Intheyear2025,thebestmendon’trunforpresident,they

runfortheirlives….

THERUNNINGMAN

BenRichardsisoutofworkandoutofluck.Hiseighteen-month-olddaughterissick,andneitherBennorhiswifecanaffordtotakehertoadoctor.Foramanfromthepoorsideoftownwithnocashandnohope,there’sonlyonethingtodo:becomeacontestantononeofthe

Network’sGames,showswhereyoucanwinmoremoneythanyou’veeverdreamedof—ordietrying.NowBen’sgoingprime-timeontheNetwork’shighest-ratedviewer-participationshow.Andhe’sabouttobecomepreyforthemasses….

WORKSBYSTEPHENKING

NOVELS

Carrie

’Salem’sLot

TheShining

TheStand

TheDeadZone

Firestarter

Cujo

THEDARKTOWERI:

TheGunslinger

Christine

PetSematary

CycleoftheWerewolf

TheTalisman(withPeterStraub)

It

EyesoftheDragon

Misery

TheTommyknockers

THEDARKTOWERII:

TheDrawingoftheThree

THEDARKTOWERIII:

TheWasteLands

TheDarkHalf

NeedfulThings

Gerald’sGame

DoloresClaiborne

Insomnia

RoseMadder

Desperation

TheGreenMile

THEDARKTOWERIV:

WizardandGlass

BagofBonesASRICHARDBACHMAN

Rage

TheLongWalk

Roadwork

TheRunningMan

Thinner

TheRegulatorsCOLLECTIONS

NightShift

DifferentSeasons

SkeletonCrew

FourPastMidnight

NightmaresandDreamscapesNONFICTION

DanseMacabreSCREENPLAYS

Creepshow

Cat’sEye

SilverBullet

MaximumOverdrive

PetSematary

GoldenYears

Sleepwalkers

TheStand

TheShining

StormoftheCentury

THERUNNINGMAN

StephenKing

writingasRichardBachman

WithanIntroductionbytheauthor,"TheImportanceofBeingBachman"

SIGNETPublishedbyNewAmericanLibrary,adivisionofPenguinPutnamInc.,375HudsonStreet,NewYork,NewYork10014,U.S.A.PenguinBooksLtd,27WrightsLane,LondonW85TZ,EnglandPenguinBooksAustraliaLtd,Ringwood,Victoria,AustraliaPenguinBooksCanadaLtd,10Alcorn

Avenue,Toronto,Ontario,CanadaM4V3B2PenguinBooks(N.Z.)Ltd,182–190WairauRoad,Auckland10,NewZealandPenguinBooksLtd,RegisteredOffices:Harmondsworth,Middlesex,EnglandCopyright©RichardBachman,1982Introductioncopyright©StephenKing,1996

AllrightsreservedTheRunningManwasfirstpublishedinaSigneteditionunderthenameRichardBachman,andlaterappearedinNALhardcoverandPlumetradepaperbackomnibuseditionstitledTheBachmanBooksunderthenameStephenKing.“TheImportanceofBeingBachman”appearedinslightlydifferentforminthe

1996PlumeeditionofTheBachmanBooks.

REGISTEREDTRADEMARK—MARCAREGISTRADA

ISBN:978-1-1012-1214-1Withoutlimitingtherightsundercopyrightreservedabove,nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,storedinorintroducedintoaretrievalsystem,ortransmitted,inany

form,orbyanymeans(electronic,mechanical,photocopying,recording,orotherwise),withoutthepriorwrittenpermissionofboththecopyrightownerandtheabovepublisherofthisbook.

ContentsTheImportanceofBeingBachman…Minus100andCounting……Minus099andCounting……Minus098andCounting……Minus097and

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TheImportanceofBeingBachman

byStephenKing

Thisismysecondintroductiontotheso-calledBachmanBooks—aphrase

whichhascometomean(inmymind,atleast)thefirstfewnovelspublishedwiththeRichardBachmanname,theoneswhichappearedasunheraldedpaperbackoriginalsundertheSignetimprint.Myfirstintroductionwasn’tverygood;tomeitreadslikeatextbookcaseofauthorobfuscation.Butthatisnotsurprising.Whenitwaswritten,Bachman’salterego(me,inotherwords)wasn’t

inwhatI’dcallacontemplativeoranalyticalmood;Iwas,infact,feelingrobbed.Bachmanwasnevercreatedasashort-termalias;hewassupposedtobethereforthelonghaul,andwhenmynamecameoutinconnectionwithhis,Iwassurprised,upset,andpissedoff.That’snotastateconducivetogoodessay-writing.ThistimeImaydoalittlebetter.

