8
Despite all the houses slipping by on either side, hundreds of them, Sandy felt like he was in the middle of nowhere. Maybe because most of the houses looked empty.
He knew he was somewhere at the Jersey shore, but that was all he knew. He'd heard of it—couldn't listen to much Springsteen without hearing of the Jersey shore—but had never been here.
He'd been following Terry—somewhere along the way he'd started calling Holdstock by his first name—for an hour and a half now: across the George Washington Bridge, down the Turnpike to the Parkway, and now along this spit of land with a bay—Barnegat?—to the right and ocean dunes far to the left across the wide, house-choked island that separated the north- and southbound lanes. They didn't waste a square inch of buildable space around here.
Right now he and Terry made up half of the cars on the road.
The whole area would probably be jumping come the weekend, and every day after July Fourth, but at the moment it had the pre-season lonelies.
What's this all about, Terry? Where are we going? Another murder, perhaps?
Part of him hoped yes, but another part prayed no. Because if he saw a killing about to go down he'd have to do something about it, wouldn't he? He couldn't just stand and watch it happen, then report it later. Like the Savior had said after he'd clobbered that purse snatcher: to do nothing would make him an accomplice.
But this Holdstock was a hefty guy, and Sandy a featherweight. He thought of the Savior's little Semmerling and wished he had something like it.
Maybe he's just going to plot his next murder, check out his intended victim. That I can handle.
Sandy called his apartment for the fourth time. On the last three his voicemail had picked up but he hadn't left a message. This time Beth answered.
"I'm glad you called," she told him. "I expected you back by now. Where are you?"
"Believe it or not, the Jersey Shore. A last-minute assignment."
"Not that murder cult thing, I hope."
He didn't want to worry her. "Something entirely different. But I won't make it home for dinner."
"Aw, and I just got in the fixings for my world famous bean burritos. How late are you going to be?"
"Not sure."
"Whatever. I'll wait up."
"You will?"
"Sure."
Someone to wait up for you… how great was—
He'd just passed a sign that said WELCOME TO OCEAN BEACH, NJ and now the blinker on Terry's Honda was flashing a left.
"Oops, gotta go," he said, poising his thumb over the END button. "Call you when I'm on my way back."
Sandy couldn't follow the car into the same turn—Terry would guess he was being followed—so he cruised past to the next left, then gunned across the inhabited median to the northbound lanes.
Sandy groaned as he saw the Honda turn north again. Was it heading back to the city?
What's going on? he thought. Is this all some wild goose chase?
But his sinking feelings reversed when he saw the Honda make a quick right onto one of the residential streets.
Sandy grinned. Looked like Terry Holdstock had reached his destination.
9
Kate sat on the kitchen floor, hugging her knees, her back against a cabinet. She'd been unable to get comfortable on the chair Jack had left her; this was better. She was listening to the storm and wondering about the future—if she had a future—and whether she'd ever see Kevin and Elizabeth again—
Oh, dear Lord! Lizzie's recital! It starts in less than two hours! I'll miss it!
She pawed through her shoulder bag for her cell phone but when she found it, the battery was dead. And the charger was at Jeanette's. She leaped to her feet and was reaching for Jack's kitchen phone when it began to ring. She snatched it up.
"How's it going, Kate?" Jack's voice.
"As well as can be expected." She didn't want to go into the recital business. How would Lizzie ever forgive her?
"The storm had me worried. I thought I'd give a call."
"Aren't you a good brother. So far, so good."
"Do me a favor, will you? Hold the phone up to the microwave."
"Are you serious?"
"I just want to know it's still running."
She did as requested.
"Satisfied?"
"At least now I know I'm talking to my sister. The other reason I called is I ran into Jeanette at her place."
"Jack, you didn't—"
"She got away. But she gave me an idea. If they're all gathering at Holdstock's, I might be able to work something that will give you a little more breathing room."
"What?"
"I'd rather not say. Not because you'll object to it—"
"But because you don't want the Unity to know."
"Well, yeah."
"It's safe, Jack. I know from experience the Unity has no idea what's going on while the microwave is running."
"I'd still rather keep it to myself. But I'll call you as soon as I get it done—if I get it done."
"Okay." She was unhappy not knowing but she didn't see that she had much choice. "In the meantime I have to call home and my cell phone's dead. Okay if I use yours?"
"Call away. Talk to you later."
Kate cut the connection and immediately began dialing Ron's number. They wouldn't have left yet. How was she ever going to explain this to Lizzy? What could she say to—
An ear-numbing crash of thunder shook the kitchen and the lights went out.
"Oh, no!" Panic spiked Kate's heart as she jumped to her feet in the suddenly dark kitchen. "Oh please, God, no!"
Twelve seconds before the Unity seized her again—and she couldn't see the clock. What could she do? She couldn't think, couldn't—
The overhead fluorescents flickered, almost died, then returned to full brightness.
Yes!
But the microwave remained off. Kate all but leaped on it. The clock display was blinking 12:00. Never mind that. The timer buttons. Her trembling fingers found the numerical pad. Press them, jab them, stab them, any numbers, just get it going again: 8-8-8-8. Now START. Find START. There!
As her fingertip darted toward it—
The hum.
The warmth.
The glow.
The Voice.
Kate! You're still there? Tonight you must—
And then she hit the START button. If her finger had not already been on it, she might not have pressed it. Might never have tried.
As the oven hummed to life, Kate sagged against the counter, weak with relief. She sobbed. Once.
Too close. More unsettling was how quickly the Unity had gripped her. Kate hadn't been watching a clock but she was sure the oven had been off less than twelve seconds. Which could mean only one thing: she was becoming further integrated. The Unity's contact might be broken by the microwaves, but the virus was still doing its nasty work inside her head, invading more and more of her brain cells.
I'm lost, she thought. Without a cure, I'll be gone.
What had the Unity said? You're still there? It had sounded surprised. And pleased.
Kate closed her eyes and tried to sift through the residue that had seeped through with the words. Why surprised? And then she knew: Jack had lied to the Unity about her whereabouts. It must have thought he'd locked her away somewhere.
She realized with a start that it was glad to know where she was because it probably was sending someone for her. Not too much to worry about if they were. No one without a power saw and a sledgehammer was getting through Jack's front door.
And then she realized that the Unity had lied to Jack, sending him in the wrong direction. They weren't meeting at Holdstock's as originally planned. They needed a set amount of time in close contact for the Great Leap, and it had been decided—whether by them or for them, Kate couldn't be sure—to find an isolated location where they would not be interrupted. Or disrupted. Holdstock had become the object of further police interrogation, might even face incarceration—the thought of losing another member before the Great Leap terrified the Unity. Luckily they'd found the perfect spot, a place owned by another member. The exact location hadn't yet come through… all Kate could glean was something about "Joyce's rental property"…