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Intheyear2025,thebestmendon’trunforpresident,they
runfortheirlives….
THERUNNINGMAN
BenRichardsisoutofworkandoutofluck.Hiseighteen-month-olddaughterissick,andneitherBennorhiswifecanaffordtotakehertoadoctor.Foramanfromthepoorsideoftownwithnocashandnohope,there’sonlyonethingtodo:becomeacontestantononeofthe
Network’sGames,showswhereyoucanwinmoremoneythanyou’veeverdreamedof—ordietrying.NowBen’sgoingprime-timeontheNetwork’shighest-ratedviewer-participationshow.Andhe’sabouttobecomepreyforthemasses….
WORKSBYSTEPHENKING
NOVELS
Carrie
’Salem’sLot
TheShining
TheStand
TheDeadZone
Firestarter
Cujo
THEDARKTOWERI:
TheGunslinger
Christine
PetSematary
CycleoftheWerewolf
TheTalisman(withPeterStraub)
It
EyesoftheDragon
Misery
TheTommyknockers
THEDARKTOWERII:
TheDrawingoftheThree
THEDARKTOWERIII:
TheWasteLands
TheDarkHalf
NeedfulThings
Gerald’sGame
DoloresClaiborne
Insomnia
RoseMadder
Desperation
TheGreenMile
THEDARKTOWERIV:
WizardandGlass
BagofBonesASRICHARDBACHMAN
Rage
TheLongWalk
Roadwork
TheRunningMan
Thinner
TheRegulatorsCOLLECTIONS
NightShift
DifferentSeasons
SkeletonCrew
FourPastMidnight
NightmaresandDreamscapesNONFICTION
DanseMacabreSCREENPLAYS
Creepshow
Cat’sEye
SilverBullet
MaximumOverdrive
PetSematary
GoldenYears
Sleepwalkers
TheStand
TheShining
StormoftheCentury
THERUNNINGMAN
StephenKing
writingasRichardBachman
WithanIntroductionbytheauthor,"TheImportanceofBeingBachman"
SIGNETPublishedbyNewAmericanLibrary,adivisionofPenguinPutnamInc.,375HudsonStreet,NewYork,NewYork10014,U.S.A.PenguinBooksLtd,27WrightsLane,LondonW85TZ,EnglandPenguinBooksAustraliaLtd,Ringwood,Victoria,AustraliaPenguinBooksCanadaLtd,10Alcorn
Avenue,Toronto,Ontario,CanadaM4V3B2PenguinBooks(N.Z.)Ltd,182–190WairauRoad,Auckland10,NewZealandPenguinBooksLtd,RegisteredOffices:Harmondsworth,Middlesex,EnglandCopyright©RichardBachman,1982Introductioncopyright©StephenKing,1996
AllrightsreservedTheRunningManwasfirstpublishedinaSigneteditionunderthenameRichardBachman,andlaterappearedinNALhardcoverandPlumetradepaperbackomnibuseditionstitledTheBachmanBooksunderthenameStephenKing.“TheImportanceofBeingBachman”appearedinslightlydifferentforminthe
1996PlumeeditionofTheBachmanBooks.
REGISTEREDTRADEMARK—MARCAREGISTRADA
ISBN:978-1-1012-1214-1Withoutlimitingtherightsundercopyrightreservedabove,nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,storedinorintroducedintoaretrievalsystem,ortransmitted,inany
form,orbyanymeans(electronic,mechanical,photocopying,recording,orotherwise),withoutthepriorwrittenpermissionofboththecopyrightownerandtheabovepublisherofthisbook.
ContentsTheImportanceofBeingBachman…Minus100andCounting……Minus099andCounting……Minus098andCounting……Minus097and
Counting……Minus096andCounting……Minus095andCounting……Minus094andCounting……Minus093andCounting……Minus092andCounting……Minus091and
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Counting……Minus042andCounting……Minus041andCounting……Minus040andCounting……Minus039andCounting……Minus038andCounting……Minus037and
Counting……Minus036andCounting……Minus035andCounting……Minus034andCounting……Minus033andCounting……Minus032andCounting……Minus031and
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Counting……Minus018andCounting……Minus017andCounting……Minus016andCounting……Minus015andCounting……Minus014andCounting……Minus013and
Counting……Minus012andCounting……Minus011andCounting……Minus010andCounting……Minus009andCounting……Minus008andCounting……Minus007and
Counting……Minus006andCounting……Minus005andCounting……Minus004andCounting……Minus003andCounting……Minus002andCounting……Minus001and
Counting……Minus000andCounting…
TheImportanceofBeingBachman
byStephenKing
Thisismysecondintroductiontotheso-calledBachmanBooks—aphrase
whichhascometomean(inmymind,atleast)thefirstfewnovelspublishedwiththeRichardBachmanname,theoneswhichappearedasunheraldedpaperbackoriginalsundertheSignetimprint.Myfirstintroductionwasn’tverygood;tomeitreadslikeatextbookcaseofauthorobfuscation.Butthatisnotsurprising.Whenitwaswritten,Bachman’salterego(me,inotherwords)wasn’t
inwhatI’dcallacontemplativeoranalyticalmood;Iwas,infact,feelingrobbed.Bachmanwasnevercreatedasashort-termalias;hewassupposedtobethereforthelonghaul,andwhenmynamecameoutinconnectionwithhis,Iwassurprised,upset,andpissedoff.That’snotastateconducivetogoodessay-writing.ThistimeImaydoalittlebetter.
ProbablythemostimportantthingIcansayaboutRichardBachmanisthathebecamereal.Notentirely,ofcourse(hesaidwithanervoussmile);Iamnotwritingthisinadelusivestate.Except…well…maybeIam.Delusionis,afterall,somethingwritersoffictiontrytoencourageintheirreaders,atleastduringthetimethatthebookorstoryisopenbeforethem,andthewriterishardlyimmunefrom
thisstateof…whatshallIcallit?Howdoes“directeddelusion”sound?
Atanyrate,RichardBachmanbeganhiscareernotasadelusionbutasashelteredplacewhereIcouldpublishafewearlyworkswhichIfeltreadersmightlike.Thenhebegantogrowandcomealive,asthecreaturesofawriter’simaginationsofrequentlydo.
Ibegantoimaginehislifeasadairyfarmer…hiswife,thebeautifulClaudiaInezBachman…hissolitaryNewHampshiremornings,spentmilkingthecows,gettinginthewood,andthinkingabouthisstories…hiseveningsspentwriting,alwayswithaglassofwhiskeybesidehisOlivettitypewriter.Ionceknewawriterwhowouldsayhiscurrentstoryornovelwas“puttingonweight”ifitwas
goingwell.Inmuchthesameway,mypen-namebegantoputonweight.
Then,whenhiscoverwasblown,RichardBachmandied.ImadelightofthisinthefewinterviewsIfeltrequiredtogiveonthesubject,sayingthathe’ddiedofcancerofthepseudonym,butitwasactuallyshockthatkilledhim:therealizationthatsometimespeoplejustwon’t
letyoualone.Toputitinmorefulsome(butnotatallinaccurate)terms,Bachmanwasthevampiresideofmyexistence,killedbythesunlightofdisclosure.Myfeelingsaboutallthiswereconfusedenough(andfertileenough)tobringonabook(aStephenKingbook,thatis),TheDarkHalf.Itwasaboutawriterwhosepseudonym,GeorgeStark,actuallycomestolife.It’sanovelmywife
hasalwaysdetested,perhapsbecause,forThadBeaumont,thedreamofbeingawriteroverwhelmstherealityofbeingaman;forThad,delusivethinkingovertakesrationalitycompletely,withhorrificconsequences.
Ididn’thavethatproblem,though.Really.IputBachmanaside,andalthoughIwassorrythathehadtodie,IwouldbelyingifIdidn’t
sayIfeltsomereliefaswell.
Thebooksinthisomnibuswerewrittenbyayoungmanwhowasangry,energetic,anddeeplyinfatuatedwiththeartandcraftofwriting.Theyweren’twrittenasBachmanbooksperse(Bachmanhadn’tbeeninventedyet,afterall),butinaBachmanstateofmind:lowrage,sexualfrustration,crazygoodhumor,andsimmering
despair.BenRichards,thescrawny,pre-tubercularprotagonistofTheRunningMan(heisaboutasfarfromtheArnoldSchwarzeneggercharacterinthemovieasyoucanget),crasheshishijackedplaneintotheNetworkGamesskyscraper,killinghimselfbuttakinghundreds(maybethousands)ofFree-Veeexecutiveswithhim;thisistheRichardBachmanversionofahappyending.
TheconclusionsoftheotherBachmannovelsareevenmoregrim.StephenKinghasalwaysunderstoodthatthegoodguysdon’talwayswin(seeCujo,PetSematary,and—perhaps—Christine),buthehasalsounderstoodthatmostlytheydo.Everyday,inreallife,thegoodguyswin.Mostlythesevictoriesgounheralded(MANARRIVESHOMESAFEFROMWORKYETAGAINwouldn’tsellmanypapers),
buttheyarenonethelessrealforallthat…andfictionshouldreflectreality.
Andyet…
InthefirstdraftofTheDarkHalf,IhadThadBeaumontquoteDonaldE.Westlake,averyfunnywriterwhohaspennedaseriesofverygrimcrimenovelsunderthenameRichardStark.Onceaskedtoexplainthedichotomy
betweenWestlakeandStark,thewriterinquestionsaid,“IwriteWestlakestoriesonsunnydays.Whenitrains,I’mStark.”Idon’tthinkthatmadeitintothefinalversionofTheDarkHalf,butIhavealwayslovedit(andrelatedtoit,asithasbecomefashionabletosay).Bachman—afictionalcreationwhobecamemorerealtomewitheachpublishedbookwhichborehisbyline—wasarainy-
daysortofguyifevertherewasone.
Thegoodfolksmostlywin,courageusuallytriumphsoverfear,thefamilydoghardlyevercontractsrabies;thesearethingsIknewattwenty-five,andthingsIstillknownow,attheageof25×2.ButIknowsomethingelseaswell:there’saplaceinmostofuswheretherainisprettymuchconstant,the
shadowsarealwayslong,andthewoodsarefullofmonsters.Itisgoodtohaveavoiceinwhichtheterrorsofsuchaplacecanbearticulatedanditsgeographypartiallydescribed,withoutdenyingthesunshineandclaritythatfillsomuchofourordinarylives.
InThinner,Bachmanspokeforthefirsttimeonhisown—itwastheonlyoneofthe
earlyBachmannovelsthathadhisnameonthefirstdraftinsteadofmine—anditstruckmeasreallyunfairthat,justashewasstartingtotalkwithhisownvoice,heshouldhavebeenmistakenforme.Andamistakewasjustwhatitfeltlike,becausebythenBachmanhadbecomeakindofidforme;hesaidthethingsIcouldn’t,andthethoughtofhimoutthereonhisNewHampshiredairy
farm—notabest-sellingwriterwhogetshisnameinsomestupidForbeslistofentertainerstoorichfortheirowngoodorhisfaceontheTodayshowordoingcameosinmovies—quietlywritinghisbooksgavehimpermissiontothinkinwaysIcouldnotthinkandspeakinwaysIcouldnotspeak.Andthenthesenewsstoriescameoutsaying“BachmanisreallyKing,”andtherewasnoone
—notevenme—todefendthedeadman,ortopointouttheobvious:thatKingwasalsoreallyBachman,atleastsomeofthetime.
UnfairIthoughtthenandunfairIthinknow,butsometimeslifebitesyoualittle,that’sall.IdeterminedtoputBachmanoutofmythoughtsandmylife,andsoIdid,foranumberofyears.Then,whileIwaswritinga
novel(aStephenKingnovel)calledDesperation,RichardBachmansuddenlyappearedinmylifeagain.
IwasworkingonaWangdedicatedwordprocessoratthattime;itlookedlikethevisiphoneinanoldFlashGordonserial.Thiswaspairedwithamarginallymorestate-of-artlaserprinter,andfromtimetotime,whenanideaoccurredtome,I
wouldwritedownaphraseoraputativetitleonascrapofpaperandScotch-tapeittothesideoftheprinter.AsInearedthethree-quartermarkonDesperation,Ihadascrapwithasinglewordprintedonit:REGULATORS.Ihadhadagreatideaforanovel,somethingthathadtodowithtoys,guns,TV,andsuburbia.Ididn’tknowifIwouldeverwriteit—lotsofthose“printernotes”nevercameto
anything—butitwascertainlycooltothinkabout.
Then,onerainyday(aRichardStarksortofday),asIwaspullingintomydriveway,Ihadanidea.Idon’tknowwhereitcamefrom;itwastotallyunconnectedtoanyofthetriviatumblingthroughmyheadatthetime.TheideawastotakethecharactersfromDesperationandput
themintoTheRegulators.Insomecases,Ithought,theycouldplaythesamepeople;inothers,theywouldchange;inneithercasewouldtheydothesamethingsorreactinthesameways,becausethedifferentstorieswoulddictatedifferentcoursesofaction.Itwouldbe,Ithought,likethemembersofarepertorycompanyactingintwodifferentplays.
Thenanevenmoreexcitingideastruckme.IfIcouldusetherepcompanyconceptwiththecharacters,Icoulduseitwiththeplotitselfaswell—IcouldstackagoodmanyoftheDesperationelementsinabrand-newconfiguration,andcreateakindofmirrorworld.Iknewevenbeforesettingoutthatplentyofcriticswouldcallthistwinningastunt…andtheywouldnotbewrong,exactly.But,I
thought,itcouldbeagoodstunt.Maybeevenanilluminatingstunt,onewhichshowcasedthemuscularityandversatilityofstory,itsallbutlimitlessabilitytoadaptafewbasicelementsintoendlesslypleasingvariations,itsprankishcharm.
Butthetwobookscouldn’tsoundexactlythesame,andtheycouldn’tmeanthesame,anymorethananEdward
AlbeeplayandonebyWilliamIngecansoundandmeanthesame,eveniftheyareperformedonsuccessivenightsbythesamecompanyofactors.HowcouldIpossiblycreateadifferentvoice?
AtfirstIthoughtIcouldn’t,andthatitwouldbebesttoconsigntheideatotheRubeGoldbergbinIkeepinthebottomofmymind—theone
markedINTERESTINGBUTUN-WORKABLECONTRAPTIONS.ThenitoccurredtomethatIhadhadtheanswerallalong:RichardBachmancouldwriteTheRegulators.Hisvoicesoundedsuperficiallythesameasmine,butunderneaththerewasaworldofdifference—allthedifferencebetweensunshineandrain,letussay.Andhisviewofpeoplewasalwaysdifferentfrommine,simultaneously
funnierandmorecold-hearted(BartDawesinRoadwork,myfavoriteoftheearlyBachmanbooks,isanexcellentexample).
OfcourseBachmanwasdead,Ihadannouncedthatmyself,butdeathisactuallyaminorproblemforanovelist—justaskPaulSheldon,whobroughtMiseryChastainbackforAnnieWilkes,orArthurConanDoyle,whobrought
SherlockHolmesbackfromReichen-bachFallswhenfansallovertheBritishEmpireclamoredforhim.Ididn’tactuallybringRichardBachmanbackfromthedead,anyway;Ijustvisualizedaboxofneglectedmanuscriptsinhisbasement,withTheRegulatorsontop.ThenItranscribedthebookBachmanhadalreadywritten.
Thattranscriptionwasa
littletougher…butitwasalsoimmenselyexhilarating.ItwaswonderfultohearBachman’svoiceagain,andwhatIhadhopedmighthappendidhappen:abookrolledoutthatwasakindoffraternaltwintotheoneIhadwrittenundermyownname(andthetwobookswerequiteliterallywrittenback-to-back,theKingbookfinishedononedayandtheBachmanbookcommencedonthevery
next).TheywerenomorealikethanKingandBachmanthemselves.DesperationisaboutGod;TheRegulatorsisaboutTV.Iguessthatmakesthembothabouthigherpowers,butverydifferentonesjustthesame.
TheimportanceofbeingBachmanwasalwaystheimportanceoffindingagoodvoiceandavalidpointofviewthatwerealittle
differentfrommyown.Notreallydifferent;Iamnotschizoenoughtobelievethat.ButIdobelievethattherearetricksallofususetochangeourperspectivesandourperceptions—toseeourselvesnewbydressingupindifferentclothesanddoingourhairindifferentstyles—andthatsuchtrickscanbeveryuseful,awayofrevitalizingandrefreshingoldstrategiesforlivinglife,
observinglife,andcreatingart.NoneofthesecommentsareintendedtosuggestthatIhavedoneanythinggreatintheBachmanbooks,andtheyaresurelynotmadeasargumentsforartisticmerit.ButIlovewhatIdotoomuchtowanttogostaleifIcanhelpit.BachmanhasbeenonewayinwhichIhavetriedtorefreshmycraft,andtokeepfrombeingtoocomfyandwell-padded.
TheseearlybooksshowsomeprogressionoftheBachmanpersona,Ihope,andIhopetheyalsoshowtheessenceofthatpersona.Dark-toned,despairingevenwhenheislaughing(despairingmostwhenhe’slaughing,infact),RichardBachmanisn’tafellowI’dwanttobeallthetime,evenifhewerestillalive…butit’sgoodtohavethatoption,thatwindowontheworld,
polarizedthoughitmaybe.Still,asthereaderworkshisorherwaythroughthesestories,he/shemaydiscoverthatDickBachmanhasonethingincommonwithThadBeaumont’salterego,GeorgeStark:he’snotaveryniceguy.
AndIwonderifthereareanyothergoodmanuscripts,atornearcompletion,inthatboxfoundbythewidowed
Mrs.BachmaninthecellaroftheirNewHampshirefarmhouse.
SometimesIwonderaboutthatalot.
—StephenKing
Lovell,MaineApril16,1996
THERUNNINGMAN
…Minus100andCOUNTING…
Shewassquintingatthethermometerinthewhitelightcomingthroughthewindow.Beyondher,inthedrizzle,theotherhighrisesinCo-OpCityroselikethegrayturretsofapenitentiary.
Below,intheairshaft,clotheslinesflappedwithraggedwash.Ratsandplumpalleycatscirculatedthroughthegarbage.
Shelookedatherhusband.Hewasseatedatthetable,staringupattheFree-Veewithsteady,vacantconcentration.Hehadbeenwatchingitforweeksnow.Itwasn’tlikehim.Hehatedit,alwayshad.Ofcourse,every
Developmentapartmenthadone—itwasthelaw—butitwasstilllegaltoturnthemoff.TheCompulsoryBenefitBillof2021hadfailedtogettherequiredtwo-thirdsmajoritybysixvotes.Ordinarilytheyneverwatchedit.ButeversinceCathyhadgottensick,hehadbeenwatchingthebig-moneygiveaways.Itfilledherwithsickfear.
Behindthecompulsiveshriekingofthehalf-timeannouncernarratingthelatestnewsieflick,Cathy’sflu-hoarsenedwailingwentonandon.
“Howbadisit?”Richardsasked.
“Notsobad.”
“Don’tshitme.”
“It’sahundredandfour.”
Hebroughtbothfistsdownonthetable.Aplasticdishjumpedintotheairandclattereddown.
“We’llgetadoctor.Trynottoworrysomuch.Listen—”Shebegantobabblefranticallytodistracthim;hehadturnedaroundandwaswatchingtheFree-Veeagain.Half-timewasover,andthe
gamewasonagain.Thiswasn’toneofthebigones,ofcourse,justacheapdaytimecome-oncalledTreadmilltoBucks.Theyacceptedonlychronicheart,liver,orlungpatients,sometimesthrowinginacripforcomicrelief.Everyminutethecontestantcouldstayonthetreadmill(keepingupasteadyflowofchatterwiththeemcee),hewontendollars.Everytwominutestheemceeaskeda
BonusQuestioninthecontestant’scategory(thecurrentpal,aheart-murmurfromHackensack,wasanAmericanhistorybuff)whichwasworthfiftydollars.Ifthecontestant,dizzy,outofbreath,heartdoingfantasticrubberacrobaticsinhischest,missedthequestion,fiftydollarswasdeductedfromhiswinningsandthetreadmillwasspeededup.
“We’llgetalong.Ben.Wewill.Really.I…I’ll…”
“You’llwhat?”Helookedatherbrutally.“Hustle?Nomore,Sheila.She’sgottohavearealdoctor.Nomoreblockmidwifewithdirtyhandsandwhiskeybreath.Allthemodernequipment.I’mgoingtoseetoit.”
Hecrossedtheroom,eyesswivelinghypnoticallytothe
Free-Veeboltedintoonepeelingwallabovethesink.Hetookhischeapdenimjacketoffitshookandpulleditonwithfretfulgestures.
“No!No,Iwon’t…won’tallowit.You’renotgoingto—”
“Whynot?Atworstyoucangetafewoldbucksastheheadofafatherlesshouse.Onewayortheotheryou’ll
havetoseeherthroughthis.”
Shehadneverreallybeenahandsomewoman,andintheyearssinceherhusbandhadnotworkedshehadgrownscrawny,butinthismomentshelookedbeautiful…imperious.“Iwon’ttakeit.I’drathersellthegovieatwo-dollarpieceoftailwhenhecomestothedoorandsendhimbackwithhisdirtybloodmoneyinhispocket.
ShouldItakeabountyonmyman?”
Heturnedonher,grimandhumorless,clutchingsomethingthatsethimapart,aninvisiblesomethingforwhichtheNetworkhadruthlesslycalculated.Hewasadinosaurinthistime.Notabigone,butstillathrowback,anembarrassment.Perhapsadanger.Bigcloudscondensearoundsmallparticles.
Hegesturedatthebedroom.“Howaboutherinanunmarkedpauper’sgrave?Doesthatappealtoyou?”
Itleftherwithonlytheargumentofinsensatesorrow.Herfacecrackedanddissolvedintotears.
“Ben,thisisjustwhattheywant,forpeoplelikeus,likeyou—”
“Maybetheywon’ttakeme,”hesaid,openingthedoor.“MaybeIdon’thavewhateveritistheylookfor.”
“Ifyougonow,they’llkillyou.AndI’llbeherewatchingit.Doyouwantmewatchingthatwithherinthenextroom?”Shewashardlycoherentthroughhertears.
“Iwanthertogoonliving.”Hetriedtoclosethedoor,but
sheputherbodyintheway.
“Givemeakissbeforeyougo,then.”
Hekissedher.Downthehall,Mrs.Jenneropenedherdoorandpeeredout.Therichodorofcornedbeefandcabbage,tantalizing,maddening,driftedtothem.Mrs.Jennerdidwell—shehelpedoutatthelocaldiscountdrugandhadan
almostuncannyeyeforillegal-cardcarriers.
“You’lltakethemoney?”Richardsasked.“Youwon’tdoanythingstupid?”
“I’lltakeit,”shewhispered.“YouknowI’lltakeit.”
Heclutchedherawkwardly,thenturnedawayquickly,withnograce,andplungeddownthecrazilyslanting,ill-
lightedstairwell.
Shestoodinthedoorway,shakenbysoundlesssobs,untilsheheardthedoorslamhollowlyfiveflightsdown,andthensheputherapronuptoherface.Shewasstillclutchingthethermometershehadusedtotakethebaby’stemperature.
Mrs.Jennercreptupsoftlyandtwitchedtheapron.
“Dearie,”shewhispered,“Icanputyouontoblackmarketpenicillinwhenthemoneygetshere…realcheap…goodquality—”
“Getout!”shescreamedather.
Mrs.Jennerrecoiled,herupperliprisinginstinctivelyawayfromtheblackenedstumpsofherteeth.“Justtryingtohelp,”shemuttered,
andscurriedbacktoherroom.
Barelymuffledbythethinplastiwood,Cathy’swailscontinued.Mrs.Jenner’sFree-Veeblaredandhooted.ThecontestantonTreadmilltoBuckshadjustmissedaBonusQuestionandhadhadaheartattacksimultaneously.Hewasbeingcarriedoffonarubberstretcherwhiletheaudienceapplauded.
Upperliparisingandfallingmetronomically,Mrs.JennerwroteSheilaRichards’snamedowninhernotebook.“We’llsee,”shesaidtonoone.“We’lljustsee,Mrs.Smell-So-Sweet.”
Sheclosedthenotebookwithavicioussnapandsettleddowntowatchthenextgame.
…Minus099andCOUNTING…
ThedrizzlehaddeepenedintoasteadyrainbythetimeRichardshitthestreet.ThebigSmokeDokesforHallucinogenicJokesthermometeracrossthestreetstoodatfifty-onedegrees.
(JusttheRightTemptoStokeUpaDoke—HightotheNthDegree!)Thatmightmakeitsixtyintheirapartment.AndCathyhadtheflu.
Arattrottedlazily,lousily,acrossthecrackedandblisteredcementofthestreet.Acrosstheway,theancientandrustedskeletonofa2013Humberstoodondecayedaxles.Ithadbeencompletelystripped,eventothewheel
bearingsandmotormounts,butthecopsdidn’ttakeitaway.ThecopsrarelyventuredsouthoftheCanalanymore.Co-OpCitystoodinaradiatingratwarrenofparkinglots,desertedshops,UrbanCenters,andpavedplaygrounds.Thecyclegangswerethelawhere,andallthosenewsieitemsabouttheintrepidBlockPoliceofSouthCitywerenothingbutapileofwarmcrap.Thestreets
wereghostly,silent.Ifyouwentout,youtookthepneumobusoryoucarriedagascylinder.
Hewalkedfast,notlookingaround,notthinking.Theairwassulphurousandthick.Fourcyclesroaredpastandsomeonethrewaraggedhunkofasphaltpaving.Richardsduckedeasily.Twopneumobusespassedhim,buffetinghimwithair,buthedidnot
flagthem.Theweek’stwenty-dollarunemploymentallotment(oldbucks)hadbeenspent.Therewasnomoneytobuyatoken.Hesupposedtherovingpackscouldsensehispoverty.Hewasnotmolested.
Highrises,Developments,chain-linkfences,parkinglotsemptyexceptforstrippedderelicts,obscenitiesscrawledonthepavementin
softchalkandnowblurringwiththerain.Crashed-outwindows,rats,wetbagsofgarbagesplashedoverthesidewalksandintothegutters.Graffitiwrittenjaggedlyoncrumblinggraywalls:HONKYDON’TLETTHESUNSETONYOUHEAR.HOMEFOLKSBLOWDOKES.YOURMOMMYITCHES.SKINYOURBANANA.TOMMY’SPUSHING.
HITLERWASCOOL.MARY.SID.KILLALLKIKES.TheoldG.A.sodiumlightsputupinthe70sbustedwithrocksandhunksofpaving.Notechnicowasgoingtoreplacethemdownhere;theywereontheNewCreditDollar.Technicosstayuptown,baby.Uptown’scool.Everythingsilentexceptfortherising-then-descendingwhooshofthepneumobusesandtheechoingclackof
Richards’sfootfalls.Thisbattlefieldonlylightsupatnight.Inthedayitisadesertedgraysilencewhichcontainsnomovementbutthecatsandratsandfatwhitemaggotstrundlingacrossthegarbage.Nosmellbutthedecayingreekofthisbraveyear2025.TheFree-Veecablesaresafelyburiedunderthestreetsandnoonebutanidiotorarevolutionarywouldwanttovandalizethem.Free-
Veeisthestuffofdreams,thebreadoflife.Scagistwelveoldbucksabag,FriscoPushgoesfortwentyatab,buttheFree-Veewillfreakyoufornothing.Fartheralong,ontheothersideoftheCanal,thedreammachinerunstwenty-fourhoursaday…butitrunsonNewDollars,andonlyemployedpeoplehaveany.Therearefourmillionothers,almostallofthemunemployed,southofthe
CanalinCo-OpCity.
Richardswalkedthreemilesandtheoccasionalliquorstoresandsmokeshops,atfirstheavilygrilled,becamemorenumerous.ThentheX-Houses(!!24Perversions—Count’Em24!!),theHockeries,theBloodEmporiums.Greaserssittingoncyclesateverycorner,theguttersburiedinsnowdriftsofroachends.RichBlokes
SmokeDokes.
Hecouldseetheskyscrapersrisingintothecloudsnow,highandclean.ThehighestofallwastheNetworkGamesBuilding,onehundredstories,thetophalfburiedincloudandsmogcover.Hefixedhiseyesonitandwalkedanothermile.Nowthemoreexpensivemoviehouses,andsmokeshopswithnogrills(but
Rent-A-Pigsstoodoutside,electricmove-alongshangingfromtheirSamBrownebelts).Acitycoponeverycorner.ThePeople’sFountainPark:Admission75¢.Well-dressedmotherswatchingtheirchildrenastheyfrolickedontheastroturfbehindchain-linkfencing.Acoponeithersideofthegate.Atiny,patheticglimpseofthefountain.
HecrossedtheCanal.
AshegotclosertotheGamesBuildingitgrewtaller,moreandmoreimprobablewithitsimpersonaltiersofrisingofficewindows,itspolishedstonework.Copswatchinghim,readytohustlehimalongorbusthimifhetriedtocommitloitering.Uptowntherewasonlyonefunctionforamaninbaggygraypants
andacheapbowlhaircutandsunkeneyes.ThatpurposewastheGames.
Thequalifyingexaminationsbeganpromptlyatnoon,andwhenBenRichardssteppedbehindthelastmaninline,hewasalmostintheumbraoftheGamesBuilding.Butthebuildingwasstillnineblocksandoveramileaway.Thelinestretchedbeforehimlikeaneternalsnake.Soonothers
joineditbehindhim.Thepolicewatchedthem,handsoneithergunbuttsormove-alongs.Theysmiledanonymous,contemptuoussmiles.
—Thatonelooklikeahalf-wittoyou,Frank?Lookslikeonetome.
—Guydownthereastmeiftherewasaplacewherehecouldgotothebathroom.
Canyamagineit?
—Sonsofbitchesain’t—
—Killtheirownmothersfora—
—Smelledlikehedidn’thaveabathfor—
—Ain’tnothinlikeafreakshowIalways—
Headsdownagainstthe
rain,theyshuffledaimlessly,andafterawhilethelinebegantomove.
…Minus098andCOUNTING…
ItwasafterfourwhenBenRichardsgottothemaindeskandwasroutedtoDesk9(Q-R).Thewomansittingattherumblingplastipunchlookedtiredandcruelandimpersonal.Shelookedat
himandsawnoone.
“Name,last-first-middle.”
“Richards,BenjaminStuart.”
Herfingersracedoverthekeys.Clitter-clitter-clitterwentthemachine.
“Age-height-weight.”
“Twenty-eight,six-two,
one-sixty-five.”
Clitter-clitter-clitter
Thehugelobbywasanechoing,reboundingtombofsound.Questionsbeingaskedandanswered.Peoplewerebeingledoutweeping.Peoplewerebeingthrownout.Hoarsevoiceswereraisedinprotest.Ascreamortwo.Questions.Alwaysquestions.
“Lastschoolattended?”
“ManualTrades.”
“Didyougraduate?”
“No.”
“Howmanyyears,andatwhatagedidyouleave?”
“Twoyears.Sixteenyearsold.”
“Reasonsforleaving?”
“Igotmarried.”
Clitter-clitter-clitter
“Nameandageofspouseifany.”
“SheilaCatherineRichards,twenty-six.”
“Namesandagesofchildren,ifany.”
“CatherineSarahRichards,eighteenmonths.”
Clitter-clitter-clitter
“Lastquestion,mister.Don’tbotherlying;they’llpickitupduringthephysicalanddisqualifyyouthere.Haveyoueverusedheroinorthesynthetic-amphetaminehallucinogencalledSanFranciscoPush?”
“No.”
Clitter.
Aplasticcardpoppedoutandshehandedittohim.“Don’tlosethis,bigfella.Ifyoudo,youhavetostartbackatgonextweek.”Shewaslookingathimnow,seeinghisface,theangryeyes,lankybody.Notbadlooking.Atleastsomeintelligence.Goodstats.
Shetookhiscardbackabruptlyandpunchedofftheupperright-handcorner,givingitanoddmilledappearance.
“Whatwasthatfor?”
“Nevermind.Somebodywilltellyoulater.Maybe.”Shepointedoverhisshoulderatalonghallwhichledtowardabankofelevators.Dozensofmenfreshfromthe
deskswerebeingstopped,showingtheirplasticI.D.sandmovingon.AsRichardswatched,atrembling,sallow-facedPushfreakwasstoppedbyacopandshownthedoor.Thefreakbegantocry.Buthewent.
“Tougholdworld,bigfella,”thewomanbehindthedesksaidwithoutsympathy.“Movealong.”
Richardsmovedalong.Behindhim,thelitanywasalreadybeginningagain.
…Minus097andCOUNTING…
Ahard,callusedhandslappedhisshoulderattheheadofthehallbeyondthedesks.“Card,buddy.”
Richardsshowedit.Thecoprelaxed,hisfacesubtleand
Chinesewithdisappointment.
“Youliketurningthemback,don’tyou?”Richardsasked.“Itreallygivesyouacharge,doesn’tit?”
“Youwanttogodowntown,maggot?”
Richardswalkedpasthim,andthecopmadenomove.
Hestoppedhalfwaytothe
bankofelevatorsandlookedback.“Hey.Cop.”
Thecoplookedathimtruculently.
“Gotafamily?Itcouldbeyounextweek.”
“Moveon!”thecopshoutedfuriously.
Withasmile,Richardsmovedon.
Therewasalineofperhapstwentyapplicantswaitingattheelevators.Richardsshowedoneofthecopsondutyhiscardandthecoplookedathimclosely.“Youahardass,sonny?”
“Justaboutassmartasyoutalkwithoutthatgunonyourlegandyourpantsdownaroundyourankles,”Richardssaid,stillsmiling.“Wanttotryit?”
Foramomenthethoughtthecopwasgoingtoswingathim.“They’llfixyou,”thecopsaid.“You’lldosomewalkingonyourkneesbeforeyou’redone.”
Thecopswaggeredovertothreenewarrivalsanddemandedtoseetheircards.
ThemanaheadofRichardsturnedaround.Hehadanervous,unhappyfaceand
curlyhairthatcamedowninawidow’speak.“Say,youdon’twanttoantagonizethem,fella.They’vegotagrapevine.”
“Isthatso?”Richardsasked,lookingathimmildly.
Themanturnedaway.
Abruptlytheelevatordoorssnappedopen.Ablackcopwithahugegutstood
protectingthebankofpushbuttons.Anothercopsatonasmallstoolreadinga3-DPervertMaginasmallbulletproofcubiclethesizeofatelephoneboothattherearofthelargecar.Asawed-offshotgunrestedbetweenhisknees.Shellswerelinedupbesidehimwithineasyreach.
“Steptotherear!”thefatcopcriedwithboredimportance.“Steptotherear!
Steptotherear!”
Theycrowdedintoadepthwhereadeepbreathwasimpossible.SadfleshwalledRichardsoneveryside.Theywentuptothesecondfloor.Thedoorssnappedopen.Richards,whostoodaheadtallerthananyoneelseinthecar,sawahugewaitingroomwithmanychairsdominatedbyahugeFree-Vee.Acigarettedispenserstoodin
onecorner.
“Stepout!Stepout!ShowI.D.cardstoyourleft!”
Theysteppedout,holdingouttheirI.D.cardstotheimpersonallensofacamera.Threecopsstoodcloseby.Forsomereason,abuzzerwentoffatthesightofsomedozencards,andtheholderswerejerkedoutoflineandhustledaway.
Richardsshowedhiscardandwaswavedon.Hewenttothecigarettemachine,gotapackageofBlamsandsatdownasfarfromtheFree-Veeaspossible.Helitupasmokeandexhaled,coughing.Hehadn’thadacigaretteinalmostsixmonths.
…Minus096andCOUNTING…
TheycalledtheA’sforthephysicalalmostimmediately,andabouttwodozenmengotupandfiledthroughadoorbeyondtheFree-Vee.AlargesigntackedoverthedoorreadTHISWAY.Therewasan
arrowbelowthelegend,pointingatthedoor.TheliteracyofGamesapplicantswasnotoriouslylow.
Theyweretakinganewlettereveryfifteenminutesorso.BenRichardshadsatdownataboutfive,andsoheestimateditwouldbequarterofninebeforetheygottohim.Hewishedhehadbroughtabook,buthesupposedthingswerejustas
wellastheywere.Bookswereregardedwithsuspicionatbest,especiallywhencarriedbysomeonefromsouthoftheCanal.PervertMagsweresafer.
Hewatchedthesixo’clocknewsierestlessly(thefightinginEcuadorwasworse,newcannibalriotshadbrokenoutinIndia,theDetroitTigershadtakentheHardingCatamountsbyascoreof6–2
inanafternoongame),andwhenthefirstoftheevening’sbig-moneygamescameonatsix-thirty,hewentrestlesslytothewindowandlookedout.Nowthathismindwasmadeup,theGamesboredhimagain.Mostoftheothers,however,werewatchingFunGunswithadreadfulfascination.Nextweekitmightbethem.
Outside,daylightwas
bleedingslowlytowarddusk.Theelswereslammingathighspeedthroughthepowerringsabovethesecond-floorwindow,theirpowerfulheadlightssearchingthegrayair.Onthesidewalksbelow,crowdsofmenandwomen(mostofthem,ofcourse,technicosorNetworkbureaucrats)werebeginningtheirevening’sprowlinsearchofentertainment.ACertifiedPusherwashawking
hiswaresonthecorneracrossthestreet.Amanwithasableddollyoneacharmpassedbelowhim;thetriowaslaughingaboutsomething.
HehadasuddenawfulwaveofhomesicknessforSheilaandCathy,andwishedhecouldcallthem.Hedidn’tthinkitwasallowed.Hecouldstillwalkout,ofcourse;severalmenalready
had.Theywalkedacrosstheroom,grinningobscurelyatnothing,tousethedoormarkedTOSTREET.Backtotheflatwithhisdaughterglowingfever-brightintheotherroom?No.Couldn’t.Couldn’t.
Hestoodatthewindowalittlewhilelonger,thenwentbackandsatdown.Thenewgame,DigYourGrave,wasbeginning.
ThefellowsittingnexttoRichardstwitchedhisarmanxiously.“Isittruethattheywashoutoverthirtypercentjustonthephysicals?”
“Idon’tknow,”Richardssaid.
“Jesus,”thefellowsaid.“Igotbronchitis.MaybeTreadmilltoBucks…”
Richardscouldthinkof
nothingtosay.Thepal’srespirationsoundedlikeafarawaytrucktryingtoclimbasteephill.
“Igotafambly,”themansaidwithsoftdesperation.
RichardslookedattheFree-Veeasifitinterestedhim.
Thefellowwasquietforalongtime.Whentheprogramchangedagainatseven-thirty,
Richardsheardhimaskingthemanonhisothersideaboutthephysical.
Itwasfulldarkoutsidenow.Richardswonderedifitwasstillraining.Itseemedlikeaverylongevening.
…Minus095andCOUNTING…
WhentheR’swentthroughthedoorundertheredarrowandintotheexaminationroomitwasjustafewminutesafternine-thirty.Alotoftheinitialexcitementhadwornoff,andpeople
wereeitherwatchingtheFree-Veeavidly,withnoneoftheirpriordread,ordozing.ThemanwiththenoisychesthadanamethatbeganwithLandhadbeencalledoveranhourbefore.Richardswonderedidlyifhehadbeencut.
Theexaminationroomwaslongandtiled,litwithfluorescenttubes.Itlookedlikeanassemblyline,with
boreddoctorsstandingatvariousstationsalongtheway.
Wouldanyofyouliketocheckmylittlegirl?Richardsthoughtbitterly.
Theapplicantsshowedtheircardstoanothercameraeyeembeddedinthewallandwereorderedtostopbyarowofclotheshooks.Adoctorinalongwhitelabcoatwalked
overtothem,clipboardtuckedunderonearm.
“Strip,”hesaid.“Hangyourclothesonthehooks.Rememberthenumberoveryourhookandgivethenumbertotheorderlyatthefarend.Don’tworryaboutyourvaluables.Nobodyherewantsthem.”
Valuables.Thatwasahotone,Richardsthought,
unbuttoninghisshirt.HehadanemptywalletwithafewpicturesofSheilaandCathy,areceiptforashoesolehehadhadreplacedatthelocalcobbler’ssixmonthsago,akeyringwithnokeysonitexceptforthedoorkey,ababysockthathedidnotrememberputtinginthere,andthepackageofBlamshehadgottenfromthemachine.
Hewaswearingtattered
skivviesbecauseSheilawastoostubborntolethimgowithout,butmanyofthemenwerebuckundertheirpants.Soontheyallstoodstrippedandanonymous,penisesdanglingbetweentheirlegslikeforgottenwar-clubs.Everyoneheldhiscardinonehand.Someshuffledtheirfeetasifthefloorwerecold,althoughitwasnot.Thefaint,impersonallynostalgicodorofalcoholdriftedthrough.
“Stayinline,”thedoctorwiththeclipboardwasinstructing.“Alwaysshowyourcard.Followinstructions.”
Thelinemovedforward.Richardssawtherewasacopwitheachdoctoralongtheway.Hedroppedhiseyesandwaitedpassively.
“Card.”
Hegavehiscardover.Thefirstdoctornotedthenumber,thensaid:“Openyourmouth.”
Richardsopenedit.Histonguewasdepressed.
Thenextdoctorpeeredintohispupilswithatinybrightlight,andthenstaredinhisears.
Thenextplacedthecold
circleofastethoscopeonhischest.“Cough.”
Richardscoughed.Downthelineamanwasbeinghauledaway.Heneededthemoney,theycouldn’tdoit,he’dgethislawyeronthem.
Thedoctormovedhisstethoscope.“Cough.”
Richardscoughed.Thedoctorturnedhimaroundand
putthestethoscopeonhisback.
“Takeadeepbreathandholdit.”Thestethoscopemoved.
“Exhale.”
Richardsexhaled.
“Movealong.”
Hisbloodpressurewas
takenbyagrinningdoctorwithaneyepatch.Hewasgivenashort-arminspectionbyabaldmedicowhohadseverallargebrownfreckles,likeliverspots,onhispate.Thedoctorplacedacoolhandbetweenthesacofhisscrotumandhisupperthigh.
“Cough.”
Richardscoughed.
“Movealong.”
Histemperaturewastaken.Hewasaskedtospitinacup.Halfway,now.Halfwaydownthehall.Twoorthreemenhadalreadyfinishedup,andanorderlywithapastyfaceandrabbitteethwasbringingthemtheirclothesinwirebaskets.Halfadozenmorehadbeenpulledoutofthelineandshownthestairs.
“Bendoverandspreadyourcheeks.”
Richardsbentandspread.Afingercoatedwithplasticinvadedhisrectalchannel,explored,retreated.
“Movealong.”
Hesteppedintoaboothwithcurtainsonthreesides,liketheoldvotingbooths—votingboothshadbeendone
awaywithbycomputerelectionelevenyearsago—andurinatedinabluebeaker.Thedoctortookitandputitinawirerack.
Atthenextstophelookedataneye-chart.“Read,”thedoctorsaid.
“E—A,L—D,M,F—S,P,M,Z—K,L,A,C,D—U,S,G,A—”
“That’senough.Movealong.”
Heenteredanotherpseudovotingboothandputearphonesoverhishead.Hewastoldtopushthewhitebuttonwhenheheardsomethingandtheredbuttonwhenhedidn’thearitanymore.Thesoundwasveryhighandfaint—likeadogwhistlethathadbeenpitch-loweredintojustaudible
humanrange.Richardspushedbuttonsuntilhewastoldtostop.
Hewasweighed.Hisarcheswereexamined.Hestoodinfrontofafluoroscopeandputonaleadapron.Adoctor,chewinggumandsingingsomethingtunelesslyunderhisbreath,tookseveralpicturesandnotedhiscardnumber.
Richardshadcomeinwithagroupofaboutthirty.Twelvehadmadeittothefarendoftheroom.Someweredressedandwaitingfortheelevator.Aboutadozenmorehadbeenhauledoutofline.Oneofthemtriedtoattackthedoctorthathadcuthimandwasfelledbyapolicemanwieldingamove-alongatfullcharge.Thepalfellasifpoleaxed.
Richardsstoodatalowtableandwasaskedifhehadhadsomefiftydifferentdiseases.Mostofthemwererespiratoryinnature.ThedoctorlookedupsharplywhenRichardssaidtherewasacaseofinfluenzainthefamily.
“Wife?”
“No.Mydaughter.”
“Age?”
“Ayearandahalf.”
“Haveyoubeenimmunized?Don’ttrytolie!”thedoctorshoutedsuddenly,asifRichardshadalreadytriedtolie.“We’llcheckyourhealthstats.”
“ImmunizedJuly2023.BoosterSeptember2023.Blockhealthclinic.”
“Movealong.”
Richardshadasuddenurgetoreachoverthetableandpopthemaggot’sneck.Instead,hemovedalong.
Atthelaststop,asevere-lookingwomandoctorwithclose-croppedhairandanElectricJuicerpluggedintooneearaskedhimifhewasahomosexual.
“No.”
“Haveyoueverbeenarrestedonafelonycharge?”
“No.”
“Doyouhaveanyseverephobias?BythatImean—”
“No.”
“Youbetterlistentothedefinition,”shesaidwitha
fainttouchofcondescension.“Imean—”
“DoIhaveanyunusualandcompulsivefears,suchasacrophobiaorclaustrophobia.Idon’t.”
Herlipspressedtightlytogether,andforamomentsheseemedonthevergeofsharpcomment.
“Doyouuseorhaveyou
usedanyhallucinogenicoraddictivedrugs?”
“No.”
“DoyouhaveanyrelativeswhohavebeenarrestedonchargesofcrimesagainstthegovernmentoragainstthegovernmentoragainsttheNetwork?”
“No.”
“SignthisloyaltyoathandthisGamesCommissionreleaseform,Mr.,uh,Richards.”
Hescratchedhissignature.
“Showtheorderlyyourcardandtellhimthenumber—”
Heleftherinmidsentenceandgesturedatthebuck-toothedorderlywithhisthumb.“Numbertwenty-six,
Bugs.”Theorderlybroughthisthings.Richardsdressedslowlyandwentoverbytheelevator.Hisanusfelthotandembarrassed,violated,alittleslipperywiththelubricantthedoctorhadused.
Whentheywereallbunchedtogether,theelevatordooropened.ThebulletproofJudasholewasemptythistime.Thecopwasaskinnymanwithalargewenbeside
hisnose.“Steptotherear,”hechanted.“Pleasesteptotherear.”
Asthedoorclosed,RichardscouldseetheS’scominginatthefarendofthehall.Thedoctorwiththeclipboardwasapproachingthem.Thenthedoorsclickedtogether,cuttingofftheview.
Theyrodeuptothethirdfloor,andthedoorsopened
onahuge,semilitdormitory.Rowsandrowsofnarrowiron-and-canvascotsseemedtostretchouttoinfinity.
Twocopsbegantocheckthemoutoftheelevator,givingthembednumbers.Richards’swas940.Thecothadonebrownblanketandaveryflatpillow.Richardslaydownonthecotandlethisshoesdroptothefloor.Hisfeetdangledovertheend;
therewasnothingtobedoneaboutit.
Hecrossedhisarmsunderhisheadandstaredattheceiling.
…Minus094andCOUNTING…
Hewasawakenedpromptlyatsixthefollowingmorningbyaveryloudbuzzer.Foramomenthewasfoggy,disoriented,wonderingifSheilahadboughtanalarmclockorwhat.Thenitcame
tohimandhesatup.
Theywereledbygroupsoffiftyintoalargeindustrialbathroomwheretheyshowedtheircardstoacameraguardedbyapoliceman.Richardswenttoablue-tiledbooththatcontainedamirror,abasin,ashower,atoilet.Ontheshelfabovethebasinwasarowoftoothbrusheswrappedincellophane,anelectricrazor,abarofsoap,
andahalf-usedtubeoftoothpaste.Asigntuckedintothecornerofthemirrorread:RESPECTTHISPROPERTY!Beneathit,someonehadscrawled:IONLYRESPECTMYASS!
Richardsshowered,driedwithatowelthattoppedapileonthetoilettank,shaved,andbrushed.
Theywereletintoa
cafeteriawheretheyshowedtheirI.D.cardsagain.Richardstookatrayandpusheditdownastainlesssteelledge.Hewasgivenaboxofcornflakes,agreasydishofhomefries,ascoopofscrambledeggs,apieceoftoastascoldandhardasamarblegravestone,ahalfpintofmilk,acupofmuddycoffee(nocream),anenvelopeofsugar,anenvelopeofsalt,andapatof
fakebutteronatinysquareofoilypaper.
Hewolfedthemeal;theyalldid.ForRichardsitwasthefirstrealfood,otherthangreasypizzawedgesandgovernmentpill-commodities,thathehadeateninGodknewhowlong.Yetitwasoddlybland,asifsomevampirechefinthekitchenhadsuckedallthetasteoutofitandleftonly
brutenutrients.
Whatweretheyeatingthismorning?Helppills.Fakemilkforthebaby.Asuddenfeelingofdesperationswelledoverhim.Christwhenwouldtheystartseeingmoney?Today?Tomorrow?Nextweek?
Ormaybethatwasjustagimmicktoo,aflashycome-on.Maybetherewasn’teven
anyrainbow,letaloneapotofgold.
Hesatstaringathisemptyplateuntiltheseveno’clockbuzzerwentandtheyweremovedontotheelevators.
…Minus093andCOUNTING…
OnthefourthfloorRichards’sgroupoffiftywasherdedfirstintoalarge,furniturelessroomringedwithwhatlookedlikeletterslots.Theyshowedtheircardsagain,andtheelevator
doorswhooshedclosedbehindthem.
AgauntmanwithrecedinghairwiththeGamesemblem(thesilhouetteofahumanheadsuperimposedoveratorch)onhislabcoatcameintotheroom.
“Pleaseundressandremoveallvaluablesfromyourclothes,”hesaid.“Thendropyourclothesintooneofthe
incineratorslots.You’llbeissuedGamescoveralls.”Hesmiledmagnanimously.“YoumaykeeptheoverallsnomatterwhatyourpersonalGamesresolutionmaybe.”
Therewassomegrumbling,buteveryonecomplied.
“Hurry,please,”thegauntmansaid.Heclappedhishandstogethertwice,likeafirst-gradeteachersignaling
theendofplaytime.“Wehavelotsaheadofus.”
“Areyougoingtobeacontestant,too?”Richardsasked.
Thegauntmanfavoredhimwithapuzzledexpression.Somebodyinthebacksnickered.
“Nevermind,”Richardssaid,andsteppedoutofhis
trousers.
Heremovedhisunvaluablevaluablesanddumpedhisshirt,pants,andskivviesintoaletterslot.Therewasabrief,hungryflashofflamefromsomewherefarbelow.
Thedoorattheotherendopened(therewasalwaysadoorattheotherend;theywerelikeratsinahuge,upward-tendingmaze:an
Americanmaze,Richardsreflected),andmentrundledinlargebasketsonwheels,labeledS,M,L,andXL.RichardsselectedanXLforitslengthandexpectedittohangbaggilyonhisframe,butitfitquitewell.Thematerialwassoft,clingy,almostlikesilk,buttougherthansilk.Asinglenylonzipperranupthefront.Theywerealldarkblue,andtheyallhadtheGamesemblemon
therightbreastpocket.Whentheentiregroupwaswearingthem,BenRichardsfeltasifhehadlosthisface.
“Thisway,please,”thegauntmansaid,andusheredthemintoanotherwaitingroom.TheinevitableFree-Veeblaredandcackled.“You’llbecalledingroupsoften.”
ThedoorbeyondtheFree-
VeewastoppedbyanothersignreadingTHISWAY,completewitharrow.
Theysatdown.Afterawhile,Richardsgotupandwenttothewindowandlookedout.Theywerehigherup,butitwasstillraining.Thestreetswereslickandblackandwet.HewonderedwhatSheilawasdoing.
…Minus092andCOUNTING…
Hewentthroughthedoor,oneofagroupoftennow,atquarterpastten.Theywentthroughsinglefile.Theircardswerescanned.Thereweretenthree-sidedbooths,buttheseweremore
substantial.Thesideswereconstructedofdrilledsoundproofcorkpaneling.Theoverheadlightingwassoftandindirect.Muzakwasemanatingfromhiddenspeakers.Therewasaplushcarpetonthefloor;Richards’sfeetfeltstartledbysomethingthatwasn’tcement.
Thegauntmanhadsaidsomethingtohim.
Richardsblinked.“Huh?”
“Booth6,”thegauntmansaidreprovingly.
“Oh.”
HewenttoBooth6.Therewasatableinside,andalargewallclockmountedateyelevelbeyondit.OnthetablewasasharpenedG-A/IBMpencilandapileofunlinedpaper.Cheapgrade,Richards
noted.
Standingbesideallthiswasadazzlingcomputer-agepriestess,atall,Junoesqueblondewearingiridescentshortshortswhichcleanlyoutlinedthedelta-shapedriseofherpudenda.Roughednipplespokedperkilythroughasilkfishnetblouselet.
“Sitdown,please,”shesaid,“IamRindaWard,your
tester.”Sheheldoutherhand.
Startled,Richardsshookit.“BenjaminRichards.”
“MayIcallyouBen?”Thesmilewasseductivebutimpersonal.Hefeltexactlythetokenriseofdesirehewassupposedtofeelforthiswell-stackedfemalewithherwell-fedbodyondisplay.Itangeredhim.Hewonderedifshegotherkicksthisway,
showingitofftothepoorslobsontheirwaytothemeatgrinder.
“Sure,”hesaid.“Nicetits.”
