"Well, this will be the last. You'll have to come with us."
The room was silent. The shuffling feet had stopped. The officer on duty at the radio was frowning. The three men who'd been answering the telephones halted in mid-sentence. They made brief remarks and set down the phones. At once, the phones started ringing again.
"Pull the jacks on those things," Parsons said. "I don't want to hear them."
They were looking first at Slaughter, then at Parsons.
"Pull the jacks, I told you."
They leaned down quickly, pulling out the jacks.
"That's better. Now we won't be interrupted. Well, you heard me, Slaughter. Let's get moving."
"Where? What for?"
"I just declared emergency conditions."
"I don't-"
"This is what you'd call a citizen's arrest."
"You're joking."
"Am I smiling? Move before we make you."
"But you can't be serious."
"I'm not prepared to argue. It's a known fact that you wouldn't follow orders."
"That's because you didn't want to deal with this."
"Do I appear as if I'm not prepared to deal with this? Your logic's not convincing. You've been acting on your own without authority. Your methods have been irresponsible. You've let this thing get out of hand while you, the medical examiner, and Owens were conspiring to hide evidence of murder."
"What?"
"The boy the medical examiner slashed open in the morgue. The boy was still alive. You think I don't know about that? Once I figured that the parents would be suing us, I had a second autopsy performed. That slash is hardly what you'd call professional. Oh, sure, the medical examiner worked hard to make it seem a part of his procedure, but he didn't do it well enough. We're holding all of you until we learn the truth about this."
"Not including me." Dunlap stepped ahead. "I don't know anything about this."
"But you've seen enough to be a circumstantial witness. Slaughter bragged about that. And this fellow here. I don't know how he's involved in this."
"I'm passing through," Lucas said.
"You're Wheeler's son. I know that much by now. You used to chum with all those hippies, and we can't afford to trust you. How much money do you have?"
"I don't see-"
"How much money?"
"Ten, maybe twelve dollars."
"Not enough. You're a vagrant, and we'll likely find a record on you once we start investigating. All of you, I'm tired of waiting."
"What about me?" Rettig stepped forward.
"I have nothing I can claim against you. Actually I'm putting you in charge, although I'm still suspicious of your friendship with Slaughter. Make one move to help him, and you'll join him. This department's been in bad shape for too long. I mean to put some muscle in it. I won't ask you anymore, " he told them. "Rettig, take his gun."
But Rettig hesitated.
"It's all right," Slaughter told him. "Every second we argue, there's more trouble outside. Do what he tells you. I'll make good on this."
Parsons laughed. "Sure you will. In your own jail. Let's get this finished."
Rettig looked at Slaughter, then took Slaughter's gun. The men with rifles stepped ahead to form a cordon, and the five men went out, guards around them.
Rettig watched as Parsons remained in the office and studied the map.
"How much help did he call in?" Parsons asked.
"Sheridan and Lander, places like that."
"Well, I think that I can keep them quiet, keep the word about this strictly in the valley. I don't want those ranchers ruined. Did he call in the state militia?"
"He wasn't sure yet." Rettig had troubled speaking.
"Good," Parsons said. "I stopped him just in time. Slaughter meant to ruin everyone."
"I hardly think so."
Parsons tapped his fingers on the map. "Rettig, what I need now is cooperation, someone who can do the job. Are you prepared to help, or aren't you?"
"Yes, I want to help."
"Then there isn't any problem, is there? You stay, and you work to keep the town safe. I have people who'll be downstairs watching Slaughter."
"But that reporter. Surely you don't think you can muzzle him. Eventually he'll write about the valley."
"What, a drunk, a common lush? When I'm through smearing his reputation, there won't be anyone who'll listen to him. Plus, there won't be anything for him to see. He'll never have the story."
"He can try."
"But he'll need evidence, and if you think your chief was good at cover-ups, you haven't seen what I can do. When I'm finished, this place will be happy valley. We'll have had a small exaggerated rabies scare."
"And Slaughter-"
"He'll be on his ass in jail or on the road to nowhere. He can't take charge of a town the way he planned and not get punished for it. We still have laws, you know."
"I guess it all depends on how you look at it."
"You're learning, Rettig. I might have a place for you. Let's get these phones in order."
"Tell me how much force you'll let me use."
"Enough to get the job done."
"That's too vague."
"I mean it that way. Walk the line. It keeps you careful. This town's economy is based on animals, on livestock. If you have to shoot, take time to get permission. Get in touch with anyone who owns a cat or dog. The court house has the license records. If you see a hippie-"
"Yes?"
"Well, I think you know how to handle it." Parsons looked at him, then slowly walked across to where he paused in the doorway, looked again, then went off down the hallway.
Rettig stood there, silent, stunned by what had happened. Glancing toward the window, he saw people in the front yard, mostly men, and they were angry, holding weapons. He felt suddenly exhausted.
"Tell me what that bastard thinks he's going to do," the officer beside the radio said.
"I don't know. He saw the pattern on the map. He heard us talking. It's my guess he plans to go up to the ghost town, pick a fight with them, and kill them all."
"But that's crazy. He can't get away with that."
"Oh, can't he? If those hippies have the virus, they'll attack for certain, so the killings will be justified. And even if they aren't, if Parsons takes enough men with him, we can't prosecute the whole town."
"But he's instigating them."
"No, he's just doing what they tell him. That's what he'll say later, and that's always been his pattern. Oh, he'll get away with it all right, and he'll come back with twice the power he started with. We're going to see some bad times, and I don't know how to deal with them. I wish Slaughter were in my place."
"Go downstairs and spring him."
"Do it for me."
"No, thanks."
"Then you see what I mean. We'd only end up in there with him."
Rettig turned to face the window once again. Outside, the crowd had shifted so that Parsons could go through, haranguing them. The phones were ringing. Officers were answering.
"I hate to say it, but no matter how you look at it, we've got some bad times coming, and God help us, there isn't any way to stop them."
FOUR
He was feeling strange now. They had warned him this might happen, but the bite had not been deep across his finger. Lots of scratches on his face and neck, but just the one slight bite where he had reached up to defend himself against her. When she'd started last night, he'd assumed that she was crazy from her grief. Their only child and he was dead now. Then he'd vaguely understood that even grief could not account for how she acted, and he'd tried to get away from her. She wouldn't let him. If that woman hadn't clubbed his wife, he doubted that he would have had the strength to fight her off much longer. Now more grief. His wife unconscious. Although grateful, he was sorry that his wife had needed such strong force to be subdued. He wondered if their lives would ever regain normalcy. He worried that his wife might even not survive.
And now the knowledge of the virus she and Warren had contracted, of the virus he himself might harbor. They'd explained to him that, if he had the sickness, he would demonstrate the symptoms in the next full day, and they had put him in this chamber. Locked him in the chamber really. It was padded, floors and walls and ceiling, without windows. It was for hysterics, and the thought of what he might become was reinforced by these conditions.