phone towers to clutter up the tourists' snapshots. But that was okay. If he couldn't take care of an old man and a young girl, it was time to turn in his badge. He considered his phone for a moment, then turned it off. For the next twenty minutes or so, there was no one he wanted to talk to, and that included Rose.
His mission, his responsibility.
He had four loaded syringes, two in the left pocket of his light jacket, two in the right. Putting his best Henry Rothman smile on his face--the one he wore when reserving campground space or four-walling motels for the True--Crow stepped from behind the tree and strolled down the street. In his left hand he still held his folded copy of The Anniston Shopper. His right hand was in his jacket pocket, easing the plastic cap off one of the needles.
4
"Pardon me, sir, I seem to be a little lost. I wonder if you could give me some directions."
Billy Freeman was nervous, on edge, filled with something that was not quite foreboding . . . and still that cheerful voice and bright you-can-trust-me smile took him in. Only for two seconds, but that was enough. As he reached toward the open glove compartment, he felt a small sting on the side of his neck.
Bug bit me, he thought, and then slumped sideways, his eyes rolling up to the whites.
Crow opened the door and shoved the driver across the seat. The old guy's head bonked the passenger-side window. Crow lifted limp legs over the transmission hump, batting the glove compartment closed to make a little more room, then slid behind the wheel and slammed the door. He took a deep breath and looked around, ready for anything, but there was nothing to be ready for. Richland Court was dozing the afternoon away, and that was lovely.
The key was in the ignition. Crow started the engine and the radio came on in a yahoo roar of Toby Keith: God bless America and pour the beer. As he reached to turn it off, a terrible white light momentarily washed out his vision. Crow had very little telepathic ability, but he was firmly linked to his tribe; in a way, the members were appendages of a single organism, and one of their number had just died. Cloud Gap hadn't been just misdirection, it had been a fucking ambush.
Before he could decide what to do next, the white light came again, and, after a pause, yet again.
All of them?
Good Christ, all three? It wasn't possible . . . was it?
He took a deep breath, then another. Forced himself to face the fact that yes, it could be. And if so, he knew who was to blame.
Fucking steamhead girl.
He looked at Abra's house. All quiet there. Thank God for small favors. He had expected to drive the truck up the street and into her driveway, but all at once that seemed like a bad idea, at least for now. He got out, leaned back in, and grabbed the unconscious geezer by his shirt and belt. Crow yanked him back behind the wheel, pausing just long enough to give him a patdown. No gun. Too bad. He wouldn't have minded having one, at least for awhile.
He fastened the geezer's seatbelt so he couldn't tilt forward and blare the horn. Then he walked down the street to the girl's house, not hurrying. If he'd seen her face at one of the windows--or so much as a single twitch of a single curtain--he would have broken into a sprint, but nothing moved.
It was possible he could still make this work, but that consideration had been rendered strictly secondary by those
terrible white flashes. What he mostly wanted was to get his hands on the miserable bitch that had caused them so much trouble and shake her until she rattled.
5
Abra sleepwalked down the front hall. The Stones had a family room in the basement, but the kitchen was their comfort place, and she headed there without thinking about it. She stood with her hands splayed out on the table where she and her parents had eaten thousands of meals, staring at the window over the kitchen sink with wide blank eyes. She wasn't really here at all. She was in Cloud Gap, watching bad guys spill out of the Winnebago: the Snake and the Nut and Jimmy Numbers. She knew their names from Barry. But something was wrong. One of them was missing.
(WHERE'S THE CROW DAN I DON'T SEE THE CROW!)
No answer, because Dan and her father and Dr. John were busy. They took the bad guys down, one after the other: the Walnut first--that was her father's work, and good for him--then Jimmy Numbers, then the Snake. She felt each mortal injury as a thudding deep in her head. Those thuds, like a heavy mallet repeatedly coming down on an oak plank, were terrible in their finality, but not entirely unpleasant. Because . . .
Because they deserve it, they kill kids, and nothing else would have stopped them. Only--
(Dan where's the Crow? WHERE'S THE CROW???)
Now Dan heard her. Thank God. She saw the Winnebago. Dan thought the Crow was in there, and maybe he was right. Still--
She hurried back down the hall and peered out one of the windows beside the front door. The sidewalk was deserted, but Mr. Freeman's truck was parked right where it belonged. She couldn't see his face because of the way the sun was shining on the windshield, but she could see him behind the wheel, and that meant everything was still okay.
Probably okay.
(Abra are you there)
Dan. It was so great to hear him. She wished he was with her, but having him inside her head was almost as good.
(yes)
She took one more reassuring look at the empty sidewalk and Mr. Freeman's truck, checked to make sure she had locked the door after coming in, and started back down to the kitchen.