“Thankyou,”shesaid,unruffled.Hewasseatednow,lookingupwhileshelookeddown,anditaddedanevenmoreembarrassingangletothepicture.“Thistesttodayistoyourmentalfacultieswhatyourphysical
yesterdaywastoyourbody.Itwillbeafairlylongtest,andyourluncheonwillbearoundthreethisafternoon—assumingyoupass.”Thesmilewinkedonandoff.
“Thefirstsectionisverbal.YouhaveonehourfromthetimeIgiveyouthetestbooklet.Youmayaskquestionsduringtheexamination,andIwillanswerthemifIamallowed
todoso.Iwillnotgiveyouanyanswerstotestquestions,however.Doyouunderstand?”
“Yes.”
Shehandedhimthebooklet.Therewasalargeredhandprintedonthecover,palmoutward.Inlargeredlettersbeneath,itsaid:
STOP!
Beneaththis:Donotturntothefirstpageuntilyourtesterinstructsyoutoproceed.
“Heavy,”Richardsremarked.
“Pardonme?”Theperfectlysculptedeyebrowswentupanotch.
“Nothing.”
“Youwillfindananswer
sheetwhenyouopenyourbooklet,”sherecited.“Pleasemakeyourmarksheavyandblack.Ifyouwishtochangeananswer,pleaseerasecompletely.Ifyoudonotknowananswer,donotguess.Doyouunderstand?”
“Yes.”
“Thenpleaseturntopageoneandbegin.WhenIsaystop,pleaseputyourpencil
down.Youmaybegin.”
Hedidn’tbegin.Heeyedherbodyslowly,insolently.
Afteramoment,sheflushed.“Yourhourhasbegun,Ben.Youhadbetter—”
“Why,”heasked,“doeseverybodyassumethatwhentheyaredealingwithsomeonefromsouthofthe
Canaltheyaredealingwithahornymentalincompetent?”
Shewascompletelyflusterednow.“I…Inever…”
“No,younever.”Hesmiledandpickeduphispencil.“MyChrist,youpeoplearedumb.”
Hebenttothetestwhileshewasstilltryingtofindananswerorevenareasonforhisattack;sheprobablyreally
didn’tunderstand.
Thefirstsectionrequiredhimtomarktheletterofthecorrectfill-in-the-blankanswer.
1. One———doesnotmakeasummer.
a.thoughtb.beerc.swallowd.crimee.noneof
these
Hefilledinhisanswersheetrapidly,rarelystoppingtodeliberateorconsiderananswertwice.Fill-inswerefollowedbyvocabulary,thenbyword-contrasts.Whenhefinished,thehourallottedstillhadfifteenminutestorun.Shemadehimkeephisexam—legallyhecouldn’tgiveittoheruntilthehourwasup—soRichardsleanedbackand
wordlesslyogledhernearlynakedbody.Thesilencegrewthickandoppressive,charged.Hecouldseeherwishingforanovercoatanditpleasedhim.
Whenthetimewasup,shegavehimasecondexam.Onthefirstpage,therewasadrawingofagasolinecarburetor.Below:
Youwouldputthisina
a.lawnmowerb.Free-Veec.electrichammockd.automobilee.noneofthese
Thethirdexamwasamathdiagnostic.Hewasnotsogoodwithfiguresandhebegantosweatlightlyashesawtheclockgettingawayfromhim.Intheend,itwasnearlyadeadheat.Hedidn’t
getachancetofinishthelastquestion.RindaWardsmiledatrifletoowidelyasshepulledthetestandanswersheetawayfromhim.“Notsofastonthatone,Ben.”
“Butthey’llallberight,”hesaid,andsmiledbackather.Heleanedforwardandswattedherlightlyontherump.“Takeashower,kid.Youdonegood.”
Sheblushedfuriously.“Icouldhaveyoudisqualified.”
“Bullshit.Youcouldgetyourselffired,that’sall.”
“Getout.Getbackinline.”Shewassnarling,suddenlyneartears.
Hefeltsomethingalmostlikecompassionandchokeditback.“Youhaveanicenighttonight,”hesaid.“You
gooutandhaveanicesix-coursemealwithwhoeveryou’resleepingwiththisweekandthinkaboutmykiddyingoffluinashittythree-roomDevelopmentapartment.”
Heleftherstaringafterhim,white-faced.
Hisgroupoftenhadbeencuttosix,andtheytroopedintothenextroom.Itwas
one-thirty.
…Minus091andCOUNTING…
Thedoctorsittingontheothersideofthetableinthesmallboothworeglasseswithtinythicklenses.Hehadakindofnasty,pleasedgrinthatremindedRichardsofahalf-withehadknownasa
boy.Thekidhadenjoyedcrouchingunderthehighschoolbleachersandlookingupgirls’skirtswhilehefloggedhisdog.Richardsbegantogrin.
“Somethingpleasant?”thedoctorasked,flippingupthefirstinkblot.Thenastygrinwidenedthetiniestbit.
“Yes.YouremindmeofsomeoneIusedtoknow.”
“Oh?Who?”
“Nevermind.”
“Verywell.Whatdoyouseehere?”
Richardslookedatit.Aninflatedbloodpressurecuffhadbeencinchedtohisrightarm.Anumberofelectrodeshadbeenpastedtohishead,andwiresfrombothhisheadandarmwerejackedintoa
consolebesidethedoctor.Squigglylinesmovedacrossthefaceofacomputerconsole.
“TwoNegrowomen.Kissing.”
Heflippedupanotherone.“This?’
“Asportscar.LookslikeaJag.”
“Doyoulikegascars?”
Richardsshrugged.“IhadamodelcollectionwhenIwasakid.”
Thedoctormadeanoteandflippedupanothercard.
“Sickperson.She’slyingonherside.Theshadowsonherfacelooklikeprisonbars.”
“Andthislastone?”
Richardsburstoutlaughing.“Lookslikeapileofshit.”Hethoughtofthedoctor,completewithhiswhitecoat,runningaroundunderthebleachers,lookingupgirls’skirtsandjackingoff,andhebegantolaughagain.Thedoctorsatsmilinghisnastysmile,makingthevisionmorereal,thusfunnier.Atlasthisgigglestaperedofftoasnortortwo.Richardshiccuppedonceandwasstill.
“Idon’tsupposeyou’dcaretotellme—”
“No,”Richardssaid.“Iwouldn’t.”
“We’llproceedthen.Wordassociation.”Hedidn’tbothertoexplainit.Richardssupposedwordwasgettingaround.Thatwasgood;itwouldsavetime.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
Thedoctorproducedastopwatchfromaninsidepocket,clickedthebusinessendofhisballpointpen,andconsideredalistinfrontofhim.
“Doctor.”
“Nigger,”Richardsresponded.
“Penis.”
“Cock.”
“Red.”
“Black.”
“Silver.”
“Dagger.”
“Rifle.”
“Murder.”
“Win.”
“Money.”
“Sex.”
“Tests.”
“Strike.”
“Out.”
Thelistcontinued;theywentthroughoverfiftywordsbeforethedoctorclickedthestemofthestopwatchdownanddroppedhispen.“Good,”hesaid.HefoldedhishandsandlookedatRichardsseriously.“Ihaveafinalquestion,Ben.Iwon’tsaythatI’llknowaliewhenIhearit,butthemachineyou’rehookeduptowillgiveaverystrongindicationonewayortheother.Haveyou
decidedtotryforqualificationstatusintheGamesoutofanysuicidalmotivation?”
“No.”
“Whatisyourreason?”
“Mylittlegirl’ssick.Sheneedsadoctor.Medicine.Hospitalcare.”
Theballpointscratched.
“Anythingelse?”
Richardswasonthevergeofsayingno(itwasnoneoftheirbusiness)andthendecidedhewouldgiveitall.Perhapsbecausethedoctorlookedlikethatnearlyforgottendirtyboyofhisyouth.Maybeonlybecauseitneededtobesaidonce,tomakeitcoalesceandtakeconcreteshape,asthingsdowhenamanforceshimselfto
translateunformedemotionalreactionsintospokenwords.
“Ihaven’thadworkforalongtime.Iwanttoworkagain,evenifit’sonlybeingthesucker-maninaloadedgame.Iwanttoworkandsupportmyfamily.Ihavepride.Doyouhavepride,Doctor?”
“Itgoesbeforeafall,”thedoctorsaid.Heclickedthetip
ofhisballpointin.“Ifyouhavenothingtoadd,Mr.Richards—”Hestoodup.That,andtheswitchbacktohissurname,suggestedthattheinterviewwasoverwhetherRichardshadanymoretosayornot.
“No.”
“Thedoorisdownthehalltoyourright.Goodluck.”
“Sure,”Richardssaid.
…Minus090andCOUNTING…
ThegroupRichardshadcomeinwithwasnowreducedtofour.Thenewwaitingroomwasmuchsmaller,andthewholegrouphadbeenreducedroughlybythesamefigureofsixtypercent.The
lastoftheY’sandZ’sstraggledinatfour-thirty.Atfour,anorderlyhadcirculatedwithatrayoftastelesssandwiches.Richardsgottwoofthemandsatmunching,listeningtoapalnamedRettenmundasheregaledRichardsandafewotherswithaseeminglyinexhaustiblefundofdirtystories.
Whenthewholegroupwas
together,theywereshuntedintoanelevatorandliftedtothefifthfloor.Theirquartersweremadeupofalargecommonroom,acommunallavatory,andtheinevitablesleep-factorywithitsrowsofcots.Theywereinformedthatacafeteriadownthehallwouldserveahotmealatseveno’clock.
Richardssatstillforafewminutes,thengotupand
walkedovertothecopstationedbythedoortheyhadcomeinthrough.“Isthereatelephone,pal?”Hedidn’texpecttheywouldbeallowedtophoneout,butthecopmerelyjerkedhisthumbtowardthehall.
Richardspushedthedooropenacrackandpeeredout.Sureenough,thereitwas.Payphone.
Helookedatthecopagain.“Listen,ifyouloanmefiftycentsforthephone,I’ll—”
“Screwoff,Jack.”
Richardsheldhistemper.“Iwanttocallmywife.Ourkidissick.Putyourselfinmyplace,forChrist’ssake.”
Thecoplaughed:ashort,chopping,uglysound.“Youtypesareallthesame.Astory
foreverydayoftheyear.Technicolorand3-DonChristmasandMother’sDay.”
“Youbastard,”Richardssaid,andsomethinginhiseyes,thestanceofhisshoulderssuddenlymadethecopshifthisgazetothewall.“Aren’tyoumarriedyourself?Didn’tyoueverfindyourselfstrappedandhavetoborrow,evenifit
tastedlikeshitinyourmouth?”
Thecopsuddenlyjammedahandintohisjumperpocketandcameupwithafistfulofplasticcoins.HethrusttwoNewQuartersatRichards,stuffedtherestofthemoneybackinhispocket,andgrabbedahandfulofRichards’stunic.“IfyousendanybodyelseoverherebecauseCharlieGradyisa
softtouch,I’llbeatyoursonofabitchingbrainsout,maggot.”
“Thankyou,”Richardssaidsteadily.“Fortheloan.”
CharlieGradylaughedandlethimgo.Richardswentoutintothehall,pickedupthephone,anddroppedhismoneyintothehorn.Itbangedhollowlyandforamomentnothinghappened
—oh,Jesus,allfornothing—butthenthedialtonecame.Hepunchedthenumberofthefifthfloorhallphoneslowly,hopingtheJennerbitchdownthehallwouldn’tanswer.She’djustassoonyellwrongnumberwhensherecognizedhisvoiceandhewouldlosehismoney.
Itrang,sixtimes,andthenanunfamiliarvoicesaid:“Hello?”
“IwanttotalktoSheilaRichardsin5C.”
“Ithinkshewentout,”thevoicesaid.Itgrewinsinuating.“Shewalksupanddowntheblock,youknow.Theygotasickkid.Themanthereisshiftless.”
“Justknockonthedoor,”hesaid,cottonmouthed.
“Holdon.”
Thephoneontheotherendcrashedagainstthewallastheunfamiliarvoiceletitdangle.Faraway,dim,asifinadream,heheardtheunfamiliarvoiceknockingandyelling:“Phone!Phoneforya,MissusRichards!”
Halfaminutelatertheunfamiliarvoicewasbackontheline.“Sheain’tthere.Icanhearthekidyellin,butsheain’tthere.LikeIsay,she
keepsaneyeoutwhenthefleet’sin.”Thevoicegiggled.
Richardswishedhecouldteleporthimselfthroughthephonelineandpopoutontheotherend,likeanevilgeniefromablackbottle,andchoketheunfamiliarvoiceuntilhiseyeballspoppedoutandrolledonthefloor.
“Takeamessage,”hesaid.“Writeitonthewallifyou
haveto.”
“Ain’tgotnopencil.I’mhanginup.G’bye.”
“Wait!”Richardsyelled,panicinhisvoice.
“I’m…justasecond.”Grudginglythevoicesaid,“Shecominupthestairsnow.”
Richardscollapsedsweatily
againstthewall.AmomentlaterSheila’svoicewasinhisear,quizzical,wary,alittlefrightened:“Hello?”
“Sheila.”Heclosedhisyes,lettingthewallsupporthim.
“Ben,Ben,isthatyou?Areyouallright?”
“Yeah.Fine.Cathy.Isshe—”
“Thesame.Thefeverisn’tsobadbutshesoundssocroupy.Ben,Ithinkthere’swaterinherlungs.Whatifshehaspneumonia?”
“It’llbeallright.It’llbeallright.”
“I—”Shepaused,alongpause.“Ihatetoleaveher,butIhadto.Ben,Iturnedtwotricksthismorning.I’msorry.ButIgothersomemedicine
atthedrug.Somegoodmedicine.”Hervoicehadtakenonazealous,evangelicallilt.
“Thatstuffisshit,”hesaid.“Listen:Nomore,Sheila.Please.IthinkI’minhere.Really.Theycan’tcutmanymoreguysbecausethere’stoomanyshows.There’sgottobeenoughcannonfoddertogoaround.Andtheygiveadvances,Ithink.Mrs.
Upshaw—”
“Shelookedawfulinblack,”Sheilabrokeintonelessly.
“Nevermindthat.YoustaywithCathy,Sheila.Nomoretricks.”
“Allright.Iwon’tgooutagain.”Buthedidn’tbelievehervoice.Fingerscrossed,Sheila?“Iloveyou,Ben.”
“AndIlo—”
“Threeminutesareup,”theoperatorbrokein.“Ifyouwishtocontinue,pleasedepositoneNewQuarterorthreeoldquarters.”
“Waitasecond!”Richardsyelled.“Getoffthegoddamline,bitch.You—”
Theemptyhumofabrokenconnection.
Hethrewthereceiver.Itflewthelengthofitssilvercord,thenrebounded,strikingthewallandthenpendulumingslowlybackandforthlikesomestrangesnakethathadbittenonceandthendied.
Somebodyhastopay,Richardsthoughtnumblyashewalkedback.Somebodyhasto.
…Minus089andCOUNTING…
Theywerequarteredonthefifthflooruntilteno’clockthefollowingday,andRichardswasnearlyoutofhismindwithanger,worry,andfrustrationwhenayoungandslightlyfaggoty-looking
palinaskintightGamesuniformaskedthemtopleasestepintotheelevator.Theywereperhapsthreehundredinall:oversixtyoftheirnumberhadbeenremovedsoundlesslyandpainlesslythenightbefore.Oneofthemhadbeenthekidwiththeinexhaustiblefundofdirtyjokes.
Theyweretakentoasmallauditoriumonthesixthfloor
ingroupsoffifty.Theauditoriumwasveryluxurious,doneingreatquantitiesofredplush.Therewasanashtraybuiltintotherealwoodarmofeveryseat,andRichardshauledouthiscrumpledpackofBlams.Hetappedhisashesonthefloor.
Therewasasmallstageatthefront,andinthecenterofthat,alectern.Apitcherofwaterstoodonit.
Ataboutfifteenminutespastten,thefaggoty-lookingfellowwalkedtothelecternandsaid:“I’dlikeyoutomeetArthurM.Burns,AssistantDirectorofGames.”
“Huzzah,”somebodybehindRichardssaidinasourvoice.
Aportlymanwithatonsuresurroundedbygrayhairstrodetothelectern,pausing
andcockinghisheadashearrived,asiftoappreciatearoundofapplausewhichonlyhecouldhear.Thenhesmiledatthem,abroad,twinklingsmilethatseemedtotransformhimintoapudgy,agingCupidinabusinesssuit.
“Congratulations,”hesaid.“You’vemadeit.”
Therewasahugecollective
sigh,followedbysomelaughterandback-slapping.Morecigaretteswerelitup.
“Huzzah,”thesourvoicerepeated.
“Shortly,yourprogramassignmentsandseventhfloorroomnumberswillbepassedout.Theexecutiveproducersofyourparticularprogramswillexplainfurtherexactlywhatisexpectedofyou.But
beforethathappens,IjustwanttorepeatmycongratulationsandtellyouthatIfindyoutobeacourageous,resourcefulgroup,refusingtoliveonthepublicdolewhenyouhavemeansatyourdisposaltoacquityourselvesasmen,and,mayIaddpersonally,astrueheroesofourtime.”
“Bullshit,”thesourvoiceremarked.
“Furthermore,IspeakfortheentireNetworkwhenIwishyougoodluckandGodspeed.”ArthurM.Burnschuckledporkilyandrubbedhishandstogether.“Well,Iknowyou’reanxioustogetthoseassignments,soI’llspareyouanymoreofmyjabber.”
Asidedoorpoppedopen,andadozenGamesusherswearingredtunicscameinto
theauditorium.Theybegantocalloutnames.Whiteenvelopeswerepassedout,andsoontheylitteredthefloorlikeconfetti.Plasticassignmentcardswereread,exchangedwithnewacquaintances.Thereweremuffledgroans,cheers,catcalls.ArthurM.Burnspresidedoveritallfromhispodium,smilingbenevolently.
—ThatChristlyHowHotCanYouTakeIt,JesusIhatetheheat
—theshow’sagoddamtwo-bitter,comesonrightaftertheflictoons,forGod’ssake
—TreadmilltoBucks,gosh,Ididn’tknowmyheartwas—
—IwashopingI’dgetitbutIdidn’treallythink—
—HeyJake,youeverseenthisSwimtheCrocodiles?Ithought—
—nothinglikeIexpected—
—Idon’tthinkyoucan—
—Miserablegoddam—
—ThisRunForYourGuns—
“BenjaminRichards!Ben
Richards?”
“Here!”
Hewashandedaplainwhiteenvelopeandtoreitopen.Hisfingerswereshakingslightlyandittookhimtwotriestogetthesmallplasticcardout.Hefrowneddownatit,notunderstanding.Noprogramassignmentwaspunchedonit.Thecardreadsimply:ELEVATORSIX.
HeputthecardinhisbreastpocketwithhisI.D.andlefttheauditorium.Thefirstfiveelevatorsattheendofthehallweredoingabriskbusinessastheyferriedthefollowingweek’scontestantsuptotheseventhfloor.TherewerefourothersstandingbythecloseddoorsofElevator6,andRichardsrecognizedoneofthemastheownerofthesourvoice.
“What’sthis?”Richardsasked,“Arewegettingthegate?”
Themanwiththesourvoicewasabouttwenty-five,notbadlooking.Onearmwaswithered,probablybypolio,whichhadcomebackstrongin2005.IthaddoneespeciallywellinCo-Op.
“Nosuchluck,”hesaid,andlaughedemptily.“Ithink
we’regettingthebig-moneyassignments.Theoneswheretheydomorethanjustlandyouinthehospitalwithastrokeorputoutaneyeorcutoffanarmortwo.Theoneswheretheykillyou.Primetime,baby.”
Theywerejoinedbyasixthpal,agood-lookingkidwhowasblinkingateverythinginasurprisedway.
“Hello,sucker,”themanwiththesourvoicesaid.
Ateleveno’clock,afteralltheothershadbeentakenaway,thedoorsofElevator6poppedopen.TherewasacopridingintheJudasholeagain.
“See?”themanwiththesourvoicesaid.“We’redangerouscharacters.Publicenemies.They’regonnarub
usout.”HemadeatoughgangsterfaceandsprayedthebulletproofcompartmentwithanimaginaryStengun.Thecopstaredathimwoodenly.
…Minus088andCOUNTING…
Thewaitingroomontheeighthfloorwasverysmall,veryplush,veryintimate,veryprivate.Richardshaditalltohimself.
Attheendoftheelevator
ride,threeofthemhadbeenpromptlywhiskedawaydownaplushlycarpetedcorridorbythreecops.Richards,themanwiththesourvoice,andthekidwhoblinkedalothadbeentakenhere.
AreceptionistwhovaguelyremindedRichardsofoneoftheoldtee-veesexstars(LizKelly?GraceTaylor?)hehadwatchedasakidsmiledatthethreeofthemwhentheycame
in.Shewassittingatadeskinanalcove,surroundedbysomanypottedplantsthatshemighthavebeeninanEcuadorianfoxhole.“Mr.Jansky,”shesaidwithablindingsmile.“Gorightin.”
Thekidwhoblinkedalotwentintotheinnersanctum.Richardsandthemanwiththesourvoice,whosenamewasJimmyLaughlin,madewaryconversation.Richards
discoveredthatLaughlinlivedonlythreeblocksawayfromhim,onDockStreet.Hehadheldapart-timejobuntiltheyearbeforeasanenginewiperforGeneralAtomics,andhadthenbeenfiredfortakingpartinasit-downstrikeprotestingleakyradiationshields.
“Well,I’malive,anyway,”hesaid.“Accordingtothosemaggots,that’sallthat
counts.I’msterile,ofcourse.Thatdon’tmatter.That’soneofthelittlerisksyourunfortheprincelysumofsevenNewBucksaday.”
WhenG-Ahadshownhimthedoor,thewitheredarmhadmadeiteventoughertogetajob.Hiswifehadcomedownwithbadasthmatwoyearsbefore,wasnowbed-ridden.“FinallyIdecidedtogoforthebigbrassring,”
Laughlinsaidwithabittersmile.“MaybeI’llgetachancetopushafewcreepsoutahighwindowbeforeMcCone’sboysgetme.”
“Doyouthinkitreallyis—”
“TheRunningMan?Betyoursweetass.Givemeoneofthosecruddycigarettes,pal.”
Richardsgavehimone.
Thedooropenedandthekidwhoblinkedalotcameoutonthearmofabeautifuldollywearingtwohandkerchiefsandaprayer.Thekidgavethemasmall,nervoussmileastheywentby.
“Mr.Laughlin?Wouldyougoin,please?”
SoRichardswasalone,unlessyoucountedthe
receptionist,whohaddisappearedintoherfoxholeagain.
Hegotupandwentovertothefreecigarettemachineinthecorner.Laughlinmustberight,hereflected.ThecigarettemachinedispensedDokes.Theymusthavehitthebigleagues.HegotapackageofBlams,satdown,andlitoneup.
AbouttwentyminuteslaterLaughlincameoutwithanash-blondeonhisarm.“Afriendofminefromthecarpool,”hesaidtoRichards,andpointedattheblonde.Shedimpleddutifully.Laughlinlookedpained.“Atleastthebastardtalksstraight,”hesaidtoRichards.“Seeyou.”
Hewentout.Thereceptionistpokedherhead
outofherfoxhole.“Mr.Richards?Wouldyoustepin,please?”
Hewentin.
…Minus087andCOUNTING…
Theinnerofficelookedbigenoughtoplaykillballin.Itwasdominatedbyahuge,one-wallpicturewindowthatlookedwestoverthehomesofthemiddleclass,thedocksidewarehousesandoil
tanks,andHardingLakeitself.Bothskyandwaterwerepearl-gray;itwasstillraining.Alargetankerfaroutwaschuggingfromrighttoleft.
Themanbehindthedeskwasofmiddleheightandveryblack.Soblack,infact,thatforamomentRichardswasstruckwithunreality.Hemighthavesteppedoutofaminstrelshow.
“Mr.Richards.”Heroseandextendedhishandoverthedesk.WhenRichardsdidnotshakeit,hedidnotseemparticularlyflustered.Hemerelytookhishandbacktohimselfandsatdown.
Aslingchairwasnexttothedesk.RichardssatdownandbuttedhissmokeinanashtraywiththeGamesemblemembossedonit.
“I’mDanKillian,Mr.Richards.Bynowyou’veprobablyguessedwhyyou’vebeenbroughthere.Ourrecordsandyourtestscoresbothsayyou’reabrightboy.”
Richardsfoldedhishandsandwaited.
“You’vebeenslatedasacontestantonTheRunningMan,Mr.Richards.It’sourbiggestshow;it’sthemost
lucrative—anddangerous—forthemeninvolved.I’vegotyourfinalconsentformhereonmydesk.I’venodoubtthatyou’llsignit,butfirstIwanttotellyouwhyyou’vebeenselectedandIwantyoutounderstandfullywhatyou’regettinginto.”
Richardssaidnothing.
Killianpulledadossierontothevirginsurfaceofhisdesk
blotter.Richardssawthatithadhisnametypedonthefront.Killianflippeditopen.
“BenjaminStuartRichards.Agetwenty-eight,bornAugust8,1997,cityofHarding.AttendedSouthCityManualTradesfromSeptemberof2011untilDecemberof2013.Suspendedtwiceforfailuretorespectauthority.Ibelieveyoukickedtheassistant
principalintheupperthighoncewhilehisbackwasturned?”
“Crap,”Richardssaid.“Ikickedhimintheass.”
Killiannodded.“Howeveryousay,Mr.Richards.YoumarriedSheilaRichards,néeGordon,attheageofsixteen.Old-stylelifetimecontract.Rebelalltheway,uh?Nounionaffiliationduetoyour
refusaltosigntheUnionOathofFealtyandtheWageControlArticles.IbelievethatyoureferredtoAreaGovernorJohnsburyas‘acorn-holingsonofabitch.’”
“Yes,”Richardssaid.
“Yourworkrecordhasbeenspottyandyou’vebeenfired…let’ssee…atotalofsixtimesforsuchthingsasinsubordination,insulting
superiors,andabusivecriticismofauthority.”
Richardsshrugged.
“Inshort,youareregardedasantiauthoritarianandantisocial.You’readeviatewhohasbeenintelligentenoughtostayoutofprisonandserioustroublewiththegovernment,andyou’renothookedonanything.Astaffpsychologistreportsyousaw
lesbians,excrement,andapollutivegasvehicleinvariousinkblots.Healsoreportsahigh,unexplaineddegreeofhilarity—”
“HeremindedmeofakidIusedtoknow.Helikedtohideunderthebleachersatschoolandwhackoff.Thekid,Imean.Idon’tknowwhatyourdoctorlikestodo.”
“Isee.”Killiansmiled
briefly,whiteteethglitteringinallthatdarkness,andwentbacktohisfolder.“YouheldracialresponsesoutlawedbytheRacialActof2004.Youmadeseveralratherviolentresponsesduringtheword-associationtest.”
“I’mhereonviolentbusiness,”Richardssaid.
“Tobesure.Andyetwe—andhereIspeakinalarger
sensethantheGamesAuthority;Ispeakinthenationalsense—viewtheseresponseswithextremedisquiet.”
“AfraidsomeonemighttapeastickofIrishtoyourignitionsystemsomenight?”Richardsasked,grinning.
Killianwethisthumbreflectivelyandturnedtothenextsheet.“Fortunately—for
us—you’vegivenahostagetofortune,Mr.Richards.YouhaveadaughternamedCatherine,eighteenmonths.Wasthatamistake?”Hesmiledfrostily.
“Planned,”Richardssaidwithoutrancor.“IwasworkingforG-Athen.Somehow,someofmyspermlivedthroughit.AjestofGod,maybe.Withtheworldthewayitis,Isometimes
thinkwemusthavebeenoffourtrolley.”
“Atanyrate,you’rehere,”Killiansaid,continuingtosmilehiscoldsmile.“AndnextTuesdayyouwillappearonTheRunningMan.You’veseentheprogram?”
“Yes.”
“Thenyouknowit’sthebiggestthinggoingonFree-
Vee.It’sfilledwithchancesforviewerparticipation,bothvicariousandactual.Iamexecutiveproduceroftheprogram.”
“That’sreallywonderful,”Richardssaid.
“TheprogramisoneofthesurestwaystheNetworkhasofgettingridofembryotroublemakerssuchasyourself,Mr.Richards.
We’vebeenonforsixyears.Todate,wehavenosurvivals.Tobebrutallyhonest,weexpecttohavenone.”
“Thenyou’rerunningacrookedtable,”Richardssaidflatly.
Killianseemedmoreamusedthanhorrified.“Butwe’renot.Youkeepforgettingyou’rean
anachronism,Mr.Richards.Peoplewon’tbeinthebarsandhotelsorgatheringinthecoldinfrontofappliancestoresrootingforyoutogetaway.Goodness!no.Theywanttoseeyouwipedout,andthey’llhelpiftheycan.Themoremessythebetter.AndthereisMcConetocontendwith.EvanMcConeandtheHunters.”
“Theysoundlikeaneo-
group,”Richardssaid.
“McConeneverloses,”Killiansaid.
Richardsgrunted.
“You’llappearliveTuesdaynight.Subsequentprogramswillbeapatch-upoftapes,films,andlivetricastswhenpossible.We’vebeenknowntointerruptscheduledbroadcastingwhena
particularlyresourcefulcontestantisonthevergeofreachinghis…personalWaterloo,shallwesay.
“Therulesaresimplicitythemselves.You—oryoursurvivingfamily—willwinonehundredNewDollarsforeachhouryouremainfree.Westakeyoutoforty-eighthundreddollarsrunningmoneyontheassumptionthatyouwillbeabletofoxthe
Huntersforforty-eighthours.Theunspentbalancerefundable,ofcourse,ifyoufallbeforetheforty-eighthoursareup.You’regivenatwelve-hourheadstart.Ifyoulastthirtydays,youwintheGrandPrize.OnebillionNewDollars.”
Richardsthrewbackhisheadandlaughed.
“Mysentimentsexactly,”
Killiansaidwithadrysmile.“Doyouhaveanyquestions?”
“Justone,”Richardssaid,leaningforward.Thetracesofhumorhadvanishedfromhisfacecompletely.“Howwouldyouliketobetheoneoutthere,ontherun?”
Killianlaughed.Heheldhisbellyandhugemahoganylaughterrolledrichlyinthe
room.“Oh…Mr.Richards…youmustexcusem-me—”andhewentoffintoanothergale.
Atlast,dabbinghiseyeswithalargewhitehandkerchief,Killianseemedtogethimselfundercontrol.“Yousee,notonlyareyoupossessedofasenseofhumor,Mr.Richards.You…I—”Hechokednewlaughterdown.“Pleaseexcuseme.
You’vestruckmyfunnybone.”
“IseeIhave.”
“Otherquestions?”
“No.”
“Verygood.Therewillbeastaffmeetingbeforetheprogram.Ifanyquestionsshoulddevelopinthatfascinatingmindofyours,
pleaseholdthemuntilthen.”Killianpressedabuttononhisdesk.
“Sparemethecheapsnatch,”Richardssaid.“I’mmarried.”
Killian’seyebrowswentup.“Areyouquitesure?Fidelityisadmirable,Mr.Richards,butit’salongtimefromFridaytoTuesday.Andconsideringthefactthatyou
mayneverseeyourwifeagain—”
“I’mmarried.”
“Verywell.”Henoddedtothegirlinthedoorwayandshedisappeared.“Anythingwecandoforyou,Mr.Richards?You’llhaveaprivatesuiteontheninthfloor,andmealrequestswillbefilledwithinreason.”
“Agoodbottleofbourbon.AndatelephonesoIcantalktomyw—”
“Ah,no,I’msorry,Mr.Richards.Thebourbonwecando.Butonceyousignthisreleaseform”—hepusheditovertoRichardsalongwithapen—“you’reincommunicadountilTuesday.Wouldyoucaretoreconsiderthegirl?”
“No,”Richardssaid,andscrawledhisnameonthedottedline.“Butyoubettermakethattwobottlesofbourbon.”
“Certainly.”Killianstoodandofferedhishandagain.
Richardsdisregardeditagain,andwalkedout.
Killianlookedafterhimwithblankeyes.Hewasnot
smiling.
…Minus086andCOUNTING…
ThereceptionistpoppedpromptlyoutofherfoxholeasRichardswalkedthroughandhandedhimanenvelope.Onthefront:
Mr.Richards,
Isuspectoneofthethingsthatyouwillnotmentionduringourinterviewisthefactthatyouneedmoneybadlyrightnow.Isitnottrue?
Despiterumorstothecontrary,GamesAuthoritydoesnotgiveadvances.Youmustnotlookuponyourselfasacontestantwithalltheglitterthatwordentails.Youarenota
Free-Veestarbutonlyaworkingjoewhoisbeingpaidextremelywellforundertakingadangerousjob.
However,GamesAuthorityhasnorulewhichforbidsmefromextendingyouapersonalloan.Insideyouwillfindtenpercentofyouradvancesalary—notinNewDollars,Ishould
cautionyou,butinGamesCertificatesredeemablefordollars.Shouldyoudecidetosendthesecertificatestoyourwife,asIsuspectyouwill,shewillfindtheyhaveoneadvantageoverNewDollars;areputabledoctorwillacceptthemaslegaltender,whileaquackwillnot.
Sincerely,DanKillian
RichardsopenedtheenvelopeandpulledoutathickbookofcouponswiththeGamessymbolonthevellumcover.Insidewereforty-eightcouponswithafacevalueoftenNewDollarseach.RichardsfeltanabsurdwaveofgratitudetowardKilliansweephimandcrushedit.HehadnodoubtthatKillianwouldattachfourhundredandeightydollarsofhisadvancemoney,and
besidesthat,four-eightywasaprettygoddamcheappricetopayforinsuranceonthebigshow,thecontinuedhappinessoftheclient,andKillian’sownbig-moneyjob.
“Shit,”hesaid.
Thereceptionistpokedattentivelyoutofherfoxhole.“Didyousaysomething,Mr.Richards?”
“No.Whichwaytotheelevators?”
…Minus085andCOUNTING…
Thesuitewassumptuous.
Wall-to-wallcarpetingalmostdeepenoughtobreaststrokeincoveredthefloorsofallthreerooms:livingroom,bedroom,andbath.TheFree-
Veewasturnedoff;blessedsilenceprevailed.Therewereflowersinthevases,andonthewallnexttothedoorwasabuttondiscreetlymarkedSERVICE.Theservicewouldbefast,too,Richardsthoughtcynically.Thereweretwocopsstationedoutsidehisninth-floorsuitejusttomakesurehedidn’tgowandering.
Hepushedtheservicebutton,andthedooropened.
“Yes,Mr.Richards,”oneofthecopssaid.RichardsfanciedhecouldseehowsourthatMistertastedinhismouth.“Thebourbonyouaskedforwillbe—”
“It’snotthat,”Richardssaid.HeshowedthecopthebookofcouponsKillianhadleftforhim.“Iwantyoutotakethissomewhere.”
“Justwritethenameand
address,Mr.Richards,andI’llseethatit’sdelivered.”
Richardsfoundthecobbler’sreceiptandwrotehisaddressandSheila’snameonthebackofit.Hegavethetatteredpaperandthecouponbooktothecop.HewasturningawaywhenanewthoughtstruckRichards.“Hey!Justasecond!”
Thecopturnedback,and
Richardspluckedthecouponbookoutofhishand.Heopenedittothefirstcoupon,andtoreonetenthofitalongtheperforatedline.Equivalentvalue:OneNewDollar.
“DoyouknowacopnamedCharlieGrady?”
“Charlie?”Thecoplookedathimwarily.“Yeah,IknowCharlie.He’sgotfifth-floor
duty.”
“Givehimthis.”Richardshandedhimthecouponsection.“Tellhimtheextrafiftycentsishisusurer’sfee.”
Thecopturnedawayagain,andRichardscalledhimbackoncemore.
“You’llbringmewrittenreceiptsfrommywifeandfromGrady,won’tyou?”
Disgustshowedopenlyonthecop’sface.“Ain’tyouthetrustingsoul?”
“Sure,”Richardssaid,smilingthinly.“Youguystaughtmethat.SouthoftheCanalyoutaughtmeallaboutit.”
“It’sgonnabefun,”thecopsaid,“watchingthemgoafteryou.I’mgonnabegluedtomyFree-Veewithabeerin
eachhand.”
“Justbringmethereceipts,”Richardssaid,andclosedthedoorgentlyinthecop’sface.
Thebourboncametwentyminuteslater,andRichardstoldthesurpriseddeliverymanthathewouldlikeacoupleofthicknovelssentup.
“Novels?”
“Books.Youknow.Read.Words.Movablepress.”Richardspantomimedflippingpages.
“Yes,sir,”hesaiddoubtfully.“Doyouhaveadinnerorder?”
Christ,theshitwasgettingthick.Hewasdrowninginit.Richardssawasuddenfantasy-cartoon:Manfallsintoouthouseholeand
drownsinpinkshitthatsmellslikeChanelNo.5.Thekicker:Itstilltasteslikeshit.
“Steak.Peas.Mashedpotatoes.”God,whatwasSheilasittingdownto?Aproteinpillandacupoffakecoffee?“Milk.Applecobblerwithcream.Gotit?”
“Yes,sir.Wouldyoulike—”
“No,”Richardssaid,suddenlydistraught.“No.Getout.”Hehadnoappetite.Absolutelynone.
…Minus084andCOUNTING…
WithsouramusementRichardsthoughtthattheGamesbellboyhadtakenhimliterallyaboutthenovels:Hemusthavepickedthemoutwitharulerashisonlyguide.Anythingoveraninchanda
halfisokay.HehadbroughtRichardsthreebookshehadneverheardof:twogoldenoldiestitledGodIsanEnglishmanandNotasaStrangerandahugetomewrittenthreeyearsagocalledThePleasureofServing.Richardspeekedintothatonefirstandwrinkledhisnose.PoorboymakesgoodinGeneralStomics.Risesfromenginewipertogeartradesman.Takesnight
courses(onwhat?Richardswondered,Monopolymoney?).Fallsinlovewithbeautifulgirl(apparentlysyphilishadn’trottedhernoseoffyet)atablockorgy.Promotedtojuniortechnicofollowingdazzlingaptitudescores.Three-yearmarriagecontractfollows,and—
Richardsthrewthebookacrosstheroom.GodIsanEnglishmanwasalittle
better.Hepouredhimselfabourbonontherocksandsettledintothestory.
Bythetimethediscreetknockcame,hewasthreehundredpagesin,andprettywellinthebagtoboot.Oneofthebourbonbottleswasempty.Hewenttothedoorholdingtheotherinhishand.Thecopwasthere.“Yourreceipts,Mr.Richards,”hesaid,andpulledthedoor
closed.
Sheilahadnotwrittenanything,buthadsentoneofCathy’sbabypictures.Helookedatitandfelttheeasytearsofdrunkennessprickhiseyes.Heputitinhispocketandlookedattheotherreceipt.CharlieGradyhadwrittenbrieflyonthebackofatrafficticketform:
Thanks,maggot.Get
stuffed.CharlieGrady
Richardssnickeredandletthepaperflittertothecarpet.“Thanks,Charlie,”hesaidtotheemptyroom.“Ineededthat.”
HelookedatthepictureofCathyagain,atiny,red-facedinfantoffourdaysatthetimeofthephoto,screamingherheadoff,swimmingina
whitecradledressthatSheilahadmadeherself.HefeltthetearslurkingandmadehimselfthinkofgoodoldCharlie’sthank-younote.Hewonderedifhecouldkilltheentiresecondbottlebeforehepassedout,anddecidedtofindout.
Healmostmadeit.
…Minus083andCOUNTING…
RichardsspentSaturdaylivingthroughahugehangover.HewasalmostoveritbySaturdayevening,andorderedtwomorebottlesofbourbonwithsupper.Hegotthroughbothofthemand
wokeupinthepaleearlylightofSundaymorningseeinglargecaterpillarswithflat,murderouseyescrawlingslowlydownthefarbedroomwall.HedecidedthenitwouldbeagainsthisbestintereststowreckhisreactionscompletelybeforeTuesday,andlaidoffthebooze.
Thishangoverwasslowerdissipating.Hethrewupa
gooddeal,andwhentherewasnothinglefttothrowup,hehaddryheaves.Thesetaperedoffaroundsixo’clockSundayevening,andheorderedsoupfordinner.Nobourbon.Heaskedforadozenneo-rockdiscerstoplayonthesuite’ssoundsystem,andtiredofthemquickly.
Hewenttobedearly.Andsleptpoorly.
HespentmostofMondayonthetinyglassed-interracethatopenedoffthebedroom.Hewasveryhighabovethewaterfrontnow,andthedaywasaseriesofsunandshowersthatwasfairlypleasant.Hereadtwonovels,wenttobedearlyagain,andsleptalittlebetter.Therewasanunpleasantdream:Sheilawasdead,andhewasatherfuneral.Somebodyhadproppedherupinhercoffin
andstuffedagrotesquecorsageofNewDollarsinhermouth.Hetriedtoruntoherandremovetheobscenity;handsgrabbedhimfrombehind.Hewasbeingheldbyadozencops.OneofthemwasCharlieGrady.Hewasgrinningandsaying“Thisiswhathappenstolosers,maggot.”Theywereputtingtheirpistolstohisheadwhenhewokeup.
“Tuesday,”hesaidtonooneatall,androlledoutofbed.ThefashionableG-Asunburstclockonthefarwallsaiditwasnineminutesafterseven.ThelivetricastofTheRunningManwouldbegoingoutalloverNorthAmericainlessthanelevenhours.Hefeltahotdropoffearinhisstomach.Intwenty-threehourshewouldbefairgame.
Hehadalonghotshower,
dressedinhiscoverall,orderedhamandeggsforbreakfast.HealsogotthebellboyondutytosendupacartonofBlams.
Hespenttherestofthemorningandearlyafternoonreadingquietly.Itwastwoo’clockonthenosewhenasingleformalrapcameatthedoor.ThreepoliceandArthurM.Burns,lookingpottyandmorethanabitridiculousina
Gamessinglet,walkedin.Allofthecopswerecarryingmove-alongs.
“It’stimeforyourfinalbriefing,Mr.Richards,”Burnssaid.“Wouldyou—”
“Sure,”Richardssaid.Hemarkedhisplaceinthebookhehadbeenreadingandputitdownonthecoffeetable.Hewassuddenlyterrified,closetopanic,andhewasvery
gladtherewasnoperceptibleshakeinhisfingers.
…Minus082andCOUNTING…
ThetenthflooroftheGamesBuildingwasagreatdealdifferentfromtheonesbelow,andRichardsknewthathewasmeanttogonohigher.Thefictionofupwardmobilitywhichstartedinthe
grimystreet-levellobbyendedhereonthetenthfloor.Thiswasthebroadcastfacility.
Thehallwayswerewide,white,andstark.Brightyellowgo-cartspoweredbyG-Asolar-cellmotorspotteredhereandthere,carryingloadsofFree-Veetechnicostostudiosandcontrolrooms.
Acartwaswaitingforthemwhentheelevatorstopped,andthefiveofthem—Richards,Burnsandcops—climbedaboard.NeckscranedandRichardswaspointedoutseveraltimesastheymadethetrip.OnewomaninayellowGamesshorts-and-halteroutfitwinkedandblewRichardsakiss.Hegaveherthefinger.
Theyseemedtotravel
miles,throughdozensofinterconnectingcorridors.Richardscaughtglimpsesintoatleastadozenstudios,oneofthemcontainingtheinfamoustreadmillseenonTreadmilltoBucks.Atourgroupfromuptownwastryingitoutandgiggling.
AtlasttheycametoastopbeforeadoorwhichreadTHERUNNINGMAN:ABSOLUTELYNO
ADMITTANCE.BurnswavedtotheguardinthebulletproofboothbesidethedoorandthenlookedatRichards.
“PutyourI.D.intheslotbetweentheguardboothandthedoor,”Burnssaid.
Richardsdidit.Hiscarddisappearedintotheslot,andasmalllightwentonintheguardbooth.Theguardpushedabuttonandthedoor
slidopen.Richardsgotbackintothecartandtheyweretrundledintotheroombeyond.
“Where’smycard?”Richardsasked.
“Youdon’tneeditanymore.”
Theywereinacontrolroom.Theconsolesectionwasemptyexceptforabald
technicowhowassittinginfrontofablankmonitorscreen,readingnumbersintoamicrophone.
Acrosstotheleft,DanKillianandtwomenRichardshadn’tmetweresittingaroundatablewithfrostyglasses.Oneofthemwasvaguelyfamiliar,tooprettytobeatechnico.
“Hello,Mr.Richards.Hello,
Arthur.Wouldyoucareforasoftdrink,Mr.Richards?”
Richardsfoundhewasthirsty;itwasquitewarmonteninspiteofthemanyair-conditioningunitshehadseen.“I’llhaveaRooty-Toot,”hesaid.
Killianrose,wenttoacold-cabinet,andsnappedthelidfromaplasticsqueeze-bottle.Richardssatdownandtook
thebottlewithanod.
“Mr.Richards,thisgentlemanonmyrightisFredVictor,thedirectorofTheRunningMan.Thisotherfellow,asI’msureyouknow,isBobbyThompson.”
Thompson,ofcourse.HostandemceeofTheRunningMan.Heworeanattygreentunic,slightlyiridescent,andsportedamaneofhairthat
wassilvery-attractiveenoughtobesuspect.
“Doyoudyeit?”Richardsasked.
Thompson’simpeccableeyebrowswentup.“Ibegpardon?”
“Nevermind,”Richardssaid.
“You’llhavetomake
allowancesforMr.Richards,”Killiansaid,smiling.“Heseemsafflictedwithanextremecaseoftherudes.”
“Quiteunderstandable,”Thompsonsaid,andlitacigarette.Richardsfeltawaveofunrealitysurgeoverhim.“Underthecircumstances.”
“Comeoverhere,Mr.Richards,ifyouplease,”
Victorsaid,takingcharge.HeledRichardstothebankofscreensontheothersideoftheroom.Thetechnicohadfinishedwithhisnumbersandhadlefttheroom.
Victorpunchedtwobuttonsandleft-rightviewsofTheRunningMansetsprangintoview.
“Wedon’tdoarun-throughhere,”Victorsaid.“Wethink
itdetractsfromspontaneity.Bobbyjustwingsit,andhedoesaprettydamngoodjob.Wegoonatsixo’clock,Hardingtime.Bobbyiscenterstageonthatraisedbluedais.Hedoesthelead-in,givingarundownonyou.Themonitorwillflashacoupleofstillpictures.You’llbeinthewingsatstageright,flankedbytwoGamesguards.They’llcomeonwithyou,armedwithriotguns.Move-
alongswouldbemorepracticalifyoudecidedtogivetrouble,buttheriotgunsaregoodtheater.”
“Sure,”Richardssaid.
“Therewillbealotofbooingfromtheaudience.Wepackitthatwaybecauseit’sgoodtheater.Justlikethekillballmatches.”
“Aretheygoingtoshootme
withfakebullets?”Richardsasked.“Youcouldputafewbloodbagsonme,tospatteroncue.Thatwouldbegoodtheater,too.”
“Payattention,please,”Victorsaid.“Youandtheguardsgoonwhenyournameiscalled.Bobbywill,uh,interviewyou.Feelfreetoexpressyourselfascolorfullyasyouplease.It’sallgoodtheater.Then,aroundsix-ten,
justbeforethefirstNetworkpromo,you’llbegivenyourstakemoneyandexit—sansguards—atstageleft.Doyouunderstand?”
“Yes.WhataboutLaughlin?”
Victorfrownedandlitacigarette.“Hecomesonafteryou,atsix-fifteen.Weruntwocontestssimultaneouslybecauseoftenoneofthe
contestantsis,uh,inadeptatstayingaheadoftheHunters.”
“Withthekidasaback-up?”
“Mr.Jansky?Yes.Butnoneofthisconcernsyou,Mr.Richards.Whenyouexitstageleft,you’llbegivenatapemachinewhichisaboutthesizeofaboxofpopcorn.Itweighssixpounds.Withit,
you’llbegivensixtytapeclipswhichareaboutfourincheslong.Theequipmentwillfitinsideacoatpocketwithoutabulge.It’satriumphofmoderntechnology.”
“Swell.”
Victorpressedhislipstogether.“AsDanhasalreadytoldyou,Richards,you’reacontestantonlyforthe
masses.Actually,youareaworkingmanandyoushouldviewyourroleinthatlight.Thetapecartridgescanbedroppedintoanymailslotandtheywillbedeliveredexpresstoussowecaneditthemforairingthatnight.Failuretodeposittwoclipsperdaywillresultinlegaldefaultofpayment.”
“ButI’llstillbehunteddown.”
“Right.Somailthosetapes.Theywon’tgiveawayyourlocation;theHuntersoperateindependentlyofthebroadcastingsection.”
Richardshadhisdoubtsaboutthatbutsaidnothing.
“Afterwegiveyoutheequipment,youwillbeescortedtothestreetelevator.ThisgivesdirectlyonRampartStreet.Onceyou’re
there,you’reonyourown.”Hepaused.“Questions?”
“No.”
“ThenMr.Killianhasonemoremoneydetailtostraightenoutwithyou.”
TheywalkedbacktowhereDanKillianwasinconversationwithArthurM.Burns.RichardsaskedforanotherRooty-Tootandgot
it.
“Mr.Richards,”Killiansaid,twinklinghisteethathim.“Asyouknow,youleavethestudiounarmed.Butthisisnottosayyoucannotarmyourselfbyfairmeansorfoul.Goodness!No.You—oryourestate—willbepaidanadditionalonehundreddollarsforanyHunterorrepresentativeofthelawyoushouldhappentodispatch—”
“Iknow,don’ttellme,”Richardssaid.“It’sgoodtheater.”
Killiansmileddelightedly.“Howveryastuteofyou.Yes.However,trynottobaganyinnocentbystanders.That’snotkosher.”
Richardssaidnothing.
“Theotheraspectoftheprogram—”
“Thestooliesandindependentcameramen.Iknow.”
“They’renotstoolies;they’regoodNorthAmericancitizens.”ItwasdifficulttotellwhetherKillian’stoneofhurtwasrealorironic.“Anyway,there’san800numberforanyonewhospotsyou.AverifiedsightingpaysonehundredNewDollars.Asightingwhichresultsinakill
paysathousand.Wepayindependentcameramentendollarsafootandup—”
“RetiretoscenicJamaicaonbloodmoney,”Richardscried,spreadinghisarmswide.“Getyourpictureonahundred3-Dweeklies.Betheidolofmillions.Justholographfordetails.”
“That’senough,”Killiansaidquietly.Bobby
Thompsonwasbuffinghisfingernails;Victorhadwanderedoutandcouldbefaintlyheardyellingatsomeoneaboutcameraangles.
Killianpressedabutton.“MissJones?Readyforyou,sweets.”Hestoodupandofferedhishandagain.“Makeupnext,Mr.Richards.Thenthelightingruns.You’llbequarteredoffstageandwe
won’tmeetagainbeforeyougoon.So—”
“It’sbeengrand,”Richardssaid.Hedeclinedthehand.
MissJonesledhimout.Itwas2:30.
…Minus081andCOUNTING…
Richardsstoodinthewingswithacoponeachside,listeningtothestudioaudienceastheyfranticallyapplaudedBobbyThompson.Hewasnervous.Hejeeredathimselfforit,butthe
nervousnesswasafact.Jeeringwouldnotmakeitgoaway.Itwas6:01.
“Tonight’sfirstcontestantisashrewd,resourcefulmanfromsouthoftheCanalinourownhomecity,”Thompsonwassaying.ThemonitorfadedtoastarkportraitofRichardsinhisbaggygrayworkshirt,takenbyahiddencameradaysbefore.Thebackground
lookedlikethefifthfloorwaitingroom.Ithadbeenretouched,Richardsthought,tomakehiseyesdeeper,hisforeheadalittlelower,hischeeksmoreshadowed.Hismouthhadbeengivenajeering,curledexpressionbysometechnico’sairbrush.Allinall,theRichardsonthemonitorwasterrifying—theangelofurbandeath,brutal,notverybright,butpossessedofacertainprimitiveanimal
cunning.Theuptownapartmentdweller’sboogeyman.
“ThismanisBenjaminRichards,agetwenty-eight.Knowthefacewell!Inahalf-hour,thismanwillbeontheprowl.AverifiedsightingbringsyouonehundredNewDollars!AsightingwhichresultsinakillresultsinonethousandNewDollarsforyou!”
Richards’smindwaswandering;itcamebacktothepointwithamightysnap.
“…andthisisthewomanthatBenjaminRichards’sawardwillgoto,ifandwhenheisbroughtdown!”
ThepicturedissolvedtoastillofSheila…buttheairbrushhadbeenatworkagain,thistimewieldedwithaheavierhand.Theresults
werebrutal.Thesweet,not-so-good-lookingfacehadbeentransformedintothatofavapidslattern.Full,poutinglips,eyesthatseemedtoglitterwithavarice,asuggestionofadoublechinfadingdowntowhatappearedtobebarebreasts.
“Youbastard!”Richardsgrated.Helungedforward,butpowerfularmsheldhimback.
“Simmerdown,buddy.It’sonlyapicture.”
Amomentlaterhewashalfled,halfdraggedonstage.
Theaudiencereactionwasimmediate.Thestudiowasfilledwithscreamedcriesof“Boo!Cyclebum!”“Getout,youcreep!”“Killhim!Killthebastard!”“Youeatit!”“Getout,getout!”
BobbyThompsonheldhisarmsupandshoutedgood-naturedlyforquiet.“Let’shearwhathe’sgottosay.”Theaudiencequieted,butreluctantly.
