"Maybe," Slaughter told him. "Or it could be something he remembers from when he was just a kid. There isn't any way to know."
Abruptly the figure on the bed started screaming. They flinched as the scream swept louder around them. It rose higher, strident, the figure twisting, agonized, and then as suddenly as it began, the scream diminished. The figure settled, moaning, on the bed. They continued staring.
"Is there nothing you can give him?" Slaughter asked the medical examiner.
"I'm not about to risk a sedative. The only thing that we can do is watch to see what happens."
"What about these lights, though? Can't we dim them?'
"He's unconscious, so they shouldn't bother him. But why not? I don't see a need for them." The medical examiner walked to the door and switched off the lights. The room became shadowy.
But the figure didn't stop its moaning. It jerked its head from side to side. Then gradually it seemed calmer.
"What about the red room, Pollock? Tell us about it," Dunlap said.
There wasn't any answer.
"Red room," Dunlap said again.
And then in answer, "Red room, red room, antelope."
"I told you this is useless. He's just babbling," Slaughter said.
"Or else he's saying what's important to him," Dunlap answered.
"Then you tell me what it means."
"You know I can't."
"Of course you can't. We have to find out where they've gone. If there's some kind of red room, I sure want to know what's in it." Slaughter turned to Lucas. "Can you tell us where they might be living?"
Lucas shook his head. He studied Slaughter and then everyone, their faces in shadow. "No, they never told me much. But now that I think back, I can understand why Quiller would have moved. My father and the state police were proof the compound wasn't safe for him. He'd want to find a better place."
"But where?" Slaughter asked. "Those hills are used for camping, fishing, hunting. Someone would have found them."
"Could be someone did," Dunlap said. "You'd better check your missing-persons file and any inquiries you might have gotten from other sections of the country. You never know how far back this might take you."
"Slaughter, would you mind explaining what this means?"
The new voice thundered through the room. They stiffened, turning toward the doorway, Parsons braced there, looming over them, and then they turned toward Slaughter.
"We don't know yet. We were-"
"In the hallway."
"What?"
"I'm waiting, Slaughter."
Parsons stepped back out and let the door swing shut. The room was silent as they looked at Slaughter.
"Well, I guess I knew this would happen."
"What would happen?"
"He objects to the company I keep."
"He what?"
"It's nothing. I'll explain it later." Through the window, he saw Parsons stalking back and forth in the hallway. "Well, I guess I'd better get it settled." Slaughter faced the door and pulled on it.
Parsons waited until Slaughter shut the door behind him. "You were told to keep that reporter away from this, to make sure he was on a bus the hell from town!"
The nurses at the far end stared at them.
"I don't think I can do that."
"If you want to keep your job, you'll-"
"Parsons, look, we really should have gotten to know each other. It's too late now, but I'll try to make you understand. I've been through situations like this many times. Back in Detroit, when there was trouble and pressure was put on our supervisors, they'd look around for someone to blame. We learned early how to come out looking squeaky clean. Now there's about to be a lot of trouble, and you're going to need a fall guy, but I'm damned sure it won't be me. That reporter in there is closer to me right now than my jockey shorts. Except for this conversation, I don't go anywhere, not even to the men's room, without bringing him along. Because I want to guarantee that I'm protected, that he writes down every move I make, so if you have any accusations, any tricks you want to pull to keep your lovely reputation, there'll be someone else's word besides your own."
"I'll have you-"
"Listen to me. I'm not finished. So you want to sit back and let things happen. Well, that's not the way I plan to do this. If I have to, I'll declare martial law. I'm not sure I have the power, but when this is over, there'll be plenty of time for us to argue. In the meanwhile, I'll at least be doing something which is more than I can say for you. It could be I'll make mistakes. Okay then, I'll take blame for them. But there is no way in this life that I'll take blame for your inaction."
Parsons glared. "You'll wish you'd never come here."
"Maybe. But just think about your options. If I'm right, you'll reach out and take the credit. If I'm wrong, you know who to point blame at. But that reporter is my insurance that I've got a witness to protect me. I'm in charge now. Don't forget it."
Parsons looked through the window at the medical examiner and Dunlap and the young man who were watching him. "Oh, I'm not known for my forgetfulness. Years from now I'll still remember you, but you won't be around to realize it." Parsons studied him a moment longer and then stalked along the corridor.
EIGHT
Altick raced up through the bushes. He had waited with the two men by the helicopter until the ground patrol had finally arrived. He told them what had happened, and when he was finished urging them, when he had shown them first the body in the lake and then the piles of viscera in the forest, he had succeeded in his efforts to enrage them. After all, the one thing he had always emphasized was loyalty to one another. The members of the patrol knew all the men who had been killed. They'd been close friends, and the grisly evidence of how the first group had been killed had been enough to change their fear into anger. They weren't certain what had done this, but they all agreed that someone or some thing was going to pay. They edged up past the viscera, and they were cursing as they found a gametrail that led higher, blood along it, which they followed. High above, the helicopter hovered. That way, they would have a lookout who could warn them of a trap he saw ahead, and if they were indeed attacked, the pilot could pick up the wounded. At the least, the pilot would survive to tell what he had seen down here, but no one liked to talk about the chance of their all dying. They were rushing up the gametrail, concentrating to insure that their side didn't do the dying. They found more blood on the gametrail, and they were so angry, and it was so easy to follow this clear a spoor that no one thought until later that the blood had maybe been left for them.
PART SIX. The Jail
ONE
The map was spread out on the desk, and Slaughter stared at it. He glanced up at the five men grouped around him: Rettig, Dunlap, Lucas, Owens, and the medical examiner. "I wanted you to be here because each of you has been involved in this and I need your opinions."
They were silent. Outside, traffic was unusually dense for a Sunday.
"Good," Slaughter said. "I'm glad you want to help."
"There isn't any choice."
And Slaughter looked at Owens who was scowling out the window. Slaughter waited, then continued.
"As I see it, we've got two main problems, although they're really both the same. The first thing is to keep the people in town safe."
"By this afternoon, there won't be anybody to protect."
Slaughter looked again at Owens, then at where the man was scowling, at the cars and trucks that filed past toward the main road from the valley. "Okay, so word spread fast and lots of people are leaving. That can help us."
"To do what? Protect a ghost town?" Owens asked.
"That's exactly what I didn't want to hear. You've worked hard on this. I thought I could depend on you."
"But what's the use?" Owens demanded. "You know we can't beat this."