“Okay,” Nick said, “the mentally challenged are restless tonight. That better?”
“Yes.” She allowed him a smile.
“How’s your head, Sha?”
“Better. Fine, in fact. Yours?”
“The same.”
“Mine, too,” George said, joining them. “Thanks for asking. You guys have the dream? Bigger phones and Hello, do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” Nick said.
“That last phone, the one just before I woke up, was bigger than me. And the hum’s stronger.” Then, in the same casual tone: “How long do you think before they decide to gas us? I’m surprised they haven’t done it already.”
6
Nine forty-five, in the parking lot of the Econo Lodge in Beaufort, South Carolina.
“I’m listening,” Stackhouse said. “If you let me help you, maybe we can work this out together. Let’s discuss it.”
“Let’s not,” Luke said. “All you have to do is listen. And make notes, because I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”
“Is your friend Tim still with y—”
“Do you want the flash drive or not? If you don’t, keep talking. If you do, shut the fuck up.”
Tim put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. In the front seat of the van, Mrs. Sigsby was shaking her head sadly. Luke didn’t have to read her mind to know what she was thinking: a boy trying to do a man’s work.
Stackhouse sighed. “Go ahead. Pen and paper at the ready.”
“First. Officer Wendy doesn’t have the flash drive, that comes with us, but she knows the names of my friends—Kalisha, Avery, Nicky, Helen, a couple more—and where they came from. If their parents are dead, like mine, that will be enough to support an investigation, even without the flash drive. She’ll never have to say a word about psychic kids or the rest of your murderous bullshit. They’ll find the Institute. Even if you got away, Stackhouse, your bosses would hunt you down. We’re your best chance of living through this. Got it?”
“Spare me the sell-job. What’s this Officer Wendy’s last name?”
Tim, who was leaning close enough to hear both sides of the conversation, shook his head. This was advice Luke didn’t need.
“Never mind. Second. Call the plane your posse came down in. Tell the pilots they are to lock themselves in the cockpit as soon as they see us coming.”
Tim whispered two words. Luke nodded.
“But before they do that, tell them to lower the air-stairs.”
“How will they know it’s you?”
“Because we’ll be in one of the vans your hired killers came in.” Luke was pleased to give Stackhouse this information, hoping it rammed home the point: Mrs. Sigsby had swung and missed.
“We don’t see the pilot and co-pilot and they don’t see us. We land where the plane took off, and they stay inside the cockpit. With me so far?”
“Yes.”
“Third. I want a van waiting for us, a nine-seater, just like the one we drove out of DuPray.”
“We don’t—”
“Bullshit you don’t, you’ve got a motor pool in that little barracks town of yours. I saw it. Now are you going to work with me on this, or should I just give up on you?”
Luke was sweating heavily, and not just because the night was humid. He was very glad for Tim’s hand on his shoulder, and Wendy’s concerned eyes. It was good not to be alone in this anymore. He really hadn’t realized how heavy that burden was until now.
Stackhouse gave the sigh of a man being unfairly burdened. “Go on.”
“Fourth. You’re going to procure a bus.”
“A bus? Are you serious?”
Luke decided to ignore this interruption, feeling that it was warranted. Certainly Tim and Wendy looked amazed.
“I’m sure you have friends everywhere, and that includes at least some of the police in Dennison River Bend. Maybe all of them. It’s summer, so the kids are on vacation, and the buses will be in the town’s municipal lot, along with the plows and dump trucks and all the other stuff. Have one of your cop friends unlock the building where they keep the keys. Have him put the key in the ignition of a bus that seats at least forty. One of your techs or caretakers can drive it to the Institute. Leave it by the flagpole in front of the admin building with the keys in it. Do you understand all that?”
“Yes.” Businesslike. No protests or interruptions now, and Luke didn’t need Tim’s adult grasp of psychology and motivation to understand why. This, Stackhouse must be thinking, was a child’s harebrained plan, only half a step removed from wishful thinking. He could see the same thing on Tim’s face, and on Wendy’s. Mrs. Sigsby was in earshot, and she looked like she was having trouble keeping a straight face.
“It’s a simple exchange. You get the flash drive, I get the kids. The ones from Back Half, and the ones in Front Half, too. You have them all ready for their field trip by 2 AM tomorrow morning. Officer Wendy keeps her mouth shut. That’s the deal. Oh, you also get your piece-of-shit boss and your piece-of-shit doctor.”
“Can I ask a question, Luke? Is that permissible?”
“Go ahead.”
“Once you have somewhere between thirty-five and forty children crammed into a big yellow school bus with DENNISON RIVER BEND on the side, where do you plan to take them? Always remembering that the majority have no minds left?”
“Disneyland,” Luke said.
Tim put a hand to his brow, as if he had developed a sudden headache.
“We’ll be staying in touch with Officer Wendy. Before we take off. After we land. When we get to the Institute. When we leave the Institute. If she doesn’t get a call, she’ll start making calls of her own, starting with the Maine State Police, then moving on to the FBI and Homeland Security. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Last thing. When we get there, I want you there. Arms outstretched. One hand on the hood of the bus, one hand on the flagpole. As soon as the kids are on the bus and my friend Tim is behind the wheel, I hand you Maureen’s flash drive and get aboard myself. Clear on that?”
“Yes.”
Crisp. Trying not to sound like a man who’s won the big jackpot.
He understands that Wendy might be a problem, Luke thought, because she knows the names of a bunch of missing kids, but that’s a problem he thinks he can solve. The flash drive’s a bigger deal, harder to dismiss as fake news. I’m offering it to him pretty much on a silver platter. How can he refuse? Answer: he can’t.
“Luke—” Tim began.
Luke shook his head: not now, not while I’m thinking.
He knows his situation is still bad, but now he sees a ray of light. Thank God Tim reminded me of what I should have thought of myself: it doesn’t end with Sigsby and Stackhouse. They have to have their own bosses, people they answer to. When the shit hits the fan, Stackhouse can tell them it could have been much worse; in fact they should be thanking him for saving the day.
“Will you be calling me before you take off?” Stackhouse asked.
“No. I trust you to make all the arrangements.” Although trust wasn’t the first word that came to mind when Luke thought of Stackhouse. “The next time we talk will be face-to-face, at the Institute. Van at the airport. Bus waiting by the flagpole. Fuck up at any point and Officer Wendy starts making her calls and telling her tale. Goodbye.”
He ended the call and sagged.
7
Tim handed Wendy the Glock and gestured at their two prisoners. She nodded. Once she was standing guard, Tim drew the boy aside. They stood by the fence, in a blot of shadow cast by one of the magnolias.