Richardsstoodbull-likeunderthehotlightswithhisheadlowered.Heknewhewasprojectingexactlytheauraofhateanddefiancethattheywantedhimtoproject,buthecouldnothelpit.
HestaredatThompsonwithhard,redrimmedeyes.“Somebodyisgoingtoeattheirownballsforthatpictureofmywife,”hesaid.
“Speakup,speakup,Mr.Richards!”Thompsoncriedwithjusttherightnoteofcontempt.“Nobodywillhurtyou…atleast,notyet.”
Morescreamsandhystericalvituperationfromthe
audience.
Richardssuddenlywheeledtofacethem,andtheyquietedasifslapped.Womenstaredathimwithfrightened,half-sexualexpressions.Mengrinnedupathimwithblood-hateintheireyes.
“Youbastards!”hecried.“Ifyouwanttoseesomebodydiesobad,whydon’tyoukilleachother?”
Hisfinalwordsweredrownedinmorescreams.Peoplefromtheaudience(perhapspaidtodoso)weretryingtogetonstage.Thepolicewereholdingthemback.Richardsfacedthem,knowinghowhemustlook.
“Thankyou,Mr.Richards,forthosewordsofwisdom.”Thecontemptwaspalpablenow,andthecrowd,nearlysilentagain,waseatingitup.
“Wouldyouliketotellouraudienceinthestudioandathomehowlongyouthinkyoucanholdout?”
“Iwanttotelleverybodyinthestudioandathomethatthatwasn’tmywife!Thatwasacheapfake—”
Thecrowddrownedhimout.Theirscreamsofhatehadreachedanearfeverpitch.Thompsonwaited
nearlyaminuteforthemtoquietalittle,andthenrepeated:“Howlongdoyouexpecttoholdout,MisterRichards?”
“Iexpecttogothewholethirty,”Richardssaidcoolly.“Idon’tthinkyou’vegotanybodywhocantakeme.”
Morescreaming.Shakenfists.Someonethrewatomato.
BobbyThompsonfacedtheaudienceagainandcried:“Withthoselastcheapwordsofbravado,Mr.Richardswillbeledfromourstage.Tomorrowatnoon,thehuntbegins.Rememberhisface!Itmaybenexttoyouonapneumobus…inajetplane…ata3-Drack…inyourlocalkillballarena.Tonighthe’sinHarding.TomorrowinNewYork?Boise?Albuquerque?Columbus?Skulkingoutside
yourhome?Willyoureporthim?”
“YESS!!!”theyscreamed.
Richardssuddenlygavethemthefinger—bothfingers.Thistimetherushforthestagewasbynostretchoftheimaginationsimulated.Richardswasrushedoutthestage-leftexitbeforetheycouldriphimapartoncamera,thusdeprivingthe
Networkofallthejuicyupcomingcoverage.
…Minus080andCOUNTING…
Killianwasinthewings,andconvulsedwithamusement.“Fineperformance,Mr.Richards.Fine!God,IwishIcouldgiveyouabonus.Thosefingers…superb!”
“Weaimtoplease,”Richardssaid.Themonitorsweredissolvingtoapromo.“Givemethegoddamcameraandgofuckyourself.”
“That’sgenericallyimpossible,”Killiansaid,stillgrinning,“buthere’sthecamera.”Hetookitfromthetechnicowhohadbeencradlingit.“Fullyloadedandreadytogo.Andherearetheclips.”HehandedRichardsa
small,surprisinglyheavyoblongboxwrappedinoilcloth.
Richardsdroppedthecameraintoonecoatpocket,theclipsintotheother.“Okay.Where’stheelevator?”
“Notsofast,”Killiansaid.“You’vegotaminute…twelveofthem,actually.Yourtwelvehours’leeway
doesn’tstartofficiallyuntilsix-thirty.”
Thescreamsofragehadbegunagain.Lookingoverhisshoulder,RichardssawthatLaughlinwason.Hisheartwentouttohim.
“Ilikeyou,Richards,andIthinkyou’lldowell,”Killiansaid.“YouhaveacertaincrudestylethatIenjoyimmensely.I’macollector,
youknow.CaveartandEgyptianartifactsaremyareasofspecialization.YouaremoreanalogoustothecaveartthantomyEgyptianurns,butnomatter.Iwishyoucouldbepreserved—collected,ifyouplease—justasmyAsiancavepaintingshavebeencollectedandpreserved.”
“Grabarecordingofmybrainwaves,youbastard.
They’reonrecord.”
“SoI’dliketogiveyouapieceofadvice,”Killiansaid,ignoringhim.“Youdon’treallyhaveachance;nobodydoeswithawholenationinonthemanhuntandwiththeincrediblysophisticatedequipmentandtrainingthattheHuntershave.Butifyoustaylow,you’lllastlonger.Useyourlegsinsteadofanyweaponsyouhappentopick
up.Andstayclosetoyourownpeople.”HeleveledafingeratRichardsinemphasis.“Notthesegoodmiddle-classfolksoutthere;theyhateyourguts.Yousymbolizeallthefearsofthisdarkandbrokentime.Itwasn’tallshowandaudience-packingoutthere,Richards.Theyhateyourguts.Couldyoufeelit?”
“Yes,”Richardssaid.“Ifelt
it.Ihatethem,too.”
Killiansmiled.“That’swhythey’rekillingyou.”HetookRichards’sarm;hisgripwassurprisinglystrong.“Thisway.”
Behindthem,LaughlinwasbeingraggedbyBobbyThompsontotheaudience’ssatisfaction.
Downawhitecorridor,their
footfallsechoinghollowly—alone.Allalone.Oneelevatorattheend.
“ThisiswhereyouandIpartcompany,”Killiansaid.“Expresstothestreet.Nineseconds.”
Heofferedhishandforthefourthtime,andRichardsrefuseditagain.Yethelingeredamoment.
“WhatifIcouldgoup?”heasked,andgesturedwithhisheadtowardtheceilingandtheeightystoriesabovetheceiling.“WhocouldIkillupthere?WhocouldIkillifIwentrighttothetop?”
Killianlaughedsoftlyandpunchedthebuttonbesidetheelevator;thedoorspoppedopen.“That’swhatIlikeaboutyou,Richards.Youthinkbig.”
Richardssteppedintotheelevator.Thedoorsslidtowardeachother.
“Staylow,”Killianrepeated,andthenRichardswasalone.
Thebottomdroppedoutofhisstomachastheelevatorsanktowardthestreet.
…Minus079andCOUNTING…
Theelevatoropeneddirectlyontothestreet.AcopwasstandingbyitsfrontageonNixonMemorialPark,buthedidnotlookatRichardsashesteppedout;onlytappedhismove-alongreflectivelyand
staredintothesoftdrizzlethatfilledtheair.
Thedrizzlehadbroughtearlydusktothecity.Thelightsglowedmysticallythroughthedarkness,andthepeoplemovingonRampartStreetintheshadowoftheGamesBuildingwereonlyinsubstantialshadows,asRichardsknewhemustbehimself.Hebreatheddeeplyofthewet,sulphur-tainted
air.Itwasgoodinspiteofthetaste.Itseemedthathehadjustbeenletoutofprison,ratherthanfromonecommunicatingcelltoanother.Theairwasgood.Theairwasfine.
Stayclosetoyourownpeople,Killianhadsaid.Ofcoursehewasright.Richardshadn’tneededKilliantotellhimthat.OrtoknowthattheheatwouldbeheaviestinCo-
OpCitywhenthetrucebrokeatnoontomorrow.Butbythenhewouldbeoverthehillsandfaraway.
Hewalkedthreeblocksandhailedataxi.Hewashopingthecab’sFree-Veewouldbebusted—alotofthemwere—butthisonewasinA-1workingorder,andblaringtheclosingcreditsofTheRunningMan.Shit.
“Where,buddy?”
“RobardStreet.”Thatwasfiveblocksfromhisdestination;whenthecabdroppedhim,hewouldgobackyardexpresstoMolie’splace.
Thecabaccelerated,ancientgas-poweredengineadiscordantsymphonyofpoundingpistonsandmanifoldnoise.Richards
slumpedbackagainstthevinylcushions,intowhathehopedwasdeepershadow.
“Hey,IjustseenyouontheFree-Vee!”thecabbieexclaimed.“You’rethatguyPritchard!”
“Pritchard.That’sright,”Richardssaidresignedly.TheGamesBuildingwasdwindlingbehindthem.Apsychologicalshadow
seemedtobedwindlingproportionallyinhismind,inspiteofthebadluckwiththecabbie.
“Jesus,yougotballs,buddy.I’llsaythat.Youreallydo.Christ,they’llkillya.Youknowthat?They’llkillyafuckin-eyedead.Youmustreallyhaveballs.”
“That’sright.Twoofthem.Justlikeyou.”
“Twoof’m!”thecabbierepeated.Hewasecstatic.“Jesus,that’sgood.That’shot!YoumindifItellmywifeIhadjaasafare?ShegoesbatshitfortheGames.I’llhaftareportchatoo,butChrist,Iwon’tgetnohunnertforit.Cabbiesgottahaveatleastonesupportinwitness,y’know.Knowinmyluck,noonesawyagettinin.”
“Thatwouldbetough,”
Richardssaid.“I’msorryyoucan’thelpkillme.ShouldIleaveanotesayingIwashere?”
“Jesus,couldja?That’dbe—”
TheyhadjustcrossedtheCanal.“Letmeouthere,”Richardssaidabruptly.HepulledaNewDollarfromtheenvelopeThompsonhadhandedhim,anddroppedit
onthefrontseat.
“Gee,Ididn’tsaynothin,didI?Idintmeanta—”
“No,”Richardssaid.
“Couldjagimmethatnote—”
“Getstuffed,maggot.”
HelungedoutandbeganwalkingtowardDrummond
Street.Co-OpCityroseskeletalinthegatheringdarknessbeforehim.Thecabbie’syellfloatedafterhim:“Ihopetheygetyaearly,youcheapfuck!”
…Minus078andCOUNTING…
Throughabackyard;througharaggedholeinacyclonefenceseparatingonebarrenasphaltdesertfromanother;acrossaghostly,abandonedconstructionsite;pausingfarbackinshatteredshadowsas
acyclepackroaredby,headlampsglaringinthedarklikethepsychopathiceyesofnocturnalwerewolves.Thenoverafinalfence(cuttingonehand)andhewasrappingonMolieJernigan’sbackdoor—whichistosay,themainentrance.
MolieranaDockStreethockshopwhereafellowwithenoughbuckstospreadaroundcouldbuyapolice-
specialmove-along,afull-chokeriotgun,asubmachinegun,heroin,Push,cocaine,dragdisguises,astyroflexpseudo-woman,arealwhoreifyouweretoostrappedtoaffordstyroflex,thecurrentaddressofoneofthreefloatingcrap-games,thecurrentaddressofaswingingPervertoClub,orahundredotherillegalitems.IfMoliedidn’thavewhatyouwanted,hewouldorderitforyou.
Includingfalsepapers.
Whenheopenedthepeepholeandsawwhowasthere,heofferedakindlysmileandsaid:“Whydon’tyougoaway,pal?Ineversawyou.”
“NewDollars,”Richardsremarked,asiftotheairitself.Therewasapause.Richardsstudiedthecuffofhisshirtasifhehadnever
seenitbefore.
Thentheboltsandlockswereopened,quickly,asifMoliewereafraidRichardswouldchangehismind.Richardscamein.TheywereinMolie’splacebehindthestore,whichwasaratwarrenofoldnewsies,stolenmusicalinstruments,stolencameras,andboxesofblack-marketgroceries.Moliewasbynecessitysomethingofa
RobinHood;apawnbrokersouthoftheCanaldidnotremaininbusinesslongifhebecametoogreedy.Molietooktherichuptownmaggotsasheavilyashecouldandsoldintheneighborhoodatclosetocost—sometimeslowerthancostifsomepalwasbeingsqueezedhard.ThushisreputationinCo-OpCitywasexcellent,hisprotectionsuperb.IfacopaskedaSouthCitystoolie
(andtherewerehundredsofthem)aboutMolieJernigan,theinformantletitbeknownthatMoliewasaslightlysenileold-timerwhotookalittlegraftandsoldalittleblackmarket.Anynumberofuptownswellswithstrangesexualtendenciescouldhavetoldthepolicedifferently,buttherewerenovicebustsanymore.Everyoneknewvicewasbadforanyrealrevolutionaryclimate.The
factthatMoliealsoranamoderatelyprofitabletradeinforgeddocuments,strictlyforlocalcustomers,wasunknownuptown.Still,Richardsknew,toolingpapersforsomeoneashotashewaswouldbeextremelydangerous.
“Whatpapers?”Molieasked,sighingdeeplyandturningonanancientgoosenecklampthatflooded
theworkingareaofhisdeskwithbrightwhitelight.Hewasanoldman,approachingseventy-five,andinthecloseglowofthelighthishairlookedlikespunsilver.
“Driver’slicense.MilitaryServiceCard.StreetIdenticard.Axialchargecard.SocialRetirementcard.”
“Easy.Sixty-buckjobforanyonebutyou,Bennie.”
“You’lldoit?”
“Foryourwife,I’lldoit.Foryou,no.Idon’tputmyheadinthenooseforanycrazy-assbastardlikeBennieRichards.”
“Howlong,Molie?”
Molie’seyesflashedsardonically.“KnowinyoursituationasIdo,I’llhurryit.Anhourforeach.”
“Christ,Fivehours…canIgo—”
“No,youcan’t.Areyounuts,Bennie?AcopcomespullinuptoyourDevelopmentlastweek.He’sgotaenvelopeforyourollady.HecameinaBlackWagonwithaboutsixbuddies.FlapperDonniganwasstandinonthecornerpitchinnickswithGerryHanrahanwhenittransfired.
Flappertellsmeeverythin.Theboy’ssoft,youknow.”
“IknowFlapper’ssoft,”Richardssaidimpatiently.“Isentthemoney.Isshe—”
“Whoknows?Whosees?”Molieshruggedandrolledhiseyesasheputpensandblankformsinthecenterofthepooloflightthrownbythelamp.“They’refourdeeparoundyourbuilding,Bennie.
Anyonewhosenttooffertheircondolenceswouldendupinacellartalkintoabunchofrubberclubs.Evengoodfriendsdon’tneedthatscam,notevenwithyourolladyflush.Yougotanameyouwantspecialonthese?”
“Doesn’tmatteraslongasit’sAnglo.Jesus,Molie,shemusthavecomeoutforgroceries.Andthedoctor—”
“ShesentBudgieO’Sanchez’skid.What’shisname.”
“Walt.”
“Yeah,that’sit.Ican’tkeepthegoddamspicsandmicksstraightnomore.I’mgettinsenile,Bennie.Blowinmycool.”HeglaredupatRichardssuddenly.“IrememberwhenMickJaggerwasabigname.Youdon’t
evenknowwhohewas,doya?”
“Iknowwhohewas,”Richardssaid,distraught.HeturnedtoMolie’ssidewalk-levelwindow,frightened.Itwasworsethanhethought.SheilaandCathywereinthecage,too.Atleastuntil—
“They’reokay,Bennie,”Moliesaidsoftly.“Juststayaway.You’repoisontothem
now.Canyoudigit?”
“Yes,”Richardssaid.Hewassuddenlyoverwhelmedwithdespair,blackandawful.I’mhomesick,hethought,amazed,butitwasmore,itwasworse.Everythingseemedoutofwhack,surreal.Theveryfabricofexistencebulgingattheseams.Faces,whirling:Laughlin,Burns,Killian,Jansky,Molie,Cathy,Sheila—
Helookedoutintotheblackness,trembling.Moliehadgonetowork,crooningsomeoldsongfromhisvacantpast,somethingabouthavingBetteDaviseyes,whothehellwasthat?
“Hewasadrummer,”Richardssaidsuddenly.“WiththatEnglishgroup,theBeetles.MickMcCartney.”
“Yah,youkids,”Moliesaid,
bentoverhiswork.“That’sallyoukidsknow.”
…Minus077andCOUNTING…
HeleftMolie’sattenpastmidnight,twelvehundredNewDollarslighter.Thepawnbrokerhadalsosoldhimalimitedbutfairlyeffectivedisguise:grayhair,spectacles,mouthwadding,
plasticbuck-teethwhichsubtlytransfiguredhislipline.“Giveyourselfalittlelimp,too,”Molieadvised.“Notabigattention-getter.Justalittleone.Remember,youhavethepowertocloudmen’sminds,ifyouuseit.Don’trememberthatline,doya?”
Richardsdidn’t.
Accordingtohisnewwallet
cards,hewasJohnGriffenSpringer,atext-tapesalesmanfromHarding.Hewasaforty-three-year-oldwidower.Notechnicostatus,butthatwasjustaswell.Technicoshadtheirownlanguage.
RichardsreemergedonRobardStreetat12:30,agoodhourtogetrolled,mugged,orkilled,butabadhourtomakeanykindofunnoticedgetaway.Still,he
hadlivedsouthoftheCanalallhislife.
HecrossedtheCanaltwomilesfartherwest,almostontheedgeofthelake.Hesawapartyofdrunkenwinoshuddledaroundafurtivefire,severalrats,butnocops.By1:15A.M.hewascuttingacrossthefaredgeoftheno-man’s-landofwarehouses,cheapbeaneries,andshippingofficesonthenorthsideof
theCanal.At1:30hewassurroundedbyenoughuptownershoppingfromonesleazydivetothenexttosafelyhailacab.
Thistimethedriverdidn’tgivehimasecondlook.
“Jetport,”Richardssaid.
“I’myourman,pal.”
Theairthrustersshoved
themupintotraffic.Theywereattheairportby1:50.Richardslimpedpastseveralcopsandsecurityguardswhoshowednointerestinhim.HeboughtatickettoNewYorkbecauseitcamenaturallytomind.TheI.D.checkwasroutineanduneventful.Hewasonthe2:20speedshuttletoNewYork.Therewereonlyfortyorsopassengers,mostofthemsnoozingbusinessmenandstudents.
ThecopintheJudasholedozedthroughtheentiretrip.Afterawhile,Richardsdozed,too.
Theytoucheddownat3:06,andRichardsdeplanedandlefttheairportwithoutincident.
At3:15thecabwasspiralingdowntheLindsayOverway.TheycrossedCentralParkonadiagonal,
andat3:20,BenRichardsdisappearedintothelargestcityonthefaceoftheearth.
…Minus076andCOUNTING…
HewenttoearthintheBrantHotel,aso-soestablishmentontheEastSide.Thatpartofthecityhadbeengraduallyenteringanewcycleofchic.YettheBrantwaslessthanamilefromManhattan’sown
blightedinnercity—alsothelargestintheworld.Ashecheckedin,heagainthoughtofDanKillian’spartingwords:Stayclosetoyourownpeople.
AfterleavingthetaxihehadwalkedtoTimesSquare,notwantingtocheckintoanyhotelduringthesmallmorninghours.Hespentthefiveandahalfhoursfrom3:30to9:00inanall-night
pervertoshow.Hehadwanteddesperatelytosleep,butbothtimeshehaddozedoff,hehadbeensnappedawakebythefeeloflightfingerscrawlinguphisinnerthigh.
“Howlongwillyoubestaying,sir?”thedeskclerkasked,glancingatRichards’sregistrationasJohnG.Springer.
“Don’tknow,”Richardssaid,tryingformeekaffability.“Alldependsontheclients,youunderstand.”HepaidsixtyNewDollars,holdingtheroomfortwodays,andtooktheelevatoruptothetwenty-thirdfloor.TheroomofferedasomberviewofthesqualidEastRiver.ItwasraininginNewYork,too.
Theroomwascleanbut
sterile;therewasaconnectingbathroomandthetoiletmadeconstant,ominousnoisesthatRichardscouldnotrectifyevenbywigglingtheballinthetank.
Hehadbreakfastsentup—apoachedeggontoast,orangedrink,coffee.Whentheboyappearedwiththetray,hetippedlightlyandforgettably.
Withbreakfastoutofthe
way,hetookoutthevideotapecameraandlookedatit.AsmallmetalplatelabeledINSTRUCTIONSwassetjustbelowtheviewfinder.Richardsread:
1.PushtapecartridgeintoslotmarkedAuntilitclickshome.
2.Setviewfinderbymeansofcrosshairswithinthesight.
3.PushbuttonmarkedBtorecordsoundwithvideo.
4.Whenthebellsounds,tapecartridgewillpopoutautomatically.
Recordingtime:10minutes.
Good,Richardsthought.Theycanwatchmesleep.
Hesetthecameraonthe
bureaunexttotheGideonBibleandsightedthecrosshairsonthebed.Thewallbehindwasblankandnondescript;hedidn’tseehowanyonecouldpinpointhislocationfromeitherthebedorthebackground.Streetnoisefromthisheightwasnegligible,buthewouldleavetheshowerrunningjustincase.
Evenwithforethought,he
nearlypressedthebuttonandsteppedintothecamera’sfieldofvisionwithhisnakeddisguisehangingout.Someofitcouldhavebeenremoved,butthegrayhairhadtostay.Heputthepillowslipoverhishead.Thenhepressedthebutton,walkedovertothebed,andsatdownfacingthelens.
“Peekaboo,”BenRichardssaidhollowlytohisimmense
listeningandviewingaudiencethatwouldwatchthistapelatertonightwithhorrifiedinterest.“Youcan’tseeit,butI’mlaughingatyoushiteaters.”
Helayback,closedhiseyes,andtriedtothinkofnothingatall.Whenthetapeclippoppedouttenminuteslater,hewasfastasleep.
…Minus075andCOUNTING…
Whenhewokeupitwasjustafter4P.M.—thehuntwason,then.Hadbeenforthreehours,figuringforthetimedifference.Thethoughtsentachillthroughhismiddle.
Heputanewtapeinthecamera,tookdowntheGideonBible,andreadtheTenCommandmentsoverandoverfortenminuteswiththepillowsliponhishead.
Therewereenvelopesinthedeskdrawer,butthenameandaddressofthehotelwasonthem.Hehesitated,andknewitmadenodifference.HewouldhavetotakeKillian’swordthathis
location,asrevealedbypostmarksorreturnaddresses,wouldnotberevealedtoMcConeandhisbirddogsbytheGamesAuthority.Hehadtousethepostalservice.Theyhadsuppliedhimwithnocarrierpigeons.
Therewasamaildropbytheelevators,andRichardsdroppedtheclipsintotheout-of-townslotwithhuge
misgivings.AlthoughpostalauthoritieswerenoteligibleforanyGamesmoneyforreportingthewhereaboutsofcontestants,itstillseemedlikeahorriblyriskythingtodo.Buttheonlyotherthingwasdefault,andhecouldn’tdothat,either.
Hewentbacktohisroom,shutofftheshower(thebathroomwasassteamyasatropicaljungle),andlaydown
onthebedtothink.
Howtorun?Whatwasthebestthingtodo?
Hetriedtoputhimselfintheplaceofanaveragecontestant.Thefirstimpulse,ofcourse,waspureanimalinstinct:Gotoearth.Makeadenandcowerinthere.
Andsohehaddone.TheBrantHotel.
WouldtheHuntersexpectthat?Yes.Theywouldnotbelookingforarunningmanatall.Theywouldbelookingforahidingman.
Couldtheyfindhiminhisden?
Hewantedverybadlytoanswerno,buthecouldnot.Hisdisguisewasgood,buthastilyputtogether.Notmanypeopleareobservant,
buttherearealwayssome.Perhapshehadbeentabbedalready.Thedeskclerk.Thebellboywhohadbroughthisbreakfast.PerhapsevenbyoneofthefacelessmeninthepervertoshowonForty-secondStreet.
Notlikely,butpossible.
Andwhatabouthisrealprotection,thefalseI.D.Moliehadprovided?Good
forhowlong?Well,thetaxidriverwhohadtakenhimfromtheGamesBuildingcouldputhiminSouthCity.AndtheHunterswerefearfully,dreadfullygood.Theywouldbeleaninghardoneveryoneheknew,fromJackCragertothatbitchEileenJennerdownthehall.Heavyheat.Howlonguntilsomebody,maybeahead-softielikeFlapperDonnigan,letitslipthathadforged
papersonoccasion?AndiftheyfoundMolie,hewasblown.Thepawnbrokerwouldholdoutlongenoughtotakeabeltingaround;hewascannyenoughtowantafewvisiblebattlescarstosportaroundtheneighborhood.Justsohisplacedidn’thaveabadcaseofspontaneouscombustionsomenight.Then?AsimplecheckofHarding’sthreejetportswoulduncoverJohn
G.Springer’smidnightjaunttoFreakCity.
IftheyfoundMolie.
Youassumetheywill.Youhavetoassumetheywill.
Thenrun.Where?
Hedidn’tknow.HehadspenthisentirelifeinHarding.IntheMidwest.Hedidn’tknowtheEastCoast;
therewasnoplaceherehecouldruntoandfeelthathewasonfamiliarturf.Sowhere?Where?
Histeasedandunhappyminddriftedintoamorbiddaydream.TheyhadfoundMoliewithnotroubleatall.PriedtheSpringernameoutofhiminaneasyfiveminutes,afterpullingtwofingernails,fillinghisnavelwithlighterfluidand
threateningtostrikeamatch.TheyhadgottenRichards’sflightnumberwithonequickcall(handsome,nondescriptmeningarbardinecoatsofidenticalcutandmake)andhadarrivedinNewYorkby2:30E.S.T.AdvancemenhadalreadygottentheaddressoftheBrantbyatelexcanvassoftheNewYorkCityhotel-listings,whichwerecomputertabulateddaybyday.Theywereoutsidenow,
surroundingtheplace.BusboysandbellboysandclerksandbartendershadbeenreplacedbyHunters.Halfadozencomingupthefireescape.Anotherfiftypackingallthreeelevators.Moreandmore,pullingupinaircarsallaroundthebuilding.Nowtheywereinthehall,andinamomentthedoorwouldcrashopenandtheywouldlungein,atapemachinegrinding
enthusiasticallyawayonarollingtripodabovetheirmuscularshoulders,gettingitalldownforposterityastheyturnedhimintohamburger.
Richardssatup,sweating.Didn’tevenhaveagun,notyet.
Run.Fast.
Bostonwoulddo,tostart.
…Minus074andCOUNTING…
Helefthisroomat5:00P.M.andwentdowntothelobby.Thedeskclerksmiledbrightly,probablylookingforwardtohiseveningrelief.
“Afternoon,Mr.,uh—”
“Springer.”Richardssmiledback.“Iseemtohavestruckoil,myman.Threeclientswhoseem…receptive.I’llbeoccupyingyourexcellentfacilityforanadditionaltwodays.MayIpayinadvance?”
“Certainly,sir.”
Dollarschangedhands.Stillbeaming,Richardswentbackuptohisroom.Thehallwasempty.RichardshungtheDO
NOTDISTURBsignonthedoorknobandwentquicklytothefirestairs.
Luckwaswithhimandhemetnoone.Hewentallthewaytothegroundfloorandslippedoutthesideentranceunobserved.
Therainhadstopped,butthecloudsstillhungandloweredoverManhattan.Theairsmelledlikearancid
battery.Richardswalkedbriskly,discardingthelimp,tothePortAuthorityElectricBusterminal.AmancouldstillbuyaticketonaGreyhoundwithoutsigninghisname.
“Boston,”hesaidtothebeardedticket-vendor.
“Twenty-threebucks,pal.Buspullsoutatsix-fifteensharp.”
Hepassedoverthemoney;itlefthimwithsomethinglessthanthreethousandNewDollars.Hehadanhourtokill,andtheterminalwaschock-fullofpeople,manyofthemVol-Army,withtheirblueberetsandblank,boyish,brutalfaces.HeboughtaPervertMag,satdown,andproppeditinfrontofhisface.Forthenexthourhestaredatit,turningapageoccasionallytotryandavoidlookinglikea
statue.
Whenthebusrolleduptothepier,heshuffledtowardtheopendoorswiththerestofthenondescriptassortment.
“Hey!Hey,you!”
Richardsstaredaround;asecuritycopwasapproachingontherun.Hefroze,unabletotakeflight.Adistantpartofhisbrainwasscreaming
thathewasabouttobecutdownrighthere,righthereinthisshittybusterminalwithwadsofgumonthefloorandcasualobscenitiesscrawledonthedirt-cakedwalls;hewasgoingtobesomedumbflatfoot’sfluketrophy.
“Stophim!Stopthatguy!”
Thecopwasveering.Itwasn’thimatall.Richardssaw.Itwasascruffy-looking
kidwhowasrunningforthestairs,swingingalady’spurseinonehandandbowlingbystandersthiswayandthatliketenpins.
Heandhispursuerdisappearedfromsight,takingthestairsthreebythreeinhugeleaps.Theknotofembarkers,debarkers,andgreeterswatchedthemwithvagueinterestforamomentandthenpickedupthe
threadsofwhattheyhadbeendoing,asifnothinghadhappened.
Richardsstoodinline,tremblingandcold.
Hecollapsedintoaseatnearthebackofthecoach,andafewminuteslaterthebushummedsmoothlyuptheramp,paused,andjoinedtheflowoftraffic.Thecopandhisquarryhaddisappeared
intothegeneralmobofhumanity.
IfI’dhadagun.Iwouldhaveburnedhimwherehestood,Richardsthought.Christ.Oh,Christ.
Andontheheelsofthat:Nexttimeitwon’tbeapursesnatcher.It’llbeyou.
HewouldgetaguninBostonanyway.Somehow.
HerememberedLaughlinsayingthathewouldpushafewofthemoutahighwindowbeforetheytookhim.
Thebusrollednorthinthegatheringdarkness.
…Minus073andCOUNTING…
TheBostonY.M.C.A.stoodonupperHuntingtonAvenue.Itwashuge,blackwithyears,old-fashioned,andboxy.ItstoodinwhatusedtobeoneofBoston’sbetterareasinthemiddleofthelastcentury.It
stoodtherelikeaguiltyreminderofanothertime,anotherday,itsold-fashionedneonstillwinkingitsletterstowardthesinfultheaterdistrict.Itlookedliketheskeletonofamurderedidea.
WhenRichardswalkedintothelobby,thedeskclerkwasarguingwithatiny,scrufflyblackboyinakillballjerseysobigthatitreacheddownoverhisbluejeansto
midshin.Thedisputedterritoryseemedtobeagummachinethatstoodinsidethelobbydoor.
“Ilossmynickel,honky.Ilossmymuh-fuhnnickel!”
“Ifyoudon’tgetoutofhere,I’llcallthehousedetective,kid.That’sall.I’mdonetalkingtoyou.”
“Butthatgoddammachine
tookmynickel!”
“Youstopswearingatme,youlittlescumbag!”Theclerk,wholookedanold,coldthirty,reacheddownandshookthejersey.Itwastoohugeforhimtobeabletoshaketheboyinside,too.“Nowgetoutofhere.I’mthroughtalking.”
Seeinghemeantit,thealmostcomicmaskofhate
anddefiancebelowthedarksunburstofthekid’safrobrokeintoahurt,agonizedgrimaceofdisbelief.“Lissen,thasstheoneymuh-fuhnnickelIgot.Thatgumballmachineatemynickel!That—”
“I’mcallingthehousedickrightnow.”Theclerkturnedtowardtheswitchboard.Hisjacket,arefugeefromsomebargaincounter,flapped
tiredlyaroundhisthinbutt.
Theboykickedtheplaxteelpostofthegummachine,thenran.“Muh-fuhnwhitehonkysumbitch!”
Theclerklookedafterhim,thesecuritybutton,realormythicalunpressed.HesmiledatRichards,showinganoldkeyboardwithafewmissingkeys.“Youcan’ttalktoniggersanymore.I’dkeep
themincagesifIrantheNetwork.”
“Hereallyloseanickel?”Richardsasked,signingtheregisterasJohnDeeganfromMichigan.
“Ifhedid,hestoleit,”theclerksaid.“Oh,Isupposehedid.ButifIgavehimanickel,I’dhavetwohundredpickaninniesinherebynightfallclaimingthesame
thing.Wheredotheylearnthatlanguage?That’swhatIwanttoknow.Don’ttheirfolkscarewhattheydo?Howlongwillyoubestaying,Mr.Deegan?”
“Idon’tknow.I’mintownonbusiness.”Hetriedonagreasysmile,andwhenitfeltright,hewidenedit.Thedeskclerkrecognizeditinstantly(perhapsfromhisownreflectionlookingupathim
fromthedepthsofthefake-marblecounter,whichhadbeenpolishedbyamillionelbows)andgaveitbacktohim.
“That’s$15.50,Mr.Deegan.”HepushedakeyattachedtoawornwoodentongueacrossthecountertoRichards.“Room512.”
“Thankyou.”Richardspaidcash.Again,noI.D.Thank
GodfortheY.M.C.A.
HecrossedtotheelevatorsandlookeddownthecorridortotheChristianLendingLibraryontheleft.Itwasdimlylitwithflyspeckedyellowglobes,andanoldmanwearinganovercoatandgalosheswasperusingatract,turningthepagesslowlyandmethodicallywithatrembling,wettedfinger.Richardscouldhearthe
cloggedwhistleofhisbreathingfromwherehewasbytheelevators,andfeltamixtureofsorrowandhorror.
Theelevatorclunkedtoastop,andthedoorsopenedwithwheezyreluctance.Ashesteppedin,theclerksaidloudly:“It’sasinandashame.I’dputthemallincages.”
Richardsglancedup,
thinkingtheclerkwasspeakingtohim,buttheclerkwasnotlookingatanything.
Thelobbywasveryemptyandverysilent.
…Minus072andCOUNTING…
Thefifthfloorhallstankofpee.
ThecorridorwasnarrowenoughtomakeRichardsfeelclaustrophobic,andthecarpet,whichmighthave
beenred,hadwornawayinthemiddletorandomstrings.Thedoorswereindustrialgray,andseveralofthemshowedthemarksoffreshkicks,smashes,orattemptstojimmy.SignsateverytwentypacesadvisedthattherewouldbeNOSMOKINGINTHISHALLBYORDEROFFIREMARSHAL.Therewasacommunalbathroominthecenter,andtheurinestenchbecamesuddenlysharp.It
wasasmellRichardsassociatedautomaticallywithdespair.Peoplemovedrestlesslybehindthegraydoorslikeanimalsincages—animalstooawful,toofrightening,tobeseen.SomeonewaschantingwhatmighthavebeentheHailMaryoverandoverinadrunkenvoice.Strangegobblingnoisescamefrombehindanotherdoor.Acountry-westerntunefrom
behindanother(“Iain’tgotabuckforthephoneandI’msoalone…”).Shufflingnoises.Thesolitarysqueakofbedspringsthatmightmeanamaninhisownhand.Sobbing.Laughter.Thehystericalgruntsofadrunkenargument.Andfrombehindthese,silence.Andsilence.AmanwithahideouslysunkenchestwalkedpastRichardswithoutlookingathim,carryingabarofsoapanda
towelinonehand,wearinggraypajamabottomstiedwithstring.Heworepaperslippersonhisfeet.
Richardsunlockedhisroomandsteppedin.Therewasapolicebarontheinside,andheusedit.Therewasabedwithalmost-whitesheetsandanArmysurplusblanket.Therewasabureaufromwhichtheseconddrawerwasmissing.Therewasapicture
ofJesusononewall.Therewasasteelrodwithtwocoathangerskitty-corneredintherightangleoftwowalls.Therewasnothingelsebutthewindow,whichlookedoutonblackness.Itwas10:15.
Richardshunguphisjacket,slippedoffhisshoes,andlaydownonthebed.Herealizedhowmiserableandunknownandvulnerablehewasinthe
world.Theuniverseseemedtoshriekandclatterandroararoundhimlikeahugeandindifferentjalopyrushingdownahillandtowardthelipofabottomlesschasm.Hislipsbegantotremble,andthenhecriedalittle.
Hedidn’tputitontape.Helaylookingattheceiling,whichwascrackedintoamillioncrazyscrawls,likeabadpotter’s-glaze.Theyhad
beenafterhimforovereighthoursnow.Hehadearnedeighthundreddollarsofhisstakemoney.Christ,notevenoutoftheholeyet.
Andhe’dmissedhimselfonFree-Vee.Christ,yes.Thebag-over-the-headspectacular.
Wherewerethey?StillinHarding?NewYork?OrontheirwaytoBoston?No,they
couldn’tbeontheirwayhere,couldthey?Thebushadnotpassedthroughanyroad-blocks.Hehadleftthebiggestcityintheworldanonymously,andhewashereunderanassumedname.Theycouldn’tbeontohim.Noway.
TheBostonYmightbesafeforaslongastwodays.AfterthathecouldmovenorthtowardNewHampshireand
Vermont,orsouthtowardHartfordorPhiladelphiaorevenAtlanta.Furthereastwastheocean,andbeyonditwasBritainandEurope.Itwasanintriguingidea,butprobablyoutofreach.PassagebyplanerequiredI.D.,whatwithFranceundermartiallaw,andwhilestowing-awaymightbepossible,discoverywouldmeanaquickandfinalendtothewholething.Andwest
wasout.Westwaswheretheheatwasthehottest.
Ifyoucan’tstandtheheat,getoutofthekitchen.Whohadsaidthat?Moliewouldknow.Hesnickeredalittleandfeltbetter.
Thedisembodiedsoundofaradiocametohisears.
Itwouldbegoodtogetthegunnow,tonight,buthewas
tootired.Theridehadtiredhim.Beingafugitivetiredhim.AndheknewinananimalwaythatwentdeeperthantherationalthatverysoonhemightbesleepinginanOctober-coldculvertorinaweed-andcinder-chokedgully.
Theguntomorrownight.
Heturnedoffthelightandwenttobed.
…Minus071andCOUNTING…
Itwasshowtimeagain.
Richardsstoodwithhisbuttockstowardthevideorecorder,hummingthethememusictoTheRunningMan.AY.M.C.A.pillowslipwas
overhishead,turnedinsideoutsothenamestampedonitshemwouldn’tshow.
ThecamerahadinspiredRichardstoakindofcreativehumorthatheneverwouldhavebelievedhepossessed.Theself-imagehe’dalwaysheldwasthatofaratherdourman,withlittleornohumorinhisoutlook.Theprospectofhisapproachingdeathhaduncoveredasolitary
comedianhidinginside.
Whentheclippoppedout,hedecidedtosavethesecondforafternoon.Thesolitaryroomwasboring,andperhapssomethingelsewouldoccurtohim.
Hedressedslowlyandthenwenttothewindowandlookedout.
Thursdaymorningtraffic
hustledbusilyupanddownHuntingtonAvenue.Bothsidewalkswerecrowdedwithslowlymovingpedestrians.Someofthemwerescanningbright-yellowHelp-WantedFax.Mostofthemjustwalked.Therewasacop,itseemed,oneverycorner.Richardscouldheartheminhismind:Movealong.Ain’tyougotsomeplacetogo?Pickitup,maggot.
Soyoumovedontothenextcorner,whichwasjustlikethelastcorner,andweremovedalongagain.Youcouldtrytogetmadaboutit,butmostlyyourfeethurttoomuch.
Richardsdebatedtheriskofgoingdownthehallandshowering.Hefinallydecideditwouldbeokay.Hewentdownwithatoweloverhisshoulder,metnoone,and
walkedintothebathroom.
Essenceofurine,shit,puke,anddisinfectantmingled.Allthecrapperdoorshadbeenyankedoff,ofcourse.SomeonehadscrawledFUKTHENETWORKinfoot-highlettersabovetheurinal.Itlookedasthoughhemighthavebeenangrywhenhedidit.Therewasapileoffecesinoneoftheurinals.Someonemusthavebeenreallydrunk,
Richardsthought.Afewsluggishautumnflieswerecrawlingoverit.Hewasnotdisgusted;thesightwastoocommon;buthewasmatter-of-factlygladhehadwornhisshoes.
Healsohadtheshowerroomtohimself.Thefloorwascrackedporcelain,thewallsgougedtilewiththickrunnelsofdecaynearthebottoms.Heturnedonarust-
cloggedshowerhead,fullhot,andwaitedpatientlyforfiveminutesuntilthewaterrantepid,andthenshoweredquickly.Heusedascrapofsoaphefoundonthefloor,theYhadeitherneglectedtosupplyitorthechambermaidhadwalkedoffwithhis.
Onhiswaybacktohisroom,amanwithaharelipgavehimatract.
Richardstuckedhisshirtin,satonhisbed,andlitacigarette.Hewashungrybutwouldwaituntildusktogooutandeat.
Boredomdrovehimtothewindowagain.Hecounteddifferentmakesofcars—Fords,Chevies,Wints,VW’s,Plymouths,Studebakers,Rambler-Supremes.Firstonetoahundredwins.Adullgame,butbetterthanno
game.
FurtherupHuntingtonAvenuewasNortheasternUniversity,anddirectlyacrossthestreetfromtheYwasalargeautomatedbookshop.Whilehecountedcars,Richardswatchedthestudentscomeandgo.TheywereinsharpcontrasttotheWanted-Faxidlers;theirhairwasshorter,andtheyallseemedtobewearingtartan
jumpers,whichwerethisyear’skampuskraze.Theywalkedthroughthemillingruckandinsidetomaketheirpurchaseswithanairofuncomfortablepatronizationandhail-fellowthatleftacurdledamusementinRichards’smouth.Thefive-minutespacesinfrontofthestorefilledandemptiedwithsporty,flashycars,oftenofexoticmake.Mostofthemhadcollegedecalsintheback
windows:Northeastern,M.I.T.,BostonCollege,Harvard.Mostofthenews-faxbumstreatedthesportycarsaspartofthescenery,butafewlookedatthemwithdumbandwretchedlonging.
AWintpulledoutofthespacedirectlyinfrontofthestoreandaFordpulledin,settlingtoaninchabovethepavementasthedriver,acrewcutfellowsmokinga
foot-longcigar,putitinidle.Thecardippedslightlyashispassenger,adudeinabrownandwhitehuntingjacket,gotoutandzippedinside.
Richardssighed.Countingcarswasaverypoorgame.Fordswereaheadoftheirnearestcontenderbyascoreof78to40.Theoutcomegoingtobepredictableasthenextelection.
SomeonepoundedonthedoorandRichardsstiffenedlikeabolt.
“Frankie?Youinthere,Frankie?”
Richardssaidnothing.Frozenwithfear,heplayedastatue.
“Youeatshit,Frankie-baby.”Therewasachortleofdrunkenlaughterandthe
footstepsmovedon.Poundingonthenextdoorup.“Youinthere,Frankie?”
Richards’sheartslippedslowlydownfromhisthroat.
TheFordwaspullingout,andanotherFordtookitsplace.Number79.Shit.
Thedayslippedintoafternoon,andthenitwasoneo’clock.Richardsknewthis
bytheringingofvariouschimesinchurchesfaraway.Ironically,themanlivingbytheclockhadnowatch.
Hewasplayingavariationofthecargamenow.Fordsworthtwopoints,Studebakersthree,Wintsfour.Firstonetofivehundredwins.
Itwasperhapsfifteenminuteslaterthathenoticed
theyoungmaninthebrownandwhitehuntingjacketleaningagainstalamppostbeyondthebookstoreandreadingaconcertposter.Hewasnotbeingmovedalong;infact,thepoliceseemedtobeignoringhim.
You’rejumpingatshadows,maggot.Nextyou’llseetheminthecorners.HecountedaWintwithadentedfender.AyellowFord.Anold
Studebakerwithawheezingaircylinder,dippinginslightcycles.AVW—nogood,they’reoutoftherunning.AnotherWint.AStudebaker.
Amansmokingafoot-longcigarwasstandingnonchalantlyatthebusstoponthecorner.Hewastheonlypersonthere.Withgoodreason.Richardshadseenthebusescomeandgo,andknewtherewouldn’tbeanotherone
alongforforty-fiveminutes.
Richardsfeltacoolnesscreepintohistesticles.
Anoldmaninathreadbareblackovercoatsauntereddownthesideofthestreetandleanedcasuallyagainstthebuilding.
Twofellowsintartanjumpersgotoutofataxi,talkinganimatedly,andbegan
tostudythemenuinthewindowoftheStockholmRestaurant.
Acopwalkedoverandconversedwiththemanatthebusstop.Thenthecopwalkedawayagain.
Richardsnotedwithanumb,distantterrorthatagoodmanyofthenewspaperbumswereidlingalongmuchmoreslowly.Theirclothes
andstylesofwalkingseemedoddlyfamiliar,asiftheyhadbeenaroundagreatmanytimesbeforeandRichardswasjustbecomingawareofit—inthetentative,uneasywayyourecognizethevoicesofthedeadindreams.
Thereweremorecops,too.
I’mbeingbracketed,hethought.Theideabroughtahelpless,rabbitterror.
No,hismindcorrected.You’vealreadybeenbracketed.
…Minus070andCOUNTING…
Richardswalkedrapidlytothebathroom,beingcalm,ignoringhisterrorthewayamanonahighledgeignoresthedrop.Ifhewasgoingtogetoutofthis,itwouldbebykeepinghishead.Ifhe
panicked,hewoulddiequickly.
Someonewasintheshower,singingapopularsonginacrackedandpitchlessvoice.Noonewasattheurinalsorthewashstands.
Thetrickhadpoppedeffortlesslyintohismindashehadstoodbythewindow,watchingthemgatherintheiroffhand,sinisterway.Ifit
hadn’toccurredtohim,hethoughthewouldbethereyet,likeAladdinwatchingsmokefromthelampcoalesceintoanomnipotentdjinn.TheyhadusedthetrickasboystostealnewspapersfromDevelopmentbasements.Molieboughtthem;twocentsapound.
Hetookoneofthewiretoothbrushholdersoffthewallwithahardsnapofhis
wrist.Itwasalittlerusted,butthatwouldn’tmatter.Hewalkeddowntotheelevator,bendingthetoothbrushholderoutstraight.
Hepushedthecallbutton,andthecagetookasloweternitytocomedownfromeight.Itwasempty.ThankChristitwasempty.
Hesteppedin,lookedbrieflydownthehalls,and
thenturnedtothecontrolpanel.Therewasakeyslotbesidethebuttonmarkedforthebasement.Thejanitorwouldhaveaspecialcardtoshoveinthere.Anelectriceyescannedthecardandthenthejanitorcouldpushthebuttonandridedowntothebasement.
Whatifitdoesn’twork?
Nevermindthat.Never
mindthatnow.
Grimacinginanticipationofapossibleelectricshock,Richardsjammedthetoothbrushwireintotheslotandpushedthebasementbuttonsimultaneously.
Therewasanoisefrominsidethecontrolpanelthatsoundedlikeabriefelectroniccurse.Therewasalight,tinglingjoltuphisarm.
Foramoment,nothingelse.Thenthefoldingbrassgateslidacross,thedoorsclosed,andtheelevatorlurchedunhappilydownward.Asmalltendrilofbluesmokecurledoutoftheslotinthepanel.
Richardsstoodawayfromtheelevatordoorandwatchedthenumbersflashbackwards.WhentheLlit,themotorhighabovemadeagrinding
sound,andthecarseemedabouttostop.Then,afteramoment(perhapsafteritthoughtithadscaredRichardsenough),itdescendedagain.TwentysecondslaterthedoorsslidopenandRichardssteppedoutintothehugedimbasement.Therewaswaterdrippingsomewhere,andthescurryofadisturbedrat.Butotherwise,thebasementwashis.Fornow.
…Minus069andCOUNTING…
Huge,rustedheatingpipesfestoonedwithcobwebscrawledcrazilyallovertheceiling.Whenthefurnacekickedonsuddenly,Richardsalmostscreamedinterror.Thesurgeofadrenalinetohis
limbsandheartwaspainful,foramomentalmostincapacitating.
Therewerenewspapershere,too,Richardssaw.Thousandsofthem,stackedupandtiedwithstring.Theratshadnestedinthembythethousands.Wholefamiliesstaredoutattheinterloperwithrubydistrustfuleyes.
Hebegantowalkaway
fromtheelevator,pausinghalfwayacrossthecrackedcementfloor.Therewasalargefuseboxboltedtoasupportingpost,andbehindit,leaningagainsttheotherside,alitteroftools.Richardstookthecrowbarandcontinuedtowalk,keepinghiseyesonthefloor.
Nearthefarwallhespiedthemainstormdrain,tohisleft.Hewalkedoverand
lookedatit,wonderinginthebackofhismindiftheyknewhewasdownhereyet.
Thestormdrainwasconstructedofventedsteel.Itwasaboutthreefeetacross,andonthefarsidetherewasaslotforthecrowbar.Richardsslippeditin,leveredupthecover,andthenputonefootonthecrowbartoholdit.Hegothishandsunderthelipofthecoverandpushedit
over.Itfelltothecementwithaclangthatmadetheratssqueakwithdismay.
Thepipebeneathslanteddownataforty-five-degreeangle,andRichardsguessedthatitsborecouldbenomorethantwoandahalffeet.Itwasverydark.Claustrophobiasuddenlyfilledhismouthwithflannel.Toosmalltomaneuverin,almosttoosmalltobreathe
in.Butithadtobe.
Heturnedthestorm-draincoverbackoverandedgedittowardthepipeentrancejustenoughsohecouldgripitfrombeneathoncehewasdownthere.Thenhewalkedovertothefusebox,hammeredthepadlockoffwiththecrowbar,andshoveditopen.Hewasabouttobeginpullingfuseswhenanotherideaoccurredtohim.
Hewalkedovertothenewspaperswhichlayindirtyyellowdriftsagainstthewholeeasternlengthofthecellar.Thenheferretedoutthefoldedanddog-earedbookofmatcheshehadbeenlightinghissmokeswith.Therewerethreeleft.Heyankedoutasheetofpaperandformeditintoaspill;helditunderhisarmlikeaduncecapandlitamatch.Thefirstonegutteredoutina
draft.Thesecondfelloutofhistremblinghandandhissedoutonthedampconcrete.
Thethirdstayedalight.Heheldittohispaperspillandyellowflamebloomed.Arat,perhapssensingwhatwastocome,ranacrosshisfootandintothedarkness.
Aterriblesenseofurgencyfilledhimnow,andyethewaiteduntilthespillwas
flamingafoothigh.Hehadnomorematches.Carefully,hetuckeditintoafissureinthechest-highpaperwallandwaiteduntilhesawthatthefirewasspreading.
ThehugeoiltankwhichservicedtheYwasbuiltintotheadjoiningwall.Perhapsitwouldblow.Richardsthoughtitwould.
Trottingnow,hewentback
tothefuseboxandbeganrippingoutthelongtubularfuses.Hegotmostofthembeforethebasementlightswentout.Hefelthiswayacrosstothestormdrain,aidedbythegrowing,flickeringlightoftheburningpapers.
Hesatdownwithhisfeetdangling,andthenslowlyeasedin.Whenhisheadwasbelowthelevelofthefloor,
hepressedhiskneesagainstthesidesofthepipetoholdhimselfsteady,andworkedhisarmsupabovehishead.Itwasslowwork.Therewasverylittleroomtomove.Thelightofthefirewasbrilliantyellownow,andthecracklingsoundofburningfilledhisears.Thenhisgropingfingersfoundthelipofthedrain,andheslidthemupuntiltheygrippedtheventedcover.Heyankeditforwardslowly,
supportingmoreandmoreoftheweightwiththemusclesofhisbackandneck.Whenhejudgedthatthefaredgeofthecoverwasontheedgeofdroppingintoplace,hegaveonelastfiercetug.
Thecoverdroppedintoplacewithaclang,bendingbothwristsbackcruelly.Richardslethiskneesrelax,andhesliddownwardlikeaboyshootingthechutes.The
pipewascoatedwithslime,andheslideffortlesslyabouttwelvefeettowherethepipeelbowbentintoastraightline.Hisfeetstrucksmartly,andhestoodtherelikeadrunkleaningagainstalamppost.
Buthecouldn’tgetintothehorizontalpipe.Theelbowbendwastoosharp.
Thetasteofthe
claustrophobiabecamehuge,gagging.Trapped,hismindbabbled.Trappedinhere,trapped,trapped—
Asteelscreamroseinhisthroatandhechokeditdown.
Calmdown.Sure,it’sveryhackneyed,verytrite,butwemustbeverycalmdownhere.Verycalm.Becauseweareatthebottomofthispipeandwecan’tgetupandwecan’tget
downandifthefuckingoiltankgoesboom,wearegoingtobefricasseedveryneatlyand—
Slowlyhebegantowrigglearounduntilhischestwasagainstthepipeinsteadofhisback.Theslimecoatingactedasalubricant,helpinghismovement.Itwasverybrightinthepipenow,andgettingwarmer.Theventedcoverthrewprison-barshadowson
hisstrugglingface.
Onceleaningagainsthischestandbellyandgroin,withhiskneesbendingtherightway,hecouldslipdownfurther,lettinghiscalvesandfeetslideintothehorizontalpipeuntilhewasintheprayingposition.Stillnogood.Hisbuttockswerepushingagainstthesolidceramicfacingabovetheentrancetothehorizontal
pipe.
Faintly,itseemedthathecouldhearshoutedcommandsabovetheheavycrackleofthefire,butitmighthavebeenhisimagination,whichwasnowstrainedandfeveredbeyondthepointoftrust.
Hebegantoflexthemusclesofhisthighsandcalvesinatiringseesaw
rhythm,andlittlebylittlehiskneesbegantoslideoutfromunderhim.Heworkedhishandsupoverhisheadagaintogivehimselfmoreroom,andnowhisfacelaysolidlyagainsttheslimeofthepipe.Hewasveryclosetofittingnow.Heswayedhisbackasmuchashecouldandbegantopushwithhisarmsandhead,theonlythingsleftinanypositiontogivehimleverage.
