“Okay,” said Jeffrey.
“How many times do I have to tell you, man?” said the voice snottily. “Ten-four, okay? Ten-four.”
“Ten-four,” said Jeffrey. What an asshole, he thought. What difference did it make really?
He looked down at Charley. Was he one of the “cleansed” members of The New Day? Was he here of his own free will? Or did he come here for help with his drinking or gambling or depression and get sucked in? He was clean shaven with silky blonde hair that hung in wispy bangs over his eyes. He was skinny to the point of being emaciated with a pouty mouth and long, girlish lashes. Jeffrey put him at nineteen, possibly twenty years old, about a hundred and fifty pounds. He bent down and took the kid by both of his hands and pulled him into a sitting position. With effort he hoisted him over his shoulder. The dead weight was almost too much for him, but something within him wouldn’t allow him to leave Charley behind. Not after what he’d seen on those security monitors.
The hallway outside was deserted and he ran as fast as he could with the kid on his back through the foyer. He saw that the front door was barred with security shutters now, likewise the glass walls of the breezeway. They weren’t just trying to keep people out, he understood now. They were trying to keep people in.
They were waiting for him on the other side, the two large men he’d seen escort Lydia from the building. He pulled the gun from the holster and stuck it into Charley’s side.
“I’ll kill him,” he said as the two men approached. “I’ve got Black Talon bullets in this gun, they’ll rip him apart inside like a circular saw blade.”
The men came to a stop. “The bullet goes in, spins around like a Tasmanian Devil, shredding whatever it comes in contact with until it bounces off a bone and exits like a cannonball. You never know where it’s going to come out.”
They didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not. He widened his eyes to make himself look a little unstable, and started shifting from foot to foot. People didn’t like when someone holding a big semiautomatic seemed jittery. They usually wanted him to go away. But these guys were different; they weren’t reacting to him. They stood stone-faced, vacant, like they were robots waiting for orders. They weren’t afraid for themselves or their friend; they weren’t angry. They stood apart to watch him pass, their arms at their sides. Jeffrey passed between them quickly and turned back to face them, backing away. They hadn’t moved.
“Leave the boy,” one of them said. “And you can leave here without interference.”
Jeffrey kept backing away; now he held the gun in their general direction. No reaction whatsoever. He heard footsteps behind him, big people moving quickly. When he turned he saw the man from the abandoned building and his ugly twin, the one Lydia must have seen at the convenience store. They were both bald, clad in leather. They didn’t look vacant; they looked disturbed, both of them with these weird half smiles and staring eyes.
“Stop right there, or the kid dies,” he said. But they kept coming. So Jeff turned and ran down an empty hallway behind him; all four of the men gave chase. He was heading toward the kitchen, praying that the door was as they had left it, open and waiting for a quick exit. He stopped and fired behind him, the sound exploding off the walls. He heard one round hit flesh and a man started to scream; one of the tunic-clad goons fell to his knees and clutched his arm. The other men took cover but they didn’t return fire. Jeffrey kept running, his heart and his lungs on fire. The kid seemed to get heavier and he still hadn’t stirred at all.
He saw the double doors of the kitchen ahead of him and heard the pounding feet of the men behind him. He heard an explosion of gunfire in front of him-the hallways reverberated with it. He could see a muzzle flash through the windows in the double doors. Only one gun in the world sounded like that, and he only knew one person who carried it.
The door opened slowly and Dax stepped out, the gun in his hand as big as his forearm. Jeffrey moved to the side as Dax aimed his weapon and started to fire. Boom. Boom. Boom. It was deafening and Jeffrey’s ears were ringing as he made his way through the maze of industrial-sized appliances. He saw Lydia ahead of him, holding open the door that looked as though they’d blasted through it. He put the kid on the floor and together they dragged him under the half-closed security shutter.
“Go, go, go,” yelled Dax, backing toward them quickly, still firing. They were firing back now but badly, like their hearts weren’t in it. They were missing Dax though he was a damn big target.
Outside, Jeffrey hoisted the kid back onto his shoulders as Dax slid out the door with less grace than he once might have. He got up stiffly and took what looked like a grenade out of his pocket.
“What are you going to do with that?” Lydia asked as he pulled the pin. He let it go and rolled it through the door.
“Holy shit,” she said, and they all started to move quickly toward the Rover, Lydia taking up the rear with her gun drawn. Dax was limping badly; Jeffrey was carrying a body. Someone had to keep an eye on what was coming up behind them. And then the blast rang out. Lydia felt the vibration in her chest, in her bones.
“Don’t worry,” said Dax. “It wasn’t a grenade, exactly. Not exactly. More like a flash bomb. More sound than fury, if you know what I mean.”
Nobody came out the door after them. And they made their way back to the car with no one behind them. Dax unlocked the hatch and they put Charley in the back of the Rover.
“Who the hell’s this?” asked Dax.
“I don’t know. His name’s Charley. I couldn’t leave him there. I think he’s just a kid.” They all looked at him for a second; he was still out but starting to stir.
“Looks like you hit him pretty hard,” observed Lydia.
The blood had traveled from his nose and soaked the front of his white tunic. It looked like spilt tar in the darkness.
“Yeah, I guess I don’t know my own strength.”
Dax shrugged. “Maybe he knows something.”
They got in the car, Lydia and Dax up front, Jeffrey in back with his gun on the kid. Who knew how he’d behave once he came around; he was already shifting and groaning softly in pain. Dax gunned the engine and spun the car around, driving fast up the empty street. They heard the wail of approaching sirens.
“I think we have to call the police,” said Jeffrey after a second.
“The people who do the breaking in, shooting, and bombing aren’t usually the ones to call the police, Jeff,” said Dax sensibly.
“What did you see in there, Jeffrey?” asked Lydia, looking back at him.
“On the video monitors, I saw people with shaved heads lying in hospital beds. They were connected to feeding tubes, heart monitors. They were in five-point restraints. They were conscious, Lydia. Wide awake.”
For a second they all flashed on the image of the emaciated woman with the shaved head, running for her life through a gathering of witches, dinosaurs, and clowns. Lydia’s heart started to race as she imagined the girl’s terror, knowing what awaited her if she was caught.
“Did you see Lily?” asked Lydia.
He shook his head. “No.”
Lydia took the cell phone out of her pocket and called Matt Stenopolis.
Stenopolis, I know you didn’t just call me at home at nearly eleven o’clock at night to tell me about a conversation you had with some old freak in a nursing home.”
Kepler had something in his mouth and he was crunching on it loudly.
“Sir, he says that people are going into that place and not coming out.”
“Has it occurred to you, Detective, that they are exiting another door, one the old man can’t see from the porch?”
Here’s where it got tough. He couldn’t tell Kepler what Jeffrey Mark had found while breaking and entering, then shooting his way out of The New Day. That was fruit from a poisonous tree. He couldn’t admit to involving them in the case he had been told to walk away from. He had to stick with the Randall Holmes tip, which on its own was pretty weak.