Whenhehadbeguntothinktherewasnotenoughroom,thathewasgoingtosimplyhanghere,unabletomoveeitherway,hishipsandbuttockssuddenlypoppedthroughthehorizontalpipe’sopeninglikeachampagnecorkfromatightbottleneck.Thesmallofhisbackscrapedexcruciatinglyashiskneesslidoutfromunderhim,andhisshirtruckeduptohisshoulderblades.Thenhewas
inthehorizontalpipe—exceptforhisheadandarms,whichwerebentbackatajoint-twistingangle.Hewriggledtherestofthewayinandthenpausedthere,panting,hisfacestreakedwithslimeandratdroppings,theskinofhislowerbackabradedandoozingblood.
Thispipewasnarrowerstill;hisshouldersscrapedlightlyonbothsideseachtimehis
chestroseinrespiration.
ThankGodI’munderfed.
Panting,hebegantobackintotheunknowndarknessofthepipe.
…Minus068andCOUNTING…
Hemadeslow,molelikeprogressforaboutfiftyyardsthroughthehorizontalpipe,backingupblindly.ThentheoiltankintheY’sbasementsuddenlyblewwitharoarthatsetupenough
sympatheticvibrationsinthepipestonearlyrupturehiseardrums.Therewasayellow-whiteflash,asifapileofphosphorushadignited.Itfadedtoarosy,shiftingglow.Afewmomentslaterablastofthermalairstruckhimintheface,makinghimgrinpainfully.
Thetapecamerainhisjacketpocketswungand
bouncedashetriedtobackupfaster.Thepipewaspickingupheatfromthefierceexplosionandfirethatwasragingsomewhereabovehim,thewaythehandleofaskilletpicksupheatfromagas-ring.RichardshadnourgetobebakeddownherelikeapotatoinaDutchoven.
Sweatrolleddownhisface,mixingwiththeblackstreaksofordurealreadythere,
makinghimlook,inthewaxingandwaningglowofthereflectedfire,likeanIndianpaintedforwar.Thesidesofthepipewerehottothetouchnow.
Lobsterlike,Richardshumpedbackwardsonhiskneesandforearms,hisbuttocksrisingtosmackthetopofthepipeateverymovement.Hisbreathcameinsharp,doglikegasps.The
airwashot,fulloftheslicktasteofoil,uncomfortabletobreathe.Aheadachesurfacedwithinhisskullandbegantopushdaggersintothebacksofhiseyes.
I’mgoingtofryinhere.I’mgoingtofry.
Thenhisfeetweresuddenlydanglingintheair.Richardstriedtopeerthroughhislegsandseewhatwasthere,butit
wastoodarkbehindandhiseyesweretoodazzledbythelightinfront.Hewouldhavetotakehischance.Hebackedupuntilhiskneeswereontheedgeofthepipe’sending,andthenslidthemcautiouslyover.
Hisshoesweresuddenlyinwater,coldandshockingaftertheheatofthepipe.
Thenewpiperanatright
anglestotheoneRichardshadjustcomethrough,anditwasmuchlarger—bigenoughtostandinbentover.Thethick,slowlymovingwatercameupoverhisankles.Hepausedforjustamomenttostarebackintothetinypipewithitssoftcircleofreflectedfire-glow.Thefactthathecouldseeanyglowatallfromthisdistancemeantthatitmusthavebeenaverybigbangindeed.
RichardsreluctantlyforcedhimselftoknowitwouldbetheirjobtoassumehimaliveratherthandeadintheinfernooftheY.M.C.A.basement,butperhapstheywouldnotdiscoverthewayhehadtakenuntilthefirewasundercontrol.Thatseemedasafeassumption.ButithadseemedsafetoassumethattheycouldnottracehimtoBoston,too.
Maybetheydidn’t.Afterall,whatdidyoureallysee?
No.Ithadbeenthem.Heknewit.TheHunters.Theyhadevencarriedtheodorofevil.Ithadwafteduptohisfifthfloorroomoninvisiblepsychicthermals.
Aratdog-paddledpasthim,pausingtolookupbrieflywithglitteringeyes.
Richardssplashedclumsilyoffafterit,inthedirectionthewaterwasflowing.
…Minus067andCOUNTING…
Richardsstoodbytheladder,lookingup,dumb-foundedbythelight.Noregulartraffic,whichwassomething,butlight—
Thelightwassurprising
becauseithadseemedthathehadbeenwalkinginthesewersforhourspileduponhours.Inthedarkness,withnovisualinputandnosoundbutthegurgleofwater,theoccasionalsoftsplashofarat,andtheghostlythumpingsinotherpipes(whathappensifsomeoneflushesajohnovermyhead,Richardswonderedmorbidly),histimesensehadbeenutterlydestroyed.
Now,lookingupatthemanholecoversomefifteenfeetabovehim,hesawthatthelighthadnotyetfadedoutoftheday.Therewereseveralcircularbreatherholesinthecover,andpencil-sizedraysoflightpressedcoinsofsunonhischestandshoulders.
Noair-carshadpassedoverthecoversincehehadgottenhere;onlyanoccasional
heavyground-vehicleandafleetofHondacycles.Itmadehimsuspectthat,morebygoodluckandthelawofaveragesthanbyinnersenseofdirection,hehadmanagedtofindhiswaytothecoreofthecity—tohisownpeople.
Still,hedidn’tdaregoupuntildark.Topassthetime,hetookoutthetapecamera,poppedinaclip,andbeganrecordinghischest.Heknew
thetapeswere“fast-light,”abletotakeadvantageoftheleastavailablelight,andhedidnotwanttogiveawaytoomuchofhissurroundings.Hedidnotalkingorcaperingthistime.Hewastootired.
Whenthetapewasdone,heputitwiththeotherexposedclip.Hewishedhecouldridhimselfofthenaggingsuspicion—almostacertainty—thatthetapeswere
pinpointinghim.Therehadtobeawaytobeatthat.Hadto.
Hesatdownstolidlyonthethirdrungoftheladdertowaitfordark.Hehadbeenrunningfornearlythirtyhours.
…Minus066andCOUNTING…
Theboy,sevenyearsold,black,smokingacigarette,leanedclosertothemouthofthealley,watchingthestreet.
Therehadbeenasudden,slightmovementinthestreet
wheretherehadbeennonebefore.Shadowsmoved,rested,movedagain.Themanholecoverwasrising.Itpausedandsomething—eyes?—glimmered.Thecoversuddenlyslidasidewithaclang.
Someone(orsomething,theboythoughtwithatraceoffear)wasmovingoutthere.MaybethedevilwascomingoutofhelltogetCassie,he
thought.MasaidCassiewasgoingtoheaventobewithDickyandtheotherangels.Theboythoughtthatwasbullshit.Everybodywenttohellwhentheydied,andthedeviljabbedthemintheasswithapitchfork.HehadseenapictureofthedevilinthebooksBradleyhadsnuckoutoftheBostonPublicLibrary.HeavenwasforPushfreaks.ThedevilwastheMan.
Itcouldbethedevil,hethoughtasRichardssuddenlyboostedhimselfoutofthemanholeandleanedforasecondontheseamedandsplitcementtogethisbreathback.Notailandnohorns,notredlikeinthatbook,butthemotherlookedcrazyandmeanenough.
Nowhewaspushingthecoverback,andnow—
—nowholyJesushewasrunningtowardthealley.
Theboygrunted,triedtorun,andfelloverhisownfeet.
Hewastryingtogetup,scramblinganddroppingthings,andthedevilsuddenlygrabbedhim.
“Doanstickmewifit!”hescreamedinathroat-closed
whisper.“Doanstickmewifnofork,yousumbitch—”
“Shhh!Shutup!Shutup!”Thedevilshookhim,makinghisteethrattlelikemarblesinhishead,andtheboyshutup.Thedevilpeeredaroundinanecstacyofapprehension.Theexpressiononhisfacewasalmostfarcicalinitsextremefear.TheboywasremindedofthecomicalfellowsonthatgameshowSwimthe
Crocodiles.Hewouldhavelaughedifhehadn’tbeensofrightenedhimself.
“Youain’tthedevil,”theboysaid.
“You’llthinkIamifyouyell.”
“Iain’tgonna,”theboysaidcontemptuously.“Whatyouthink,Iwannagetmyballscutoff?Jesus,Iain’tevenbig
enoughtocomeyet.”
“Youknowaquietplacewecango?”
“Doankillme,man.Iain’tgotnothin.”Theboy’seyes,whiteinthedarkness,rolledupathim.
“I’mnotgoingtokillyou.”
Holdinghishand,theboyledRichardsdownthe
twisting,litteredalleyandintoanother.Attheend,justbeforethealleyopenedontoanairshaftbetweentwofacelesshighrisebuildings,theboyledhimintoalean-tobuiltofscroungedboardsandbricks.Itwasbuiltforfourfeet,andRichardsbangedhisheadgoingin.
Theboypulledadirtyswatchofblackclothacrosstheopeningandfiddledwith
something.Amomentlateraweakglowlittheirfaces;theboyhadhookedasmalllightbulbtoanoldcrackedcarbattery.
“Ikifedthatbatterymyself,”theboysaid.“Bradleytolemehowtofixitup.He’sgotbooks.Igotanickelbag,too.I’llgiveittoyouifyoudon’tkillme.Youbetternot.Bradley’sintheStabbers.Youkillmeanhe’ll
makeyoushitinyourbootaneatit.”
“I’mnotdoinganykillings,”Richardssaidimpatiently.“Atleastnotlittlekids.”
“Iain’tnolittlekid!Ikifedthatfuckinbatterymyself!”
ThelookofinjuryforcedadentedgrintoRichards’sface.“Allright.What’syour
name,kid?”
“Ain’tnokid.”Then,sulkily:“Stacey.”
“Okay.Stacey.Good.I’montherun.Youbelievethat?”
“Yeah,youontherun.Youdintcomeouttathatmanholetobuydirtypos’cards.”HestaredspeculativelyatRichards.“Youahonky?Kindahardtotellwifallthat
dirt.”
“Stacey,I—”Hebrokeoffandranahandthroughhishair.Whenhespokeagain,heseemedtobetalkingtohimself.“Igottotrustsomebodyanditturnsouttobeakid.Akid.HotJesus,youain’tevensix,boy.”
“I’meightinMarch,”theboysaidangrily.“MysisterCassie’sgotcancer,”he
added.“Shescreamsalot.ThasswhyIlikeithere.Kifedthatfuckinbatterymyself.Youwannatokeup,mister?”
“No,andyoudon’teither.Youwanttwobucks,Stacey?”
“Chris’yes!”Distrustslidoverhiseyes.“Youdintcomeouttanomanholewithtwofuckinbucks.Thass
bullshit.”
RichardsproducedaNewDollarandgaveittotheboy.Hestaredatitwithawethatwasclosetohorror.
“There’sanotheroneifyoubringyourbrother,”Richardssaid,andseeinghisexpression,addedswiftly:“I’llgiveittoyouonthesidesohewon’tseeit.Bringhimalone.”
“Won’tdonogoodtotryankillBradley,man.He’llmakeyoushitinyourboot—”
“Andeatit.Iknow.Yourunandgethim.Waituntilhe’salone.”
“Threebucks.”
“No.”
“Lissenman,forthreebucksIcangetCassiesome
stuffatthedrug.Thenshewon’tscreamsofuckinmuch.”
Theman’sfacesuddenlyworkedasifsomeonetheboycouldn’tseehadpunchedhim.“Allright.Three.”
“NewDollars,”theboypersisted.
“Yes,forChrist’ssake,yes.Gethim.Andifyoubringthe
copsyouwon’tgetanything.”
Theboypaused,halfinandhalfoutofhislittlecubbyhole.“YoustupidifyouthinkIdothat.Ihatethemfuckinoinkersworsethananyone.Eventhedevil.”
Heleft,aseven-year-oldboywithRichards’slifeinhisgrubby,scabbedhands.Richardswastootiredtobereallyafraid.Heturnedoff
thelight,leanedback,anddozedoff.
…Minus065andCOUNTING…
Dreamingsleephadjustbegunwhenhistight-strungsensesrippedhimbacktowakefulness.Confused,inadarkplace,thebeginningofthenightmareheldhimforamomentandhethoughtthat
somehugepolicedogwascomingforhim,aterrifyingorganicweaponsevenfeethigh.HealmostcriedaloudbeforeStaceymadetherealworldfallintoplacebyhissing:
“IfhebrokemyfuckinlightI’mgonna—”
Theboywasviolentlyshushed.Theclothacrosstheentrancerippled,and
Richardsturnedonthelight.HewaslookingatStaceyandanotherblack.Thenewfellowwasmaybeeighteen,Richardsguessed,wearingacyclejacket,lookingatRichardswithamixtureofhateandinterest.
AswitchbladeclickedoutandglitteredinBradley’shand.“Ifyou’reheeled,dropitdown.”
“I’mnot.”
“Idon’tbelievethatsh—”Hebrokeoff,andhiseyeswidened.“Hey.You’rethatguyontheFree-Vee.YouoffedtheY.M.C.A.onHuntingtonAvenue.”Theloweringblacknessofhisfacewassplitbyaninvoluntarygrin.“Theysaidyoufriedfivecops.Thatprobablymeansfifteen.”
“Hecomeouttathemanhole,”Staceysaidimportantly.“Iknewitwasn’tthedevilrightaway.Iknewitwassomehonkysumbitch.Yougonnacuthim,Bradley?”
“Justshutupanletmentalk.”Bradleycametherestofthewayinside,squattingawkwardly,andsatacrossfromRichardsonasplinteryorangecrate.Helookedatthe
bladeinhishand,seemedsurprisedtoseeitstillthere,andcloseditup.
“You’rehotterthanthesun,man,”hesaidfinally.
“That’strue.”
“Whereyougonnagetto?”
“Idon’tknow.I’vegottogetoutofBoston.”
Bradleysatinsilentthought.“YougottacomehomewithmeanStacey.Wegottatalk,anwecan’tdoithere.Tooopen.”
“Allright,”Richardssaidwearily.“Idon’tcare.”
“Wegothebackway.Thepigsarecruisingtonight.NowIknowwhy.”
WhenBradleyledtheway
out,StaceykickedRichardssharplyintheshin.ForamomentRichardsstaredathim,notunderstanding,andthenremembered.HeslippedtheboythreeNewDollars,andStaceymadeitdisappear.
…Minus064andCOUNTING…
Thewomanwasveryold;Richardsthoughthehadneverseenanyoneasold.Shewaswearingacottonprinthousedresswithalargeripunderonearm;anancient,wrinkleddugswayedback
andforthagainsttheripasshewentaboutmakingthemealthatRichards’sNewDollarshadpurchased.Thenicotine-yellowedfingersdicedandparedandpeeled.Herfeet,splayedintogrotesqueboatshapesbyyearsofstanding,werecladinpinkterryclothslippers.Herhairlookedasifitmighthavebeenself-wavedbyanironheldinatremblinghand;itwaspushedbackintoa
kindofpyramidbythetwistedhairnetwhichhadgoneaskewatthebackofherhead.Herfacewasadeltaoftime,nolongerbrownorblack,butgrayish,stitchedwitharadiatinggalaxyofwrinkles,pouches,andsags.Hertoothlessmouthworkedcraftilyatthecigaretteheldthere,blowingoutpuffsofbluesmokethatseemedtohangaboveandbehindherinlittlebunchedblueballs.She
puffedbackandforth,describingatrianglebetweencounter,skillet,andtable.Hercottonstockingswererolledattheknee,andabovethemandtheflappinghemofherdressvaricoseveinsbunchedinclocksprings.
Theapartmentwashauntedbytheghostoflong-departedcabbage.
Inthefarbedroom,Cassie
screamed,whooped,andwassilent.BradleyhadtoldRichardswithakindofangryshamethatheshouldnotmindher.Shehadcancerinbothlungsandrecentlyithadspreadupwardintoherthroatanddownintoherbelly.Shewasfive.
Staceyhadgonebackoutsomewhere.
AsheandBradleyspoke
together,themaddeningaromaofsimmeringgroundbeef,vegetables,andtomatosaucebegantofilltheroom,drivingthecabbagebackintothecornersandmakingRichardsrealizehowhungryhewas.
“Icouldturnyouin,man.Icouldkillyouanstealallthatmoney.Turninthebody.Getathousandmorebucksandbeoneasystreet.”
“Idon’tthinkyoucoulddoit,”Richardssaid.“IknowIcouldn’t.”
“Why’reyoudoingit,anyway?”Bradleyaskedirritably.“Whyyoubeingtheirsucker?Youthatgreedy?”
“Mylittlegirl’snameisCathy,”Richardssaid.“YoungerthanCassie.Pneumonia.Shecriesallthe
time,too.”
Bradleysaidnothing.
“Shecouldgetbetter.Notlike…herinthere.Pneumonia’snoworsethanacold.Butyouhavetohavemedicineandadoctor.Thatcostsmoney.IwentforthemoneytheonlywayIcould.”
“Youstillasucker,”Bradleysaidwithflatand
somehowuncannyemphasis.“Yousuckinoffhalftheworldandtheycomininyourmoutheverynightatsix-thirty.YourlittlegirlwouldbebetterofflikeCassieinthisworld.”
“Idon’tbelievethat.”
“Thenyouballsierthanme,man.Iputaguyinthehospitaloncewitharupture.Somerichguy.Copschased
methreedays.Butyouballsierthanme.”Hetookacigaretteandlitit.“Maybeyou’llgothewholemonth.Abilliondollars.You’dhavetobuyafuckinfreighttraintohaulitoff.”
“Don’tswear,praiseGawd,”theoldwomansaidfromacrosstheroomwhereshewasslicingcarrots.
Bradleypaidnoattention.
“Youanyourwifeanlittlegirlwouldbeoneasystreetthen.Yougottwodaysalready.”
“No,”Richardssaid.“Thegame’srigged.YouknowthosetwothingsIgaveStaceytomailwhenheandyourmawentoutforgroceries?Ihavetomailtwoofthoseeverydaybeforemidnight.”HeexplainedtoBradleyabouttheforfeit
clause,andhissuspicionthattheyhadtracedhimtoBostonbypostmark.
“Easytobeatthat.”
“How?”
“Nevermind.Later.HowyougonnagetoutofBoston?Youawfulhot.Made’emmad,blowinuptheiroinkersattheY.M.C.A.TheyhadFree-Veeonthattonight.An
thoseonesyoutookwiththebagoveryourhead.Thatwasprettysharp,Ma!”hefinishedirritably,“when’sthatstuffgonnabeready?We’refallinawaytoshadowsrightbeforeya!”
“Shecominon,”Masaid.Sheploppedacoverovertherich,slowlybubblingmassandwalkedslowlyintothebedroomtositbythegirl.
“Idon’tknow,”Richardssaid.“I’lltrytogetacar,Iguess.I’vegotfakepapers,butIdon’tdareusethem.I’lldosomething—weardarkglasses—andgetoutofthecity.I’vebeenthinkingaboutgoingtoVermontandthencrossingoverintoCanada.”
Bradleygruntedandgotuptoputplatesonthetable.“BynowtheygoteveryhighwaygoingoutofBeantown
blocked.Amanwearindarkglassescallstentiontohimself.They’llturnyouintomonkeymeatbeforeyougetsixmiles.”
“ThenIdon’tknow,”Richardssaid.“IfIstayhere,they’llgetyouforanaccessory.”
Bradleybeganspreadingdishes.“Supposewegetacar.Yougotthesqueezin
green.Igotanamethatisn’thot.There’saspiconMilkStreetthat’llsellmeaWintforthreehundred.I’llgetoneofmybuddiestodriveituptoManchester.It’llbecoolasafoolinManchesterbecauseyou’rebottledupinBoston.Youeatin,Ma?”
“YesanpraiseGawd.”Shewaddledoutofthebedroom.“Yoursisterissleepinalittle.”
“Good.”Heladledupthreedishesofhamburgergumboandthenpaused.“Where’sStacey?”
“Saidhewasgointothedrug,”Masaidcomplacently,shovelinggumbointohertoothlessmawatablindingspeed.“Saidhegoantogetmedicine.”
“Ifhegetsbusted,I’llbreakhisass,”Bradleysaid,sitting
heavily.
“Hewon’t,”Richardssaid.“He’sgotmoney.”
“Yeah,maybewedon’tneednocharitymoney,graymeat.”
Richardslaughedandsaltedhismeal.“I’dprobablybeslabbednowifitwasn’tforhim,”hesaid.“Iguessitwasearnedmoney.”
Bradleyleanedforward,concentratingonhisplate.Noneofthemsaidanythingmoreuntilthemealwasdone.RichardsandBradleyhadtwohelpings;theoldwomanhadthree.Astheywerelightingcigarettes,akeyscratchedinthelockandallofthemstiffeneduntilStaceycamein,lookingguilty,frightened,andexcited.HewascarryingabrownbaginonehandandhegaveMaa
bottleofmedicine.
“Thassprimedope,”hesaid.“ThatolmanCurryastmewhereIgottwodollarsandsemney-ficentstobuyprimedopeanItolehimtogoshitinhisbootandeatit.”
“Doanswearorthedevilwillpokeyou,”Masaid.“Here’sdinner.”
Theyboy’seyeswidened.
“Jesus,there’smeatinit!”
“Naw,wejusshatinittomakeitthicker,”Bradleysaid.Theboylookedupsharply,sawhisbrotherwasjoking,giggled,andfellto.
“Willthedruggistgotothecops?”Richardsaskedquietly.
“Curry?Naw.Notiftheremightbesomemoresqueezin
greeninthisfambly.HeknowsCassie’sgottohaveheavydope.”
“WhataboutthisManchesterthing?”
“Yeah.Well,Vermont’snogood.Notenoughofourkindofpeople.Toughcops.IgetsomegoodfellalikeRichGoleontodrivethatWinttoManchesterandparkitinanautomaticgarage.ThenI
driveyouupinanothercar.”Hecrushedouthiscigarette.“Inthetrunk.They’reonlyusingJiffySniffersonthebackroad.We’llgorightup495.”
“Prettydangerousforyou,”Richardssaid.
“Oh,Iwasn’tgonnadoitfree.WhenCassiegoes,she’sgonnagooutwrecked.”
“PraiseGawd,”Masaid.
“Stillprettydangerousforyou.”
“AnypiggruntsatBradley,hemake’emshitintheirbootaneatit,”Staceysaid,wipinghismouth.WhenhelookedatBradley,hiseyesglitteredwiththeflatshineofheroworship.
“You’redribblinonyour
shirt,Skinner,”Bradleysaid.HeknuckledStacey’shead.“Youbeatinyourmeatyet,Skinner?Ain’tbigenough,areya?”
“Iftheycatchus,you’llgoinforthelongbomb,”Richardssaid.“Who’sgoingtotakecareoftheboy?”
“He’lltakecareofhimselfifsomethinghappens,”Bradleysaid.“Himselfand
Mahere.He’snothookedonnothin.Areyou,Stace?”
Staceyshookhisheademphatically.
“AnheknowsifIfindanypricksinhisarmsI’llbeathisbrainsout.Ain’tthatright,Stacey?”
Staceynodded.
“Besides,wecanusethe
money.Thisisahurtinfamily.Sodon’tsaynomoreaboutit.IguessIknowwhatI’mdoin.”
RichardsfinishedhiscigaretteinsilencewhileBradleywentintogiveCassiesomemedicine.
…Minus063andCOUNTING…
Whenheawoke,itwasstilldarkandtheinnertideofhisbodyputthetimeataboutfour-thirty.Thegirl,Cassie,hadbeenscreaming,andBradleygotup.Thethreeofthemweresleepinginthe
small,draftybackbedroom,StaceyandRichardsonthefloor.Masleptwiththegirl.
OverthesteadywheezeofStacey’sdeep-sleeprespiration,RichardsheardBradleycomeoutoftheroom.Therewasaclinkofaspooninthesink.Thegirl’sscreamsbecameisolatedmoanswhichtrailedintosilence.RichardscouldsenseBradleystandingsomewhere
inthekitchen,immobile,waitingforthesilencetocome.Hereturned,satdown,farted,andthenthebedspringsshiftedcreakilyashelaydown.
“Bradley?”
“What?”
“Staceysaidshewasonlyfive.Isthatso?”
“Yes.”Theurbandialecticwasgonefromhisvoice,makinghimsoundunrealanddreamlike.
“What’safive-year-oldkiddoingwithlungcancer?Ididn’tknowtheygotit.Leukemia,maybe.Notlungcancer.”
Therewasabitter,whisperedchucklefromthebed.“You’refromHarding,
right?What’stheair-pollutioncountinHarding?”
“Idon’tknow,”Richardssaid.“Theydon’tgivethemwiththeweatheranymore.Theyhaven’tfor…gee,Idon’tknow.Alongtime.”
“Notsince2020inBoston,”Bradleywhisperedback.“They’rescaredto.Youain’tgotanosefilter,doyou?”
“Don’tbestupid,”Richardssaidirritably.“Thegoddamthingscosttwohundredbucks,eveninthecut-ratestores.Ididn’tseetwohundredbucksalllastyear.Didyou?”
“No,”Bradleysaidsoftly.Hepaused.“Stacey’sgotone.Imadeit.MaandRichGoleonansomeotherpeoplegotem,too.”
“You’reshittingme,”Richardssaid.
“No,man.”Hestopped.RichardswassuddenlysurethatBradleywasweighingwhathehadsaidalreadyagainstagreatmanymorethingswhichhemightsay.Wonderinghowmuchwastoomuch.Whenthewordscameagain,theycamewithdifficulty.“We’vebeenreading.ThatFree-Veeshitis
forempty-heads.”
“Thegang,youknow.Someoftheguysarejustcruisers,youknow?Allthey’reinterestedinishonky-stompingonSaturdaynight.Butsomeofushavebeengoingdowntothelibrarysinceweweretwelveorso.”
“TheyletyouinwithoutacardinBoston?”
“No.Youcan’tgetacardunlessthere’ssomeonewithaguaranteedincomeoffivethousanddollarsayearinyourfamily.Wegotsomeplump-asskidankifedhiscard.Wetaketurnsgoing.Wegotagangsuitwewearwhenwego.”Bradleypaused.“YoulaughatmeandI’llcutyou,man.”
“I’mnotlaughing.”
“Atfirstweonlyreadsexbooks.ThenwhenCassiefirststartedgettingsick,Igotintothispollutionstuff.They’vegotallthebooksonimpuritycountsandsmoglevelsandnosefiltersinthereservesection.Wegotakeymadefromawaxblank.Man,didyouknowthateverybodyinTokyohadtowearanosefilterby2012?”
“No.”
“RichandDinkMoranbuiltapollutioncounter.Dinkdrewthepictureoutofthebook,andtheydiditfromcoffeecansandsomestufftheyboostedoutofcars.It’shidoutinanalley.Backin1978theyhadanairpollutionscalethatwentfromonetotwenty.Youunderstand?”
“Yes.”
“Whenitgotuptotwelve,
thefactoriesandallthepollution-producingshithadtoshutdowntilltheweatherchanged.Itwasafederallawuntil1987,whentheRevisedCongressrolleditback.”Theshadowonthebedroseuponitselbow.“Ibetyouknowalotofpeoplewithasthma,thatright?”
“Sure,”Richardssaidcautiously.“I’vegotatouchmyself.Yougetthatfromthe
air.Christ,everybodyknowsyoustayinthehousewhenit’shotandcloudyandtheairdoesn’tmove—”
“Temperatureinversion,”Bradleysaidgrimly.
“—andlotsofpeoplegetasthma,sure.TheairgetslikecoughsyrupinAugustandSeptember.Butlungcancer—”
“Youain’ttalkinaboutasthma,”Bradleysaid.“Youtalkinboutemphysema.”
“Emphysema?”Richardsturnedthewordoverinhismind.Hecouldnotassignameaningtoit,althoughthewordwasfaintlyfamiliar.
“Allthetissuesinyourlungsswellup.Youheaveanheaveanheave,butyou’restilloutofbreath.Youknow
alotofpeoplewhogetlikethat?”
Richardsthought.Hedid.Heknewalotofpeoplewhohaddiedlikethat.
“Theydon’ttalkaboutthatone,”Bradleysaid,asifhehadreadRichards’sthought.“NowthepollutioncountinBostonistwentyonagoodday.That’slikesmokingfourpacksofcigarettesadayjust
breathing.Onabaddayitgetsupashighasforty-two.Olddudesdropdeadallovertown.Asthmagoesonthedeathcertificate.Butit’stheair,theair,theair.Andthey’repouringitoutjustasfastastheycan,bigsmokestacksgoingtwenty-fourhoursaday.Thebigboyslikeitthatway.
“Thosetwo-hundred-dollarnosefiltersaren’tworthshit.
They’rejusttwopiecesofscreenwithalittlepieceofmetholatedcottonbetweenthem.That’sall.TheonlygoodonesarefromGeneralAtomics.Theonlyoneswhocanaffordthemarethebigboys.TheygaveustheFree-Veetokeepusoffthestreetssowecanbreatheourselvestodeathwithoutmakinganytrouble.Howdoyoulikethat?ThecheapestG-Anosefilteronthemarketgoesfor
sixthousandNewDollars.WemadeoneforStaceyfortenbucksfromthatbook.Weusedanatomicnuggetthesizeofthemoononyourfingernail.Gotitoutofahearingaidweboughtinahockshopforsevenbucks.Howdoyoulikethat?”
Richardssaidnothing.Hewasspeechless.
“WhenCassiebootsoff,
youthinkthey’llputcanceronthedeathcertificate?Shitthey’llputasthma.Elsesomebodymightgetscared.Somebodymightkifealibrarycardandfindoutlungcancerisupsevenhundredpercentsince2015.”
“Isthattrue?Orareyoumakingitup?”
“Ireaditinabook.Man,they’rekillingus.TheFree-
Veeiskillingus.TheFree-Veeiskillingus.It’slikeamagiciangettingyoutowatchthecakesfallingouttahishelper’sblousewhilehepullsrabbitsoutofhispantsandputs’eminhishat.”Hepausedandthensaiddreamily:“SometimesIthinkthatIcouldblowthewholethingouttathewaterwithtenminutestalktimeontheFree-Vee.Tellem.Showem.Everybodycouldhaveanose
filteriftheNetworkwantedemtohaveem.”
“AndI’mhelpingthem,”Richardssaid.
“Thatain’tyourfault.Yougottorun.”
Killian’sface,andthefaceofArthurM.BurnsroseupinfrontofRichards.Hewantedtosmashthem,stompthem,walkonthem.Betterstill,rip
outtheirnosefiltersandturnthemintothestreet.
“People’smad,”Bradleysaid.“They’vebeenmadatthehonkiesforthirtyyears.Alltheyneedisareason.Areason…onereason…”
Richardsdriftedofftosleepwiththerepetitioninhisears.
…Minus062andCOUNTING…
RichardsstayedinalldaywhileBradleywasoutseeingaboutthecarandarrangingwithanothermemberofthegangtodriveittoManchester.
BradleyandStaceycamebackatsix,andBradleythumbedontheFree-Vee.“Allset,man.Wegotonight.”
“Now?”
Bradleysmiledhumorlessly.“Don’tyouwanttoseeyourselfcoast-to-coast?”
Richardsdiscoveredhedid,andwhenTheRunningMan
lead-incameon,hewatched,fascinated.
BobbyThompsonstareddeadpanatthecamerafromthemiddleofabrilliantpostinaseaofdarkness.“Watch,”hesaid.“Thisisoneofthewolvesthatwalksamongyou.”
AhugeblowupofRichards’sfaceappearedonthescreen.Itheldfora
moment,thendissolvedtoasecondphotoofRichards,thistimeintheJohnGriffenSpringerdisguise.
DissolvebacktoThompson,lookinggrave.“IspeakparticularlytothepeopleofBostontonight.Yesterdayafternoon,fivepolicemenwenttoablazing,agonizeddeathinthebasementoftheBostonY.M.C.A.atthehandsofthiswolf,whohad
setaclever,mercilesstrap.Whoishetonight?Whereishetonight?Look!Lookathim!”
ThompsonfadedintothefirstofthetwoclipswhichRichardshadfilmedthatmorning.StaceyhaddroppedtheminamailboxonCommonwealthAvenue,acrossthecity.HehadletMaholdthecamerainthebackbedroom,afterhehaddraped
thewindowandallthefurniture.
“Allofyouwatchingthis,”Richards’simagesaidslowly.“Notthetechnicos,notthepeopleinthepenthouses—Idon’tmeanyoushits.YoupeopleintheDevelopmentsandtheghettosandthecheaphighrises.Youpeopleinthecyclegangs.Youpeoplewithoutjobs.Youkidsgettingbustedfordopeyou
don’thaveandcrimesyoudidn’tcommitbecausetheNetworkwantstomakesureyouaren’tmeetingtogetherandtalkingtogether.Iwanttotellyouaboutamonstrousconspiracytodepriveyouoftheverybreathiny—”
Theaudiosuddenlybecameamixtureofsqueaks,pops,andgargles.Amomentlateritdiedaltogether.Richards’smouthwasmoving,butno
soundwascomingout.
“Weseemtohavelostouraudio,”BobbyThompson’svoicecamesmoothly,“butwedon’tneedtolistentoanymoreofthismurderer’sradicalravingstounderstandwhatwe’redealingwith,dowe?”
“No!”Theaudiencescreamed.
“Whatwillyoudoifyouseehimonyourstreet?”
“TURNHIMIN!”
“Andwhatarewegoingtodowhenwefindhim?”
“KILLHIM!”
Richardspoundedhisfistagainstthetiredarmoftheonlyeasychairintheapartment’skitchen-living
room.“Thosebastards,”hesaidhelplessly.
“Didyouthinkthey’dletyougoontheairwithit?”Bradleyaskedmockingly.“Ohno,man.I’ms’prisedtheyletyougetawaywithasmuchastheydid.”
“Ididn’tthink,”Richardssaidsickly.
“No,Iguessyoudidn’t,”
Bradleysaid.
Thefirstclipfadedintothesecond.Inthisone,Richardshadaskedthepeoplewatchingtostormthelibraries,demandcards,findoutthetruth.HehadreadoffalistofbooksdealingwithairpollutionandwaterpollutionthatBradleyhadgivenhim.
Richards’simageopenedits
mouth.“Fuckeveryoneofyou,”hisimagesaid.Thelipsseemedtobemovingarounddifferentwords,buthowmanyofthetwohundredmillionpeoplewatchingweregoingtonoticethat?“Fuckallpigs.FucktheGamesCommission.I’mgonnakilleverypigIsee.I’mgonna—”Therewasmore,enoughsothatRichardswantedtoplughisearsandrunoutoftheroom.Hecouldn’ttellifit
wasthevoiceofamimic,oraharanguemadeupofsplicedbitsofaudiotape.
Theclipfacedtoasplit-screenofThompson’sfaceandthestillphotoofRichards.“Beholdtheman,”Thompsonsaid.“Themanwhowouldkill.Themanwhowouldmobilizeanarmyofmalcontentslikehimselftorunriotthroughyourstreets,rapingandburningand
overturning.Themanwouldlie,cheat,kill.Hehasdoneallthesethings.
“BenjaminRichards!”Thevoicecriedoutwithacold,commandingOldTestamentanger.“Areyouwatching?Ifso,youhavebeenpaidyourdirtybloodmoney.Ahundreddollarsforeachhour—nownumberfifty-four—thatyouhaveremainedfree.Andanextrafivehundred
dollars.Onehundredforeachofthesefivemen.”
Thefacesofyoung,clear-featuredpolicemenbeganappearingonthescreen.ThestillhadapparentlybeentakenataPoliceAcademygraduationexercise.Theylookedfresh,fullofsapandhope,heart-breakinglyvulnerable.Softly,asingletrumpetbegantoplayTaps.
“Andthese…”Thompson’svoicewasnowlowandhoarsewithemotion,“…theseweretheirfamilies.”
Wives,hopefullysmiling.Childrenthathadbeencoaxedtosmileintothecamera.Alotofchildren.Richards,coldandsickandnauseated,loweredhisheadandpressedthebackofhishandoverhismouth.
Bradley’shand,warmandmuscular,pressedhisneck.“Hey,no.No,man.That’sputon.That’sallfake.Theywereprobablyabunchofoldharnessbullswho—”
“Shutup,”Richardssaid.“Ohshutup.Just.Please.Shutup.”
“Fivehundreddollars,”Thompsonwassaying,andinfinitehateandcontempt
filledhisvoice.Richards’sfaceonthescreenagain,cold,hard,devoidofallemotionsaveanexpressionofbloodlustthatseemedchieflytobeintheeyes.“Fivepolice,fivewives,nineteenchildren.Itcomestojustaboutseventeendollarsandtwenty-fivecentsforeachofthedead,thebereaved,theheartbroken.Ohyes,youworkcheap,BenRichards.EvenJudasgotthirtypieces
ofsilver,butyoudon’tevendemandthat.Somewhere,evennow,amotheristellingherlittleboythatdaddywon’tbehomeeveragainbecauseadesperate,greedymanwithagun—”
“Killer!”Awomanwassobbing.“Vile,dirtymurderer!Godwillstrikeyoudead!”
“Strikehimdead!”The
audienceoverthechant:“Beholdtheman!Hehasbeenpaidhisbloodmoney—butthemanwholivesbyviolenceshalldiebyit.Andleteveryman’shandberaisedagainstBenjaminRichards!”
Hateandfearineveryvoice,risinginasteady,throbbingroar.No,theywouldn’tturnhimin.Theywouldriphimtoshredson
sight.
Bradleyturnedoffthescreenandfacedhim.“Thasswhatyou’redealingwith,man.Howaboutit.”
“MaybeI’llkillthem,”Richardssaidinathoughtfulvoice.“Maybe,beforeI’mdone,I’llgetuptotheninetiethfloorofthatplaceandjusthuntupthemaggotswhowrotethat.MaybeI’ll
justkillthemall.”
“Don’ttalknomore!”Staceyburstoutwildly.“Don’ttalknomoreaboutit!”
Intheotherroom,Cassiesleptherdrugged,dyingsleep.
…Minus061andCOUNTING…
Bradleyhadnotdareddrillanyholesinthefloorofthetrunk,soRichardscurledinamiserableballwithhismouthandnosepressedtowardthetinynotchoflightwhichwasthetrunk’skeyhole.Bradley
hadalsopulledoutsomeoftheinnertrunkinsulationaroundthelid,andthatletinasmalldraft.
Thecarliftedwithajerk,andheknockedhisheadagainsttheupperdeck.Bradleyhadtoldhimtheridewouldbeatleastanhourandahalf,withtwostopsforroadblocks,perhapsmore.Beforeheclosedthetrunk,hegaveRichardsalarge
revolver.
“Everytenthortwelfthcar,theygiveitaheavylookingover,”hesaid.“Theyopenthetrunktopokearound.Thosearegoododds,eleventoone.Ifitdon’tcomeup,plugyousomepork.”
Thecarlurchedandheavedoverthepotholed,cracked-crazedstreetsoftheinnercity.Onceakidjeeredand
therewasthethumpofathrownpieceofpaving.Thenthesoundsofincreasingtrafficallaroundthemandmorefrequentstopsforlights.
Richardslaypassively,holdingthepistollightlyinhisrighthand,thinkinghowdifferentBradleyhadlookedinthegangsuit.ItwasasoberDillonStreetdouble-breasted,asgrayasbankwalls.Itwasroundedoffwith
amaroontieandasmallgoldN.A.A.C.Ppin.Bradleyhadmadetheleapfromscruffygang-member(pregnantladiesstayaway;someofus’nseatfetuses)toasoberblackbusinessfellowwhowouldknowexactlywhotoTom.
“Youlookgood,”Richardssaidadmiringly.“Infact,it’sdamnincredible.”
“PraiseGawd,”Masaid.
“Ithoughtyou’denjoythetransformation,mygoodman,”Bradleysaidwithquietdignity.“I’mthedistrictmanagerforRaygonChemicals,youknow.Wedoathrivingbusinessinthisarea.Finecity,Boston.Immenselyconvivial.”
Staceyburstintogiggles.
“Youbestshutup,nigger,”Bradleysaid.“ElseImakeyoushitinyobootaneatit.”
“YouTomsogood,Bradley,”Staceygiggled,notintimidatedintheleast.“Youreallyfuckinfunky.”
Nowthecarswungright,ontoasmoothersurface,anddescendedinaspiralingarc.Theywereonanentranceramp.Goingonto495ora
feederexpressway.Copperwiresoftensionwerestuffedintohislegs.
Oneineleven.That’snotbadodds.
Thecarpickedupspeedandheight,kickedintodrive,thenslowedabruptlyandkickedout.Avoice,terrifyinglyclose,yellingwithmonotonousregularity:“Pullover…haveyourlicenseand
registrationready…pullover…haveyour—”
Already.Startingalready.
Yousohot,man.
Hotenoughtocheckthetrunkononecarineight?Orsix?Ormaybeeveryone?
Thecarcametoafullstop.Richards’seyesmovedliketrappedrabbitsintheir
sockets.Hegrippedtherevolver.
…Minus060andCOUNTING…
“Stepoutyourvehicle,sir,”thebored,authoritativevoicewassaying.“Licenseandregistration,please.”
Adooropenedandclosed.Theenginethrummedsoftly,
holdingthecaraninchoffthepaving.
“—districtmanagerforRaygonChemicals—”
Bradleygoingintohissonganddance.DearGod,whatifhedidn’thavethepaperstobackitup?WhatiftherewasnoRaygonChemicals?
Thebackdooropened,andsomeonebeganrummagingin
thebackseat.Itsoundedasifthecop(orwasittheGovernmentGuardthatdidthis,Richardswonderedhalfcoherently)wasabouttocrawlrightintothetrunkwithhim.
Thedoorslammed.Feetwalkedaroundtothebackofthecar.Richardslickedhislipsandheldtheguntighter.Visionsofdeadpolicemengibberedbeforehim,angelic
facesontwisted,porcinebodies.Hewonderedifthecopwouldhosehimwithmachine-gunbulletswhenheopenedthetrunkandsawRichardslyingherelikeacurled-upsalamander.HewonderedifBradleywouldtakeoff,trytorun.Hewasgoingtopisshimself.Hehadn’tdonethatsincehewasakidandhisbrotherwouldticklehimuntilhisbladderletgo.Yes,allthosemuscles
downtherewereloosening.Hewouldputthebulletrightatthejunctureofthecop’snoseandforehead,splatteringbrainsandsplinteredskull-fragmentsinstartledstreamerstothesky.Makeafewmoreorphans.Yes.Good.Jesuslovesme,thisIknow,formybladdertellsmeso.ChristJesus,what’shedoing,rippingtheseatout?Sheila,Iloveyousomuchandhowfarwillsixgrand
takeyou?Ayear,maybe,iftheydon’tkillyouforit.Thenonthestreetagain,upanddown,crossonthecorner,swingingthehips,flirtingwiththeemptypocketbook.Heymister,Igodown,thisiscleankitty,kid,teachyouhow—
Ahandwhackedthetopofthetrunkcasuallyinpassing.Richardsbitbackascream.Dustinhisnostrils,throat,
tickling.Highschoolbiology,sittinginthebackrow,scratchinghisinitialsandSheila’sontheancientdesk-top:Thesneezeisafunctionoftheinvoluntarymuscles.I’mgoingtosneezemygoddamheadoffbutit’spointblankandIcanstillputthatbulletrightthroughhissquashand—
“What’sinthetrunk,mister?”
Bradley’svoice,jocular,alittlebored:“Asparecylinderthatdoesn’tworkhalfright.Igotthekeyonmyring.Wait,I’llgetit.”
“IfIwantedit,I’dask.”
Otherbackdooropened;closed.
“Driveon.”
“Hangtight,fella.Hopeyou
gethim.”
“Driveon,mister.Moveyourass.”
Thecylinderscrankedup.Thecarliftedandaccelerated.Itslowedonceandmusthavebeenwavedon.Richardsjoltedalittleasthecarrose,sailedalittle,andkickedintodrive.Hisbreathcameintiredlittlemoans.Hedidn’thavetosneezeanymore.
…Minus059andCOUNTING…
Therideseemedmuchlongerthananhourandahalf,andtheywerestoppedtwicemore.Oneofthemseemedtobearoutinelicensecheck.Atthenextoneadrawlingcopwithadull-wittedvoice
talkedtoBradleyforsometimeabouthowthegoddamcommiebikerswerehelpingthatguyRichardsandprobablytheotherone,too.Laughlinhadnotkilledanyone,butitwasrumoredthathehadrapedawomaninTopeka.
Afterthattherewasnothingbutthemonotonouswhineofthewindandthescreamofhisowncrampedandfrozen
muscles.Richardsdidnotsleep,buthispunishedminddidfinallypushhimintoadazedsemiconsciousness.Therewasnocarbonmonoxidewiththeaircars,thankGodforthat.
Centuriesafterthelastroadblock,thecarkickedintoalowergearandbankedupaspiralingexitramp.Richardsblinkedsluggishlyandwonderedifhewasgoingto
throwup.Forthefirsttimeinhislifehefeltcarsick.
TheywentthroughasickeningseriesofloopsanddivesthatRichardssupposedwasatrafficinterchange.Anotherfiveminutesandcitysoundstookoveragain.Richardstriedrepeatedlytoshifthisbodyintoanewposition,butitwasimpossible.Hefinallysubsided,waitingnumblyfor
ittobeover.Hisrightarm,whichwascurledunderhim,hadgonetosleepanhourago.Nowitfeltlikeablockofwood.Hecouldtouchitwiththetipofhisnoseandfeelonlythepressureonhisnose.
Theytookaright,wentstraightforalittle,thenturnedagain.ThebottomdroppedoutofRichards’sstomachasthecardipped
downasharpincline.Theechoingofthecylinderstoldhimthattheywereinside.Theyhadgottentothegarage.
Alittlehelplesssoundofreliefescapedhim.
“Gotyourcheck,buddy?”Avoiceasked.
“Righthere,pal.”
“Rampway5.”
“Thanks.”
Theyboreright.Thecarwentup,paused,turnedrightagain,thenleft.Theysettledintoidle,thenthecardroppedwithasoftbumpastheenginedied.Journey’send.
Therewasapause,thenthehollowsoundofBradley’sdooropeningandclosing.His
footstepsclickedtowardthetrunk,thenthechinkoflightinfrontofRichards’seyesdisappearedasthekeyslidhome.
“Youthere,Bennie?”
“No,”hecroaked.“Youleftmebackatthestateline.Openthisgoddamthing.”
“Justasecond.Placeisemptyrightnow.Yourcar’s
parkednexttous.Ontheright.Canyougetoutquick?”
“Idon’tknow.”
“Tryhard.Herewego.”
Thetrunklidpoppedup,lettingindimgaragelight.Richardsgotupononearm,gotonelegovertheedge,andcouldgonofarther.Hiscrampedbodyscreamed.
Bradleytookonearmandhauledhimout.Hislegswantedtobuckle.Bradleyhookedhimunderthearmpitandhalfled,halfpushedhimtothebatteredgreenWintontheright.Heproppedopenthedriver’ssidedoor,shovedRichardsin,andslammeditshut.AmomentlaterBradleyalsoslidin.
“Jesus,”hesaidsoftly.“Wegothere,man.Wegothere.”
“Yeah,”Richardssaid.“BacktoGo.Collecttwohundreddollars.”
Theysmokedintheshadows,theircigarettesgleaminglikeeyes.Foralittlewhile,neitherofthemsaidanything.
…Minus058andCOUNTING…
“Wealmostgotitatthatfirstroadblock,”BradleywassayingasRichardstriedtomassagefeelingbackintohisarm.Itfeltasifphantomnailshadbeenpushedintoit.“Thatcopalmostopenedit.
Almost.”Heblewoutsmokeinahugehuff.Richardssaidnothing.
“Howdoyoufeel?”Bradleyaskedpresently.
“It’sgettingbetter.Takemywalletoutforme.Ican’tmakemyarmworkjustrightyet.”
Bradleyshooedthewordsawaywithonehand.“Later.I
wanttotellyouhowRichandIsetitup.”
Richardslitanothercigarettefromthestubofthefirst.Adozencharleyhorseswerelooseningslowly.
“There’sahotelroomreservedforyouonWinthropStreet.TheWinthropHouseisthenameoftheplace.Soundsfancy.Itain’t.ThenameisOgdenGrassner.Can
yourememberthat?”
“Yes.I’llberecognizedimmediately.”
Bradleyreachedintothebackseat,gotaboxanddroppeditinRichard’slap.Itwaslong,brown,tiedwithstring.ToRichardsitlookedlikethekindofboxthatrentedgraduationgownscomein.HelookedatBradleyquestioningly.
“Openit.”
Hedid.Therewasapairofthick,blue-tintedglasseslyingontopofadriftofblackcloth.Richardsputtheglassesonthedashboardandtookoutthegarment.Itwasapriest’srobe.Beneathit,lyingonthebottomofthebox,wasarosary,aBible,andapurplestole.
“Apriest?”Richardsasked.
“Right.Youchangerighthere.I’llhelpyou.There’sacaneinthebackseat.Youractain’tblind,butit’sprettyclose.Bumpintothings.You’reinManchestertoattendaCouncilofChurchesmeetingondrugabuse.Gotit?”
“Yes,”Richardsaid.Hehesitated,fingersonthebottomsofhisshirt.“DoIwearmypantsunderthis
rig?”
Bradleyburstoutlaughing.
…Minus057andCOUNTING…
BradleytalkedrapidlyashedroveRichardsacrosstown.
“There’saboxofgummedmailinglabelsinyoursuitcase,”hesaid.“That’sinthetrunk.Thestickerssay:
AfterfivedaysreturntoBrickhillManufacturingCompany,Manchester,N.H.Richandanotherguyranemoff.TheygotapressattheStabbers’headquartersonBoylstonStreet.Everydayyousendyourtwotapestomeinaboxwithoneofthosestickers.I’llmailemtoGamesfromBoston.SendmethestuffSpeedDelivery.That’sonethey’llneverfigureout.”
ThecarcozieduptothecurbinfrontoftheWinthropHouse.“ThiscarwillbebackintheU-Park-It.Don’ttrytodriveoutofManchesterunlessyouchangeyourdisguise.Yougottobeachameleon,man.”
“Howlongdoyouthinkitwillbesafehere?”Richardsasked.Hethought:I’veputmyselfinhishands.Itdidn’tseemthathecouldthink
rationallyforhimselfanymore.Hecouldsmellmentalexhaustiononhimselflikebodyodor.
“Yourreservation’sfornextweek.Thatmightbeokay.Itmightnot.Playitbyear.There’sanameandanaddressinthesuitcase.FellainPortland,Maine.They’llhideyouforadayortwo.It’llcost,butthey’resafe.Igottago,man.Thisisafive-
minutezone.Moneytime.”
“Howmuch?”Richardsasked.
“Sixhundred.”
“Bullshit.Thatdoesn’tevencoverexpenses.”
“Yesitdoes.Withafewbucksleftoverforthefamily.”
“Takeathousand.”
“Youneedyourdough,pal.Uh-uh.”
Richardslookedathimhelplessly.“Christ,Bradley—”
“Sendusmoreifyoumakeit.Sendusamillion.Putusoneasystreet.”
“DoyouthinkIwill?”
Bradleysmiledasoft,sadsmileandsaidnothing.
“Thenwhy?”Richardsaskedflatly.“Whyareyoudoingsomuch?Icanunderstandyouhidingmeout.I’ddothat.Butyoumusthavebustedyourclub’sarm.”
“Theydidn’tmind.Theyknowthescore.”
“Whatscore?”
“Oughttonaught.Thatscore.Ifwedoanstickoutournecksforourown,theygotus.Noneedtowaitfortheair.Wecouldjustaswellrunapipefromthestovetothelivinroom,turnontheFree-Veeandwait.”
“Someone’llkillyou,”Richardssaid.“Someonewillstoolonyouandyou’llenduponabasementfloorwithyourgutsbeatout.OrStacey.
OrMa.”
Bradley’seyesflasheddimly.“Abaddayiscomin,though.Abaddayforthemaggotswiththeirgutsfullofroastbeef.Iseebloodonthemoonforthem.Gunsandtorches.Amojothatwalksandtalks.”
“Peoplehavebeenseeingthosethingsfortwothousandyears.”
Thefive-minutebuzzerwentoffandRichardsfumbledforthedoorhandle.“Thankyou,”hesaid.“Idon’tknowhowtosayitanyotherway—”
“Goon,”Bradleysaid,“beforeIgetaticket.”Astrongbrownhandclutchedtherobe.“Anwhentheygetyou,takeafewalong.”
Richardsopenedtherear
doorandpoppedthetrunktogettheblacksatchelinside.Bradleyhandedhimacordovan-coloredcanewordlessly.
Thecarpulledoutintotrafficsmoothly.Richardsstoodonthecurbforamoment,watchinghimgo—watchinghimmyopically,hehoped.Thetaillightsflashedonceatthecorner,thenthecarswungoutofsight,back
totheparkinglotwhereBradleywouldleaveitandpickuptheothertogobacktoBoston.
RichardshadaweirdsensationofreliefandrealizedthathewasfeelingempathyforBradley—howgladhemustbetohavemeoffhisback,finally!
Richardsmadehimselfmissthefirststepuptothe
WinthropHouse’sentrance,andthedoormanassistedhim.
…Minus056andCOUNTING…
Twodayspassed.
Richardsplayedhispartwell—thatistosay,asifhislifedependedonit.Hetookdinneratthehotelbothnightsinhisroom.Heroseatseven,
readhisBibleinthelobby,andthenwentouttohis“meeting.”Thehotelstafftreatedhimwitheasy,contemptuouscordiality—thekindreservedforhalf-blind,fumblingclerics(whopaidtheirbills)inthisdayoflimitedlegalizedmurder,germwarfareinEgyptandSouthAmerica,andthenotorioushave-one-kill-oneNevadaabortionlaw.ThePopewasamutteringold
manofninety-sixwhosedrivelingedictsconcerningsuchcurrenteventswerereportedastheclosinghumorousitemsontheseveno’clocknewsies.
Richardsheldhisone-man“meetings”inarentedlibrarycubiclewhere,withthedoorlocked,hewasreadingaboutpollution.Therewasverylittleinformationlaterthan2002,andwhattherewas
seemedtojellverybadlywithwhathadbeenwrittenbefore.Thegovernment,asusual,wasdoingatardybutefficientjobofdoublethinking.
Atnoonhemadehiswaydowntoaluncheonetteonthecornerofastreetnotfarfromthehotel,bumpingintopeopleandexcusinghimselfashewent.Somepeopletoldhimitwasquiteallright,
Father.Mostsimplycursedinanuninterestedwayandpushedhimaside.
HespenttheafternoonsinhisroomandatedinnerwatchingTheRunningMan.Hehadmailedfourfilmclipswhileenroutetothelibraryduringthemornings.TheforwardingfromBostonseemedtobegoingsmoothly.
Theproducersofthe
programhadadoptedanewtacticforkillingRichards’spollutionmessage(hepersistedwithitinakindofgrinningfrenzy—hehadtobegettingthroughtothelip-readersanyway):nowthecrowddrownedoutthevoicewitharisingstormofjeers,screams,obscenities,andvituperation.Theirsoundgrewincreasinglymorefrenzied;uglytothepointofdementia.
Inhislongafternoons,Richardsreflectedthatanunwillingchangehadcomeoverhimduringhisfivedaysontherun.Bradleyhaddoneit—Bradleyandthelittlegirl.Therewasnolongerjusthimself,alonemanfightingforhisfamily,boundtobecutdown.Nowtherewereallofthemoutthere,stranglingontheirownrespiration—hisfamilyincluded.
Hehadneverbeenasocialman.Hehadshunnedcauseswithcontemptanddisgust.Theywereforpig-simplesuckersandpeoplewithtoomuchtimeandmoneyontheirhands,likethosehalf-assedcollegekidswiththeircutebuttonsandtheirneo-rockgroups.
Richards’sfatherhadslunkintothenightwhenRichardswasfive.Richardshadbeen
tooyoungtorememberhiminanythingbutflashes.Hehadneverhatedhimforit.Heunderstoodwellenoughhowamanwithachoicebetweenprideandresponsibilitywillalmostalwayschoosepride—ifresponsibilityrobshimofhismanhood.Amancan’tstickaroundandwatchhiswifeearningsupperonherback.Ifamancan’tdoanymorethanpimpforthewomanhemarried,Richards
judged,hemightaswellwalkoutofahighwindow.
Hehadspenttheyearsbetweenfiveandsixteenhustling,heandhisbrotherTodd.HismotherhaddiedofsyphiliswhenhewastenandToddwasseven.ToddhadbeenkilledfiveyearslaterwhenanewsieairtruckhadlostitsemergencybrakeonahillwhileToddwasloadingit.Thecityhadfedboth
motherandsonintotheMunicipalCrematorium.ThekidsonthestreetcallediteithertheAshFactoryortheCreamery;theywerebitterbuthelpless,knowingthattheythemselveswouldmostlikelyendupbeingbelchedoutofthestacksandintothecity’sair.AtsixteenRichardswasalone,workingafulleight-hourshiftasanenginewiperafterschool.Andinspiteofhisback-breaking
schedule,hehadfeltaconstantpanicthatcamefromknowinghewasaloneandunknown,driftingfree.Heawokesometimesatthreeinthemorningtotherotted-cabbagesmelloftheone-roomtenementflatwithterrorlodgedinthedeepestchamberofhissoul.Hewashisownman.
Andsohehadmarried,andSheilahadspentthefirstyear
inproudsilencewhiletheirfriends(andRichards’senemies;hehadmademanybyhisrefusaltogoalongonmass-vandalizingexpeditionsandjoinalocalgang)waitedfortheUterusExpresstoarrive.Whenitdidn’t,interestflagged.TheywereleftinthatparticularlimbothatwasreservedfornewlywedsinCo-OpCity.Fewfriendsandacircleofacquaintancesthatreached
onlyasfarasthestoopoftheirownbuilding.Richardsdidnotmindthis;itsuitedhim.Hethrewhimselfintohisworkwholly,withgrinningintensity,gettingovertimewhenhecould.Thewageswerebad,therewasnochanceofadvancement,andinflationwasrunningwild—buttheywereinlove.Theyremainedinlove,andwhynot?Richardswasthatkindofsolitarymanwhocan
affordtoexpendgiganticchargesoflove,affection,and,perhaps,psychicdominationonthewomanofhischoice.Upuntilthatpointhisemotionshadbeenalmostentirelyuntouched.Intheelevenyearsoftheirmarriage,theyhadneverarguedsignificantly.
Hequithisjobin2018becausethechancesofeverhavingchildrendecreased
witheveryshifthespentbehindtheleakyG-Aold-styleleadshields.Hemighthavebeenallrightifheansweredtheforeman’saggrieved“Whyareyouquitting?”withalie.ButRichardshadtoldhim,simplyandclearly,whathethoughtofGeneralAtomics,concludingwithaninvitationtotheforemantotakeallhisgammashieldsandperformareversebowelmovementwith
them.Itendedinashort,savagescuffle.Theforemanwasbrawnyandlookedtough,butRichardsmadehimscreamlikeawoman.
Theblackballbegantoroll.He’sdangerous.Steerclear.Ifyouneedamanbad,puthimonforaweekandthengetridofhim.InG-Aparlance,RichardshadShownRed.
Duringthenextfiveyearshehadspentalotoftimerollingandloadingnewsies,buttheworkthinnedtoatrickleandthendied.TheFree-Veekilledtheprintedwordveryeffectively.Richardspoundedthepavement.Richardswasmovedalong.Richardsworkedintermittentlyforday-laboroutfits.
Thegreatmovementsofthe
decadepassedbyhimignored,likeghoststoanunbeliever.HeknewnothingoftheHousewifeMassacrein’24untilhiswifetoldhimaboutitthreeweekslater—twohundredpolicearmedwithtommygunsandhigh-poweredmove-alongshadturnedbackanarmyofwomenmarchingontheSouthwestFoodDepository.Sixtyhadbeenkilled.Hewasvaguelyawarethatnervegas
wasbeingusedintheMideast.Butnoneofitaffectedhim.Protestdidnotwork.Violencedidnotwork.Theworldwaswhatitwas,andBenRichardsmovedthroughitlikeathinscythe,askingfornothing,lookingforwork.Heferretedoutahundredmiserabledayandhalf-dayjobs.Heworkedcleaningjellylikeslimefromunderpiersandinsumpditcheswhenothersonthe
street,whohonestlybelievedtheywerelookingforwork,didnothing.
Movealong,maggot.Getlost.Nojob.Getout.Putonyourboogieshoes.I’llblowyoureffingheadoff,daddy.Move.
Thenthejobsdriedup.Impossibletofindanything.Arichmaninasilksinglet,drunk,accostedhimonthe
streetoneeveningasRichardsshambledhomeafterafruitlessday,andtoldhimhewouldgiveRichardstenNewDollarsifRichardswouldpulldownhispantssohecouldseeifthestreetfreaksreallydidhavepeckersafootlong.Richardsknockedhimdownandran.
Itwasthen,afternineyearsoftrying,thatSheilaconceived.Hewasawiper,
thepeopleinthebuildingsaid.Canyoubelievehewasawiperforsixyearsandknockedherup?It’llbeamonster,thepeopleinthebuildingsaid.It’llhavetwoheadsandnoeyes.Radiation,radiation,yourchildrenwillbemonsters—
Butinstead,itwasCathy.Round,perfect,squalling.Deliveredbyamidwifefromdowntheblockwhotook
fiftycentsandfourcansofbeans.
Andnow,forthefirsttimesincehisbrotherhaddied,hewasdriftingagain.Everypressure(even,temporarily,thepressureofthechase)hadbeenremoved.
HismindandhisangerturnedtowardtheGamesFederation,withtheirhugeandpotentcommunications
linktothewholeworld.Fatpeoplewithnosefilters,spendingtheireveningswithdolliesinsilkunderpants.Lettheguillotinefall.Andfall.Andfall.Yettherewasnowaytogetthem.Theytoweredaboveallofthemdimly,liketheGamesBuildingitself.
Yet,becausehewaswhohewas,andbecausehewasaloneandchanging,he
thoughtaboutit.Hewasunaware,aloneinhisroom,thatwhilehethoughtaboutithegrinnedahugewhite-wolfgrinthatinitselfseemedpowerfulenoughtobucklestreetsandmeltbuildings.Thesamegrinhehadwornonthatalmost-forgottendaywhenhehadknockedarichmandownandthenfledwithhispocketsemptyandhismindburning.
…Minus055andCOUNTING…
MondaywasexactlythesameasSunday—theworkingworldtooknooneparticulardayoffanymore—untilsix-thirty.
FatherOgdenGrassnerhad
MeatloafSupremesentup(thehotel’scuisine,whichwouldhaveseemedexecrabletoamanwhohadbeenweanedonanythingbetterthanfast-foodhamburgersandconcentratepills,tastedgreattoRichards)withabottleofThunderbirdwineandsettleddowntowatchTheRunningMan.Thefirstsegment,dealingwithRichardshimself,wentmuchasithadonthetwonights
previous.Theaudioonhisclipswasdrownedoutbythestudioaudience.BobbyThompsonwasurbaneandvirulent.Ahouse-to-housesearchwastakingplaceinBoston.Anyonefoundharboringthefugitivewouldbeputtodeath.RichardssmiledwithouthumorastheyfadedtoaNetworkpromo.Itwasn’tsobad;itwasevenfunny,inalimitedway.Hecouldstandanythingifthey
didn’tbroadcastthecopsagain.
Thesecondhalfoftheprogramwasmarkedlydifferent.Thompsonwassmilingbroadly.“AfterthelatesttapessenttousbythemonsterthatgoesunderthenameofBenRichards,I’mpleasedtogiveyousomegoodnews—”
TheyhadgottenLaughlin.
HehadbeenspottedinTopekaonFriday,butanintensivesearchofthecityonSaturdayandSundayhadnotturnedhimup.RichardshadassumedthatLaughlinhadslippedthroughthecordonashehadhimself.Butthisafternoon,Laughlinhadbeenobservedbytwokids.HehadbeencoweringinaHighwayDepartmentroadshed.Hehadbrokenhisrightwristatsomepoint.
Thekids,BobbyandMaryCowles,wereshowngrinningbroadlyintothecamera.BobbyCowleshadatoothmissing.Iwonderifthetoothfairybroughthimaquarter,Richardsthoughtsickly.
ThompsonannouncedproudlythatBobbyandMary,“Topeka’snumberonecitizens,”wouldbeonTheRunningMantomorrownighttobepresentedCertificatesof
Merit,alife-timesupplyofFunTwinkscereal,andchecksforathousandNewDollarseach,byHizzonertheGovernorofKansas.Thisbroughtwildcheersfromtheaudience.
FollowingweretapesofLaughlin’sriddled,saggingbodybeingcarriedoutoftheshed,whichhadbeenreducedtomatchwoodbyconcentratedfire.Therewere
mingledcheers,boos,andhissesfromthestudioaudience.
Richardsturnedawaysickly,nauseated.Thin,invisiblefingersseemedtopressagainsthistemples.
Fromadistance,thewordsrolledon.ThebodywasbeingdisplayedintherotundaoftheKansasstatehouse.Alreadylonglines
ofcitizenswerefilingpastthebody.AninterviewedpolicemanwhohadbeeninatthekillsaidLaughlinhadn’tputupmuchofafight.
Ah,howniceforyou,Richardsthought,rememberingLaughlin,hissourvoice,thestraight-ahead,jeeringlookinhiseyes.
Afriendofminefromthecarpool.
Nowtherewasonlyonebigshow.ThebigshowwasBenRichards.Hedidn’twantanymoreofhisMeatloafSupreme.
…Minus054andCOUNTING…
Hehadaverybaddreamthatnight,whichwasunusual.TheoldBenRichardshadneverdreamed.
Whatwasevenmorepeculiarwasthefactthathe
didnotexistasacharacterinthedream.Heonlywatched,invisible.
Theroomwasvague,dimmingofftoblacknessattheedgesofvision.Itseemedthatwaterwasdrippingdankly.Richardshadanimpressionofbeingdeepunderground.
Inthecenteroftheroom,Bradleywassittingina
straightwoodenchairwithleatherstrapsoverhisarmsandlegs.Hisheadhadbeenshavedlikethatofapenitent.Surroundinghimwerefiguresinblackhoods.TheHunters,Richardsthoughtwithbuddingdread.OhdearGod,thesearetheHunters.
“Iain’ttheman,”Bradleysaid.
“Yesyouare,littlebrother,”
oneofthehoodedfiguressaidgently,andpushedapinthroughBradley’scheek.Bradleyscreamed.
“Areyoutheman?”
“Suckit.”
ApinslideasilyintoBradley’seyeballandwaswithdrawndribblingcolorlessfluid.Bradley’seyetookonapunched,flattenedlook.
“Areyoutheman?”
“Pokeitupyourass.”
Anelectricmove-alongtouchedBradley’sneck.Hescreamedagain,andhishairstoodonend.Helookedlikeacomicalcaricatureblack,afuturisticStepinfetchit.
“Areyoutheman,littlebrother?”
“Nosefiltersgiveyoucancer,”Bradleysaid.“You’reallrottedinside,honkies.”
Hisothereyeballwaspierced.“Areyoutheman?”
Bradley,blind,laughedatthem.
Oneofthehoodedfiguresgestured,andfromtheshadowsBobbyandMary
Cowlescametrippinggaily.TheybegantoskiparoundBradley,singing:“‘Who’safraidofthebigbadwolf,thebigbadwolf,thebigbadwolf?’”
Bradleybegantoscreamandtwistinthechair.Heseemedtobetryingtoholdhishandsupinawarding-offgesture.Thesonggrewlouderandlouder,moreechoing.Thechildrenwere
changing.Theirheadswereelongating,growingdarkwithblood.Theirmouthswereopenandinthecaveswithin,fangstwinkledlikerazor-blades.
“I’lltell!”Bradleyscreamed.“I’lltell!I’lltell!Iain’ttheman!BenRichardsistheman!I’lltell!God…oh…G-G-God…”
“Whereistheman,little
brother?”
“I’lltell!I’lltell!He’sin—”
Butthewordsweredrownedbythesingingvoices.TheywerelungingtowardBradley’sstraining,cordedneckwhenRichardswokeup,sweating.
…Minus053andCOUNTING…
ItwasnogoodinManchesteranymore.
Hedidn’tknowifitwasthenewsofLaughlin’sbrutalmidwesternend,orthedream,oronlyapremonition.
ButonTuesdaymorninghestayedin,notgoingtothelibrary.Itseemedtohimthateveryminutehestayedinthisplacewasaninvitationtoquickdoom.Lookingoutthewindow,hesawaHunterwithablackhoodinsideeveryoldbeanerandslumpedtaxidriver.Fantasiesofgunmencreepingsoundlesslyupthehalltowardhisdoortormentedhim.Hefeltahugeclockwastickinginhishead.
Hepassedthepointofindecisionshortlyaftereleveno’clockonTuesdaymorning.Itwasimpossibletostay.Heknewtheyknew.
Hegothiscaneandtappedclumsilytotheelevatorsandwentdowntothelobby.
“Goingout,FatherGrassner?”thedayclerkaskedwithhisusualpleasant,contemptuoussmile.
“Dayoff,”Richardssaid,speakingatthedayclerk’sshoulder.“Isthereapictureshowinthistown?”
Heknewtherewereatleastten,eightofthemshowing3-Dpervertoshows.
“Well,”theclerksaidcautiously,“there’stheCenter.IthinktheyshowDisneys—”
“Thatwillbefine,”Richardssaidbriskly,andbumpedintoapottedplantonhiswayout.
Twoblocksfromthehotelhewentintoadrugstoreandboughtahugerollofbandageandapairofcheapaluminumcrutches.Theclerkputhispurchasesinalongfiber-boardbox,andRichardscaughtataxionthenextcorner.
Thecarwasexactlywhereithadbeen,andiftherewasastakeoutattheU-Park-It,Richardscouldnotspotit.Hegotinandstartedup.Hehadabadmomentwhenherealizedhelackedadriver’slicenseinanynamethatwasn’thot,andthendismissedit.Hedidn’tthinkhisnewdisguisewouldgethimpastclosescrutinyanyway.Iftherewereroadblocks,hewouldtryto
crashthem.Itwouldgethimkilled,buthewasgoingtogetkilledanywayiftheytabbedhim.
HetossedtheOgdenGrassnerglassesinthegloveboxanddroveout,wavingnoncommittallyattheboyondutyatthegate.Theboybarelylookedupfromtheskinmagazinehewasreading.
Hestoppedforafullcompressed-airchargeonthehigh-speedurbansprawlonthenorthernoutskirtsofthecity.Theairjockeywasinthemidstofavolcaniceruptionofacne,andseemedpatheticallyanxioustoavoidlookingatRichards.Sofar,sogood.
Heswitchedfrom91toRoute17,andfromtheretoablacktoproadwithnoname
ornumber.Threemilesfartheralonghepulledontoarutteddirtturnaroundandkilledtheengine.
Tiltingtherearviewmirrortotherightangle,hewrappedthebandagearoundhisskullasquicklyashecould,holdingtheendandclippingit.Abirdtwittedrestlesslyinatired-lookingelm.
Nottoobad.Ifhegot
breathingtimeinPortland,hecouldaddaneckbrace.
Heputthecrutchesbesidehimontheseatandstartedthecar.FortyminuteslaterhewasenteringthetrafficcircleatPortsmouth.HeadedupRoute95,hereachedintohispocketandpulledoutthecrumpledpieceofruledpaperthatBradleyhadlefthim.Hehadwrittenonitinthecarefulscriptoftheself-
educated,usingasoftleadpencil:
94StateStreet,Portland
THEBLUEDOOR,GUESTS
EltonParrakis(&VirginiaParrakis)
Richardsfrownedatitamoment,thenglancedup.Ablack-and-yellowpoliceunit
wascruisingslowlyabovethetrafficontheturnpike,intandemwithaheavyground-unitbelow.Theybracketedhimforamomentandthenweregone,zig-zaggingacrossthesixlanesinagracefulballet.Routinetrafficpatrol.
Asthemilespassed,aqueasy,almostreluctantsenseofreliefformedinhischest.Itmadehimfeellike
laughingandthrowingupatthesametime.
…Minus052andCOUNTING…
ThedrivetoPortlandwaswithoutincident.
Butbythetimehereachedtheedgeofthecity,drivingthroughthebuilt-upsuburbsofScarborough(richhomes,
richstreets,richprivateschoolssurroundedbyelectrifiedfences),thesenseofreliefhadbeguntofadeagain.Theycouldbeanywhere.Theycouldbeallaroundhim.Ortheycouldbenowhere.
StateStreetwasanareaofblasted,ancientbrownstonesnotfarfromanovergrown,junglelikepark—ahangout,Richardsthought,forthis
smallcity’smuggers,lovers,hypes,andthieves.NoonewouldventureoutonStateStreetafterdarkwithoutapolicedogonaleash,orascoreoffellowgang-members.
Number94wasacrumbling,soot-encrustedbuildingwithancientgreenshadespulleddownoveritswindows.ToRichardsthehouselookedlikeaveryold
manwhohaddiedwithcataractsonhiseyes.
Hepulledtothecurbandgotout.Thestreetwasdottedwithabandonedaircars,someofthemrusteddowntoalmostformlesshulks.Ontheedgeofthepark,aStudebakerlayonitssidelikeadeaddog.Thiswasnotpolicecountry,obviously.Ifyouleftyourcarunattended,itwouldgainaclotof
leaning,spitting,slate-eyedboysinfifteenminutes.Inhalfanhoursomeoftheleaningboyswouldhaveproducedcrow-barsandwrenchesandscrewdrivers.Theywouldtapthem,comparethem,twirlthem,havemockswordfightswiththem.Theywouldholdthemupintotheairthoughtfully,asiftestingtheweatherorreceivingmysteriousradiotransmissionthroughthem.In
anhourthecarwouldbeastrippedcarcass,fromaircapsandcylinderstothesteeringwheelitself.
AsmallboyranuptoRichardsashewassettinghiscrutchesunderhimself.Puckered,shinyburnscarshadturnedonesideoftheboy’sfaceintoahairlessFrankensteinhorror.
“Scag,mister?Goodstuff.
Putyouonthemoon.”Hegiggledsecretly,thelumpedandknobbedfleshofhisburntfacebobbingandwrithinggrotesquely.
“Fuckoff,”Richardssaidbriefly.
Theboytriedtokickoneofhiscrutchesoutfromunderhim,andRichardsswungoneoftheminalowarc,swattingtheboy’sbottom.Heranoff,
cursing.
Hemadehiswayupthepittedstonestepsslowlyandlookedatthedoor.Ithadoncebeenblue,butnowthepainthadfadedandpeeledtoatireddesertskycolor.Therehadoncebeenadoorbell,butsomevandalhadtakencareofthatwithacoldchisel.
Richardsknockedandwaited.Nothing.Heknocked
again.
Itwaslateafternoonnow,andcoldwascreepingslowlyupthestreet.Faintly,fromtheparkbeyondtheendoftheblock,camethebitterclackingofOctoberbrancheslosingtheirleaves.
Therewasnoonehere.Itwastimetogo.
Yetheknockedagain,
curiouslyconvincedthattherewassomeoneinthere.
Andthistimehewasrewardedwiththeslowshufflingofhouseslippers.Apauseatthedoor.Then:“Who’soutthere?Idon’tbuynothin.Goaway.”
“Iwastoldtovisityou,”Richardssaid.
Apeepholeswungopen
withaminutesqueakandabrowneyepeekedthrough.Thenthepeepholeclosedwithasnap.
“Idon’tknowyou.”Flatdismissal.
“IwastoldtoaskforEltonParrakis.”
Grudgingly:“Oh.You’reoneofthose—”
Behindthedoorlocksbegantoturn,boltsbegantobeunbolted,onebyone.Chainsdropped.TherewastheclockofrevolvingtumblersinoneYalelockandthenanother.Thechunk-slapoftheheavy-dutyTrapBoltbeingwithdrawn.
ThedoorswungopenandRichardslookedatascrawnywomanwithnobreastsandhuge,knottedhands.Herface
wasunlined,almostcherubic,butitlookedasifithadtakenhundredsofinvisiblehooksandjabsanduppercutsinano-holds-barredbrawlwithtimeitself.Perhapstimewaswinning,butshewasnotaneasybleeder.Shewasalmostsixfeettall,eveninherflat,splayedslippers,andherkneeswereswollenintotreestumpswitharthritis.Herhairwaswrappedinabathturban.Herbrowneyes,
staringathimfromunderadeepledgeofbrow(theeyebrowsthemselvesclungtotheprecipicelikedesperatemountainbushes,strugglingagainstthearidityandthealtitude),wereintelligentandwildwithwhatmighthavebeenfearorfury.Laterheunderstoodshewassimplymuddled,afraid,totteringontheedgeofinsanity.
“I’mVirginiaParrakis,”she
saidflatly.“I’mElton’smother.Comein.”
…Minus051andCOUNTING…
Shedidnotrecognizehimuntilshehadledhimintothekitchentobrewtea.
Thehousewasoldandcrumblinganddark,furnishedinadecorhe
recognizedimmediatelyfromhisownenvironment:Modernjunkshop.
“Eltonisn’therenow,”shesaid,broodingoverthebatteredaluminumteapotonthegasring.Thelightwasstrongerhere,revealingthebrownwaterstainsthatblotchedthewallpaper,thedeadflies,souvenirsofsummerpast,onthewindow-sills,theoldlinoleumcreased
withblacklines,thepileofwetwrappingpaperundertheleakingdrainpipe.TherewasanodorofdisinfectantthatmadeRichardsthinkoflastnightsinsickrooms.
Shecrossedtheroom,andherswollenfingersmadeapainfulsearchthroughtheheapedjunkonthecountertopuntiltheyfoundtwoteabags,oneofthempreviouslyused.Richardsgot
theusedone.Hewasnotsurprised.
“Heworks,”shesaid,faintlyaccentuatingthefirstwordandmakingthestatementanaccusation.“You’refromthatfellowinBoston,theoneEltiewritestoaboutpollution,aintcha?”
“Yes,Mrs.Parrakis.”
“TheymetinBoston.My
Eltonservicesautomaticvendingmachines.”Shepreenedforamomentandthenbeganherslowtrekbackacrossthedunesoflinoleumtothestove.“ItoldEltiethatwhatthatBradleywasdoingwasagainstthelaw.Itoldhimitwouldmeanprisonorevenworse.Hedoesn’tlistentome.Nottohisoldmom,hedoesn’t.”Shesmiledwithdarksweetnessatthiscalumny.“Eltonwasalways
buildingthings,youknow….Hebuiltatreehousewithfourroomsoutbackwhenhewasaboy.Thatwasbeforetheycuttheelmdown,youknow.Butitwasthatdarky’sideathatheshouldbuildapollutionstationinPortland.”
ShepoppedthebagsintocupsandstoodwithherbacktoRichards,slowlywarmingherhandsoverthegasring.“Theywriteeachother.Itold
himthemailsaren’tsafe.You’llgotoprisonorevenworse,Isaid.HesaidbutMom,wedoitincode.Heasksforadozenapples,Itellhimmyuncleisalittleworse.Isaid:Eltie,doyouthinktheycan’tfigurethatSecretSpystuffout?Hedoesn’tlisten.Oh,heusedto.Iusedtobehisbestfriend.Butthingshavechanged.Sincehegottopooberty,thingshavechanged.Dirtymagazines
underhisbedandallthatbusiness.Nowthisdarky.Isupposetheycaughtyoutestingsmogsorcarcinogensorsomethingandnowyou’reontherun.”
“I—”
“Itdon’tmatter!”shesaidfiercelyatthewindow.Itlookedoutonabackyardfilledwithrustingpiecesofjunkandtirerimsandsome
littleboy’ssandboxthatnow,manyyearslater,wasfilledwithscruffyOctoberwoods.
“Itdon’tmatter!”sherepeated.“It’sthedarkies.”SheturnedtoRichardsandhereyeswerehoodedandfuriousandbewildered.“I’msixty-five,butIwasonlyafreshyounggirlofnineteenwhenitbegantohappen.Itwasnineteenseventy-nineandthedarkieswere
everywhere!Everywhere!Yestheywere!”shenearlyscreamed,asifRichardshadtakenissuewithher.“Everywhere!Theysentthosedarkiestoschoolwiththewhites.Theysetemhighinthegovernment.Radicals,rabble-rousing,andrebellion.Iain’tso—”
Shebrokeoffasifthewordshadbeensplinteredfromhermouth.Shestaredat
Richards,seeinghimforthefirsttime.
“OhGodhavemercy,”shewhispered.
“Mrs.Parrakis—”
“Nope!”shesaidinafear-hoarsenedvoice.“Nope!Nope!Oh,nope!”Shebeganadvancingonhim,pausingatthecountertopickupalong,gleamingbutcherknifeoutof
thegeneralclutter.“Out!Out!Out!”Hegotupandbegantobackawayslowly,firstthroughtheshorthallbetweenthekitchenandshadowylivingroom,thenthroughthelivingroomitself.
Henoticedthatanancientpaytelephonehungonthewallfromthedayswhenthishadbeenabonafideinn.TheBlueDoor,Guests.Whenwasthat?Richardswondered.
Twentyyearsago?Forty?Beforethedarkieshadgottenoutofhand,orafter?
Hewasjustbeginningtobackdownthehallbetweenthelivingroomandthefrontdoorwhenakeyrattledinthelock.Theybothfrozeasifsomecelestialhandhadstoppedthefilmwhiledecidingwhattodonext.
Thedooropened,andElton
Parrakiswalkedin.Hewasimmenselyfat,andhislacklusterblondhairwascombedbackinpreposterouswavesfromhisforeheadtoshowaroundbabyfacethatheldanelementofperpetualpuzzlement.HewaswearingtheblueandgolduniformoftheVendo-SpendoCompany.HelookedthoughtfullyatVirginiaParrakis.
“Putthatknifedown,
Mom.”
“Nope!”shecried,butalreadythecrumblingofdefeathadbeguntoputtyherface.
Parrakisclosedthedoorandbeganwalkingtowardher.Hejiggled.
Sheshrankaway.“Youhavetomakehimgo,son.He’sthatbadman.That
Richards.It’llmeanprisonorworse.Idon’twantyoutogo!”Shebegantowail,droppedtheknife,andcollapsedintohisarms.
Heenfoldedherandbegantorockhergentlyasshewept.“I’mnotgoingtojail,”hesaid.“Comeon,Mom,don’tcry.Pleasedon’tcry.”HesmiledatRichardsoveroneofherhunchedandshakingshoulders,an
embarrassedawfully-sorry-about-thissmile.Richardswaited.
“Now,”Parrakissaid,whenthesobshaddiedtosniffles.“Mr.RichardsisBradleyThrockmorton’sgoodfriend,andheisgoingtobewithusforacoupleofdays,Mom.”
Shebegantoshriek,andheclappedahandoverhermouth,wincingashedidso.
“Yes,Mom.Yesheis.I’mgoingtodrivehiscarintotheparkandwireit.Andyou’llgoouttomorrowmorningwithapackagetomailtoCleveland.”
“Boston,”Richardssaidautomatically.“ThetapesgotoBoston.”
“TheygotoClevelandnow,”EltonParrakissaid,withapatientsmile.
“Bradley’sontherun.”
“Oh,Jesus.”
“You’llbeontherun,too!”Mrs.Parrakishowledatherson.“Andthey’llcatchyou,too!You’retoofat!”
“I’mgoingtotakeMr.Richardsupstairsandshowhimhisroom,Mom.”
“Mr.Richards?Mr.
Richards?Whydon’tyoucallhimbyhisrightname?Poison!”
Hedisengagedherwithgreatgentleness,andRichardsfollowedhimobedientlyuptheshadowystaircase.“Thereareagreatmanyroomsuphere,”hesaid,pantingslightlyashishugebuttocksflexedandclenched.“Thisusedtobearoominghousemanyyears
ago—whenIwasababy.You’llbeabletowatchthestreet.”
“MaybeIbettergo,”Richardssaid.“IfBradley’sblown,yourmothermayberight.”
“Thisisyourroom,”hesaid,andthrewopenadooronadustydamproomthatheldtheweightofyears.Hedidnotseemtohaveheard
Richards’scomment.“It’snotmuchofanaccommodation,I’mafraid,but—”HeturnedtofaceRichardswithhispatientI-want-to-pleasesmile.“Youmaystayaslongasyouwant.BradleyThrockmortonisthebestfriendI’veeverhad.”Thesmilefalteredabit.“TheonlyfriendI’veeverhad.I’llwatchaftermyMom.Don’tworry.”
Richardsonlyrepeated:“Ibettergo.”
“Youcan’t,youknow.Thatheadbandagedidn’tevenfoolMomforlong.I’mgoingtodriveyourcartoasafeplace,Mr.Richards.We’lltalklater.”
Heleftquickly,lumberingly.Richardsnotedthattheseatofhisuniformpantswasshiny.Heseemed
toleaveafaintodorofapologiaintheroom.
Pullingtheancientgreenshadeasidealittle,Richardssawhimemergeonthecrackedfrontwalkbelowandgetintothecar.Thenhegotoutagain.Hehurriedbacktowardthehouse,andRichardsfeltastaboffear.
Ponderouslyclimbingtreadonthestairs.Thedoor
opened,andEltonsmiledatRichards.“Mom’sright,”hesaid.“Idon’tmakeaverygoodsecretagent.Iforgotthekeys.”
Richardsgavethemtohimandthenessayedajoke:“Halfasecretagentisbetterthannone.”
Itstruckasourchordornochordatall;EltonParrakiscarriedhistormentswithhim
tooclearly,andRichardscouldalmosthearthephantom,jeeringvoicesofthechildrenthatwouldfollowhimforever,likesmalltugsbehindabigliner.
“Thankyou,”Richardssaidsoftly.
Parrakisleft,andthelittlecarthatRichardshadcomefromNewHampshireinwasdrivenawaytowardthepark.
Richardspulledthedustcoverfromthebedandlaydownslowly,breathingshallowlyandlookingatnothingbuttheceiling.Thebedseemedtoclutchhiminaperverselydampembrace,eventhroughthecoverletandhisclothes.Anodorofmildewdriftedthroughthechannelsofhisnoselikeasenselessrhyme.
Downstairs,Elton’smother
wasweeping.
…Minus050andCOUNTING…
Hedozedalittlebutcouldnotsleep.DarknesswasalmostfullwhenheheardElton’sheavytreadonthestairsagain,andRichardsswunghisfeetontothefloorwithrelief.
Whenheknockedandsteppedin,RichardssawthatParrakishadchangedintoatentlikesportsshirtandapairofjeans.
“Ididit,”hesaid.“It’sinthepark.”
“Willitbestripped?”
“No,”Eltonsaid.“Ihaveagadget.Abatteryandtwoalligatorclips.Ifanyoneputs
hishandoracrowbaronit,they’llgetashockandashortblastonasiren.Worksgood.Ibuiltitmyself.”Heseatedhimselfwithaheavysigh.
“What’sthisaboutCleveland?”Richardsdemanded(itwaseasy,hefound,todemandofElton).
Parrakisshrugged.“Oh,he’safellowlikeme.ImethimonceinBoston,atthe
librarywithBradley.Ourlittlepollutionclub.IsupposeMomsaidsomethingaboutthat.”Herubbedhishandstogetherandsmiledunhappily.
“Shesaidsomething,”Richardsagreed.
“She’s….alittledim,”Parrakissaid.“Shedoesn’tunderstandmuchofwhat’sbeenhappeningforthelast
twentyyearsorso.She’sfrightenedallthetime.I’mallshehas.”
“WilltheycatchBradley?”
“Idon’tknow.He’sgotquitea…uh,intelligencenetwork.”ButhiseyesslippedawayfromRichards’s.
“You—”
ThedooropenedandMrs.Parrakisstoodthere.Herarmswerecrossedandshewassmiling,buthereyeswerehaunted.“I’vecalledthepolice,”shesaid.“Nowyou’llhavetogo.”
Elton’sfacedrainedtoapearlyyellowish-white.“You’relying.”
Richardslurchedtohisfeetandthenpaused,hishead
cockedinalisteninggesture.
Faintly,rising,thesoundofsirens.
“She’snotlying,”hesaid.Asickeningsenseoffutilityswepthim.Backtosquareone.“Takemetomycar.”
“She’slying,”Eltoninsisted.Herose,almosttouchedRichards’sarm,thenwithdrewhishandasifthe
othermanmightbehottothetouch.“They’refiretrucks.”
“Takemetomycar.Quick.”
Thesirenswerebecominglouder,risingandfalling,wailing.ThesoundfilledRichardswithadreamlikehorror,lockedinherewiththesetwocrazieswhile—
“Mother—”Hisfacewas
twisted,beseeching.
“Icalledthem!”sheblatted,andseizedoneofherson’sbloatedarmsasiftoshakehim.“Ihadto!Foryou!Thatdarkyhasgotyouallmixedup!We’llsayhebrokeinandwe’llgettherewardmoney—”
“Comeon,”EltongruntedtoRichards,andtriedtoshakefreeofher.
Butsheclungstubbornly,likeasmalldogbedevilingaPercheron.“Ihadto.You’vegottostopthisradicalbusiness,Eltie!You’vegotto—”
“Eltie!”hescreamed.“Eltie!”Andheflungheraway.Sheskiddedacrosstheroomandfellacrossthebed.
“Quick,”Eltonsaid,hisfacefullofterrorandmisery.“Oh,
comequick.”
Theycrashedandblundereddownthestairsandoutthefrontdoor,Eltonbreakingintoagigantic,quiveringtrot.Hewasbeginningtopantagain.
Andupstairs,filteringboththroughtheclosedwindowandtheopendoordownstairs,Mrs.Parrakis’sscreamrosetoashriekwhichmetand
mixedandblendedwiththeapproachingsirens:“IDIDITFORYOOOOOOOOOOO—”
…Minus049andCOUNTING…
Theirshadowschasedthemdownthehilltowardthepark,waxingandwaningastheyapproachedandpassedeachofthemesh-enclosedG.A.streetlamps.EltonParrakisbreathedlikealocomotive,in
hugeandwindygulpsandhisses.
Theycrossedthestreetandsuddenlyheadlightspickedthemoutonthefarsidewalkinhardrelief.Blueflashinglightsblazedonasthepolicecarcametoascreeching,jamminghaltahundredyardsaway.
“RICHARDS!BENRICHARDS!”
Gigantic,megaphone-boomingvoice.
“Yourcar…upahead…see?”Eltonpanted.
Richardscouldjustmakethecarout.Eltonhadparkeditwell,underacopseofrun-to-seedbirchtreesnearthepond.
Thecruisersuddenlyscreamedintolifeagain,rear
tiresbondinghotrubbertothepavementinlinesofacceleration,itsgasoline-poweredenginewailinginclimbingrevolutions.Itslammedupoverthecurb,headlightsskyrocketing,andcamedownpointingdirectlyatthem.
Richardsturnedtowardit,suddenlyfeelingverycool,feelingalmostnumb.HedraggedBradley’spistolout
ofhispocket,stillbackingup.Therestofthecopsweren’tinsight.Justthisone.ThecarscreamedatthemacrosstheOctober-baregroundofthepark,self-sealingreartiresdiggingoutgreatclodsofrippedblackearth.
Hesqueezedofftwoshotsatthewindshield.Itstarredbutdidnotshatter.Heleapedasideatthelastsecondandrolled.Drygrassagainsthis
face.Uponhisknees,hefiredtwicemoreatthebackofthecarandthenitwascomingaroundinahard,slewingpowerturn,bluelightsturningthenightintoacrazy,shadow-leapingnightmare.Thecruiserwasbetweenhimandthecar,butEltonhadleapedtheotherway,andwasnowworkingfranticallytoremovehiselectricaldevicefromthecardoor.
Someonewashalfwayoutofthepassengersideofthepolicecar,whichwasonitswayagain.Athickstutteringsoundfilledthedark.Stengun.Bulletsdugthroughtheturfaroundhiminasenselesspattern.Dirtstruckhischeeks,patteredagainsthisforehead.
Hekneltasifpraying,andfiredagainintothewindshield.Thistime,the
bulletpunchedaholethroughtheglass.
Thecarwasontopofhim—
Hesprangtotheleftandthereinforcedsteelbumperstruckhisleftfoot,snappinghisankleandsendinghimsprawlingonhisface.
Thecruiser’senginerosetoasuperchargedscream,diggingthroughanother
powerturn.Nowtheheadlightswereonhimagain,turningeverythingstarkmonochrome.Richardstriedtogetup,buthisbrokenanklewouldn’tsupporthim.
Sobbingingreatgulpsofair,hewatchedthepolicecarloomagain.Everythingbecameheightened,surreal.Hewaslivinginanadrenalinedeliriumandeverythingseemedslow,
deliberate,orchestrated.Theapproachingpolicecarwaslikeahuge,blindbuffalo.
TheStengunrattledagain,andthistimeabulletpunchedthroughhisleftarm,knockinghimsideways.Theheavycartriedtoveerandgethim,andforamomenthehadaclearshotatthefigurebehindthewheel.Hefiredonceandthewindowblewinward.Thecarscreamed
intoaslow,digging,sidewardsroll,thenwentupandover,crashingdownontheroofandthenontoitsside.Themotorstalled,andinsudden,shockingsilence,thepoliceradiocrackledclearly.
Richardsstillcouldnotgettohisfeetandsohebegantocrawltowardthecar.Parrakiswasinitnow,tryingtostartit,butinhisblindpaniche
musthaveforgottentoleverthesafetyventsopen;eachtimeheturnedthekeytherewasonlyahollow,coughingboomofairinthechambers.
Thenightbegantofillupwithconvergingsirens.
HewasstillfiftyyardsfromthecarwhenEltonrealizedwhatwaswrongandyankeddowntheventlever.Thenexttimeheturnedthekeythe
enginechoppederraticallyintolifeandtheaircarswepttowardRichards.
Hegottoahalf-standingpositionandtorethepassengerdooropenandfellinside.ParrakisbankedleftontoRoute77whichintersectedStateStreetabovethepark,thelowerdeckofthecarnomorethananinchfromthepaving,almostlowenoughtodragandspill
them.
Eltongulpedinhugeswatchesofairandletthemoutwithforceenoughtoflaphislipslikewindowblinds.
Twomorepolicecarsscreamedaroundthecornerbehindthem,thebluelightsflashedon,andtheygavechase.
“We’renotfastenough!”
Eltonscreamed.“We’renotfast—”
“They’reonwheels!”Richardsyelledback.“Cutthroughthatvacantlot!”
Theaircarbankedleftandtheywereslammedupwardviolentlyastheycrossedthecurb.Thebatteringairpressureshovedthemintodrive.
Thepolicecarsswelledbehindthem,andthentheywereshooting.Richardsheardsteelfingerspunchingholesinthebodyoftheircar.Therearwindowblewinwithatremendouscrash,andtheyweresprinkledwithfragmentsofsafetyglass.
Screaming,Eltonwhippedtheaircarleftandright.
Oneofthepolicecars,
doingsixty-plus,lostitcomingupoverthecurb.Thecarveeredwildly,revolvingbluedome-lightssplittingthedarknesswithlunaticboltsoflight,andthenitcrashedoveronitsside,diggingahotgroovethroughthelitteredmoraineoftheemptylot,untilasparkstruckitspeeled-backgastank.Itexplodedwhitely,likearoadflare.
Thesecondcarwas
followingtheroadagain,butEltonbeatthem.Theyhadcutthecruiseroff,butitwouldgainbackthelostdistanceveryshortly.Thegas-drivengroundcarswerenearlythreetimesfasterthanairdrive.Andifanaircartriedtogotoofarofftheroad,theunevensurfacebeneaththethrusterswouldflipthecarover,asParrakishadnearlyflippedthemcrossingthecurb.
“Turnright!”Richardscried.
Parrakispulledthemaroundinanothergrinding,stomach-lurchingturn.TheywereonRoute1;ahead,RichardscouldseethattheywouldsoonbeforceduptheentrancewaytotheCoastTurnpike.Noevasiveactionwouldbepossiblethere;onlydeathwouldbepossiblethere.
“Turnoff!Turnoff,goddammit!Thatalley!”Foramoment,thepolicecarwasoneturnbehindthem,lostfromview.
“NO!No!”Parrakiswasgibberingnow.“We’llbelikeratsinatrap!”
Richardsleanedoverandhauledthewheelaround,knockingElton’shandfromthethrottlewiththesame
gesture.Theaircarskiddedaroundinanearlyninety-degreeturn.Theybouncedofftheconcreteofthebuildingontheleftofthealley’smouth,sendingtheminatacrookedangle.Thebluntnoseofthecarstruckapileofheapedtrash,garbagecans,andsplinteredcrates.Behindthese,solidbrick.
Richardswaspitchedviolentlyintothedashboard
astheycrashed,andhisnosebrokewithasuddensnap,gushingbloodwithviolentforce.
Theaircarlayaskewinthealley,onecylinderstillcoughingalittle.Parrakiswasasilentlumplollingoverthesteeringwheel.Therewasnotimeforhimyet.
Richardsslammedhisshoulderagainstthecrimped
passengerdoor.Itpoppedopen,andhehoppedononelegtothemouthofthealley.HereloadedhisgunfromthecrumpledboxofshellsBradleyhadsuppliedhimwith.Theyweregreasy-cooltothetouch.Hedroppedsomeofthemaroundhisfeet.Hisarmhadbeguntothroblikeanulceratedtooth,makinghimfeelsickandnauseatedwithpain.
Headlightsturnedthedesertedcityexpresswayfromnighttosunlessday.Thecruiserskiddedaroundtheturn,reartiresfightingfortraction,sendingupthefragrantsmellofsearedrubber.Loopingblackmarksscoredtheexpansion-jointmacadaminparabolas.Thenitwasforwardagain.Richardsheldtheguninbothhands,leaningagainstthebuildingtohisleft.Ina
momenttheywouldrealizetheycouldseenotaillightsahead.Thecopridingshotgunwouldseethealley,know—
Snufflingbloodthroughhisbrokennose,hebegantofire.Therangewasnearlypointblank,andatthisdistance,thehighpoweredslugssmashedthroughthebulletproofglassasifithadbeenpaper.Eachrecoilofthe
heavypistolpulsedthroughhiswoundedarm,makinghimscream.
Thecarroaredupoverthecurb,flewashort,winglessdistance,andcrashedintotheblankbrickwallacrossthestreet.ECHOFREE-VEEREPAIR,afadedsignonthiswallread.BECAUSEYOUWATCHIT,WEWON’TBOTCHIT.
Thepolicecar,stillafootabovetheground,metthebrickwallathighspeedandexploded.
Butotherswerecoming;alwaysothers.
Panting,Richardsmadehiswaybacktotheaircar.Hisgoodlegwasverytired.
“I’mhurt,”Parrakiswasgroaninghollowly.“I’mhurt
sobad.Where’sMom?Where’smyMomma?”
Richardsfellonhisknees,wriggledundertheaircaronhisback,andbegantopulltrashanddebrisfromtheairchamberslikeamadman.Bloodrandownhischeeksfromhisrupturednoseandpooledbesidehisears.
…Minus048andCOUNTING…
Thecarwouldonlyrunonfiveofitssixcylinders,anditwouldgonofasterthanforty,leaningdrunkenlytooneside.
Parrakisdirectedhimfromthepassengerseat,where
Richardshadmanhandledhim.Thesteeringcolumnhadgoneintohisabdomenlikearailspike,andRichardsthoughthewasdying.ThebloodonthedentedsteeringwheelwaswarmandstickyonRichards’spalms.
“I’mverysorry,”Parrakissaid.“Turnlefthere…It’sreallymyfault.Ishouldhaveknownbetter.She…shedoesn’tthinkstraight.She
doesn’t…”Hecoughedupaglutofblackbloodandspatitlistlesslyintohislap.Thesirensfilledthenight,buttheywerefarbehindandofftothewest.TheyhadgoneoutMarginalWay,andfromthereParrakishaddirectedhimontobackroads.NowtheywereonRoute9goingnorth,andthePortlandsuburbswerepeteringoutintoOctober-barrenscrubcountryside.Thestrip
lumberershadbeenthroughlikelocusts,andtheendresultwasabewilderingtangleofsecondgrowthandmarsh.
“Doyouknowwhereyou’retellingmetogo?”Richardsasked.Hewasahugebrandofpainfromoneendtotheother.Hewasquitesurehisanklewasbroken;therewasnodoubtatallabouthisnose.Hisbreathcamethroughitin
flattenedgasps.
“ToaplaceIknow,”EltonParrakissaid,andcoughedupmoreblood.“Sheusedtotellmeaboy’sbestfriendishisMom.Canyoubelievethat?Iusedtobelieveit.Willtheyhurther?Takehertojail?”
“No,”Richardssaidshortly,notknowingiftheywouldornot.Itwastwentyminutesofeight.HeandEltonhadleft
theBlueDoorattenminutespastseven.Itseemedasifdecadeshadpassed.
Afardistanceoff,moresirenswerejoininginthegeneralchorus.Theunspeakableinpursuitoftheinedible,Richardsthoughtdisjointedly.Ifyoucan’tstandtheheat,getoutofthekitchen.Hehaddispatchedtwopolicecarssinglehanded.AnotherbonusforSheila.
Bloodmoney.AndCathy.WouldCathysickenanddieonmilkpaidforwithbountycash?Howareyou,mydarlings?Iloveyou.Hereonthistwisting,crazybackroadfitonlyfordeerjackersandcoupleslookingforagoodmake-outspot,Iloveyouandwishthatyourdreamsbesweet.Iwish—
“Turnleft,”Eltoncroaked.
Richardsswungleftupasmoothtarredroadthatcutthroughatangleofdenudedsumacandelm,pineandspruce,scrubbynightmaresecondgrowth.Ariver,ripeandsulphurouswithindustrialwaste,smotehisnose.Low-hangingbranchesscrapedtheroofofthecarwithskeletonscreeches.Theypassedasignwhichread:SUPERPINETREEMALL—UNDER
CONSTRUCTION—KEEPOUT!—TRESPASSERSWILLBEPROSECUTED!!
TheytoppedafinalriseandtherewastheSuperPineTreeMall.Workmusthavestoppedatleasttwoyearsago,Richardsthought,andthingshadn’tbeentooadvancedwhenitdid.Theplacewasamaze,aratwarrenofhalf-builtstoresandshops,discardedlengths
ofpipe,pilesofcinderblockandboards,shacksandrustedQuonsethuts,allovergrownwithscrubbyjunipersandlaurelsandwitchgrassandbluespruce,blackberryandblackthorn,devil’spaintbrushanddenudedgoldenrod.Anditstretchedonformiles.GapingoblongfoundationholeslikegravesdugforRomangods.Rustedskeletonsteel.Cementwallswithsteelcore-rodsprotrudinglike
shadowycryptograms.Bulldozedoblongsthatweretobeparkinglotsnowgrassedover.
Somewhereoverhead,anowlflewonstiffandnoiselesswings,hunting.
“Helpme…intothedriver’sseat.”
“You’reinnoconditiontodrive,”Richardssaid,pushing
hardonhisdoortoopenit.
“It’stheleastIcando,”EltonParrakissaidwithgraveandbloodyabsurdity.“I’llplayhare…driveaslongasIcan.”
“No,”Richardssaid.
“Letmego!”HescreamedatRichards,hisfatbabyfaceterribleandgrotesque.“I’mdyingandyoujustbetterlet
meguh—guh—guh—”Hetrailedoffintohideoussilentcoughsthatbroughtupfreshgoutsofblood.Itsmelledverymoistinthecar;likeaslaughterhouse.“Helpme,”hewhispered.“I’mtoofattodoitbymyself.OhGodpleasehelpmedothis.”
Richardshelpedhim.HepushedandheavedandhishandsslippedandsquelchedinElton’sblood.Thefront
seatwasanabbatoir.AndElton(whowouldhavethoughtanyonecouldhavesomuchbloodinhim?)continuedtobleed.
Thenhewaswedgedbehindthewheelandtheaircarwasrisingjaggedly,turning.Thebrakelightsblinkedonandoff,onandoff,andthecarbuntedattreeslightlybeforeEltonfoundtheroadout.
Richardsthoughthewouldhearthecrash,buttherewasnone.Theerraticthumpa-thumpa-thumpaoftheaircylindersgrewfainter,beatinginthedeadlyone-cylinder-flatrhythmthatwouldburnouttheothersinanhourorso.Thesoundfaded.Thentherewasnosoundatallbutthefarawaybuzzofaplane.Richardsrealizedbelatedlythathehadleftthecrutcheshehad
purchasedfordisguisepurposesinthebackofthecar.
Theconstellationswhirledindifferentlyoverhead.
Hecouldseehisbreathinsmall,frozenpuffs;itwascoldertonight.
Heturnedfromtheroadandplungedintothejungleoftheconstructionsite.
…Minus047andCOUNTING…
Hespiedapileofcast-offinsulationlyinginthebottomofacellarholeandclimbeddown,usingtheprotrudingcorerodsforhandholds.Hefoundastickandpoundedtheinsulationtoscareoutthe
rats.Hewasrewardedwithnothingbutathick,fibrousdustthatmadehimsneezeandyelpwiththepain-burstinhisbadlyusednose.Norats.Alltheratswereinthecity.Heutteredaharshbrayoflaughterthatsoundedjaggedandsplinteredinthebigdark.
Hewrappedhimselfinstripsoftheinsulationuntilhelookedlikeahumanigloo
—butitwaswarm.Heleanedbackagainstthewallandfellintoahalf-doze.
Whenherousedfully,alatemoon,nomorethanacoldscrapoflight,hungovertheeasternhorizon.Hewasstillalone.Therewerenosirens.Itmighthavebeenthreeo’clock.
Hisarmthrobbeduneasily,buttheflowofbloodhad
stoppedonitsown;hesawthisafterpullingthearmoutoftheinsulationandbrushingthefibersgentlyawayfromtheclot.TheStengunbullethadapparentlyrippedafairlylargetriangularhunkofmeatfromthesideofhisarmjustabovetheelbow.Hesupposedhewasluckythatthebullethadn’tsmashedthebone.Buthisanklethrobbedwithasteady,deepache.Thefootitselffeltstrangeand
ethereal,barelyattached.Hesupposedthebreakshouldbesplinted.
Supposing,hedozedagain.
Whenhewoke,hisheadwasclearer.Themoonhadrisenhalfwayupinthesky,buttherewasstillnosignofdawn,trueorfalse.Hewasforgettingsomething—
Itcametohiminanasty,
joltingrealization.
Hehadtomailtwotapeclipsbeforenoon,iftheyweretogettotheGamesBuildingbythesix-thirtyairtime.Thatmeanttravelingordefaultingthemoney.
ButBradleywasontherun,orcaptured.
AndEltonParrakishadnevergivenhimthe
Clevelandname.
Andhisanklewasbroken.
Somethinglarge(adeer?weren’ttheyextinctintheeast?)suddenlycrashedthroughtheunderbrushofftohisright,makinghimjump.Insulationslidoffhimlikesnakes,andhepulleditbackaroundhimselfmiserably,snufflingthroughhisbrokennose.
Hewasacity-dwellersittinginadesertedDevelopmentgonebacktothewildinthemiddleofnowhere.Thenightsuddenlyseemedaliveandmalevolent,frighteningofitsownself,fullofcrazedbumpsandcreaks.
Richardsbreathedthroughhismouth,consideringhisoptionsandtheirconsequences.
1.Donothing.Justsithereandwaitforthingstocooloff.Consequence:Themoneyhewaspilingup,ahundreddollarsanhour,wouldbecutoffatsixtonight.Hewouldberunningforfree,butthehuntwouldn’tstop,notevenifhemanagedtoavoidthemforthewholethirtydays.Thehuntwouldcontinueuntilhewascarriedoffonaboard.
2.MailtheclipstoBoston.
Itcouldn’thurtBradleyorthefamily,becausetheircoverwasalreadyblown.Consequences:(1)ThetapeswouldundoubtedlybesenttoHardingbytheHunterswatchingBradley’smail,but(2)theywouldstillbeabletotracehimdirectlytowhereverhemailedthetapesfrom,withnointerveningBostonpostmark.
3.Mailthetapesdirectlyto
theGamesBuildinginHarding.Consequences:Thehuntwouldgoon,buthewouldprobablyberecognizedinanytownbigenoughtocommandamailbox.
Theywerealllousychoices.
Thankyou,Mrs.Parrakis.Thankyou.
Hegotup,brushingthe
insulationaway,andtossedtheuselessheadbandageontopofit.Asanafterthought,heburieditintheinsulation.
Hebeganhuntingaroundforsomethingtouseasacrutch(theironyofleavingtherealcrutchesinthecarstruckhimagain),andwhenhefoundaboardthatreachedapproximatelytoarmpitheight,hethrewitoverthelipofthecellarfoundationand
begantoclimblaboriouslybackupthecorerods.
Whenhegottothetop,sweatingandshiveringsimultaneously,herealizedthathecouldseehishands.Thefirstfaintgraylightofdawnhadbeguntoprobethedarkness.HelookedlonginglyatthedesertedDevelopment,thinking:Itwouldhavemadesuchafinehidingplace—
Nogood.Hewasn’tsupposedtobeahidingman;hewasarunningman.Wasn’tthatwhatkepttheratingsup?
Acloudy,cataractlikegroundmistwascreepingslowlythroughthedenudedtrees.RichardspausedtogethisdirectionsandthenstruckofftowardthewoodsthatborderedtheabandonedSuperMallonthenorth.
Hepausedonlyoncetowraphiscoataroundthetopofhiscrutchandthencontinued.
…Minus046andCOUNTING…
IthadbeenfulldaylightfortwohoursandRichardshadalmostconvincedhimselfhewasgoingaroundinlargecircleswhenheheard,throughtherankbramblesandgroundbushesupahead,
thewhineofaircars.
Hepushedoncautiouslyandthenpeeredoutonatwo-lanemacadamhighway.Carsrushedtoandfrowithfairregularity.Aboutahalfamileup,Richardscouldmakeoutaclusterofhousesandwhatwaseitheranairstationoranoldgeneralstorewithpumpsinfront.
Hepushedon,paralleling
thehighway,fallingoveroccasionally.Hisfaceandhandswereaneedlepointofbloodfrombriarsandbrambles,andhisclotheswerestuddedwithbrownsticker-balls.Hehadgivenuptryingtobrushthemaway.Burstmilkweedpodsfloatedlightlyfrombothshoulders,makinghimlookasifhehadbeeninapillowfight.Hewaswetfromtoptotoe;hehadmadeitthroughthefirsttwo
brooks,butinthethirdhis“crutch”hadslippedonthetreacherousbottomandhehadfallenheadlong.Thecameraofcoursewasundamaged.Itwaswaterproofandshockproof.Ofcourse.
Thebushesandtreeswerethinning.Richardsgotdownonhishandsandkneesandcrawled.Whenhehadgoneasfarashethoughthesafely
could,hestudiedthesituation.
Hewasonaslightriseofland,apeninsulaofthescrubbysecond-growthweedshehadbeenwalkingthrough.Belowhimwasthehighway,anumberofranch-typehouses,andastorewithairpumps.Acarwasintherenow,beingattendedtowhilethedriver,amaninasuedewindbreaker,chattedwiththe
airjockey.Besidethestore,alongwiththreeorfourgumballmachinesandaMaryjanevendor,stoodablueandredmailbox.Itwasonlytwohundredyardsaway.Lookingatit,Richardsrealizedbitterlythatifhehadarrivedbeforefirstlighthecouldhaveprobablydonehisbusinessunseen.
Well,spiltmilkandallthat.Thebestlaidplansofmice
andmen.
Hewithdrewuntilhecouldsetuphiscameraanddohistapingwithoutbeingseen.
“Hello,allyouwonderfulpeopleoutthereinFree-Veeland,”hebegan.“ThisisjovialBenRichards,takingyouonmyannualnaturehike.Ifyoulookcloselyyoumayseethefearlessscarlettanageroragreatspeckled
cowbird.Perhapsevenayellow-belliedpigbirdortwo.”Hepaused.“Theymayletthatpartthrough,butnottherest.Ifyou’redeafandreadlips,rememberwhatI’msaying.Tellaneighbororafriend.Spreadtheword.TheNetworkispoisoningtheairyoubreatheanddenyingyoucheapprotectionbecause—”
Herecordedbothtapesandputtheminhispantspocket.
Okay.Whatnext?Theonlypossiblewaytodoitwastogodownwiththegundrawn,depositthetapes,andrun.Hecouldstealacar.Itwasn’tasiftheyweren’tgoingtoknowwherehewasanyway.
Randomly,hewonderedhowfarParrakishadgottenbeforetheycuthimdown.Hehadthegunoutandinhisfistwhenheheardthevoice,startlinglyclose,seeminglyin
hisleftear:“Comeon,Rolf!”
TherewasasuddenvolleyofbarksthatmadeRichardsjumpviolentlyandhehadjusttimetothink:Policedogs,Christ,they’vegotpolicedogs,whensomethinghugeandblackbrokecoverandarrowedathim.
ThegunwasknockedintothebrushandRichardswasonhisback.Thedogwason
topofhim,abigGermanshepherdwithagenerousstreakofmongrel,lappinghisfaceanddroolingonhisshirt.Histailflaggedbackandforthinvigoroussemaphoresofjoy.
“Rolf!HeyRolf!Rol—ohGawd!”Richardscaughtanobscuredglimpseofrunninglegsinbluejeans,andthenasmallboywasdraggingthedogaway.“Jeez,I’msorry,
mister.Jeez,hedon’tbite,he’stoodumbtobite,he’sjustfriendly,heain’t…Gawd,ain’tyouamess!Yougetlost?”
TheboywasholdingRolfbythecollarandstaringatRichardswithfrankinterest.Hewasagood-lookingboy,wellmade,perhapseleven,andtherewasnoneofthepaleandpatchedinnercitylookonhisface.Therewas
somethingsuspiciousandalieninhisfeatures,yetfamiliaralso.AfteramomentRichardsplacedit.Itwasinnocence.
“Yes,”hesaiddryly.“Igotlost.”
“Gee,yousuremusthavefallenaroundsome.”
“ThatIdid,pal.Youwanttotakeacloselookatmy
faceandseeifit’sscratchedupverybadly?Ican’tseeit,youknow.”
TheboyleanedforwardobedientlyandscannedRichards’sface.Nosignofrecognitionflickeredthere.Richardswassatisfied.
“It’sallburr-caught,”theboysaid(therewasadelicateNewEnglandtwanginhisvoice;notexactlyDownEast,
butlightlyspringy,sardonic),“butyou’lllive.”Hisbrowfurrowed.“YouescapedfromThomaston?Iknowyouain’tfromPinelandcauseyoudon’tlooklikearetard.”
“I’mnotescapedfromanywhere,”Richardssaid,wonderingifthatwasalieorthetruth.“Iwashitchhiking.Badhabit,pal.Youneverdoit,doyou?”
“Noway,”theboysaidearnestly.“There’scrazydudesrunningtheroadsthesedays.That’swhatmydadsays.”
“He’sright,”Richardssaid.“ButIjusthadtogetto…uh…”Hesnappedhisfingersinapantomimeofit-just-slipped-my-mind.“Youknow,jetport.”
“YoumustmeanVoigt
Field.”
“That’sit.”
“Jeez,that’soverahundredmilesfromhere,mister.InDerry.”
“Iknow,”Richardssaidruefully,andranahandoverRolf’sfur.Thedogrolledoverobliginglyandplayeddead.Richardsfoughtanurgetoutteramorbidchuckle.“I
pickeduparideattheNewHampshireborderwiththesethreemaggots.Realtoughguys.Theybeatmeup,stolemywalletanddumpedmeatsomedesertedshoppingcenter—”
“Yeah,Iknowthatplace.Cripes,youwannacomedowntothehouseandhavesomebreakfast?”
“I’dliketo,bucko,but
time’swasting.Ihavetogettothatjetportbytonight.”
“Yougoingtohitchanotherlift?”Theboy’seyeswereround.
“Gotto.”Richardsstartedtogetup,thensettledbackasifagreatideahadstruckhim.“Listen,domeafavor?”
“Iguessso,”theboysaidcautiously.
Richardstookoutthetwoexposedtape-clips.“Thesearechargeplatecashvouchers,”hesaidglibly.“Ifyoudroptheminamailboxforme,mycompanywillhavealumpofcashwaitingformeinDerry.ThenI’llbeonmymerryway.”
“Evenwithoutanaddress?”
“Thesegodirect,”Richardssaid.
“Sure.Okay.There’samailboxdownatJarrold’sStore.”Hegotup,hisinexperiencedfaceunabletodisguisethefactthathethoughtRichardswaslyinginhisteeth.“Comeon,Rolf.”
Helettheboygetfifteenfeetandthensaid:“No.Comehereagain.”
Theboyturnedandcamebackwithhisfeetdragging.
Therewasdreadonhisface.Ofcourse,therewereenoughholesinRichards’sstorytodriveatruckthrough.
“I’vegottotellyoueverything,Iguess,”Richardssaid.“Iwastellingyouthetruthaboutmostofit,pal.ButIdidn’twanttoriskthechancethatyoumightblab.”
ThemorningOctobersunwaswonderfullywarmonhis
backandneckandhewishedhecouldstayonthehillallday,andsleepsweetlyinfall’sfugitivewarmth.Hepulledthegunfromwhereithadfallenandletitlielooselyonthegrass.Theboy’seyeswentwide.
“Government,”Richardssaidquietly.
“Jee-zus!”Theboywhispered.Rolfsatbeside
him,hispinktonguelollingrakishlyfromthesideofhismouth.
“I’maftersomeprettyhardguys,kid.Youcanseethattheyworkedmeoverprettywell.Thoseclipsyougottherehavegottogetthrough.”
“I’llmailem,”theboysaidbreathlessly.“Jeez,wait’llItell—”
“Nobody,”Richardssaid.“Tellnobodyfortwenty-fourhours.Theremightbereprisals,”headdedominously.“Sountiltomorrowthistime,youneversawme.Understand?”
“Yeah!Sure!”
“Thengetonit.Andthanks,pal.”Heheldouthishandandtheboyshookitawefully.
Richardswatchedthemtrotdownthehill,aboyinaredplaidshirtwithhisdogcrashingjoyfullythroughthegoldenrodbesidehim.Whycan’tmyCathyhavesomethinglikethat?
Hisfacetwistedintoaterrifyingandwhollyunconsciousgrimaceofrageandhate,andhemighthavecursedGodHimselfifabettertargethadnot
interposeditselfonthedarkscreenofhismind:theGamesFederation.Andbehindthat,liketheshadowofadarkergod,theNetwork.
Hewatcheduntilhesawtheboy,madetinywithdistance,dropthetapesintothemailbox.
Thenhegotupstiffly,proppinghiscrutchunderhim,andcrashedbackinto
thebrush,anglingtowardtheroad.
Thejetport,then.Andmaybesomeoneelsewouldpaysomeduesbeforeitwasallover.
…Minus045andCOUNTING…
HehadseenanintersectionamilebackandRichardsleftthewoodsthere,makinghiswayawkwardlydownthegravelbankbetweenthewoodsandtheroad.
Hesattherelikeamanwhohasgivenuptryingtohookarideandhasdecidedtoenjoythewarmautumnsuninstead.Heletthefirsttwocarsgoby;bothofthemheldtwomen,andhefiguredtheoddsweretoohigh.
Butwhenthethirdoneapproachedthestopsign,hegotup.Theclosing-infeelingwasback.Thiswholeareahadtobehot,nomatterhow
farParrakishadgotten.Thenextcarcouldbepolice,andthatwouldbetheballgame.
Itwasawomaninthecar,andshewasalone.Shewouldnotlookathim;hitchhikersweredistastefulandthustobeignored.Herippedthepassengerdooropenandwasinevenasthecarwasacceleratingagain.Hewaspickedupandthrownsideways,onehandholding
desperatelyontothedoorjamb,hisgoodfootdragging.
Thethumpinghissofbrakes;theaircarswervedwildly.“What—who—youcan’t—”
Richardspointedthegunather,knowinghemustlookgrotesquecloseup,likeamanwhohadbeenrunthroughameatgrinder.The
fierceimagewouldworkforhim.Hedraggedhisfootinandslammedthedoor,gunneverswerving.Shewasdressedfortown,andworebluewraparoundsunglasses.Goodlookingfromwhathecouldsee.
“Wheelit,”Richardssaid.
Shedidthepredictable;slammedbothfeetonthebrakeandscreamed.Richards
wasthrownforward,hisbadanklescrapingexcruciatingly.Theaircarjudderedtoastopontheshoulder,fiftyfeetbeyondtheintersection.
“You’rethat…you’re…R-R-R—”
“BenRichards.Takeyourhandsoffthewheel.Puttheminyourlap.”
Shedidit,shuddering
convulsively.Shewouldnotlookathim.Afraid,Richardssupposed,thatshewouldbeturnedtostone.
“What’syourname,ma’am?”
“A-AmeliaWilliams.Don’tshootme.Don’tkillme,I…I…youcanhavemymoneyonlyforGod’ssakedon’tkillmeeeeeeee—”
“Shhhhh,”Richardssaidsoothingly.“Shhhhh,shhhhhh.”Whenshehadquietedalittlehesaid:“Iwon’ttrytochangeyourmindaboutme,Mrs.Williams.IsitMrs.?”
“Yes,”shesaidautomatically.
“ButIhavenointentionofharmingyou.Doyouunderstandthat?”
“Yes,”shesaid,suddenlyeager.“Youwantthecar.Theygotyourfriendandnowyouneedacar.Youcantakeit—it’sinsured—Iwon’teventell.IswearIwon’t.I’llsaysomeonestoleitintheparkinglot—”
“We’lltalkaboutit,”Richardssaid.“Begintodrive.GoupRoute1andwe’lltalkaboutit.Arethereroadblocks?”
“N—yes.Hundredsofthem.They’llcatchyou.”
“Don’tlie,Mrs.Williams.Okay?”
Shebegantodrive,erraticallyatfirst,thenmoresmoothly.Themotionseemedtosootheher.Richardsrepeatedhisquestionaboutroadblocks.
“AroundLewiston,”she
saidwithfrightenedunhappiness.“That’swheretheygotthatothermag—fellow.”
“Howfaristhat?”
“Thirtymilesormore.”
ParrakishadgottenfartherthanRichardswouldhavedreamed.
“Willyourapeme?”Amelia
WilliamsaskedsosuddenlythatRichardsalmostbarkedwithlaughter.
“No,”hesaid;then,matter-of-factly:“I’mmarried.”
“Isawher,”shesaidwithakindofsmirkingdoubtfulnessthatmadeRichardswanttosmashher.Eatgarbage,bitch.Killaratthatwashidinginthebreadbox,killitwithawhiskbroomandthen
seehowyoutalkaboutmywife.
“CanIgetoffhere?”sheaskedpleadingly,andhefeltatriflesorryforheragain.
“No,”hesaid.“You’remyprotection,Mrs.Williams.IhavetogettoVoigtField,inaplacecalledDerry.You’regoingtoseethatIgetthere.”
“That’sahundredandfifty
miles!”shewailed.
“Someoneelsetoldmeahundred.”
“Theywerewrong.You’llnevergetthroughtothere.”
“Imight,”Richardssaid,andthenlookedather.“Andsomightyou,ifyouplayitright.”
Shebegantotrembleagain
butsaidnothing.Herattitudewasthatofawomanwaitingtowakeup.
…Minus044andCOUNTING…
Theytravelednorththroughautumnburninglikeatorch.
Thetreeswerenotdeadthisfarnorth,murderedbythebig,poisonoussmokesofPortland,Manchester,and
Boston;theywereallhuesofyellow,red,brilliantstarburstpurple.TheyawokeinRichardsanachingfeelingofmelancholy.Itwasafeelingheneverwouldhavesuspectedhisemotionscouldhaveharboredonlytwoweeksbefore.Inanothermonththesnowwouldflyandcoverallofit.
Thingsendedinfall.
Sheseemedtosensehismoodandsaidnothing.Thedrivingfilledthesilencebetweenthem,lulledthem.TheypassedoverthewateratYarmouth,thentherewereonlywoodsandtrailersandmiserablepovertyshackswithouthousestackedonthesides(yetonecouldalwaysspottheFree-Veecableattachment,boltedonbelowasagging,paintlesswindowsillorbesideahinge-smashed
door,winkingandheliographinginthesun)untiltheyenteredFreeport.
Therewerethreepolicecruisersparkedjustoutsideoftown,thecopsmeetinginakindofroadsideconference.Thewomanstiffenedlikeawire,herfacedesperatelypale,butRichardsfeltcalm.
Theypassedthepolicewithoutnotice,andshe
slumped.
“Iftheyhadbeenmonitoringtraffic,theywouldhavebeenonuslikeashot,”Richardssaidcasually.“YoumightaswellpaintBENRICHARDSISINTHISCARonyourforeheadinDay-Glo.”
“Whycan’tyouletmego?”sheburstout,andinthesamebreath:“Haveyougotajay?”
RichfolksblowDokes.Thethoughtbroughtabubbleofironiclaughterandheshookhishead.
“You’relaughingatme?”sheasked,stung.“You’vegotsomenerve,don’tyou,youcowardlylittlemurderer!Scaringmehalfoutofmylife,probablyplanningtokillmethewayyoukilledthosepoorboysinBoston—”
“Therewasafullgrossofthosepoorboys,”Richardssaid.“Readytokillme.That’stheirjob.”
“Killingforpay.Readytodoanythingformoney.Wantingtooverturnthecountry.Whydon’tyoufinddecentwork?Becauseyou’retoolazy!Yourkindspitinthefaceofanythingdecent.”
“Areyoudecent?”Richards
asked.
“Yes!”Shestormed.“Isn’tthatwhyyoupickedonme?BecauseIwasdefenselessand…anddecent?Soyoucoulduseme,dragmedowntoyourlevelandthenlaughaboutit?”
“Ifyou’resodecent,howcomeyouhavesixthousandNewDollarstobuythisfancycarwhilemylittlegirldiesof
theflu?”
“What—”Shelookedstartled.Hermouthstartedtoopenandshecloseditwithasnap.“You’reanenemyoftheNetwork,”shesaid.“ItsayssoontheFree-Vee.Isawsomeofthosedisgustingthingsyoudid.”
“Youknowwhat’sdisgusting?”Richardsasked,lightingacigarettefromthe
packonthedashboard.“I’lltellyou.It’sdisgustingtogetblackballedbecauseyoudon’twanttoworkinaGeneralAtomicsjobthat’sgoingtomakeyousterile.It’sdisgustingtosithomeandwatchyourwifeearningthegrocerymoneyonherback.It’sdisgustingtoknowtheNetworkiskillingmillionsofpeopleeachyearwithairpollutantswhentheycouldbemanufacturingnosefiltersfor
sixbucksathrow.”
“Youlie,”shesaid.Herknuckleshadgonewhiteonthewheel.
“Whenthisisover,”Richardssaid,“youcangobacktoyournicesplit-levelduplexandlightupaDokeandgetstonedandlovethewayyournewsilverwaresparklesinthehighboy.Noonefightingratswith
broomhandlesinyourneighborhoodorshittingbythebackstoopbecausethetoiletdoesn’twork.Imetalittlegirlfiveyearsoldwithlungcancer.How’sthatfordisgusting?Whatdo—”
“Stop!”shescreamedathim.“Youtalkdirty!”
“That’sright,”hesaid,watchingasthecountrysideflowedby.Hopelessness
filledhimlikecoldwater.Therewasnobaseofcommunicationwiththesebeautifulchosenones.Theyexistedupwheretheairwasrare.Hehadasuddenragingurgetomakethiswomanpullover:knockhersunglassesontothegravel,dragherthroughthedirt,makehereatastone,rapeher,jumponher,knockherteethintotheairlikestartleddigits,striphernudeandaskherifshe
wasbeginningtoseethebigpicture,theonethatrunstwenty-fourhoursadayonchannelone,wherethenationalanthemneverplaysbeforethesign-off.
“That’sright,”hemuttered.“Dirty-talkingoldme.”
…Minus043andCOUNTING…
Theygotfartherthantheyhadanyrightto,Richardsfigured.TheygotallthewaytoaprettytownbytheseacalledCamdenoverahundredmilesfromwherehehadhitchedaridewith
AmeliaWilliams.
“Listen,”hesaidastheywereenteringAugusta,thestatecapital.“There’sagoodchancethey’llsniffushere.Ihavenointerestinkillingyou.Digit?”
“Yes,”shesaid.Then,withbrighthate:“Youneedahostage.”
“Right.Soifacoppullsout
behindus,youpullover.Immediately.Youopenyourdoorandleanout.Justlean.Yourfannyisnottoleavethatseat.Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Youholler:BenjaminRichardsisholdingmehostage.Ifyoudon’tgivehimfreepassagehe’llkillme.”
“Andyouthinkthatwillwork?”
“Itbetter,”hesaidwithtensemockery.“It’syourass.”
Shebitherlipandsaidnothing.
“It’llwork.Ithink.Therewillbeadozenfree-lancecameramenaroundinnotime,hopingtogetsome
GamesmoneyoreventheZapruderAwarditself.Withthatkindofpublicity,they’llhavetoplayitstraight.Sorryyouwon’tgettoseeusgooutinahailofbulletssotheycantalkaboutyousanctimoniouslyasBenRichards’slastvictim.”
“Whydoyousaythesethings?”sheburstout.
Hedidn’treply;onlyslid
downinhisseatuntiljustthetopofhisheadshowedandwaitedforthebluelightsintherear-viewmirror.
ButtherewerenobluelightsinAugusta.Theycontinuedonforanotherhourandahalf,skirtingtheoceanasthesunbegantowester,catchinglittleglintsandpeaksofthewater,acrossfieldsandbeyondbridgesandthroughheavyfirs.
Itwaspasttwoo’clockwhentheyroundedabendnotfarfromtheCamdentownlineandsawaroadblock;twopolicecarsparkedoneithersideoftheroad.Twocopswerecheckingafarmerinanoldpick-upandwavingitthrough.
“Goanothertwohundredfeetandthenstop,”Richardssaid.“DoitjustthewayItoldyou.”
Shewaspallidbutseeminglyincontrol.Resigned,maybe.Sheappliedthebrakesevenlyandtheaircarcametoaneatstopinthemiddleoftheroadfiftyfeetfromthecheckpoint.
Thetrooperholdingtheclipboardwavedherforwardimperiously.Whenshedidn’tcome,heglancedinquiringlyathiscompanion.Athirdcop,whohadbeensitting
insideoneofthecruiserswithhisfeetup,suddenlygrabbedthehandmikeunderthedashandbegantospeakrapidly.
Herewego,Richardsthought.OhGod,herewego.
…Minus042andCOUNTING…
Thedaywasverybright(theconstantrainofHardingseemedlight-yearsaway)andeverythingwasverysharpandclearlydefined.Thetroopers’shadowsmighthavebeendrawnwithblack
Crayolas.Theywereunhookingthenarrowstrapsthatcrossedtheirgunbutts.
Mrs.Williamsswungopenthedoorandleanedout.“Don’tshoot,please,”shesaid,andforthefirsttimeRichardsrealizedhowculturedhervoicewas,howrich.Shemighthavebeeninadrawingroomexceptforthepallidknucklesandthefluttering,birdlikepulsein
herthroat.Withthedooropenhecouldsmellthefresh,invigoratingodorofpineandtimothygrass.
“Comeoutofthecarwithyourhandsoveryourhead,”thecopwiththeclipboardsaid.Hesoundedlikeawell-programmedmachine.GeneralAtomicsModel6925–A9,Richardsthought.TheHicksvilleTrooper.16-psmIridiumBatteries
included.ComesinWhiteOnly.“Youandyourpassenger,ma’am.Weseehim.”
“MynameisAmeliaWilliams,”shesaidveryclearly.“Ican’tgetoutasyouask.BenjaminRichardsisholdingmehostage.Ifyoudon’tgivehimfreepassage,hesayshe’llkillme.”
Thetwocopslookedateach
other,andsomethingbarelyperceptiblepassedbetweenthem.Richards,withhisnervesstrunguptoapointwhereheseemedtobeoperatingwithaseventhsense,caughtit.
“Drive!”hescreamed.
Shestaredaroundathim,bewildered.“Buttheywon’t—”
Theclipboardclatteredtotheroad.Thetwocopsfellintothekneelingposturealmostsimultaneously,gunsout,grippedinrighthands,lefthandsholdingrightwrists.Oneoneachsideofthesolidwhiteline.
Thesheetsofflimsyontheclipboardflutterederrantly.
RichardstrompedhisbadfootonAmeliaWilliams’s
rightshoe,hislipsdrawingbackintoatragedymaskofpainasthebrokenanklegrated.Theaircarrippedforward.
Thenextmomenttwohollowpunchingnoisesstruckthecar,makingitvibrate.Amomentlaterthewindshieldblewin,splatteringthembothwithbitsofsafetyglass.Shethrewbothhandsuptoprotecther
faceandRichardsleanedsavagelyagainsther,swingingthewheel.
Theyshotthroughthegapbetweentheveedcarswithscarcelyaflirtofthereardeck.Hecaughtacrazyglimpseofthetrooperswhirlingtofireagainandthenhiswholeattentionwasontheroad.
Theymountedarise,and
thentherewasonemorehollowthunnn!asabulletsmashedaholeinthetrunk.ThecarbegantofishtailandRichardshungon,whippingthewheelindiminishingarcs.HerealizeddimlythatWilliamswasscreaming.
“Steer!”heshoutedather.“Steer,goddammit!Steer!Steer!”
Herhandsgroped
reflexivelyforthewheelandfoundit.Heletgoandbattedthedarkglassesawayfromhereyeswithanopenhandedblow.Theyhungononeearforamomentandthendroppedoff.
“Pullover!”
“Theyshotatus.”Hervoicebegantorise.“Theyshotatus.Theyshotat—”
“Pullover!”
Thescreamofsirensrosebehindthem.
Shepulledoverclumsily,sendingthecararoundinashudderinghalf-turnthatspumedgravelintotheair.
“Itoldthemandtheytriedtokillus,”shesaidwonderingly.“Theytriedtokillus.”
Buthewasoutalready,outandhoppingclumsilybackthewaytheyhadcome,gunout.Helosthisbalanceandfellheavily,scrapingbothknees.
Whenthefirstcruisercameovertherisehewasinasittingpositionontheshoulderoftheroad,thepistolheldfirmlyatshoulderlevel.Thecarwasdoingeightyeasily,andstill
accelerating;somebackroadcowboyatthewheelwithtoomuchengineupfrontandvisionsofgloryinhiseyes.Theyperhapssawhim,perhapstriedtostop.Itdidn’tmatter.Therewerenobulletprooftiresonthese.TheoneclosesttoRichardsexplodedasiftherehadbeendynamiteinside.Thecruisertookofflikeabig-assbird,gunningacrosstheshoulderinhowling,uncontrolled
flight.Itcrashedintotheholeofahugeelm.Thedriver’ssidedoorflewoff.Thedriverrammedthroughthewindshieldlikeatorpedoandflewthirtyyardsbeforecrashingintothepuckerbrush.
Thesecondcarcamealmostasfast,andittookRichardsfourshotstofindatire.Twoslugssplatteredsandnexttohisspot.Thisoneslidaround
inasmokinghalf-turnandrolledthreetimes,sprayingglassandmetal.
Richardsstruggledtohisfeet,lookeddownandsawhisshirtdarkeningslowlyjustabovethebelt.Hehoppedbacktowardtheaircar,andthendroppedonhisfaceasthesecondcruiserexploded,spewingshrapnelaboveandaroundhim.
Hegotup,pantingandmakingstrangewhimperingnoisesinhismouth.Hissidehadbeguntothrobinslow,achingcycles.
Shecouldhavegottenaway,perhaps,butshehadmadenoeffort.Shewasstaring,transfixed,attheburningpolicecarintheroad.WhenRichardsgotin,sheshrankfromhim.
“Youkilledthem.Youkilledthosemen.”
“Theytriedtokillme.Youtoo.Drive.Fast.”
“THEYDIDNOTTRYTOKILLME!”
“Drive!”
Shedrove.
Themaskofthewell-to-do
younghausfrauonherwaybackfromthemarketnowhungintattersandshreds.Beneathitwassomethingfromthecave,somethingwithtwitchinglipsandrollingeyes.Perhapsithadbeenthereallalong.
Theydroveaboutfivemilesandcametoaroadsidestoreandairstation.
“Pullin,”Richardssaid.
…Minus041andCOUNTING…
“Getout.”
“No.”
Hejammedthegunagainstherrightbreastandshewhimpered.“Don’t.Please.”
“I’msorry.Butthere’snomoretimeforyoutoplayprimadonna.Getout.”
Shegotoutandheslidafterher.
“Letmeleanonyou.”
Heslunganarmaroundhershouldersandpointedwiththegunatthetelephoneboothbesidetheicedispenser.Theybeganshufflingtowardit,a
grotesquetwo-manvaudevilleteam.Richardshoppedonhisgoodfoot.Hefelttired.Inhismindhesawthecarscrashing,thebodyflyinglikeatorpedo,theleapingexplosion.Thesescenesplayedoverandoveragain,likeacontinuousloopoftape.
Thestore’sproprietor,anoldpalwithwhitehairandscrawnylegshiddenbya
dirtybutcher’sapron,cameoutandstaredatthemwithworriedeyes.
“Hey,”hesaidmildly.“Idon’twantyouhere.Igotafam’ly.Godowntheroad.PleaseIdon’twantnotrouble.”
“Goinside,pop,”Richardssaid.Themanwent.
Richardsslidlooselyinto
thebooth,breathingthroughhismouth,andfumbledfiftycentsintothecoinhorn.Holdingthegunandreceiverinonehand,hepunchedO.
“Whatexchangeisthis,operator?”
“Rockland,sir.”
“Putmethroughtothelocalnewsiehookup,please.”
“Youmaydialthat,sir.Thenumberis—”
“Youdialit.”
“Doyouwish—”
“Justdialit!”
“Yes,sir,”shesaid,unruffled.TherewereclicksandpopsinRichards’sear.Bloodhaddarkenedhisshirttoadirtypurplecolor.He
lookedawayfromit.Itmadehimfeelill.
“RocklandNewsie,”avoicesaidinRichards’sear.“Free-VeeTabloidNumber6943.”
“ThisisBenRichards.”
Therewasalongsilence.Then:“Look,maggot,Ilikeajokeaswellasthenextguy,butthishasbeenalong,hardd—”
“Shutup.You’regoingtogetconfirmationofthisintenminutesattheoutside.Youcangetitnowifyou’vegotapolicebandradio.”
“I…justasecond.”Therewastheclunkofadroppingphoneontheotherend,andafaintwailingsound.Whenthephonewaspickedup,thevoicewashardandbusinesslike,withanundercurrentofexcitement.
“Whereareyou,fella?HalfthecopsineasternMainejustwentthroughRockland…ataboutahundredandten.”
Richardscranedhisneckatthesignoverthestore.“AplacecalledGilly’sTownLineStore&AirstoponU.S.1.Youknowit?”
“Yeah.Just—”
“Listentome,maggot.I
didn’tcalltogiveyoumylifestory.Getsomephotogsouthere.Quick.Andgetthisontheair.RedNewsbreakTop.I’vegotahostage.HernameisAmeliaWilliams.From—”Helookedather.
“Falmouth,”shesaidmiserably.
“FromFalmouth.SafeconductorI’llkillher.”
“Jesus,IsmellthePulitzerPrize!”
“No,youjustshityourpants,that’sall,”Richardssaid.Hefeltlightheaded.“Yougetthewordout.IwanttheStatePigstofindouteveryoneknowsI’mnotalone.Threeofthemataroadblocktriedtoblowusup.”
“Whathappenedtothe
cops!”
“Ikilledthem.”
“Allthree?Hotdamn!”Thevoice,pulledawayfromthephone,yelleddistantly:“Dicky,openthenationalcable!”
“I’mgoingtokillheriftheyshoot,”Richardssaid,simultaneouslytryingtoinjectsincerityintohisvoice
andtorememberalltheoldgangstermovieshehadseenontee-veeasakid.“Iftheywanttosavethegirl,theybetterletmethrough.”
“When—”
Richardshungupandhoppedclumsilyoutofthebooth.“Helpme.”
Sheputanarmaroundhim,grimacingattheblood.“See
whatyou’regettingyourselfinto?”
“Yes.”
“Thisismadness.You’regoingtobekilled.”
“Drivenorth,”hemumbled.“Justdrivenorth.”
Heslidintothecar,breathinghard.Theworldinsistedongoinginandout.
High,atonalmusicjangledinhisears.Shepulledoutandontotheroad.Hisbloodhadsmearedonhersmartgreenandblack-stripedblouse.Theoldman,Gilly,crackedthescreendooropenandpokedoutaveryoldPolaroidcamera.Heclickedtheshutter,pulledthetape,andwaited.Hisfacewaspaintedwithhorrorandexcitementanddelight.
Inthedistance,risingandconverging,sirens.
…Minus040andCOUNTING…
Theytraveledfivemilesbeforepeoplebeganrunningoutontotheirlawnstowatchthempass.ManyhadcamerasandRichardsrelaxed.
“Theywereshootingatthe
aircapsatthatroadblock,”shesaidquietly.“Itwasamistake.That’swhatitwas.Amistake.”
“Ifthatmaggotwasaimingforanaircapwhenheputoutthewindshield,theremusthavebeenasightonthatpistolthreefeethigh.”
“Itwasamistake!”
Theywereenteringthe
residentialdistrictofwhatRichardsassumedwasRockland.Summerhomes.Dirtroadsleadingdowntobeachfrontcottages.BreezeInn.PrivateRoad.JustMe’nPatty.KeepOut.Elizabeth’sRest.TrespassersWillBeShot.Cloud-Hi.5000Volts.Set-A-Spell.GuardDogsonPatrol.
Unhealthyeyesandavidfacespeeringatthemfrom
behindtrees,likeCheshirecats.Theblareofbattery-poweredFree-Veescamethroughtheshatteredwindshield.
Acrazy,weirdairofcarnivalabouteverything.
“Thesepeople,”Richardssaid,“onlywanttoseesomeonebleed.Themorethebetter.Theywouldjustassoonitwasbothofus.Can
youbelievethat?”
“No.”
“ThenIsaluteyou.”
Anoldermanwithsilverybarbershophair,wearingmadrasshortsthatcamedownoverhisknees,ranouttotheedgeoftheroad.Hewascarryingahugecamerawithacobraliketelephotolens.Hebegansnapping
pictureswildly,bendinganddipping.Hislegswerefish-bellywhite.RichardsburstintoasuddenbrayoflaughterthatmadeAmeliajump.
“What—”
“He’sstillgotthelenscoveron,”Richardssaid.“He’sstillgot—”Butlaughterovercamehim.
Carscrowdedtheshoulders
astheytoppedalong,slowlyrisinghillandbegantodescendtowardtheclusteredtownofRocklanditself.Perhapsithadoncebeenapicturesqueseacoastfishingvillage,fullofWinslowHomermeninyellowrain-slickerswhowentoutinsmallboatstotrapthewilylobster.Ifso,itwaslonggone.Therewasahugeshoppingcenteroneithersideoftheroad.Amainstreet
stripofhonky-tonks,bars,andAutoSlotemporiums.Therewereneatmiddle-classhomesoverlookingthemaindragfromtheheights,andagrowingslumlookingupfromtherancidedgeofthewater.Theseaatthehorizonwasyetunchanged.Itglitteredblueandageless,fullofdancingpointsandnetsoflightinthelateafternoonsun.
Theybeganthedescent,and
thereweretwopolicecarsparkedacrosstheroad.Thebluelightsflick-flick-flickedjaggedly,crazyandoutofsyncwitheachother.Parkedatanangleontheleftembankmentwasanarmoredcarwithashort,stubbycannonbarreltrackingthem.
“You’redone,”shesaidsoftly,almostregretfully.“DoIhavetodie,too?”
“Stopfiftyyardsfromtheroadblockanddoyourstuff,”Richardssaid.Hesliddownintheseat.Anervousticstitchedhisface.
Shestoppedandopenedthecardoor,butdidnotleanout.Theairwasdeadsilent.Ahushfallsoverthecrowd,Richardsthoughtironically.
“I’mscared,”shesaid.“Please.I’msoscared.”
“Theywon’tshootyou,”hesaid.“Therearetoomanypeople.Youcan’tkillhostagesunlessnooneiswatching.Thosearetherulesofthegame.”
Shelookedathimforamoment,andhesuddenlywishedtheycouldhaveacupofcoffeetogether.Hewouldlistencarefullytoherconversationandstirrealcreamintohishotdrink—her
treat,ofcourse.Thentheycoulddiscussthepossibilitiesofsocialinequity,thewayyoursocksalwaysfalldownwhenyou’rewearingrubberboots,andtheimportanceofbeingearnest.
“Goon,Mrs.Williams,”hesaidwithsoft,tensemockery.“Theeyesoftheworldareuponyou.”
Sheleanedout.
Sixpolicecarsandanotherarmoredvanhadpulledupthirtyfeetbehindthem,blockingtheirretreat.
Hethought:Nowtheonlywayoutisstraightuptoheaven.
…Minus039andCOUNTING…
“MynameisAmeliaWilliams.BenjaminRichardsisholdingmehostage.Ifyoudon’tgiveussafeconduct,hesayshe’llkillme.”
Silenceforamomentso
completethatRichardscouldhearthefarawayhonkofsomedistantyacht’sairhorn.
Then,asexual,blaring,amplified:“WEWANTTOTALKTOBENRICHARDS.”
“No,”Richardssaidswiftly.
“Hesayshewon’t.”
“COMEOUTOFTHE
CAR,MADAM.”
“He’llkillme!”shecriedwildly.“Don’tyoulisten?Somemenalmostkilledusbackthere!Hesaysyoudon’tcarewhoyoukill.MyGod,isheright?”
Ahoarsevoiceinthecrowdyelled“Letherthrough!”
“COMEOUTOFTHECARORWE’LLSHOOT.”
“Letherthrough!Letherthrough!”Thecrowdhadtakenupthechantlikeeagerfansatakillballmatch.
“COMEOUT—”
Thecrowddrowneditout.Fromsomewhere,arockflew.Apolicecarwindshieldstaredintoamatrixofcracks.
Therewassuddenlyarevofmotors,andthetwocruisers
begantopullapart,openinganarrowslotofpavement.Thecrowdcheeredhappilyandthenfellsilent,waitingforthenextact.
“ALLCIVILIANSLEAVETHEAREA,”thebullhornchanted.“THEREMAYBESHOOTING.ALLCIVILIANSLEAVETHEAREAORYOUMAYBECHARGEDWITHOBSTRUCTIONAND
UNLAWFULASSEMBLY.THEPENALTYFOROBSTRUCTIONANDUNLAWFULASSEMBLYISTENYEARSINTHESTATEPENITENTIARYORAFINEOFTENTHOUSANDDOLLARSORBOTH.CLEARTHEAREA.CLEARTHEAREA.”
“Yeah,sonoone’llseeyoushootthegirl!”ahystericalvoiceyelled.“Screwall
pigs!”
Thecrowddidn’tmove.Ayellowandblacknewsie-mobilehadpulledupwithaflashyscreech.Twomenjumpedoutandbegansettingupacamera.
Twocopsrushedoverandtherewasashort,savagescuffleforthepossessionofthecamera.Thenoneofthecopsyankeditfree,pickedit
upbythetripod,andsmasheditontheroad.Oneofthenewsmentriedtoreachthecopthathaddoneitandwasclubbed.
Asmallboydartedoutofthecrowdandfiredarockatthebackofacop’shead.Bloodsplatteredtheroadasthecopfellover.Ahalf-dozenmoredescendedontheboy,bearinghimoff.Incredibly,smallandsavage
fistfightshadbegunonthesidelinesbetweenthewell-dressedtownfolkandtherattierslum-dwellers.Awomaninarippedandfadedhousedresssuddenlydescendedonaplumpmatronandbegantopullherhair.Theyfellheavilytotheroadandbegantorollonthemacadam,kickingandscreaming.
“MyGod,”Ameliasaid
sickly.
“What’shappening?”Richardsasked.Hedaredlooknohigherthantheclockonthedashboard.
“Fights.Policehittingpeople.Someonebrokeanewsie’scamera.”
“GIVEUP,RICHARDS.COMEOUT.”
“Driveon,”Richardssaidsoftly.
Theaircarjerkedforwarderratically.“They’llshootfortheaircaps,”shesaid.“Thenwaituntilyouhavetocomeout.”
“Theywon’t,”Richardssaid.
“Why?”
“They’retoodumb.”
Theydidn’t.
Theyproceededslowlypasttherankedpolicecarsandthebug-eyedspectators.Theyhadsplitthemselvesintotwogroupsinunconscioussegregation.Ononesideoftheroadwerethemiddle-andupper-classcitizens,theladieswhohadtheirhairdoneatthebeautyparlor,themen
whoworeArrowshirtsandloafers.Fellowswearingcoverallswithcompanynamesonthebackandtheirownnamesstitchedingoldthreadoverthebreastpockets.WomenlikeAmeliaWilliamsherself,dressedforthemarketandtheshops.Theirfacesweredifferentinallwaysbutsimilarinone:Theylookedoddlyincomplete,likepictureswithholesforeyesorajigsaw
puzzlewithaminorpiecemissing.Itwasalackofdesperation.Richardsthought.Nowolveshowledinthesebellies.Thesemindswerenotfilledwithrotted,crazeddreamsormadhopes.
Thesepeoplewereontherightsideoftheroad,thesidethatfacedthecombinationmarinaandcountryclubtheywerejustpassing.
Ontheotherside,theleft,werethepoorpeople.Rednoseswithburstveins.Flattened,saggingbreasts.Stringyhair.Whitesocks.Coldsores.Pimples.Theblankandhangingmouthsofidiocy.
Thepoliceweredeployedmoreheavilyhere,andmorewerecomingallthetime.Richardswasnotsurprisedattheswiftnessandthe
heavinessoftheircrunch,despitethesuddennessofhisappearance.Evenhere,inBoondocks,U.S.A.,theclubandthegunwerekeptneartohand.Thedogswerekepthungryinthekennel.Thepoorbreakintosummercottagesclosedforautumnandwinter.Thepoorcrashsupermartsinsubteengangs.Thepoorhavebeenknowntosoapbadlyspelledobscenitiesonshopwindows.Thepoor
alwayshaveitchyassholesandthesightofNaugahydeandchromeandtwo-hundred-dollarsuitsandfatbellieshavebeenknowntomakethemouthsofthepoorfillwithangryspit.AndthepoormusthavetheirJackJohnson,theirMuhammadAli,theirClydeBarrow.Theystoodandwatched.
Hereontheright,folks,wehavethesummerpeople,
Richardsthought.Fatandsloppybutheavywitharmor.Ontheleft,weighinginatonlyahundredandthirty—butascrappycontenderwithameanandrollingeyeball—wehavetheHungryHonkies.Theirsarethepoliticsofstarvation;they’drollChristHimselfforapoundofsalami.PolarizationcomestoWestSticksville.Watchoutforthesetwocontenders,though.Theydon’tstayinthe
ring;theyhaveatendencytofightintheten-dollarseats.Canwefindagoattohangupforbothofthem?
Slowly,rollingatthirty,BenRichardspassedbetweenthem.
…Minus038andCOUNTING…
Anhourpassed.Itwasfouro’clock.Shadowscrawledacrosstheroad.
Richards,slumpeddownbeloweyelevelinhisseat,floatedinandoutof
consciousnesseffortlessly.Hehadclumsilypulledhisshirtoutofhispantstolookatthenewwound.Thebullethaddugadeepanduglycanalinhissidethathadbledagreatdeal.Thebloodhadclotted,butgrudgingly.Whenhehadtomovequicklyagain,thewoundwouldripopenandbleedagreatdealmore.Didn’tmatter.Theyweregoingtoblowhimup.Inthefaceofthismassivearmory,
hisplanwasajoke.Hewouldgoaheadwithit,fillintheblanksuntiltherewasan“accident”andtheaircarwasblownintobentboltsandshardsofmetal(“…terribleaccident…thetrooperhasbeensuspendedpendingafullinvestigation…regretthelossofinnocentlife…”—allthisburiedinthelastnewsieoftheday,betweenthestock-marketreportandthePope’slatestpronouncement),butit
wasonlyreflex.HehadbecomeincreasinglyworriedaboutAmeliaWilliams,whosebigmistakehadbeenpickingWednesdaymorningtodohermarketing.
“Therearetanksoutthere,”shesaidsuddenly.Hervoicewaslight,chatty,hysterical.“Canyouimagineit?Canyou—”Shebegantocry.
Richardswaited.Finally,he
said:“Whattownarewein?”
“W-W-Winterport,thesigns-said.Oh,Ican’t!Ican’twaitforthemtodoit!Ican’t!”
“Okay,”hesaid.
Sheblinkedslowly,givinganinfinitesimalshakeofherheadasiftoclearit.“What?”
“Stop.Getout.”
“Butthey’llkilly—”
“Yes.Buttherewon’tbeanyblood.Youwon’tseeanyblood.They’vegotenoughfirepowerouttheretovaporizemeandthecar,too.”
“You’relying.You’llkillme.”
Thegunhadbeendanglingbetweenhisknees.Hedroppeditonthefloor.It
clunkedharmlesslyontherubberfloor-mat.
“Iwantsomepot,”shesaidmindlessly.“OhGod,Iwanttobehigh.Whydidn’tyouwaitforthenextcar?Jesus!Jesus!”
Richardsbegantolaugh.Helaughedinwheezy,shallow-chestedheavesthatstillhurthisside.Heclosedhiseyesandlaugheduntiltearsoozed
outfromunderthelids.
“It’scoldinherewiththatbrokenwindshield,”shesaidirrelevantly.“Turnontheheater.”
Herfacewasapaleblotchintheshadowsoflateafternoon.
…Minus037andCOUNTING…
“We’reinDerry,”shesaid.
Thestreetswereblackwithpeople.Theyhungoverroofledgesandsatonbalconiesandverandahsfromwhichthesummerfurniturehad
beenremoved.Theyatesandwichesandfriedchickenfromgreasybuckets.
“Aretherejetportsigns?”
“Yes.I’mfollowingthem.They’lljustclosethegates.”
“I’lljustthreatentokillyouagainiftheydo.”
“Areyougoingtoskyjackaplane?”
“I’mgoingtotry.”
“Youcan’t.”
“I’msureyou’reright.”
Theymadearight,thenaleft.Bullhornsexhortedthecrowdmonotonouslytomoveback,todisperse.
“Isshereallyyourwife?Thatwomaninthepictures?”
“Yes.HernameisSheila.Ourbaby,Cathy,isayearandahalfold.Shehadtheflu.Maybeshe’sbetternow.That’showIgotintothis.”
Ahelicopterbuzzedthem,leavingahugearachnidshadowontheroadahead.AgrosslyamplifiedvoiceexhortedRichardstoletthewomango.Whenitwasgoneandtheycouldspeakagain,shesaid:
“Yourwifelookslikealittletramp.Shecouldtakebettercareofherself.”
“Thepicturewasdoctored,”Richardssaidtonelessly.
“Theywoulddothat?”
“Theywoulddothat.”
“Thejetport.We’recominguptoit.”
“Arethegatesshut?”
“Ican’tsee…wait…openbutblocked.Atank.It’spointingitsshooteratus.”
“Drivetowithinthirtyfeetofitandstop.”
Thecarcrawledslowlydownthefour-laneaccessroadbetweentheparkedpolicecars,betweentheceaselessscreamandbabble
ofthecrowd.Asignloomedoverthem:VOIGTAIRFIELD.Thewomancouldseeanelectrifiedcyclonefencewhichcrossedamarshy,worthlesssortoffieldonbothsidesoftheroad.Straightaheadwasacombinationinformationboothandcheck-inpointonatrafficisland.Beyondthatwasthemaingate,blockedbyanA-62tankcapableoffiringone-quarter-megaton
shellsfromitscannon.Fartheron,aconfusionofroadsandparkinglots,alltendingtowardthecomplexjetlineterminalsthatblockedtherunwaysfromview.AhugecontroltowerbulkedovereverythinglikeanH.G.WellsMartian,thewesteringsunglaringoffitspolarizedbankofwindowsandturningthemtofire.Employeesandpassengersalikehadcrowdeddowntothenearestparking
lotwheretheywerebeingheldbackbymorepolice.Therewasapulsing,heavywhineintheirears,andAmeliasawasteel-grayLockheed/G-ASuperbirdrisingintoaflat,powerfulclimbfromoneoftherunwaysbehindthemainbuildings.
“RICHARDS!”
Shejumpedandlookedat
him,frightened.Hewavedhishandathernonchalantly.It’sallright,Ma.I’monlydying.
“YOU’RENOTALLOWEDINSIDE,”thehugeamplifiedvoiceadmonishedhim.“LETTHEWOMANGO.STEPOUT.”
“Whatnow?”sheasked.“It’sastand-off.They’lljustwaituntil—”
“Let’spushthemalittlefarther,”Richardssaid.“They’llbluffalongalittlemore.Leanout.TellthemI’mhurtandhalf-crazy.TellthemIwanttogiveuptotheAirlinePolice.”
“Youwanttodowhat?”
“TheAirlinePoliceareneitherstateenforcementnorfederal.They’vebeeninternationaleversincethe
UNtreatyof1995.Thereusedtobeastorythatifyougaveuptothem,you’dgetamnesty.SortoflikelandingonFreeParkinginMonopoly.Fullofshit,ofcourse.TheyturnyouovertotheHuntersandtheHuntersdragyououtinbackofthebarn.”
Shewinced.
“Butmaybethey’llthinkIbelieveit.OrthatI’vefooled
myselfintobelievingit.Goaheadandtellthem.”
SheleanedoutandRichardstensed.Iftherewasgoingtobean“unfortunateaccident”whichwouldremoveAmeliafromthepicture,itwouldprobablyhappennow.Herheadandupperbodywereclearlyandcleanlyexposedtoathousandguns.Onesqueezeononetriggerandtheentirefarcewouldcome
toaquickend.
“BenRichardswantstogiveuptotheAirlinePolice!”shecried.“He’sshotintwoplaces!”Shethrewaterrifiedglanceoverhershoulderandhervoicebroke,highandclearinthesuddensilencethediminishingjethadleft.“He’sbeenoutofhismindhalfthetimeandGodI’msofrightened…please…please…PLEASE!”
Thecameraswererecordingitall,sendingitonalivefeedthatwouldbebroadcastalloverNorthAmericaandhalftheworldinamatterofminutes.Thatwasgood.Thatwasfine.Richardsfelttensionstiffenhislimbsagainandknewhewasbeginningtohope.
Silenceforamoment;therewasaconferencegoingonbehindthecheck-pointbooth.
“Verygood,”Richardssaidsoftly.
Shelookedathim.“Doyouthinkit’shardtosoundfrightened?We’renotinthistogether,whateveryouthink.Ionlywantyoutogoaway.”
Richardsnoticedforthefirsttimehowperfectherbreastswerebeneaththebloodstainedblackandgreenblouse.Howperfectandhow
precious.
Therewasasudden,grindingroarandshescreamedaloud.
“It’sthetank,”hesaid.“It’sokay.Justthetank.”
“It’smoving,”shesaid.“They’regoingtoletusin.”
“RICHARDS!YOUWILLPROCEEDTOLOT16.
AIRLINEPOLICEWILLBEWAITINGTHERETOTAKEYOUINTOCUSTODY!”
“Allright,”hesaidthinly.“Driveon.Whenyougetahalfamileinsidethegate,stop.”
“You’regoingtogetmekilled,”shesaidhopelessly.“AllIneedtodoisusethebathroomandyou’regoingto
getmekilled.”
Theaircarliftedfourinchesandhummedsmoothlyforward.Richardscrouchedgoingthroughthegate,anticipatingapossibleambush,buttherewasnone.Thesmoothblacktopcurvedsedatelytowardthemainbuildings.AsignwithapointingarrowinformedthemthatthiswasthewaytoLots16–20.
Herethepolicewerestandingandkneelingbehindyellowbarricades.
Richardsknewthatattheslightestsuspiciousmove,theywouldteartheaircarapart.
“Nowstop,”hesaid,andshedid.
Thereactionwasinstantaneous.“RICHARDS!
MOVEIMMEDIATELYTOLOT16!”
“TellthemthatIwantabullhorn,”Richardssaidsoftlytoher.“Theyaretoleaveoneintheroadtwentyyardsup.Iwanttotalktothem.”
Shecriedhismessage,andthentheywaited.Amomentlater,amaninablueuniformtrottedoutintotheroadand
laidanelectricbullhorndown.Hestoodthereforamoment,perhapssavoringtherealizationthathewasbeingseenbyfivehundredmillionpeople,andthenwithdrewtobarricadedanonymityagain.
“Goahead,”hetoldher.
Theycreptuptothebullhorn,andwhenthedriver’ssidedoorwasevenwithit,sheopenedthedoor
andpulleditin.Itwasredandwhite.ThelettersGandA,embossedoverathunderbolt,wereontheside.
“Okay,”hesaid.“Howfararewefromthemainbuilding?”
Shesquinted.“Aquarterofamile,Iguess.”
“HowfararewefromLot16?”
“Halfthat.”
“Good.That’sgood.Yeah.”Herealizedhewascompulsivelybitinghislipsandtriedtomakehimselfstop.Hisheadhurt;hisentirebodyachedfromadrenaline.“Keepdriving.GouptotheentranceofLot16andthenstop.”
“Thenwhat?”
Hesmiledtightlyandunhappily.“That,”hesaid,“isgoingtobethesiteofRichards’sLastStand.”
…Minus036andCOUNTING…
Whenshestoppedthecarattheentranceoftheparkinglot,thereactionwasquickandimmediate.“KEEPMOVING,”thebullhornprodded.“THEAIRPORTPOLICEAREINSIDE.AS
SPECIFIED.”
Richardsraisedhisownbullhornforthefirsttime.“TENMINUTES,”hesaid.“IHAVETOTHINK.”
Silenceagain.
“Don’tyourealizeyou’repushingthemtodoit?”sheaskedhiminastrange,controlledvoice.
Heutteredaweird,squeezedgigglethatsoundedlikesteamunderhighpressureescapingfromateapot.“TheyknowI’mgettingsettoscrewthem.Theydon’tknowhow.”
“Youcan’t,”shesaid.“Don’tyouseethatyet?”
“MaybeIcan,”hesaid.
…Minus035andCOUNTING…
“Listen:
“WhentheGamesfirststarted,peoplesaidtheyweretheworld’sgreatestentertainmentbecausetherehadneverbeenanythinglike
them.Butnothing’sthatoriginal.TherewerethegladiatorsinRomewhodidthesamething.Andthere’sanothergame,too.Poker.Inpokerthehighesthandisaroyalstraight-flushinspades.Andthetoughestkindofpokerisfive-cardstud.Fourcardsuponthetableandoneinthehole.Fornickelsanddimesanyonecanstayinthegame.Itcostsyoumaybehalfabucktoseetheotherguy’s
holecard.Butwhenyoupushthestakesup,theholecardstartstolookbiggerandbigger.Afteradozenroundsofbetting,withyourlife’ssavingsandcarandhouseontheline,thatholecardstandstallerthanMountEverest.TheRunningManislikethat.OnlyI’mnotsupposedtohaveanymoneytobetwith.They’vegotthemen,thefirepower,andthetime.We’replayingwiththeir
cardsandtheirchipsintheircasino.WhenI’mcaught,I’msupposedtofold.ButmaybeIstackedthedeckabit.IcalledthenewsielineinRockland.Thenewsies,that’smytenofspades.Theyhadtogivemesafeconduct,becauseeveryonewaswatching.Therewerenomorechancesforneatdisposalafterthatfirstroadblock.It’sfunny,too,becauseit’stheFree-VeethatgivestheNetworkthe
cloutthatithas.IfyouseeitontheFree-Vee,itmustbetrue.Soifthewholecountrysawthepolicemurdermyhostage—awell-to-do,middle-classfemalehostage—theywouldhavetobelieveit.Theycan’triskit;thesystemislaboringundertoomuchsuspensionofbeliefnow.Funny,huh?Mypeoplearehere.There’sbeentroubleontheroadalready.IfthetroopersandtheHuntersturn
alltheirgunsonus,somethingnastymighthappen.Amantoldmetostaynearmyownpeople.Hewasmorerightthanheknew.Oneofthereasonsthey’vebeenhandlingmewiththekidglovesonisbecausemypeoplearehere.
“Mypeople,they’rethejackofspades.
“Thequeen,theladyinthe
affair,isyou.
“I’mtheking;theblackmanwiththesword.
“Thesearemyupcards.Themedia,thepossibilityofrealtrouble,you,me.Togetherthey’renothing.Apairwilltakethem.Withouttheaceofspadesit’sjunk.Withtheace,it’sun-beatable.”
Hesuddenlypickedupher
handbag,animitationalligator-skinclutchpursewithasmallsilverchain.Hestuffeditintohiscoatpocketwhereitbulgedprominently.
“Ihaven’tgottheace,”hesaidsoftly.“Withalittlemoreforethought,Icouldhavehadit.ButIdohaveaholecard—onetheycan’tsee.SoI’mgoingtorunabluff.”
“Youdon’thaveachance,”shesaidhollowly.“Whatcanyoudowithmybag?Shootthemwithalipstick?”
“Ithinkthatthey’vebeenplayingacrookedgamesolongthatthey’llfold.Ithinktheyareyellowstraightthroughfromthebacktobelly.”
“RICHARDS!TENMINUTESAREUP!”
Richardsputthebullhorntohislips.
…Minus034andCOUNTING…
“LISTENTOMECAREFULLY!”Hisvoiceboomedandrolledacrosstheflatjetportacres.Policewaitedtensely.Thecrowdshuffled.“IAMCARRYINGTWELVEPOUNDSOF
DYNACOREHI-IMPACTPLASTICEXPLOSIVEINMYCOATPOCKET—THEVARIETYTHEYCALLBLACKIRISH.TWELVEPOUNDSISENOUGHTOTAKEOUTEVERYTHINGANDEVERYONEWITHINATHIRDOFAMILEANDPROBABLYENOUGHTOEXPLODETHEJETPORTFUELSTORAGETANKS.IFYOUDON’TFOLLOWMYINSTRUCTIONSTO
THELETTER,I’LLBLOWYOUALLTOHELL.AGENERALATOMICSIMPLODERRINGISSETINTOTHEEXPLOSIVE.IHAVEITPULLEDOUTTOHALF-COCK.ONEJIGGLEANDYOUCANALLPUTYOURHEADSBETWEENYOURLEGSANDKISSYOURASSESGOODBYE.”
Therewerescreamsfromthecrowdfollowedby
suddentidelikemovement.Thepoliceatthebarricadessuddenlyfoundtheyhadnoonetoholdback.Menandwomenweretearingacrossroadsandfields,streamingoutthegatesandscalingthecyclonefencearoundthejetport.Theirfaceswereblankandavidwithpanic.
Thepoliceshuffleduneasily.OnnofacedidAmeliaWilliamssee
disbelief.
“RICHARDS?”Thehugevoiceboomed.“THAT’SALIE.COMEOUT.”
“IAMCOMINGOUT,”heboomedback.“BUTBEFOREIDO,LETMEGIVEYOUYOURMARCHINGORDERS.IWANTAJETFULLYFUELEDANDREADYTOFLYWITHASKELETON
CREW.THISJETWILLBEALOCKHEED/GAORADELTASUPERSONIC.THERANGEMUSTBEATLEASTTWOTHOUSANDMILES.THISWILLBEREADYINNINETYMINUTES.”
Camerasreelingandcrankingaway.Flashbulbspopping.Thepresslookeduneasytoo.But,ofcourse,therewasthepsychic
pressureofthosefivehundredmillionwatcherstobeconsidered.Theywerereal.Thejobwasreal.AndRichards’stwelvepoundsofBlackIrishmightbejustafigmentofhisadmirablecriminalmentality.
“RICHARDS?”Amandressedonlyindarkslacksandawhiteshirtrolleduptotheelbowsinspiteofthefallchillstrolledoutfrombehind
agaggleofunmarkedcarsfiftyyardsbeyondLot16.HewascarryingabullhornlargerthanRichards’s.Fromthisdistance,Ameliacouldseeonlythathewaswearingsmallspectacles;theyflashedinthedyingsunlight.
“IAMEVANMcCONE.”
Heknewthename,ofcourse.Itwassupposedtostrikefearintohisheart.He
wasnotsurprisedtofindthatitdidstrikefearintohisheart.EvanMcConewastheChiefHunter.AdirectdescendantofJ.EdgarHooverandHeinrichHimmler,hethought.ThepersonificationofthesteelinsidetheNetwork’scathodeglove.Aboogeyman.Anametofrightenbadchildrenwith.Ifyoudon’tstopplayingwithmatches,Johnny,I’llletEvanMcConeoutofyourcloset.
Fleetingly,intheeyeofmemory,herecalledadreamvoice.Areyoutheman,littlebrother?
“YOU’RELYING,RICHARDS.WEKNOWIT.AMANWITHOUTAG-ARATINGHASNOWAYOFGETTINGDYNACORE.LETTHEWOMANGOANDCOMEOUT.WEDON’TWANTTOHAVETOKILLHER,TOO.”
Ameliamadeaweak,wretchedhissingnoise.
Richardsboomed:“THATMAYGOOVERINSHAKERHEIGHTS,LITTLEMAN.INTHESTREETSYOUCANBUYDYNACOREEVERYTWOBLOCKSIFYOU’VEGOTCASHONTHELINE.ANDIDID.GAMESFEDERATIONMONEY.YOUHAVEEIGHTY-SIX
MINUTES.”
“NODEAL.”
“McCONE?”
“YES.”
“I’MSENDINGTHEWOMANOUTNOW.SHE’SSEENTHEIRISH.”Ameliawaslookingathimwithstunnedhorror.“MEANWHILE,YOU
BETTERGETITINGEAR.EIGHTY-FIVEMINUTES.I’MNOTBLUFFING,ASSHOLE.ONEBULLETANDWE’REALLGOINGTOTHEMOON.”
“No,”shewhispered.Herfacewasanunbelievingrictus.“Youcan’tbelieveI’mgoingtolieforyou.”
“Ifyoudon’t,I’mdead.I’mshotandbrokenandhardly
consciousenoughtoknowwhatI’msaying,butIknowthisisthebestway,onewayortheother.Nowlisten?Dynacoreiswhiteandsolid,slightlygreasytothetouch.It—”
“No,no!No!”Sheclappedherhandsoverherears.
“ItlookslikeabarofIvorysoap.Verydense,though.NowI’mgoingtodescribe
theimploderring.Itlooks—”
Shebegantoweep.“Ican’t,don’tyouknowthat?Ihavemydutyasacitizen.Myconscience.Ihavemy—”
“Yeah,andtheymightfindoutyoulied,”headdeddryly.“Excepttheywon’t.Becauseifyoubackme,they’llcavein.I’llbeofflikeabigassbird.”
“Ican’t!”
“RICHARDS!SENDTHEWOMANOUT!”
“Theimploderringisgold,”hecontinued.“Abouttwoinchesindiameter.Itlookslikeakeyringwithnokeysinit.AttachedtoitisaslimrodlikeamechanicalpencilwithaG-Atriggerdeviceattachedtoit.Thetriggerdevicelooksliketheeraseronthepencil.”
Shewasrockingbackandforth,moaningalittle.Shehadacheekineitherhandandwastwistingherfleshasifitweredough.
“ItoldthemIhadpulledouttohalf-cock.ThatmeansyouwouldbeabletoseeasinglesmallnotchjustabovethesurfaceoftheIrish.Gotit?”
Noanswer;sheweptandmoanedandrocked.
“Sureyoudo,”hesaidsoftly.“You’reabrightgirl,aren’tyou?”
“I’mnotgoingtolie,”shesaid.
“Iftheyaskyouanythingelse,youdon’tknowfromRooty-Toot.Youdidn’tsee.Youweretooscared.Exceptforonething:I’vebeenholdingtheringeversincethatfirstroadblock.You
didn’tknowwhatitwas,butIhaditinmyhand.”
“Betterkillmenow.”
“Goon,”hesaid.“Getout.”
Shestaredathimconvulsively,hermouthworking,hereyesdarkholes.Thepretty,self-assuredwomanwiththewraparoundshadeswasallgone.Richardswonderedifthatwoman
wouldeverreappear.Hedidnotthinkso.Notwholly.
“Go,”hesaid.“Go.Go.”
“I—I—Ah,God—”
Shelungedagainstthedoorandhalfsprang,halffellout.Shewasonherfeetinstantlyandrunning.Herhairstreamedoutbehindherandsheseemedverybeautiful,almostgoddesslike,andshe
ranintothelukewarmstarburstofamillionflashbulbs.
Carbinesflashedup,ready,andwereloweredasthecrowdateher.Richardsriskedcockinganeyebrowoverthedriver’ssidewindowbutcouldseenothing.
Heslouchedbackdown,glancedathiswatch,andwaitedfordissolution.
…Minus033andCOUNTING…
Theredsecondhandonhiswatchmadetwocircles.Anothertwo.Anothertwo.
“RICHARDS!”
Heraisedthebullhorntohis
lips.“SEVENTY-NINEMINUTES,McCONE.”
Playitrightuptotheend.Theonlywaytoplayit.RightuptothemomentMcConegavetheordertofireatwill.Itwouldbequick.Anditdidn’treallyseemtomatterawholehellofalot.
Afteralonggrudging,eternalpause:“WENEEDMORETIME.ATLEAST
THREEHOURS.THEREISN’TANL/G-AORADELTAONTHISFIELD.ONEWILLHAVETOBEFLOWNIN.”
Shehaddoneit.O,amazinggrace.Thewomanhadlookedintotheabyssandthenwalkedoutacrossit.Nonet.Nowayback.Amazing.
Ofcoursetheydidn’tbelieveher.Itwastheir
businessnottobelieveanyoneaboutanything.Rightnowtheywouldbehustlinghertoaprivateroominoneoftheterminals,halfadozenofMcCone’spickedinterrogatorswaiting.Andwhentheygotherthere,thelitanywouldbegin.Ofcourseyou’reupset,Mrs.Williams,butjustfortherecord…wouldyoumindgoingthroughthisoncemore…we’repuzzledbyonesmall
thinghere…areyousurethatwasn’ttheotherwayaround…howdoyouknow…why…thenwhatdidhesay…
Sothecorrectmovewastobuytime.FobRichardsoffwithoneexcuseandthenanother.There’safuelingproblem,weneedmoretime.Nocrewisonthejetportgrounds,weneedmoretime.There’saflyingsauceroverRunwayZero-Seven,weneed
moretime.Andwehaven’tbrokenheryet.Haven’tquitegottenhertoadmitthatyourhighexplosiveconsistsofanalligatorhandbagstuffedwithassortedKleenexandchangeandcosmeticsandcreditcards.Weneedmoretime.
Wecan’ttakeachanceonkillingyouyet.Weneedmoretime.
“RICHARDS?”
“LISTENTOME,”hemegaphonedback.“YOUHAVESEVENTY-FIVEMINUTES.THENITALLGOESUP.”
Noreply.
SpectatorshadbeguntocreepbackinspiteofArmageddon’sshadow.Theireyeswerewideandwetandsexual.Anumberofportablespotlightshadbeen
requisitionedandfocusedonthelittlecar,bathingitinadepthlessglowandemphasizingtheshatteredwindshield.
Richardstriedtoimaginethelittleroomwheretheywouldbeholdingher,probingherforthetruth,andcouldnot.Thepresswouldbeexcluded,ofcourse.McCone’smenwouldbetryingtoscarethetitsoffher
andundoubtedlywouldbesucceeding.Buthowfarwouldtheydaregowithawomanwhodidnotbelongtotheghettosocietyofthepoorwherepeoplehadnofaces?Drugs.Thereweredrugs,Richardsknew,drugsthatMcConecouldcommandimmediately,drugsthatcouldmakeaYaquiIndianbabbleouthisentirelifestorylikeababeinarms.Drugsthatwouldmakeapriestrattleoff
penitents’confessionslikeastenographer’srecordingmachine.
Alittleviolence?Themodifiedelectricmove-alongsthathadworkedsowellintheSeattleriotsof2005?Oronlythesteadybatteringoftheirquestions?
Thethoughtsservednopurpose,buthecouldnotshutthemoutorturnthemoff.
BeyondtheterminalstherewastheunmistakablewhineofaLockheedcarrierbeingwarmedup.Hisbird.Thesoundofitcameinrisingandfallingcycles.Whenitcutoffsuddenly,heknewthefuelinghadbegun.Twentyminutesiftheywerehurrying.Richardsdidnotthinktheywouldbehurrying.
Well,well,well.Hereweare.Allthecardsonthetable
butone.
McCone?McCone,areyoupeekingyet?Haveyouslicedintohermindyet?
Shadowslengthenedacrossthefieldandeverybodywaited.
…Minus032andCOUNTING…
Richardsdiscoveredthattheoldclichéwasalie.Timedidnotstandstill.Insomewaysitwouldhavebeenbetterifithad.Thenthereatleastwouldhavebeenanendtohope.
TwicetheamplifiedvoiceinformedRichardsthathewaslying.Hetoldthemifitwasso,theyhadbetteropenup.FiveminuteslateranewamplifiedvoicetoldhimthattheLockheed’sflapswerefrozenandthatfuelingwouldhavetobeginwithanotherplane.Richardstoldthemthatwasfine.Aslongastheplanewasreadytogobytheoriginaldeadline.
Theminutescreptby.Twenty-sixleft,twenty-five,twenty-two,twenty(shehasn’tbrokenyet,myGod,maybe—),eighteen,fifteen(theplane’senginesagain,risingtoastridenthowlasthegroundcrewswentthroughfuel-systemandpreflightchecks),tenminutes,theneight.
“RICHARDS?”
“HERE.”
“WEHAVESIMPLYGOTTOHAVEMORETIME.THEBIRD’SFLAPSAREFROZENSOLID.WE’REGOINGTOIRRIGATETHEVANESWITHLIQUIDHYDROGENBUTWESIMPLYHAVETOHAVETIME.”
“YOUHAVEIT.SEVENMINUTES.THENIAM
GOINGTOPROCEEDTOTHEAIRFIELDUSINGTHESERVICERAMP.IWILLBEDRIVINGWITHONEHANDONTHEWHEELANDONEHANDONTHEIMPLODERRING.ALLGATESWILLBEOPENED.ANDREMEMBERTHATI’LLBEGETTINGCLOSERTOTHOSEFUELTANKSALLTHETIME.”
“YOUDON’TSEEMTOREALIZETHATWE—”
“I’MTHROUGHTALKING,FELLOWS.SIXMINUTES.”
Thesecondhandmadeitsorderly,regularturns.Threeminutesleft,two,one.Theywouldbegoingforbrokeinthelittleroomhecouldnotimagine.HetriedtocallAmelia’simageupinhis
mindandfailed.Itwasalreadyblurringintootherfaces.OnecompositefacecomposedofStaceyandBradleyandEltonandVirginiaParrakisandtheboywiththedog.AllhecouldrememberwasthatshewassoftandprettyintheuninspiredwaythatsomanywomencanbethankstoMaxFactorandRevlonandtheplasticsurgeonswhotuckandtieandsmoothoutand
unbend.Soft.Soft.Buthardinsomedeepplace.Wheredidyougohard,WASPwoman?Areyouhardenough?Orareyoublowingthegamerightnow?
Hefeltsomethingwarmrunningdownhischinanddiscoveredhehadbittenhislipsthrough,notoncebutseveraltimes.
Hewipedhismouth
absently,leavingatear-drop-shapedsmearofbloodonhissleeve,anddroppedthecarintogear.Itroseobediently,liftersgrumbling.
“RICHARDS!IFYOUMOVETHATCAR,WE’LLSHOOT!THEGIRLTALKED!WEKNOW!”
Noonefiredashot.
Inaway,itwasalmost
anticlimactic.
…Minus031andCOUNTING…
Theservicerampdescribedarisingarcaroundtheglassine,futuristicNorthernStatesTerminal.ThewaywaslinedwithpoliceholdingeverythingfromMace-Bandteargastoheavyarmor-
piercingweaponry.Theirfaceswereflat,dull,uniform.Richardsdroveslowly,sittingupstraightnow,andtheylookedathimwithvacant,bovineawe.Inmuchthesameway,Richardsthought,thatcowsmustlookatafarmerwhohadgonemadandlieskickingandsun-fishingandscreamingonthebarnfloor.
Thegatetotheservicearea
(CAUTION—EMPLOYEESONLY—NOSMOKING—UNAUTHORIZEDPERSONSKEEPOUT)hadbeenswungopen,andRichardsdrovesedatelythrough,passingranksofhigh-octanetankertrucksandsmallprivateplanespulledupontheirchocks.Beyondthemwasataxiway,wideoil-blackenedcementwithexpansionjoints.Herehisbirdwaswaiting,ahuge
whitejumbojetwithadozenturbineenginessoftlygrumbling.Beyond,runwaysstretchedstraightandcleanintothegatheringtwilight,seemingtoapproachameetingpointonthehorizon.Thebird’sroll-upstairwaywasjustbeingputintoplacebyfourmenwearingcoveralls.ToRichards,itlookedlikethestairsleadingtoascaffold.
And,asiftocompletetheimage,theexecutionersteppedneatlyoutoftheshadowsthattheplane’shugebellythrew.EvanMcCone.
Richardslookedathimwiththecuriosityofamanseeingacelebrityforthefirsttime—nomatterhowmanytimesyouseehispictureinthemovie3-D’syoucan’tbelievehisrealityuntilheappearsintheflesh—and
thentherealitytakesonacurioustoneofhallucination,asifentityhadnorighttoexistseparatefromimage.
Hewasasmallmanwearingrimlessglasses,withafaintsuggestionofapotbellybeneathhiswell-tailoredsuit.ItwasrumoredthatMcConeworeelevatorshoes,butifso,theywereunobtrusive.Therewasasmallsilverflag-pininhis
lapel.Allinall,hedidnotlooklikeamonsteratall,theinheritorofsuchfearsomealphabet-soupbureausastheF.B.I.andtheC.I.A.Notlikeamanwhohadmasteredthetechniqueoftheblackcarinthenight,therubberclub,theslyquestionaboutrelativesbackhome.Notlikeamanwhohadmasteredtheentirespectrumoffear.
“BenRichards?”Heusedno
bullhorn,andwithoutithisvoicewassoftandculturedwithoutbeingeffeminateintheslightest.
“Yes.”
“IhaveaswornbillfromtheGamesFederation,anaccreditedarmoftheNetworkCommunicationsCommission,foryourapprehensionandexecution.Willyouhonorit?”
“Doesahenneedaflag?”
“Ah.”McConesoundedpleased.“Theformalitiesaretakencareof.Ibelieveinformalities,don’tyou?No,ofcourseyoudon’t.You’vebeenaveryinformalcontestant.That’swhyyou’restillalive.DidyouknowyousurpassedthestandingRunningManrecordofeightdaysandfivehourssometwohoursago?Ofcourseyou
don’t.Butyouhave.Yes.AndyourescapefromtheY.M.C.A.inBoston.Sterling.IunderstandtheNielsenratingontheprogramjumpedtwelvepoints.”
“Wonderful.”
“Ofcourse,wealmosthadyouduringthatPortlandinterlude.Badluck.Parrakissworewithhisdyingbreaththatyouhadjumpedshipin
Auburn.Webelievedhim;hewassoobviouslyafrightenedlittleman.”
“Obviously,”Richardsechoedsoftly.
“Butthislastplayhasbeensimplybrilliant.Isaluteyou.Inaway,I’malmostsorrythegamehastoend.IsuspectIshallneverrunupagainstamoreinventiveopponent.”
“Toobad,”Richardssaid.
“It’sover,youknow,”McConesaid.“Thewomanbroke.WeusedSodiumPentothalonher.Old,butreliable.”Hepulledasmallautomatic.“Stepout,Mr.Richards.Iwillpayyoutheultimatecompliment.I’mgoingtodoitrighthere,wherenoonecanfilmit.Yourdeathwillbeoneofrelativeprivacy.”
“Getready,then.”Richardsgrinned.
Heopenedthedoorandsteppedout.Thetwomenfacedeachotheracrosstheblankserviceareacement.
…Minus030andCOUNTING…
ItwasMcConewhobrokethedeadlockfirst.Hethrewbackhisheadandlaughed.
Itwasaveryculturedlaugh,softandvelvet.“Oh,youaresogood,Mr.Richards.Par
excellence.Raise,call,andraiseagain.Isaluteyouwithhonesty:Thewomanhasnotbroken.ShemaintainsstubbornlythatthebulgeIseeinyourpocketthereisBlackIrish.Wecan’tS.A.P.herbecauseitleavesadefinabletrace.AsingleE.E.G.onthewomanandoursecretwouldbeout.WeareintheprocessofliftinginthreeampoulesofCanogynfromNewYork.Leavesnotrace.Weexpectit
infortyminutes.Notintimetostopyou,alas.
“Sheislying.It’sobvious.Ifyouwillpardonatouchofwhatyourfellowsliketocallelitism,Iwilloffermyobservationthatthemiddleclasslieswellonlyaboutsex.MayIofferanotherobservation?OfcourseImay.Iam.”McConesmiled.“Isuspectit’sherhandbag.Wenoticedshehadnone,
althoughshehadbeenshopping.We’requiteobservant.Whathappenedtoherpurseifitisn’tinyourpocket,Richards?”
Hewouldnotpickupthegambit.“Shootmeifyou’resosure.”
McConespreadhishandssorrowfully.“HowwellI’dloveto!Butonedoesnottakechanceswithhumanlife,not
evenwhentheoddsarefiftytooneinyourfavor.ToomuchlikeRussianroulette.Humanlifehasacertainsacredquality.Thegovernment—ourgovernment—realizesthis.Wearehumane.”
“Yes,yes,”Richardssaid,andsmiledferally.McConeblinked.
“Soyousee—”
Richardsstarted.Themanwashypnotizinghim.Theminuteswereflying,ahelicopterwascomingupfromBostonloadedwiththreeampoulesofjack-me-up-and-turn-me-over(andifMcConesaidfortyminuteshemeanttwenty),andherehestood,listeningtothisman’stinklinglittleanthem.God,hewasamonster.
“Listentome,”Richards
saidharshly,interrupting.“Thespeechisshort,littleman.Whenyouinjecther,she’sgoingtosingthesametune.Fortherecord,it’sallhere.Dig?”
HelockedhisgazewithMcCone’sandbegantowalkforward.
“I’llseeyou,shiteater.”
McConesteppedaside.
Richardsdidn’tevenbothertolookathimashepassed.Theircoatsleevesbrushed.
“Fortherecord,Iwastoldthepullonhalf-cockwasaboutthreepounds.I’vegotabouttwoandahalfonnow.Giveortake.”
Hehadthesatisfactionofhearingtheman’sbreathwhistlealittlefaster.
“Richards?”
HelookedbackfromthestairsandMcConewaslookingupathim,thegoldedgesofhisglassesgleamingandflashing.“Whenyougetintheair,we’regoingtoshootyoudownwithaground-to-airmissile.ThestoryforthepublicwillbethatRichardsgotalittleitchyonthetrigger.R.I.P.”
“Youwon’t,though.”
“No?”
Richardsbegantosmileandgavehalfareason.“We’regoingtobeverylowandoverheavilypopulatedareas.AddtwelvefuelpodstotwelvepoundsofIrishandyougotaverybigbangpotential.Toobig.You’ddoitifyoucouldgetawaywithit,butyoucan’t.”Hepaused.“You’reso
bright.Didyouanticipatemeontheparachute?”
“Oh,yes,”McConesaidcalmly.“It’sintheforwardpassengercompartment.Sucholdhat,Mr.Richards.Ordoyouhaveanothertrickinyourbag?”
“Youhaven’tbeenstupidenoughtotamperwiththechute,either,I’llbet.”
“Ohno.Tooobvious.Andyouwouldpullthatnonexistentimploderringjustbeforeyoustruck,Iimagine.Quiteaneffectiveairburst.”
“Goodbye,littleman.”
“Goodbye,Mr.Richards.Andbonvoyage.”Hechuckled.“Yes,youdoratehonesty.SoIwillshowyouonemorecard.Justone.Wearegoingtowaitforthe
Canogynbeforetakingaction.Youareabsolutelyrightaboutthemissile.Fornow,justabluff.Callandraiseagain,eh?ButIcanaffordtowait.Yousee,Iamneverwrong.Never.AndIknowyouarebluffing.Sowecanaffordtowait.ButI’mkeepingyou.’Voir,Mr.Richards.”Hewaved.
“Soon,”Richardssaid,butnotloudenoughforMcCone
tohear.Andhegrinned.
…Minus029andCOUNTING…
Thefirst-classcompartmentwaslongandthreeaisleswide,paneledwithrealagedsequoia.Awine-coloredrugwhichfeltyardsdeepcoveredthefloor.A3-Dmoviescreenwascrankedupandoutofthe
wayonthefarwallbetweenthefirstclassandthegalley.Inseat100,thebulkyparachutepacksat.Richardspatteditbrieflyandwentthroughthegalley.Someonehadevenputcoffeeon.
Hesteppedthroughanotherdoorandstoodinashortthroatwhichledtothepilots’compartment.Totherighttheradiooperator,amanofperhapsthirtywithacare-
linedface,lookedatRichardsbitterlyandthenbackathisinstruments.Afewstepsupandtotheleft,thenavigatorsatathisboardsandgridsandplastic-encasedcharts.
“Thefellowwho’sgoingtogetusallkillediscomingupfellas,”hesaidintohisthroatmike.HegazedcoollyatRichards.
Richardssaidnothing.The
man,afterall,wasalmostcertainlyright.Helimpedintothenoseoftheplane.
Thepilotwasfiftyorbetter,anoldwar-horsewiththerednoseofasteadydrinker,andtheclear,perceptiveeyesofamanwhowasnotevenclosetothealcoholicedge.Hisco-pilotwastenyearsyounger,withaluxuriantgrowthofredhairspillingoutfromunderhiscap.
“Hello,Mr.Richards,”thepilotsaid.HeglancedatthebulgeinRichards’spocketbeforehelookedathisface.“PardonmeifIdon’tshakehands.I’mFlightCaptainDonHolloway.Thisismyco-pilotWayneDuninger.”
“Underthecircumstances,notverypleasedtomeetyou,”Duningersaid.
Richards’smouthquirked.
“Inthesamespirit,letmeaddthatI’msorrytobehere.CaptainHolloway,you’repatchedintocommunicationswithMcCone,aren’tyou?”
“Wesureare.ThroughKippyFriedman,ourcommunicationsman.”
“Givemesomethingtotalkinto.”
Hollowayhandedhima
microphonewithinfinitecarefulness.
“Getgoingonyourpreflight,”Richardssaid.“Fiveminutes.”
“Willyouwanttheexplosiveboltsontherearloadingdoorarmed?”Duningersaidwithgreateagerness.
“Tendyourknitting,”
Richardssaidcoldly.Itwastimetofinishitoff,makethefinalbet.Hisbrainfelthot,overheated,onthevergeofblowingabearing.Callandraise,thatwasthegame.
I’mgoingtosky’sthelimitrightnow,McCone.
“Mr.Friedman?”
“Yes.”
“ThisisRichards.IwanttotalktoMcCone.”
Deadairforhalfaminute.HollowayandDuningerweren’twatchinghimanymore;theyweregoingthroughpreflight,readinggaugesandpressures,checkingflaps,doors,switches.TherisingandfallingofthehugeG-Aturbinesbeganagain,butnowmuchlouder,strident.When
McCone’svoicefinallycame,itwassmallagainstthebrutenoise.
“McConehere.”
“Comeon,maggot.Youandthewomanaregoingforaride.ShowupattheloadingdoorinthreeminutesorIpullthering.”
Duningerstiffenedinhisbucketseatasifhehadbeen
shot.Whenhewentbacktohisnumbershisvoicewasshakenandterrified.
Ifhe’sgotguts,thisiswherehecalls.Askingforthewomangivesitaway.Ifhe’sgotguts.
Richardswaited.
Aclockwastickinginhishead.
…Minus028andCOUNTING…
WhenMcCone’svoicecame,itcontainedaforeign,blusterynote.Fear?Possibly.Richards’sheartlurchedinhischest.Maybeitwasallgoingtofalltogether.Maybe.
“You’renuts,Richards.I’mnot—”
“Youlisten,”Richardssaid,punchingthroughMcCone’svoice.“Andwhileyouare,rememberthatthisconversationisbeingparty-linedbyeveryhamoperatorwithinsixtymiles.Thewordisgoingtogetaround.You’renotworkinginthedark,littleman.You’rerightoutonthebigstage.You’recoming
becauseyou’retoochicken-shittopulladoublecrosswhenyouknowitwillgetyoudead.Thewoman’scomingbecauseItoldherwhereIwasgoing.”
Weak.Punchhimharder.Don’tlethimthink.
“EvenifyoushouldlivewhenIpullthering,youwon’tbeabletogetajobsellingapples.”Hewas
clutchingthehandbaginhispocketwithfrantic,maniacaltightness.“Sothat’sit.Threeminutes.Signingoff.”
“Richards,wait—”
Hesignedoff,chokingMcCone’svoice.HehandedthemikebacktoHolloway,andHollowaytookitwithfingersthattrembledonlyslightly.
“You’vegotguts,”Hollowaysaidslowly.“I’llsaythat.Idon’tthinkIeversawsomuchguts.”
“Therewillbemoregutsthananyoneeversawifhepullsthatring,”Duningersaid.
“Continuewithyourpreflight,please,”Richardssaid.“Iamgoingbacktowelcomeourguests.Wego
infiveminutes.”
Hewentbackandpushedthechuteovertothewindowseat,thensatdownwatchingthedoorbetweenfirstclassandsecondclass.Hewouldknowverysoon.Hewouldknowverysoon.
Hishandworkedwithsteady,helplessrestlessnessonAmeliaWilliams’shandbag.
Outsideitwasalmostfulldark.
…Minus027andCOUNTING…
Theycameupthestairswithafullforty-fivesecondstospare.Ameliawaspantingandfrightened,herhairblownintoahaphazardbeehivebythesteadywindthatrolledthismanmade
flatland.McCone’sappearancewasoutwardlyunchanged;heremainedneatandunaffected,unruffledyoumightsay,buthiseyesweredarkwithahatethatwasnearlypsychotic.
“Youhaven’twonathing,maggot,”hesaidquietly.“Wehaven’tevenstartedtoplayourtrumpcardsyet.”
“It’snicetoseeyouagain,
Mrs.Williams,”Richardssaidmildly.
Asifhehadgivenherasignal,pulledaninvisiblestring,shebegantoweep.Itwasnotahystericalweeping;itwasanentirelyhopelesssoundthatcamefromherbellylikehunksofslag.Theforceofitmadeherstagger,thencrumpletotheplushcarpetofthisplushfirst-classsectionwithherfacecupped
inherhands,asiftoholditon.Richards’sbloodhaddriedtoatackymaroonsmearonherblouse.Herfullskirt,spreadaroundherandhidingherlegs,madeherlooklikeawiltedflower.
Richardsfeltsorryforher.Itwasashallowemotion,feelingsorry,butthebesthecouldmanage.
“Mr.Richards?”Itwas
Holloway’svoiceoverthecabinintercom.
“Yes.”
“Dowe…arewegreen?”
“Yes.”
“ThenI’mgivingtheservicecrewtheordertoremovethestairsandsealusup.Don’tgetnervouswiththatthing.”
“Allright,Captain.Thankyou.”
“Yougaveyourselfawaywhenyouaskedforthewoman.Youknowthat,don’tyou?”McConeseemedtobesmilingandscowlingatthesametime;theoveralleffectwasfrighteninglyparanoid.Hishandswereclenchingandunclenching.
“Ah,so?”Richardssaid
mildly.“Andsinceyou’reneverwrong,you’llundoubtedlyjumpmebeforewetakeoff.Thatwayyou’llbeoutofjeopardyandcomeupsmellinglikearose,right?”
McCone’slipspartedinatinysnarl,andthenpressedtogetheruntiltheywentwhite.Hemadenomove.Theplanebegantopickupatinyvibrationastheengines
cycledhigherandhigher.
Thenoisewassuddenlymutedastheboardingdoorinsecondclasswasslammedshut.Leaningoverslightlytopeeroutoneofthecircularwindowsontheportside,Richardscouldseethecrewtrundlingawaythestairs.
Nowwe’reallonthescaffold,hethought.
…Minus026andCOUNTING…
TheFASTENSEATBELTS/NOSMOKINGsigntotherightofthetrundled-upmoviescreenflashedon.Theairplanebeganaslow,ponderousturnbeneaththem.Richardshadgainedallhis
knowledgeofjetsfromtheFree-Veeandfromreading,muchofitluridadventurefiction,butthiswasonlythesecondtimehehadeverbeenonone;anditmadetheshuttlefromHardingtoNewYorklooklikeabathtubtoy.Hefoundthehugemotionbeneathhisfeetdisturbing.
“Amelia?”
Shelookedupslowly,her
faceravagedandtearstreaked.“Uh?”Hervoicewasrusty,dazed,mucusclogged.Asifshehadforgottenwhereshewas.
“Comeforward.We’retakingoff.”HelookedatMcCone.“Yougowhereveryouplease,littleman.Youhavetherunoftheship.Justdon’tbotherthecrew.”
McConesaidnothingand
satdownnearthecurtaineddividerbetweenfirstandsecondclass.Then,apparentlythinkingbetterofit,hepushedthroughintothenextsectionandwasgone.
Richardswalkedtothewoman,usingthehighbacksoftheseatsforsupport.“I’dlikethewindowseat,”hesaid.“I’veonlyflownoncebefore.”Hetriedtosmilebutsheonlylookedathim
dumbly.
Heslidin,andshesatnexttohim.Shebuckledhisbeltforhimsohishanddidnothavetocomeoutofhispocket.
“You’relikeabaddream,”shesaid.“Onethatneverends.”
“I’msorry.”
“Ididn’t—”shebegan,andheclampedahandoverhermouthandshookhishead.HemouthedthewordNo!athereyes.
Theplaneswungaroundwithslow,infinitecare,turbinesscreaming,andbegantotrundletowardtherunwayslikeanungainlyduckabouttoenterthewater.ItwassobigthatRichardsfeltasiftheplanewere
standingstillandtheearthitselfwasmoving.
Maybeit’sallillusion,hethoughtwildly.Maybethey’verigged3-Dprojectorsoutsideallthewindowsand—
Hecutthethoughtoff.
Nowtheyhadreachedtheendofthetaxiwayandtheplanemadeacumbersomerightturn.Theyranatright
anglestotherunways,passingThreeandTwo.AtOnetheyturnedleftandpausedforasecond.
OvertheintercomHollowaysaidexpressionlessly:“Takingoff,Mr.Richards.”
Theplanebegantomoveslowlyatfirst,atnomorethanair-carspeed,andthentherewasasuddenterrifyingburstofaccelerationthat
madeRichardswanttoscreamaloudinterror.
Hewasdrivenbackintothesoftpileofhisseat,andthelandinglightsoutsidesuddenlybegantoleapbywithdizzyingspeed.Thescrubbushesandexhaust-stuntedtreesonthedesolate,sunset-rivenhorizonroaredtowardthem.Theengineswoundupandupandup.Thefloorbegantovibrateagain.
HesuddenlyrealizedthatAmeliaWilliamswasholdingontohisshoulderwithbothhands,herfacetwistedintoamiserablegrimaceoffear.
DearGod,she’sneverflowneither!
“We’regoing,”hesaid.Hefoundhimselfrepeatingitoverandoverandover,unabletostop.“We’regoing.We’regoing.”
“Where?”shewhispered.
Hedidn’tanswer.Hewasjustbeginningtoknow.
…Minus025andCOUNTING…
Thetwotroopersonroadblockdutyattheeasternentranceofthejetportwatchedthehugelinerflingitselfdowntherunway,gainingspeed.Itslightsblinkedorangeandgreenin
thegrowingdark,andthehowlofitsenginesbuffetedtheirears.
“He’sgoing.Christ,he’sgoing.”
“Where?”saidtheother.
Theywatchedthedarkshapeasitseparatedfromtheground.Itsenginestookonacuriouslyflatsound,likeartillerypracticeonacold
morning.Itroseatasteepangle,asrealandastangibleandasprosaicasacubeofbutteronaplate,yetimprobablewithflight.
“Youthinkhe’sgotit?”
“Hell,Idon’tknow.”
Theroarofthejetwasnowcomingtotheminfallingcycles.
“I’lltellyouonething,though.”Thefirstturnedfromthediminishinglightsandturneduphiscollar.“I’mgladhe’sgotthatbastardwithhim.ThatMcCone.”
“CanIaskyouapersonalquestion?”
“AslongasIdon’thavetoanswerit.”
“Wouldyouliketoseehim
pullitoff?”
Thetroopersaidnothingforalongtime.Thesoundofthejetfaded,faded,faded,untilitdisappearedintotheundergroundhumofnervesatwork.
“Yes.”
“Doyouthinkhewill?”
Acrescentsmileinthe
darkness.“Myfriend,Ithinkthere’sgonnabeabigboom.”
…Minus024andCOUNTING…
Theearthhaddroppedawaybelowthem.
Richardsstaredoutwonderingly,unabletodrinkhisfill;hehadsleptthroughtheotherflightasifinwait
forthisone.Theskyhaddeepenedtoashadethathungontheborderlinebetweenroyalvelvetandblack.Starspokedthroughwithhesitantbrilliance.Onthewesternhorizon,theonlyremnantofthesunwasabitterorangelinethatilluminatedthedarkearthbelownotatall.TherewasanestleoflightsbelowhetooktobeDerry.
“Mr.Richards?”
“Yes.”Hejumpedinhisseatasifhehadbeenpoked.
“Weareinaholdingpatternrightnow.ThatmeanswearedescribingalargecircleabovetheVoigtJetport.Instructions?”
Richardsthoughtcarefully.Itwouldn’tdotogivetoomuchaway.
“What’stheabsolutelowest
youcanflythisthing?”
Therewasalongpauseforconsultation.“Wecouldgetawaywithtwothousandfeet,”Hollowaysaidcautiously.“It’sagainstN.S.A.regs,but—”
“Nevermindthat,”Richardssaid.“Ihavetoputmyselfinyourhandstoacertainextent,Mr.Holloway.IknowverylittleofflyingandI’msure
you’vebeenbriefedonthat.Butpleaserememberthatthepeoplewhoarefullofbrightideasabouthowtobamboozlemeareallonthegroundandoutofdanger.IfyoulietomeaboutanythingandIfindout—”
“Nobodyuphereisgoingtodoanylying,”Hollowaysaid.“We’reonlyinterestedingettingthisthingbackdownthewayitwentup.”
“Okay.Good.”Hegavehimselftimetothink.AmeliaWilliamssatrigidlybesidehim,herhandsfoldedinherlap.
“Goduewest,”hesaidabruptly.“Twothousandfeet.Pointoutthesightsaswegoalong,please.”
“Thesights?”
“Whatwe’regoingover,”
Richardssaid.“I’veonlyflownoncebefore.”
“Oh.”Hollowaysoundedrelieved.
Theplanebankedbeneaththeirfeetandthedarksunsetlineoutsidethewindowtiltedonitsear.Richardswatched,fascinated.Nowitgleamedaslantthethickwindow,makingodd,fugitivesungleamsjustbeyondthe
glass.We’rechasingthesun,hethought.Isn’tthatamazing?
Itwasthirty-fiveminutesaftersix.
…Minus023andCOUNTING…
ThebackoftheseatinfrontofRichardswasarevelationinitself.Therewasapocketwithasafetyhandbookinit.Incaseofairturbulence,fastenyourbelt.Ifthecabinlosespressure,pulldownthe
airmaskdirectlyoveryourhead.Incaseofenginetrouble,thestewardesswillgiveyoufurtherinstructions.Incaseofsuddenexplosivedeath,hopeyouhaveenoughdentalfillingstoinsureidentification.
TherewasasmallFree-Veesetintotheseatpanelateyelevel.Ametalcardbelowitremindedtheviewerthatchannelswouldcomeandgo
withafairdegreeofspeed.Atouch-controlchannelselectorwasprovidedforthehungryviewer.
BelowandtotherightoftheFree-VeewasapadofairlinestationeryandaG-Astylusonachain.Richardspulledoutasheetandwroteclumsilyonhisknee:
“Oddsare99outof100thatyou’rebugged,shoemikeor
hairmike,maybemeshtransmitteronyoursleeve.McConelisteningandwaitingforyoutodroptheothershoe,Ibet.Inaminutehaveahystericaloutburstandbegmenottopullthering.It’llmakeourchancesbetter.Yougame?”
ShenoddedandRichardshesitated,thenwroteagain:
“Whydidyoulieaboutit?”
Shepluckedthestylusoutofhishandandhelditoverthepaperonhiskneeforamomentandthenwrote:“Don’tknow.Youmademefeellikeamurderer.Wife.Andyouseemedso”—thestyluspaused,waveredandthenscrawled—“pitiful.”
Richardsraisedhiseyebrowsandgrinnedalittle—ithurt.Heofferedherthestylusbutsheshookherhead
mutely.Hewrote:“Gointoyouractinabout5minutes.”
ShenoddedandRichardscrumpledthepaperandstuffeditintotheashtrayembeddedinthearmrest.Helitthepaper.Itpuffedintoflameandblazedbrightlyforamoment,kindlingatinyreflectiveglowinthewindow.ThenitcollapsedintoasheswhichRichardspokedthoughtfully.
AboutfiveminuteslaterAmeliaWilliamsbegantomoan.ItsoundedsorealthatforamomentRichardswasstartled.Thenitflashedacrosshismindthatitprobablywasreal.
“Pleasedon’t,”shesaid.“Pleasedon’tmakethatman…havetotryyou.Ineverdidanythingtoyou.Iwanttogohometomyhusband.Wehaveadaughter,too.She’s
six.She’llwonderwherehermommyis.”
Richardsfelthiseyebrowriseandfalltwiceinaninvoluntarytic.Hedidn’twanthertobethatgood.Notthatgood.
“He’sdumb,”hetoldher,tryingnottospeakforanunseenaudience,“butIdon’tthinkhe’sthatdumb.Itwillbeallright,Mrs.Williams.”
“That’seasyforyoutosay.You’vegotnothingtolose.”
Hedidn’tanswerher.Shewassopatentlyright.Nothing,anyway,thathehadn’tlostalready.
“Showittohim,”shepleaded.“ForGod’ssake,whydon’tyoushowittohim?Thenhe’dhavetobelieveyou…calloffthepeopleontheground.
They’retrackinguswithmissiles.Iheardhimsayso.”
“Ican’tshowhim,”Richardssaid.“Totakeitoutofmypocketwouldmeanputtingtheringonsafetyortakingthefullriskofblowingusupaccidentally.Besides,”headded,injectingmockeryintohisvoice,“Idon’tthinkI’dshowhimifIcould.He’sthemaggotwithsomethingtolose.Lethimsweatit.”
“Idon’tthinkIcanstandit,”shesaiddully.“IalmostthinkI’dratherjoggleyouandhaveitover.That’sthewayit’sgoingtoendanyway,isn’tit?”
“Youhaven’t—”hebegan,andthenthedoorbetweenfirstandsecondwassnappedopenandMcConehalfstrode,halflungedthrough.Hisfacewascalm,butbeneaththecalmwasanoddsheenylook
whichRichardsrecognizedimmediately.Thesheenoffear,whiteandwaxyandglowing.
“Mrs.Williams,”hesaidbriskly.“Coffee,ifyouplease.Forseven.You’llhavetoplaystewardessonthisflight,I’mafraid.”
Shegotupwithoutlookingateitherofthem.“Where?”
“Forward,”McConesaidsmoothly.“Justfollowyournose.”Hewasamild,blinkingsortofman—andreadytolungeatAmeliaWilliamsthemomentsheshowedasignofgoingforRichards.
Shemadeherwayuptheaislewithoutlookingback.
McConestaredatRichardsandsaid:“Wouldyougive
thisupifIcouldpromiseyouamnesty,pal?”
“Pal.Thatwordsoundsreallygreasyinyourmouth,”Richardsmarveled.Heflexedhisfreehand,lookedatit.Thehandwascakedwithsmallrunnelsofdriedblood,dottedwithtinyscrapesandscratchesfromhisbroken-anklehikethroughthesouthernMainewoods.“Reallygreasy.Youmakeit
soundliketwopoundsoffattyhamburgercookinginthepan.TheonlykindyoucangetattheWelfareStoresinCo-OpCity.”HelookedatMcCone’swell-concealedpot.“That,now.Thatlooksmorelikeasteakgut.Primecut.Nofatonprimecutexceptthatcrinklylittleringaroundtheoutsideright?”
“Amnesty,”McConerepeated.“Howdoesthat
wordsound?”
“Likealie,”Richardssaid,smiling.“Likeafatfuckinglie.Don’tyouthinkIknowyou’renothingbutthehiredhelp?”
McConeflushed.Itwasnotasoftflushatall;itwashardandredandbricklike.“It’sgoingtobegoodtohaveyouonmyhomecourt,”hesaid.“We’vegothi-impactslugs
thatwillmakeyourheadlooklikeapumpkindroppedonasidewalkfromthetopfloorofaskyscraper.Gasfilled.Theyexplodeoncontact.Agutshot,ontheotherhand—”
Richardsscreamed:“Hereitgoes!I’mpullingthering!”
McConescreeched.Hestaggeredbacktwosteps,hisrumphitthewell-paddedarmofseatnumber95acrossthe
way,heoverbalancedandfellintoitlikeamanintoasling,hisarmsflailingtheairaroundhisheadincrazedwarding-offgestures.
Hishandsfrozeabouthisheadlikepetrifiedbirds,splayfingered.Hisfacestaredthroughtheirgrotesqueframelikeaplasterdeath-maskonwhichsomeonehadhungapairofgold-rimmedspectaclesforajoke.
Richardsbegantolaugh.Thenoiseofitwascrackedatfirst,hesitant,foreigntohisownears.Howlonghaditbeensincehehadhadareallaugh,anhonestone,thekindthatcomesfreelyandhelplesslyfromthedeepestrootofthestomach?Itseemedtohimthathehadneverhadoneinhiswholegray,struggling,earnestlife.Buthewashavingonenow.
Youbastard.
McCone’svoicehadfailedhim;hecouldonlymouththewords.Hisfacewastwistedandscrunchedlikethefaceofabadlyusedteddybear.
Richardslaughed.Heheldontoonearmofhisseatwithhisfreehandandjustlaughedandlaughedandlaughed.
…Minus022andCOUNTING…
WhenHolloway’svoiceinformedRichardsthattheplanewascrossingtheborderbetweenCanadaandthestateofVermont(Richardssupposedheknewhisbusiness;hehimselfcould
seenothingbutdarknessbelowthem,interruptedbyoccasionalclustersoflight),hesethiscoffeedowncarefullyandsaid:
“CouldyousupplymewithamapofNorthAmerica,CaptainHolloway?”
“Physicalorpolitical?”Anewvoicecutin.Thenavigator’s,Richardssupposed.Nowhewas
supposedtoplayobliginglydumbandnotknowwhichmaphewanted.Whichhedidn’t.
“Both,”hesaidflatly.
“Areyougoingtosendthewomanupforthem?”
“What’syourname,pal?”
Thehesitantpauseofamanwhorealizeswithsudden
trepidationthathehasbeensingledout.“Donahue.”
“You’vegotlegs,Donahue.Supposeyoutrotthembackhereyourself.”
Donahuetrottedthemback.Hehadlonghaircombedbackgreaserfashionandpantstailoredtightenoughtoshowwhatlookedlikeabagofgolfballsatthecrotch.Themapswereencasedinlimp
plastic.Richardsdidn’tknowwhatDonahue’sballswereencasedin.
“Ididn’tmeantomouthoff,”hesaidunwillingly.Richardsthoughthecouldpeghim.Well-offyoungmenwithalotoffreetimeoftenspentmuchofitroamingtheshabbypleasureareasofthebigcities,roaminginwell-heeledpacks,sometimesonfoot,moreoftenonchoppers.
Theywerequeer-stompers.Queers,ofcourse,hadtobeeradicated.Saveourbathroomsfordemocracy.Theyrarelyventuredbeyondthetwilightpleasureareasintothefulldarknessoftheghettos.Whentheydid,theygottheshitkickedoutofthem.
DonahueshifteduneasilyunderRichards’slonggaze.“Anythingelse?”
“Youaqueer-stomper,pal?”
“Huh?”
“Nevermind.Goonback.Helpthemflytheplane.”
Donahuewentbackatafastshuffle.
Richardsquicklydiscoveredthatthemapwiththetownsandcitiesandroadswasthepoliticalmap.Pressingone
fingerdownfromDerrytotheCanada-Vermontborderinawestern-reachingstraightedge,helocatedtheirapproximateposition.
“CaptainHolloway?”
“Yes.”
“Turnleft.”
“Huh?”Hollowaysoundedfranklystartled.
“South,Imean.Duesouth.Andremember—”
“I’mremembering,”Hollowaysaid.“Don’tworry.”
Theplanebanked.McConesathunchedintheseathehadfalleninto,staringatRichardswithhungry,wantingeyes.
…Minus021andCOUNTING…
Richardsfoundhimselfdriftinginandoutofadaze,anditfrightenedhim.Thesteadydroneoftheengineswereinsidious,hypnotic.McConewasawareofwhatwashappening,andhis
leaningposturebecamemoreandmorevulpine.Ameliawasalsoaware.Shecringedmiserablyinaforwardseatnearthegalley,watchingthemboth.
Richardsdranktwomorecupsofcoffee.Notmuchhelp.ItwasbecomingincreasinglydifficulttoconcentrateonthecoordinationofhismapandHolloway’stoneless
commentaryontheiroutlawflight.
Finallyhedrovehisfistintohissidewherethebullethadtakenhim.Thepainwasimmediateandintense,likeadashofcoldwaterintheface.Awhistlinghalf-whisperedscreechissuedfromeithersideofhisclenchedmouth,likestereo.Freshbloodwethisshirtandsievedthroughontohishand.
Ameliamoaned.
“We’llbepassingoverAlbanyinaboutsixminutes,”Hollowaysaid.“Ifyoulookout,you’llseeitcominguponyourleft.”
“Relax,”Richardssaidtonoone,tohimself.“Relax.Justrelax.”
God,willitbeoversoon?Yes.Quitesoon.
Itwasquartertoeight.
…Minus020andCOUNTING…
Itcouldhavebeenabaddream,anightmarethathadcrawledoutofthedarkandintotheunhealthylimelightofhishalf-awakemind—moreproperlyavisionorahallucination.Hisbrainwas
workingandconcentratingononelevel,dealingwiththeproblemofnavigationandtheconstantdangerofMcCone.Onanother,somethingblackwastakingplace.Thingsweremovinginthedark.
Trackon.Positive.
Huge,whiningservomechanismsturninginthedark,inthenight.Infraredeyesglowinginunknown
spectrums.Palegreenfoxfireofdialsandswingingradarscopes.
Lock.Wehavealock.
Trucksrumblingalongback-countryroads,andontriangulatedflatbedstwohundredmilesapart,microwavedishesswingatthenightsky.Endlessstreamsofelectronsflyoutoninvisiblebatwings.Bounce,
echo.Thestrongblipandthefadingafterimagelingeringuntilthereturningswingoflightilluminatesitinaslightlymoresoutherlyposition.
Solid?
Yeah.TwohundredmilessouthofNewark.ItcouldbeNewark.
Newark’sonRed,also
southernNewYork.
ExecutiveHoldstillineffect?
That’sright.
Wehadhimdead-bangoverAlbany.
Becool,pal.
Trucksthunderingthroughclosedtownswherepeople
lookoutofcardboard-patchedwindowswithterrified,hatingeyes.Roaringlikeprehistoricbeastsinthenight.
Opentheholes.
Huge,grindingmotorsslidehugeconcreteduncecapsaside,shuntingthemdowngleamingsteeltracks.CircularsilosliketheentrancestotheunderworldoftheMorlocks.Gaspsof
liquidhydrogenescapingintotheair.
Tracking.Wearetracking,Newark.
Roger,Springfield.Keepusin.
Drunkssleepinginalleyswakefoggilytothethunderofthepassingtrucksandstaremutelyattheslicesofskybetweenclose-leaning
buildings.Theireyesarefadedandyellow,theirmouthsaredrippinglines.Handspullwithsenilereflexfornewsiestoprotectagainsttheautumncold,butthenewsiesarenolongerthere,theFree-Veehaskilledthelastofthem.Free-Veeiskingoftheworld.Hallelujah.RichfolkssmokeDokes.Theyelloweyescatchanunknownglimpseofhigh,blinkinglightsinthesky.
Flash,flash.Redandgreen,redandgreen.Thethunderofthetruckshasfaded,rammingbackandforthinthestonecanyonslikethefistsofvandals.Thedrunkssleepagain.Bitchin’.
WegothimwestofSpringfield.
Go-no-goinfiveminutes.
FromHarding?
Yes.
He’sbracketedandbraced.
Allacrossthenighttheinvisiblebatwingsfly,drawingaglitteringnetacrossthenortheastcornerofAmerica.ServoscontrolledbyGeneralAtomicscomputersfunctionsmoothly.Themissilesturnandshiftsubtlyinathousandplacestofollowtheblinkingredand
greenlightsthatsketchthesky.Theyarelikesteelrattlesnakesfilledwithwaitingvenom.
Richardssawitall,andfunctionedevenashesawit.Thedualityofhisbrainwasoddlycomforting,inaway.Itinducedadetachmentthatwasmuchlikeinsanity.Hisbloodcrustedfingerfollowedtheirsouthwardprogresssmoothly.Nowsouthof
Springfield,nowwestofHartford,now—
Tracking.
…Minus019andCOUNTING…
“Mr.Richards?”
“Yes.”
“WeareoverNewark,NewJersey.”
“Yes,”Richardssaid.“I’ve
beenwatching.Holloway?”
Hollowaydidn’treply,butRichardsknewhewaslistening.
“They’vegotabeaddrawnonusalltheway,don’tthey?”
“Yes,”Hollowaysaid.
RichardslookedatMcCone.“Iimaginethey’retryingto
decideiftheycanaffordtodoawaywiththeirprofessionalbloodhoundhere.Imaginethey’lldecideintheaffirmative.Afterall,alltheyhavetodoistrainanewone.”
McConewassnarlingathim,butRichardsthoughtitwasacompletelyunconsciousgesture,onethatcouldprobablybetracedallthewaytoMcCone’s
ancestors,theNeanderthalswhohadcreptupbehindtheirenemieswithlargerocksratherthanbattlingtothedeathinthehonorablebutunintelligentmanner.
“Whendowegetoveropencountryagain,Captain?”
“Wewon’t.Notonaduesouthheading.WewillstrikeopenseaafterwecrosstheoffshoreNorthCarolina
drillingderricks,though.”
“EverythingsouthofhereisasuburbofNewYorkCity?”
“That’saboutthesizeofit,”Hollowaysaid.
“Thankyou.”
Newarkwassprawledandgroinedbelowthemlikeahandfulofdirtyjewelrythrowncarelesslyintosome
lady’sblack-velvetvanitybox.
“Captain?”
Wearily:“Yes.”
“Youwillnowproceedduewest.”
McConejumpedasifhehadbeengoosed.Ameliamadeasurprisedcoughingnoiseinherthroat.
“West?”Hollowayasked.Hesoundedunhappyandfrightenedforthefirsttime.“You’reaskingforit,goingthatway.Westtakesusoverprettyopencountry.PennsylvaniabetweenHarrisburgandPittsburghisallfarmcountry.Thereisn’tanotherbigcityeastofCleveland.”
“Areyouplanningmystrategyforme,Captain?”
“No,I—”
“Duewest,”Richardsrepeatedcurtly.
Newarkswungawaybeneaththem.
“You’recrazy,”McConesaid.“They’llblowusapart.”
“Withyouandfiveotherinnocentpeopleonboard?Thishonorablecountry?”
“Itwillbeamistake,”McConesaidharshly.“Amistakeonpurpose.”
“Don’tyouwatchTheNationalReport?”Richardsasked,stillsmiling.“Wedon’tmakemistakes.Wehaven’tmadeamistakesince1950.”
Newarkwasslidingawaybeneaththewing;darknesstookitsplace.
“You’renotlaughinganymore,”Richardssaid.
…Minus018andCOUNTING…
Ahalf-hourlaterHollowaycameonthevoice-commagain.Hesoundedexcited.
“Richards,we’vebeeninformedbyHardingRedthattheywanttobeamahigh-
intensitybroadcastatus.FromGamesFederation.IwastoldyouwouldfinditverymuchworthyourwhiletoturnontheFree-Vee.”
“Thankyou.”
HeregardedtheblankFree-Veescreenandalmostturnediton.Hewithdrewhishandasifthebackofthenextseatwithitsembeddedscreenwashot.Acurioussenseofdread
anddéjàvufilledhim.Itwastoomuchlikegoingbacktothebeginning,Sheilawithherthin,workedface,thesmellofMrs.Jenner’scabbagecookingdownthehall.Theblareofthegames.TreadmilltoBucks.SwimtheCrocodiles.Cathy’sscreams.Therecouldneverbeanotherchild,ofcourse,notevenifhecouldtakeallthisback,withdrawit,andgobacktothebeginning.Eventheone
hadbeenagainstfantasticallyhighodds.
“Turniton,”McConesaid.“Maybethey’regoingtoofferus—you—adeal.”
“Shutup,”Richardssaid.
Hewaited,lettingthedreadfillhimuplikeheavywater.Thecurioussenseofpresentiment.Hehurtverybadly.Hiswoundwasstill
bleeding,andhislegsfeltweakandfaraway.Hedidn’tknowifhecouldgetuptofinishthischaradewhenthetimecame.
Withagrunt,RichardsleanedforwardagainandpushedtheONbutton.TheFree-Veesprangtoincrediblyclear,amplified-signallife.Thefacethatfilledthescreen,patientlywaiting,wasveryblackandveryfamiliar.Dan
Killian.Hewassittingatakidney-shapedmahoganydeskwiththeGamessymbolonit.
“Hellothere,”Richardssaidsoftly.
HecouldhavefallenoutofhisseatwhenKillianstraightenedup,grinned,andsaid,“Hellothereyourself,Mr.Richards.”
…Minus017andCOUNTING…
“Ican’tseeyou,”Killiansaid,“butIcanhearyou.Thejet’svoice-commisbeingrelayedthroughtheradioequipmentinthecockpit.Theytellmeyou’reshotup.”
“It’snotasbadasitlooks,”Richardssaid.“Igotscratchedupinthewoods.”
“Ohyes,”Killiansaid.“ThefamousRunThroughtheWoods.BobbyThompsoncanonizeditontheairjusttonight—alongwithyourcurrentexploit,ofcourse.Tomorrowthosewoodswillbefullofpeoplelookingforascrapofyourshirt,ormaybeevenacartridgecase.”
“That’stoobad,”Richardssaid.“Isawarabbit.”
“You’vebeenthegreatestcontestantwe’veeverhad,Richards.Throughacombinationofluckandskill,you’vebeenpositivelythegreatest.Greatenoughforustoofferyouadeal.”
“Whatdeal?Nationallytelevisedfiringsquad?”
“Thisplanehijackhasbeenthemostspectacular,butit’salsobeenthedumbest.Doyouknowwhy?Becauseforthefirsttimeyou’renotnearyourownpeople.Youleftthembehindwhenyoulefttheground.Eventhewomanthat’sprotectingyou.Youmaythinkshe’syours.Shemayeventhinkit.Butshe’snot.There’snooneuptherebutus,Richards.You’readeadduck.Finally.”
“PeoplekeeptellingmethatandIkeepdrawingbreath.”
“You’vebeendrawingbreathforthelasttwohoursstrictlyonGamesFederationsay-so.Ididit.AndI’mtheonethatfinallyshovedthroughtheauthorizationforthedealI’mgoingtoofferyou.Therewasstrongoppositionfromtheoldguard—thiskindofthinghasneverbeendone—butI’mgoing
throughwithit.
“Youaskedmewhoyoucouldkillifyoucouldgoallthewaytothetopwithamachinegun.Oneofthemwouldhavebeenme,Richards.Doesthatsurpriseyou?”
“Isupposeitdoes.Ihadyoupeggedforthehousenigger.”
Killianthrewbackhishead
andlaughed,butthelaughtersoundedforced—thelaughterofamanplayingforhighstakesandlaboringunderagreattension.
“Here’sthedeal,Richards.FlyyourplanetoHarding.TherewillbeaGameslimowaitingattheairport.Anexecutionwillbeperformed—afake.Thenyoujoinourteam.”
TherewasastartledyelpofragefromMcCone.“Youblackbastard—”
AmeliaWilliamslookedstunned.
“Verygood,”Richardssaid.“Iknewyouweregood,butthisisreallygreat.Whatafineused-carsalesmanyouwouldhavemade,Killian.”
“DidMcConesoundlikeI
waslying?”
“McConeisafineactor.HedidalittlesonganddanceattheairportthatcouldhavewonanAcademyAward.”Still,hewastroubled.McCone’shustlingawayofAmeliaforcoffeewhenitappearedshemighttriptheIrish,McCone’ssteady,heavyantagonism—theydidn’tfit.Ordidthey?Hismindbegantopinwheel.
“Maybeyou’respringingthisonhimwithouthisknowledge.Countingonhisreactiontomakeitlookevenbetter.”
Killiansaid:“You’vedoneyoursonganddancewiththeplasticexplosive,Mr.Richards.Weknow—know—thatyouarebluffing.Butthereisabuttononthisdesk,asmallredbutton,whichisnotabluff.Twentyseconds
afterIpushit,thatplanewillbetornapartbysurface-to-airDiamondbackmissilescarryingcleannuclearwarheads.”
“TheIrishisn’tfake,either.”Buttherewasacurdledtasteinhismouth.Thebluffwassoured.
“Oh,itis.Youcouldn’tgetonaLockheedG-Aplanewithaplasticexplosive.Not
withouttrippingthealarms.Therearefourseparatedetectorsontheplane,installedtofoilhijackers.Afifthwasinstalledintheparachuteyouaskedfor.IcantellyouthatthealarmlightsintheVoigtFieldcontroltowerwerewatchedwithgreatinterestandtrepidationwhenyougoton.TheconsensuswasthatyouprobablyhadtheIrish.Youhaveprovedsoresourcefulall
thewayupthelinethatitseemedlikeafairassumptiontomake.Therewasmorethanalittlereliefwhennoneofthoselightswenton.Iassumeyouneverhadtheopportunitytopickanyup.Maybeyouneverthoughtofituntiltoolate.Well,doesn’tmatter.Itmakesyourpositionworse,but—”
McConewassuddenlystandingbesideRichards.
“Hereitgoes,”hesaid,grinning.“HereiswhereIblowyourfuckingheadoff,donkey.”HepointedhisgunatRichards’stemple.
…Minus016andCOUNTING…
“You’redeadifyoudo,”Killiansaid.
McConehesitated,fellbackastep,andstaredattheFree-Veeunbelievingly.Hisfacebegantotwistandcrumple
again.Hislipswrithedinasilentefforttogainspeech.Whenitfinallycame,itwasawhisperofthwartedrage.
“Icantakehim!Rightnow!Righthere!We’llallbesafe!We’ll—”
Wearily,Killiansaid:“You’resafenow,youGoddamnedfool.AndDonahuecouldhavetakenhim—ifwewantedhimtaken.”
“Thismanisacriminal!”McCone’svoicewasrising.“He’skilledpoliceofficers!Committedactsofanarchyandairpiracy!He’s…he’spubliclyhumiliatedmeandmydepartment!”
“Sitdown,”Killiansaid,andhisvoicewasascoldasthedeepspacebetweenplanets.“It’stimeyourememberedwhopaysyoursalary,Mr.ChiefHunter.”
“I’mgoingtotheCouncilPresidentwiththis!”McConewasravingnow.Spittleflewfromhislips.“You’regoingtobechoppingcottonwhenthisisover,nig!Yougoddamworthlessnight-fightingsonofabitch—”
“Pleasethrowyourgunonthefloor,”anewvoicesaid.Richardslookedaround,startled.ItwasDonahue,thenavigator,lookingcolderand
deadlierthanever.Hisgreasedhairgleamedinthecabin’sindirectlighting.Hewasholdingawire-stockMagnum/Springstunmachinepistol,anditwastrainedonMcCone.“RobertS.Donahue,old-timer.GamesCouncilControl.Throwitonthefloor.”
…Minus015andCOUNTING…
McConelookedathimforalongsecond,andthenthegunthumpedontheheavypileofthecarpet.“You—”
“Ithinkwe’veheardalltherhetoricweneed,”Donahue
said.“Gobackintosecondclassandsitdownlikeagoodboy.”
McConebackedupseveralpaces,snarlingfutilely.HelookedtoRichardslikeavampireinanoldhorrormoviethathadbeenthwartedbyacross.
Whenhewasgone,DonahuethrewRichardsasardoniclittlesalutewiththe
barrelofhisgunandsmiled.“Hewon’tbotheryouagain.”
“Youstilllooklikeaqueer-stomper,”Richardssaidevenly.
Thesmallsmilefaded.Donahuestaredathimwithsudden,emptydislikeforamoment,andthenwentforwardagain.
Richardsturnedbacktothe
Free-Veescreen.Hefoundthathispulseratehadremainedperfectlysteady.Hehadnoshortnessofbreath,norubberlegs.Deathhadbecomeanormality.
“Areyouthere,Mr.Richards?”Killianasked.
“YesIam.”
“Theproblemhasbeenhandled?”
“Yes.”
“Good.LetmegetbacktowhatIwassaying.”
“Goahead.”
Killiansighedathistone.“Iwassayingthatourknowledgeofyourbluffmakesyourpositionworse,butmakesourcredibilitybetter.Doyouseewhy?”
“Yes,”Richardssaiddetachedly.“Itmeansyoucouldhaveblownthisbirdoutoftheskyanytime.OryoucouldhavehadHollowaysettheplanedownatwill.McConewouldhavebumpedme.”
“Exactly.Doyoubelieveweknowyouarebluffing?”
“No.Butyou’rebetterthanMcCone.Usingyourplanted
houseboywasafinestroke.”
Killianlaughed.“Oh,Richards.Youaresuchapeach.Sucharare,iridescentbird.”Andyetagainitsoundedforced,tense,pressured.ItcametoRichardsthatKillianwasholdinginformationwhichhewantedbadlynottotell.
“Ifyoureallyhadit,youwouldhavepulledthestring
whenMcConeputtheguntoyourhead.Youknewhewasgoingtokillyou.Yetyousatthere.”
Richardsknewitwasover,knewthattheyknew.Asmilecrackedhisfeatures.Killianwouldappreciatethat.Hewasamanofasharpandsardonicturnofmind.Makethempaytoseetheholecard,then.
“I’mnotbuyinganyofthis.
Ifyoupushme,everythinggoesbang.”
“Andyouwouldn’tbethemanyouareifyoudidn’tspinitouttotheveryend.Mr.Donahue?”
“Yes,sir.”Donahue’scool,efficient,emotionlessvoicecameoverthevoice-commandoutoftheFree-Veealmostsimultaneously.
“PleasegobackandremoveMrs.Williams’spocketbookfromMr.Richards’spocket.You’renottoharmhiminanyway.”
“Yes,sir.”Richardswaseerilyremindedoftheplasti-punchthathadstenciledhisoriginalI.D.cardatGamesheadquarters.Clitter-clitter-clitter.
Donahuereappearedand
walkedtowardRichards.Hisfacewassmoothandcoldandempty.Programmed.ThewordleapedintoRichards’smind.
“Standrightthere,prettyboy,”Richardsremarked,shiftingthehandinhiscoatpocketslightly.“TheManthereissafeontheground.You’retheonethat’sgoingtothemoon.”
Hethoughtthesteadystridemighthavefalteredforjustasecondandtheeyesseemedtohavewincedthetiniestuncertainbit,andthenhecameonagain.HemighthavebeenpromenadingontheCôted’Azur…orapproachingagibberinghomosexualcoweringattheendofablindalley.
BrieflyRichardsconsideredgrabbingtheparachuteand
fleeing.Hopeless.Flee?Where?Themen’sbathroomatthefarendofthethirdclasswastheendoftheline.
“Seeyouinhell,”hesaidsoftly,andmadeapullinggestureinhispocket.Thistimethereactionwasalittlebetter.Donahuemadeagruntingnoiseandthrewhishandsuptoprotecthisfaceinaninstinctivegestureasoldasmanhimself.Helowered
them,stillinthelandoftheliving,lookingembarrassedandveryangry.
RichardstookAmeliaWilliams’spocketbookoutofhismuddy,torncoatpocketandthrewit.ItstruckDonahue’schestandploppedathisfeetlikeadeadbird.Richards’shandwasslimedwithsweat.Lyingonhiskneeagain,itlookedstrangeandwhiteandforeign.Donahue
pickedupthebag,lookedinitperfunctorily,andhandedittoAmelia.Richardsfeltastupidsortofsadnessatitspassage.Inaway,itwaslikelosinganoldfriend.
“Boom,”hesaidsoftly.
…Minus014andCOUNTING…
“Yourboyisverygood,”Richardssaidtiredly,whenDonahuehadretreatedagain.“Igothimtoflinch,butIwashopinghe’dpeehispants.”Hewasbeginningtonoticeanodddoublingofhisvision.
Itcameandwent.Hecheckedhissidegingerly.Itwasclottingreluctantlyforthesecondtime.“Whatnow?”heasked.“Doyousetupcamerasattheairportsoeveryonecanwatchthedesperadogetit?”
“Nowthedeal,”Killiansaidsoftly.Hisfacewasdark,unreadable.Whateverhehadbeenholdingbackwasnowjustbelowthesurface.
Richardsknewit.Andsuddenlyhewasfilledwithdreadagain.HewantedtoreachoutandturntheFree-Veeoff.Nothearitanymore.Hefelthisinsidesbeginaslowandterriblequaking—anactual,literalquaking.Buthecouldnotturnitoff.Ofcoursenot.Itwas,afterall,Free.
“Gettheebehindme,Satan,”hesaidthickly.
“What?”Killianlookedstartled.
“Nothing.Makeyourpoint.”
Killiandidnotspeak.Helookeddownathishands.Helookedupagain.Richardsfeltanunknownchamberofhismindgroanwithpsychicpresentiment.Itseemedtohimthattheghostsofthepoorandthenameless,ofthe
drunkssleepinginalleys,werecallinghisname.
“McConeisplayedout,”Killiansaidsoftly.“Youknowitbecauseyoudidit.Crackedhimlikeasoft-shelledegg.Wewantyoutotakehisplace.”
Richards,whothoughthehadpassedthepointofallshock,foundhismouthhangingopeninutter,dazed
incredulity.Itwasalie.Hadtobe.Yet—Ameliahadherpursebacknow.Therewasnoreasonforthemtolieorofferfalseillusions.Hewashurtandalone.BothMcConeandDonahuewerearmed.Onebulletadministeredjustabovetheleftearwouldputaneatendtohimwithnofuss,nomuss,orbother.
Conclusion:KillianwastellingGod’struth.
“You’renuts,”hemuttered.
“No.You’rethebestrunnerwe’veeverhad.Andthebestrunnerknowsthebestplacestolook.Openyoureyesalittleandyou’llseethatTheRunningManisdesignedforsomethingbesidespleasuringthemassesandgettingridofdangerouspeople.Richards,theNetworkisalwaysinthemarketforfreshnewtalent.Wehavetobe.”
Richardstriedtospeak,couldsaynothing.Thedreadwasstillinhim,widening,heightening,thickening.
“There’sneverbeenaChiefHunterwithafamily,”hefinallysaid.“Yououghttoknowwhy.Thepossibilitiesforextortion—”
“Ben,”Killiansaidwithinfinitegentleness,“yourwifeanddaughteraredead.
They’vebeendeadforovertendays.”
…Minus013andCOUNTING…
DanKillianwastalking,hadbeenperhapsforsometime,butRichardsheardhimonlydistantly,distortedbyanoddechoeffectinhismind.Itwaslikebeingtrappedinaverydeepwellandhearing
someonecalldown.Hismindhadgonemidnightdark,andthedarknessservedasthebackgroundforakindofscrapbookslideshow.AnoldKodakofSheilawigglinginthehallsofTradesHighwithaloose-leafbinderunderherarm.Microskirtshadjustcomebackintofashionthen.Afreeze-frameofthetwoofthemsittingattheendoftheBayPier(Admission:Free),backstothecamera,looking
outatthewater.Handslinked.Sepia-tonedphotoofayoungmaninanill-fittingsuitandayoungwomaninhermother’sbestdress—speciallytakenup—standingbeforeaJ.P.withalargewartonhisnose.Theyhadgiggledatthatwartontheirweddingnight.Starkblackandwhiteactionphotoofasweating,bare-chestedmanwearingaleadapronandworkingheavyenginegear-leversina
huge,vaultlikeundergroundchamberlitwitharclamps.Soft-tonedcolorphoto(softtoblurthestark,peelingsurroundings)ofawomanwithabigbellystandingatawindowandlookingout,raggedcurtainheldaside,watchingforhermantocomeupthestreet.Thelightisasoftcat’spawonhercheek.Lastpicture:anotherold-timeyKodakofathinfellowholdingatinyscrapofababy
highoverhisheadinacuriousmixtureoftriumphandlove,hisfacesplitbyahugewinninggrin.Thepicturesbegantoflashbyfasterandfaster,whirling,notbringinganysenseofgriefandloveandloss,notyet,no,bringingonlyacoolNovocainnumbness.
KillianassuringthattheNetworkhadnothingtodowiththeirdeaths,alla
horribleaccident.Richardssupposedhebelievedhim—notonlybecausethestorysoundedtoomuchlikealienottobethetruth,butbecauseKillianknewthatifRichardsagreedtothejoboffer,hisfirststopwouldbeCo-OpCity,whereasinglehouronthestreetswouldgethimthestraightofthematter.
Prowlers.Threeofthem.(Ortricks?Richards
wondered,suddenlyagonized.Shehadsoundedslightlyfurtiveonthetelephone,asifholdingsomethingback—)Theyhadbeenhoppedup,probably.PerhapstheyhadmadesomethreateningmovetowardCathyandSheilahadtriedtoprotectherdaughter.Theyhadbothdiedofpuncturewounds.
Thathadsnappedhimoutof
it.“Don’tfeedmethatshit!”hescreamedsuddenly.Ameliaflinchedbackwardandsuddenlyhidherface.“Whathappened?Tellmewhathappened!”
“There’snothingmoreIcansay.Yourwifewasstabbedoversixtytimes.”
“Cathy,”Richardssaidemptily,withoutthought,andKillianwinced.
“Ben,wouldyoulikesometimetothinkaboutallthis?”
“Yes.Yes,Iwould.”
“I’mdesperately,desperatelysorry,pal.Iswearonmymotherthatwehadnothingtodowithit.Ourwaywouldhavebeentosetthemupawayfromyou,withvisitingrightsifyouagreed.Amandoesn’twillinglyworkforthepeoplewhobutchered
hisfamily.Weknowthat.”
“Ineedtimetothink.”
“AsChiefHunter,”Killiansaidsoftly,“youcouldgetthosebastardsandputthemdownadeephole.Andalotofothersjustlikethem.”
“Iwanttothink.Goodbye.”
“I—”
RichardsreachedoutandthumbedtheFree-Veeintoblackness.Hesatstonelikeinhisseat.Hishandsdangledlooselybetweenhisknees.Theplanedronedonintodarkness.
So,hethought.It’sallcomeunraveled.Allofit.
…Minus012andCOUNTING…
Anhourpassed.
Thetimehascome,thewalrussaid,totalkofmanythings…ofsailingshipsandsealing-wax,Andwhetherpigshavewings.
Picturesflittedinandoutofhismind.Stacey.Bradley.EltonParrakiswithhisbabyface.Anightmareofrunning.LightingthenewspapersinthebasementoftheY.M.C.A.withthatlastmatch.Thegas-poweredcarswheelingandscreeching,theStengunspittingflame.Laughlin’ssourvoice.Thepicturesofthosetwokids,thejuniorGestapoagents.
Well,whynot?
Notiesnow,andcertainlynomorality.Howcouldmoralitybeanissuetoamancutlooseanddrifting?HowwiseKillianhadbeentoseethat,toshowRichardswithcalmandgentlebrutalityjusthowalonehewas.Bradleyandhisimpassionedair-pollutionpitchseemeddistant,unreal,unimportant.Nose-filters.Yes.Atonetime
theconceptofnose-filtershadseemedlarge,veryimportant.Nolongerso.
Thepooryouwillhavewithyoualways.
True.EvenRichards’sloinshadproducedaspecimenforthekillingmachine.Eventuallythepoorwouldadapt,mutate.Theirlungswouldproducetheirownfiltrationsysteminten
thousandyearsorinfiftythousand,andtheywouldriseup,ripouttheartificialfiltersandwatchtheirownersflopandkickanddrumtheirlivesaway,drowninginanatmospherewhereoxygenplayedonlyaminorpart,andwhatwasfuturitytoBenRichards?Itwasallonlybitchin.
Therewouldbeaperiodofgrief.Theywouldexpectthat,
provideforit.Therewouldevenberages,momentsofrevolt.Abortivetriestomaketheknowledgeofdeliberatepoisonintheairpublicagain?Maybe.Theywouldtakecareofit.Takecareofhim—anticipationofatimewhenhewouldtakecareofthem.Instinctivelyheknewhecoulddoit.Hesuspectedhemightevenhaveacertaingeniusforthejob.Theywouldhelphim,healhim.
Drugsanddoctors.Achangeofmind.
Then,peace.
Contentiousnessrootedoutlikebitterweed.
Heregardedthepeacelongingly,thewayamaninthedesertregardswater.
AmeliaWilliamscriedsteadilyinherseatlongafter
thetimewhenalltearsshouldhavegonedry.Hewonderedindifferentlywhatwouldbecomeofher.Shecouldn’tverywellbereturnedtoherhusbandandfamilyinherpresentstate;shesimplywasnotthesameladywhohadpulleduptoaroutinestopsignwithhermindallfullofmealsandmeetings,clubsandcooking.ShehadShownRed.Hesupposedtherewouldbedrugsandtherapy,a
patientshowingoff.ThePlaceWhereTwoRoadsDiverged,apinpointingofthereasonwhythewrongpathhadbeenchosen.Acarnivalindarkmentalbrowns.
Hewantedsuddenlytogotoher,comforther,tellherthatshewasnotbadlybroken,thatasinglecrisscrossingofpsychicBand-Aidsshouldfixher,makeherevenbetterthanshehadbeenbefore.
Sheila.Cathy.
Theirnamescameandrepeated,clanginginhismindlikebells,likewordsrepeateduntiltheyarereducedtononsense.Sayyournameovertwohundredtimesanddiscoveryouarenoone.Griefwasimpossible;hecouldfeelonlyafuzzysenseofembarrassment:theyhadtakenhim,runhimslack-lunged,andhehadturnedout
tobenothingbutahorse’sassafterall.HerememberedaboyfromhisgrammarschooldayswhohadstooduptogivethePledgeofAllegianceandhispantshadfallendown.
Theplanedronedonandon.Hesankintoathree-quarterdoze.Picturescameandwentlazily,wholeincidentswereseenwithoutanyemotionalcoloratall.
Then,afinalscrapbookpicture:aglossyeight-by-tentakenbyaboredpolicephotographerwhohadperhapsbeenchewinggum.ExhibitC,ladiesandgentlemenofthejury.Onerippedandslicedsmallbodyinablood-drenchedcrib.SplattersandrunnelsonthecheapstuccowallsandthebrokenMotherGoosemobileboughtforadime.Agreatstickyclotonthesecondhand
teddybearwithoneeye.
Hesnappedawake,fullawakeandboltupright,withhismouthproppedwideinablabberingscream.Theforceexpelledfromhislungswasgreatenoughtomakehistongueflaplikeasail.Everything,everythinginthefirst-classcompartmentwassuddenlyclearandplan-gentlyreal,overpowering,awful.Ithadthegrainy
realityofascaretabloidnewsieclip.LaughlinbeingdraggedoutofthatshedinTopeka,forinstance.Everything,everythingwasveryrealandinTechnicolor.
Ameliascreamedaffrightedlyinunison,cringingbackinherseatwitheyesashugeascrackedporcelaindoorknobs,tryingtocramawholefistinhermouth.
Donahuecamechargingthroughthegalley,hisgunout.Hiseyesweresmallenthusiasticblackbeads.“Whatisit?What’swrong?McCone?”
“No,”Richardssaid,feelinghisheartslowjustenoughtokeephiswordsfromsoundingsqueezedanddesperate.“Baddream.Mylittlegirl.”
“Oh.”Donahue’seyessoftenedincounterfeitsympathy.Hedidn’tknowhowtodoitverywell.Perhapshewouldbeagoonallhislife.Perhapshewouldlearn.Heturnedtogo.
“Donahue?”
Donahueturnedbackwarily.
“Hadyouprettyscared,
didn’tI?”
“No.”Donahueturnedawayonthatshortword.Hisneckwasbunched.Hisbuttocksinhistightblueuniformwereasprettyasagirl’s.
“Icanscareyouworse,”Richardsremarked.“Icouldthreatentotakeawayyournosefilter.”
ExeuntDonahue.
Richardsclosedhiseyestiredly.Theglossyeight-by-tencameback.Openedthem.Closedthem.Noglossyeight-by-ten.Hewaited,andwhenhewassureitwasnotgoingtocomeback(rightaway),heopenedhiseyesandthumbedontheFree-Vee.
ItpoppedonandtherewasKillian.
…Minus011andCOUNTING…
“Richards.”Killianleanedforward,makingnoefforttoconcealhistension.
“I’vedecidedtoaccept,”Richardssaid.
Killianleanedbackandnothingsmiledbuthiseyes.“I’mveryglad,”hesaid.
…Minus010andCOUNTING…
“Jesus,”Richardssaid.Hewasstandinginthedoorwaytothepilot’scountry.
Hollowayturnedaround.“Hi.”HehadbeenspeakingtosomethingcalledDetroit
VOR.Duningerwasdrinkingcoffee.
Thetwincontrolconsoleswereuntended.Yettheyswerved,tipped,andturnedasifinresponsetoghosthandsandfeet.Dialsswung.Lightsflashed.Thereseemedtobeahugeandconstantinputandoutputgoingon…tonooneatall.
“Who’sdrivingthebus?”
Richardsasked,fascinated.
“Otto,”Duningersaid.
“Otto?”
“Ottotheautomaticpilot.Getit?Shittypun.”Duningersuddenlysmiled.“Gladtohaveyouontheteam,fella.Youmaynotbelievethis,butsomeofusguyswererootingforyouprettyhard.”
Richardsnoddednoncommittally.
Hollowaysteppedintotheslightlyawkwardbreachbysaying:“Ottofreaksmeout,too.Evenaftertwentyyearsofthis.Buthe’sdeadsafe.Sophisticatedashell.Itwouldmakeoneoftheoldoneslooklike…well,likeanorangecratebesideaChippendalebureau.”
“Isthatright?”Richardswasstaringoutintothedarkness.
“Yes.YoulockonP.O.D.—pointofdestination—andOttotakesover,aidedbyVoice-Radaralltheway.Makesthepilotprettysuperfluous,exceptfortakeoffsandlandings.Andincaseoftrouble.”
“Istheremuchyoucandoif
there’strouble?”Richardsasked.
“Wecanpray,”Hollowaysaid.Perhapsitwasmeanttosoundjocular,butitcameoutwithastrangesinceritythathunginthecabin.
“Dothosewheelsactuallysteertheplane?”Richardsasked.
“Onlyupanddown,”
Duningersaid.“Thepedalscontrolsidesidemotion.”
“Soundslikeakid’ssoapboxracer.”
“Alittlemorecomplicated,”Hollowaysaid.“Let’sjustsaythereareafewmorebuttonstopush.”
“WhathappensifOttogoesoffhischump?”
“Neverhappens,”Duningersaidwithagrin.“Ifitdid,you’djustoverridehim.Butthecomputerisneverwrong,pal.”
Richardswantedtoleave,butthesightoftheturningwheels,theminute,mindlessadjustmentsofthepedalsandswitches,heldhim.HollowayandDuningerwentbacktotheirbusiness—obscurenumbersandcommunications
filledwithstatic.
Hollowaylookedbackonce,seemedsurprisedtoseehimstillthere.Hegrinnedandpointedintothedarkness.“You’llseeHardingcominguptheresoon.”
“Howlong?”
“You’llbeabletoseethehorizonglowinfivetosixminutes.”
WhenHollowayturnedaroundnext,Richardswasgone.HesaidtoDuninger.“I’llbegladwhenwesetthatguydown.He’saspook.”
Duningerlookeddownmorosely,hisfacebathedinthegreen,luminescentglowofthecontrols.“Hedidn’tlikeOtto.Youknowthat?”
“Iknowit,”Hollowaysaid.
…Minus009andCOUNTING…
Richardswalkedbackdownthenarrow,hip-widecorridor.Friedman,thecommunicationsman,didn’tlookup.NeitherdidDonahue.Richardssteppedthroughintothegalleyand
thenhalted.
Thesmellofcoffeewasstrongandgood.Hepouredhimselfacup,addedsomeinstantcreamer,andsatdowninoneofthestewardesses’soff-dutychairs.TheSilexbubbledandsteamed.
Therewasacompletestockofluxuryfrozendinnersinthesee-throughfreezers.Theliquorcabinetwasfully
stockedwithmidgetairlinebottles.
Amancouldhaveagooddrunk,hethought.
Hesippedhiscoffee.Itwasstrongandfine.TheSilexbubbled.
HereIam,hethought,andsipped.Yes,noquestionaboutit.Herehewas,justsipping.
Potsandpansallneatlyputaway.ThestainlesssteelsinkgleaminglikeachromiumjewelinaFormicasetting.And,ofcourse,thatSilexonthehotplate,bubblingandsteaming.SheilahadalwayswantedaSilex.ASilexlasts,washerclaim.
Hewasweeping.
Therewasatinytoiletwhereonlystewardess
bottomshadsquatted.Thedoorwashalfajarandhecouldseeit,yes,eventheblue,primlydisinfectedwaterinthebowl.Defecateintastefulsplendoratfiftythousandfeet.
HedrankhiscoffeeandwatchedtheSilexbubbleandsteam,andhewept.Theweepingwasverycalmandcompletelysilent.Itandhiscupofcoffeeendedatthe
sametime.
Hegotupandputhiscupinthestainlesssteelsink.HepickeduptheSilex,holdingitbyitsbrownplastichandle,andcarefullydumpedthecoffeedownthedrain.Tinybeadsofcondensationclungtothethickglass.
Hewipedhiseyeswiththesleeveofhisjacketandwentbackintothenarrowcorridor.
HesteppedintoDonahue’scompartment,carryingtheSilexinonehand.
“Wantsomecoffee?”Richardsasked.
“No,”Donahuesaidcurtly,withoutlookingup.
“Sureyoudo,”Richardssaid,andswungtheheavyglasspotdownonDonahue’sbentheadwithalltheforce
hecouldmanage.
…Minus008andCOUNTING…
Theeffortrippedopenthewoundinhissideforthethirdtime,butthepotdidn’tbreak.Richardswonderedifithadbeenfortifiedwithsomething(VitaminB-12,perhaps?)tokeepitfromshatteringincase
ofhighlevelturbulence.Itdidtakeahuge,amazingblotofDonahue’sblood.Hefellsilentlyontohismaptable.Arunnelofbloodranacrosstheplasticoatingofthetoponeandbegantodrip.
“Rogerfive-by,C-one-niner-eight-four,”aradiovoicesaidbrightly.
RichardswasstillholdingtheSilex.Itwasmattedwith
strandsofDonahue’shair.
Hedroppedit,buttherewasnoclunk.Carpetingevenhere.TheglassbubbleoftheSilexrolledupathim,awinking,bloodshoteyeball.Theglossyeight-by-tenofCathyinhercribappearedunbiddenandRichardsshuddered.
HeliftedDonahue’sdeadweightbythehairand
rummagedinsidehisblueflightjacket.Thegunwasthere.HewasabouttodropDonahue’sheadbacktothemaptable,butpaused,andyankeditupevenfurther.Donahue’smouthhungunhinged,anidiotleer.Blooddrippedintoit.
Richardswipedbloodfromonenostrilandstaredin.
Thereitwas—tiny,very
tiny.Aglitterofmesh.
“AcknowledgeE.T.A.C-one-niner-eight-four,”theradiosaid.
“Hey,that’syou!”Friedmancalledfromacrossthehall.“Donahue—”
Richardslimpedintothepassage.Hefeltveryweak.Friedmanlookedup.“WillyoutellDonahuetogetoff
hisbuttandacknowledge—”
Richardsshothimjustabovetheupperlip.Teethflewlikeabroken,savagenecklace.Hair,blood,andbrainssplashedaRorschachonthewallbehindthechair,wherea3-Dfoldoutgirlwasspreadingeternallegsoveravarnishedmahoganybedpost.
Therewasamuffledexclamationfromthepilot’s
compartment,andHollowaymadeadesperate,doomedlungetoshutthedoor.Richardsnoticedthathehadaverysmallscaronhisforehead,shapedlikeaquestionmark.Itwasthekindofscarasmall,adventurousboymightgetifhefellfromalowbranchwhileplayingpilot.
HeshotHollowayinthebellyandHollowaymadea
greatshockednoise:“Whoooo-OOO!Hisfeetflippedoutfromunderhimandhefellonhisface.
Duningerwasturnedaroundinhischair,hisfaceaslackmoon.“Don’tshootme,huh?”hesaid.Therewasnotenoughwindinhimtomakeitastatement.
“Here,”Richardssaidkindly,andpulledthetrigger.
SomethingpoppedandflaredwithbriefviolencebehindDuningerashefellover.
Silence.
“AcknowledgeE.T.A.,C-one-niner-eight-four,”theradiosaid.
Richardssuddenlywhoopedandthrewupagreatglutofcoffeeandbile.Themuscularcontractionrippedhiswound
openfurther,implantingagreat,throbbingpaininhisside.
Helimpedtothecontrols,stilldippingandslidinginendless,complextandem.Somanydialsandcontrols.
Wouldn’ttheyhaveacommunicationslinkconstantlyopenonsuchanimportantflight?Surely.
“Acknowledge,”Richardssaidconversationally.
“YougottheFree-Veeonupthere,C-one-niner-eight-four?We’vebeengettingsomegarbledtransmission.Everythingokay?”
“Five-by,”Richardssaid.
“TellDuningerheowesmeabeer,”thevoicesaidcryptically,andthenthere
wasonlybackgroundstatic.
Ottowasdrivingthebus.
Richardswentbacktofinishhisbusiness.
…Minus007andCOUNTING…
“OhdearGod,”AmeliaWilliamsmoaned.
Richardslookeddownathimselfcasually.Hisentirerightside,fromribcagetocalf,wasabrightand
sparklingred.
“Whowouldhavethoughttheoldmanhadsomuchbloodinhim?”Richardssaid.
McConesuddenlydashedthroughintofirstclass.HetookinRichardsataglance.McCone’sgunwasout.HeandRichardsfiredatthesametime.
McConedisappeared
throughthecanvasbetweenfirstandsecondclass.Richardssatdownhard.Hefeltverytired.Therewasalargeholeinhisbelly.Hecouldseehisintestines.
Ameliawasscreamingendlessly,herhandspullinghercheeksdownintoaplasticwitch-face.
McConecamestaggeringbackintofirstclass.Hewas
grinning.Halfofhisheadappearedtobeblownaway,buthewasgrinningallthesame.
Hefiredtwice.ThefirstbulletwentoverRichards’shead.Thesecondstruckhimjustbelowthecollarbone.
Richardsfiredagain.McConestaggeredaroundtwiceinanaimlesskindofdipsy-doodle.Thegunfell
fromhisfingers.McConeappearedtobeobservingtheheavywhitestyrofoamceilingofthefirstclasscompartment,perhapscomparingittohisowninsecondclass.Hefellover.Thesmellofburnedpowderandburnedfleshwasclearandcrisp,asdistinctiveasapplesinaciderpress.
Ameliacontinuedtoscream.Richardsthoughthow
remarkablyhealthyshesounded.
…Minus006andCOUNTING…
Richardsgotupveryslowly,holdinghisintestinesin.Itfeltasifsomeonewaslightingmatchesinhisstomach.
Hewentslowlyuptheaisle,
bentover,onehandtohismidriff,asifbowing.Hepickeduptheparachutewithonehandanddraggeditbehindhim.Aloopofgraysausageescapedhisfingersandhepusheditbackin.Ithurttopushitin.Itvaguelyfeltasifhemightbeshittinghimself.
“Guh,”AmeliaWilliamswasgroaning.“Guh-Guh-Guh-God.OhGod.Ohdear
God.”
“Putthison,”Richardssaid.
Shecontinuedtorockandmoan,nothearinghim.Hedroppedtheparachuteandslappedher.Hecouldgetnoforceintoit.Heballedhisfistandpunchedher.Sheshutup.Hereyesstaredathimdazedly.
“Putthison,”hesaidagain.
“Likeapacksack.Youseehow?”
Shenodded.“I.Can’t.Jump.Scared.”
“We’regoingdown.Youhavetojump.”
“Can’t.”
“Allright.Shootyouthen.”
Shepoppedoutofherseat,
knockinghimsideways,andbegantopullthepacksackonwithwild,eye-rollingvigor.Shebackedawayfromhimasshestruggledwiththestraps.
“No.Thatonegoesuh-under.”
Sherearrangedthestrapwithgreatspeed,retreatingtowardMcCone’sbodyasRichardsapproached.Bloodwasdrippingfromhismouth.
“Nowfastentheclipintheringbolt.Around.Yourbuh-belly.”
Shediditwithtremblingfingers,weepingwhenshemissedtheconnectionthefirsttime.Hereyesstaredmadlyintohisface.
SheskitteredmomentarilyinMcCone’sbloodandthensteppedoverhim.
Theybackedthroughsecondclassandintothirdclassinthesameway.Matchesinhisbellyhadbeenreplacedbyasteadilyflaminglighter.
Theemergencydoorwaslockedwithexplosiveboltsandapilot-controlledbar.
Richardshandedherthegun.“Shootit.I…can’ttaketherecoil.”
Closinghereyesandavertingherface,shepulledthetriggerofDonahue’sguntwice.Thenitwasempty.Thedoorstoodclosed,andRichardsfeltafaint,sickdespair.AmeliaWilliamswasholdingtheripcordringnervously,givingittinylittletwitches.
“Maybe—”shebegan,andthedoorsuddenlyblewawayintothenight,suckingher
alongwithit.
…Minus005andCOUNTING…
Benthaglike,amaninareversehurricane,Richardsmadehiswayfromtheblowndoor,holdingthebacksofseats.Iftheyhadbeenflyinghigher,withagreaterdifferenceinairpressure,he
wouldhavebeenpulledout,too.Asitwashewasbeingbadlybuffeted,hispooroldintestinesaccordioningoutandtrailingafterhimonthefloor.Thecoolnightair,thinandsharpattwothousandfeet,waslikeaslapofcoldwater.Thecigarettelighterhadbecomeatorch,andhisinsideswereburning.
Throughsecondclass.Better.Suctionnotsogreat.
NowoverMcCone’ssprawledbody(stepup,please)andthroughfirstclass.Bloodranlooselyfromhismouth.
Hepausedattheentrancetothegalleyandtriedtogatheruphisintestines.Heknewtheydidn’tlikeitontheOutside.Notabit.Theyweregettingalldirty.Hewantedtoweepforhispoor,fragileintestines,whohadaskedfor
noneofthis.
Hecouldn’tpackthembackinside.Itwasallwrong;theywerealljumbled.Frighteningimagesfromhighschoolbiologybooksjettedpasthiseyes.Herealizedwithdawning,stumblingtruth,thefactofhisownactualending,andcriedoutmiserablythroughamouthfulofblood.
Therewasnoanswerfrom
theaircraft.Everyonewasgone.EveryonebuthimselfandOtto.
Theworldseemedtobedrainingofcolorashisbodydrainedofitsownbrightfluid.Leaningcrookedlyagainstthegalleyentrance,likeadrunkleaningagainstalamppost,hesawthethingsaroundhimgothroughashifting,wraithlikegrayout.
Thisisit.I’mgoing.
Hescreamedagain,bringingtheworldbackintoexcruciatingfocus.Notyet.Mustn’t.
Helungedthroughthegalleywithhisgutshanginginropesaroundhim.Amazingthattherecouldbesomuchinthere.Soround,sofirm,sofullypacked.
Hesteppedonpartofhimself,andsomethinginsidepulled.Theflareofpainwasbeyondbelief,beyondtheworld,andheshrieked,splatteringbloodonthefarwall.Helosthisbalanceandwouldhavefallen,hadnotthewallstoppedhimatsixtydegrees.
Gutshot.I’mgutshot.
Insanely,hismind
responded:Clitter-clitter-clitter.
Onethingtodo.
Gutshotwassupposedtobeoneoftheworst.Theyhadhadadiscussiononceabouttheworstwaystogoontheirmidnightlunchbreak;thathadbeenwhenhewasawiper.Haleandheartyandfullofbloodandpissandsemen,allofthem,gobbling
sandwichesandcomparingtherelativemeritsofradiationpoisoning,freezing,falling,bludgeoning,drowning.Andsomeonehadmentionedbeinggutshot.Harris,maybe.Thefatonewhodrankillicitbeeronthejob.
Ithurtsinthebelly,Harrishadsaid.Ittakesalongtime.Andallofthemnoddingandagreeingsolemnly,withnoconceptionofPain.
Richardslurchedupthenarrowcorridor,holdingbothsidesforsupport.PastDonahue.PastFriedmanandhisradicaldentalsurgery.Numbnesscrawlinguphisarms,yetthepaininhisbelly(whathadbeenhisbelly)growingworse.Still,eventhroughallthishemoved,andhisrupturedbodytriedtocarryoutthecommandsoftheinsaneNapoleoncagedinsidehisskull.
MyGod,canthisbetheendofRico?
Hewouldnothavebelievedhehadsomanydeath-bedclichesinsidehim.Itseemedthathismindwasturninginward,eatingitselfinitslastfeveredseconds.
One.More.Thing.
HefelloverHolloway’ssprawledbodyandlaythere,
suddenlysleepy.Anap.Yes.Justtheticket.Toohardtogetup.Otto,humming.Singingthebirthdayboytosleep.Shhh,shhh,shhh.Thesheep’sinthemeadow,thecow’sinthecorn.
Heliftedhishead—tremendouseffort,hisheadwassteel,pigiron,lead—andstaredatthetwincontrolsgoingthroughtheirdance.Beyondhim,intheplexiglass
windows,Harding.
Toofar.
He’sunderthehaystack,fastasleep.
…Minus004andCOUNTING…
Theradiowassquawkingworriedly:“Comein,C-one-niner-eight-four.You’retoolow.Acknowledge.Acknowledge.ShallweassumeGuidancecontrol?Acknowledge.Acknowledge
Ack—”
“Eatit,”Richardswhispered.
Hebegantocrawltowardthedipping,swayingcontrols.Inandoutwentthepedals.Twitch-twitchwentthewheels.Hescreamedasnewagonyflared.AloopofhisintestineshadcaughtunderHolloway’schin.Hecrawledback.Freedthem.Startedto
crawlagain.
Hisarmswentslackandforamomenthefloated,weightless,withhisnoseinthesoft,deep-pilecarpet.Hepushedhimselfupandbegantocrawlagain.
GettingupandintoHolloway’sseatwasEverest.
…Minus003andCOUNTING…
Thereitwas.Huge,bulkingsquareandtallintothenight,silhouettedblackaboveeverythingelse.Moonlighthadturneditalabaster.
Hetweakedthewheeljusta
little.Thefloorfellawaytotheleft.HelurchedinHolloway’sseatandalmostfellout.Heturnedthewheelback,overcorrectedagain,andthefloorfellawaytotheright.Thehorizonwastiltingcrazily.
Nowthepedals.Yes.Better.
Hepushedthewheelingingerly.Adialinfrontofhiseyesmovedfrom2000to
1500inthewinkofaneye.Heeasedthewheelback.Hehadverylittlesightleft.Hisrighteyewasalmostcompletelygone.Strangethattheyshouldgooneatatime.
Hepushedthewheelinagain.Nowitseemedthattheplanewasfloating,weightless.Thedialslippedfrom1500to1200to900.Hepulleditbackout.
“C-one-niner-eight-four.”Thevoicewasveryalarmednow.“What’swrong?Acknowledge!”
“Speak,boy,”Richardscroaked.“Rowf!Rowf!”
…Minus002andCOUNTING…
ThebigplanecruisedthroughthenightlikeasliveroficeandnowCo-OpCitywasspreadoutbelowlikeagiantbrokencarton.
Hewascomingatit,coming
attheGamesBuilding.
…Minus001andCOUNTING…
Nowthejetcruisedacrossthecanal,seeminglyheldupbythehandofGod,giant,roaring.APushfreakinadoorwaystaredupandthoughthewasseeingahallucination,thelastdope
dream,cometotakehimaway,perhapstoGeneralAtomicsheavenwhereallthefoodwasfreeandallthepileswerecleanbreeders.
Thesoundofitsenginesdrovepeopleintodoorways,theirfacescraningupwardslikepaleflames.Glassshow-windowsjingledandfellinward.Gutterlitterwassuckeddownbowling-alleystreetsindervishes.Acop
droppedhismove-alongandwrappedhishandsaroundhisheadandscreamedandcouldnothearhimself.
Theplanewasstilldroppingandnowitmovedoverrooftopslikeacruisingsilverbat;thestarboardwingtipmissedthesideoftheGlamourColumnStorebyabaretwelvefeet.
AlloverHarding,Free-Vees
wentwhitewithinterferenceandpeoplestaredatthemwithstupid,fearfulincredulity.
Thethunderfilledtheworld.
Killianlookedupfromhisdeskandstaredintothewall-to-wallwindowthatformedoneentiresideoftheroom.
Thetwinklingvistaofthe
city,fromSouthCitytoCrescent,wasgone.Theentirewindowwasfilledwithanon-comingLockheedTriStarjet.Itsrunninglightsblinkedonandoff,andforjustamoment,aninsanemomentoftotalsurpriseandhorroranddisbelief,hecouldseeRichardsstaringoutathim.Hisfacesmearedwithblood,hisblackeyesburningliketheeyesofademon.
Richardswasgrinning.
Andgivinghimthefinger.
“—Jesus—”wasallKillianhadtimetogetout.
…Minus000andCOUNTING…
Heelingoverslightly,theLockheedstrucktheGamesBuildingdeadon,threequartersofthewayup.Itstankswerestillbetterthanaquarterfull.Itsspeedwasslightlyoverfivehundred
milesanhour.
Theexplosionwastremendous,lightingupthenightlikethewrathofGod,anditrainedfiretwentyblocksaway.