ProbablythemostimportantthingIcansayaboutRichardBachmanisthathebecamereal.Notentirely,ofcourse(hesaidwithanervoussmile);Iamnotwritingthisinadelusivestate.Except…well…maybeIam.Delusionis,afterall,somethingwritersoffictiontrytoencourageintheirreaders,atleastduringthetimethatthebookorstoryisopenbeforethem,andthewriterishardlyimmunefrom

thisstateof…whatshallIcallit?Howdoes“directeddelusion”sound?

Atanyrate,RichardBachmanbeganhiscareernotasadelusionbutasashelteredplacewhereIcouldpublishafewearlyworkswhichIfeltreadersmightlike.Thenhebegantogrowandcomealive,asthecreaturesofawriter’simaginationsofrequentlydo.

Ibegantoimaginehislifeasadairyfarmer…hiswife,thebeautifulClaudiaInezBachman…hissolitaryNewHampshiremornings,spentmilkingthecows,gettinginthewood,andthinkingabouthisstories…hiseveningsspentwriting,alwayswithaglassofwhiskeybesidehisOlivettitypewriter.Ionceknewawriterwhowouldsayhiscurrentstoryornovelwas“puttingonweight”ifitwas

goingwell.Inmuchthesameway,mypen-namebegantoputonweight.

Then,whenhiscoverwasblown,RichardBachmandied.ImadelightofthisinthefewinterviewsIfeltrequiredtogiveonthesubject,sayingthathe’ddiedofcancerofthepseudonym,butitwasactuallyshockthatkilledhim:therealizationthatsometimespeoplejustwon’t

letyoualone.Toputitinmorefulsome(butnotatallinaccurate)terms,Bachmanwasthevampiresideofmyexistence,killedbythesunlightofdisclosure.Myfeelingsaboutallthiswereconfusedenough(andfertileenough)tobringonabook(aStephenKingbook,thatis),TheDarkHalf.Itwasaboutawriterwhosepseudonym,GeorgeStark,actuallycomestolife.It’sanovelmywife

hasalwaysdetested,perhapsbecause,forThadBeaumont,thedreamofbeingawriteroverwhelmstherealityofbeingaman;forThad,delusivethinkingovertakesrationalitycompletely,withhorrificconsequences.

Ididn’thavethatproblem,though.Really.IputBachmanaside,andalthoughIwassorrythathehadtodie,IwouldbelyingifIdidn’t

sayIfeltsomereliefaswell.

Thebooksinthisomnibuswerewrittenbyayoungmanwhowasangry,energetic,anddeeplyinfatuatedwiththeartandcraftofwriting.Theyweren’twrittenasBachmanbooksperse(Bachmanhadn’tbeeninventedyet,afterall),butinaBachmanstateofmind:lowrage,sexualfrustration,crazygoodhumor,andsimmering

despair.BenRichards,thescrawny,pre-tubercularprotagonistofTheRunningMan(heisaboutasfarfromtheArnoldSchwarzeneggercharacterinthemovieasyoucanget),crasheshishijackedplaneintotheNetworkGamesskyscraper,killinghimselfbuttakinghundreds(maybethousands)ofFree-Veeexecutiveswithhim;thisistheRichardBachmanversionofahappyending.

TheconclusionsoftheotherBachmannovelsareevenmoregrim.StephenKinghasalwaysunderstoodthatthegoodguysdon’talwayswin(seeCujo,PetSematary,and—perhaps—Christine),buthehasalsounderstoodthatmostlytheydo.Everyday,inreallife,thegoodguyswin.Mostlythesevictoriesgounheralded(MANARRIVESHOMESAFEFROMWORKYETAGAINwouldn’tsellmanypapers),

buttheyarenonethelessrealforallthat…andfictionshouldreflectreality.

Andyet…

InthefirstdraftofTheDarkHalf,IhadThadBeaumontquoteDonaldE.Westlake,averyfunnywriterwhohaspennedaseriesofverygrimcrimenovelsunderthenameRichardStark.Onceaskedtoexplainthedichotomy

betweenWestlakeandStark,thewriterinquestionsaid,“IwriteWestlakestoriesonsunnydays.Whenitrains,I’mStark.”Idon’tthinkthatmadeitintothefinalversionofTheDarkHalf,butIhavealwayslovedit(andrelatedtoit,asithasbecomefashionabletosay).Bachman—afictionalcreationwhobecamemorerealtomewitheachpublishedbookwhichborehisbyline—wasarainy-

daysortofguyifevertherewasone.

Thegoodfolksmostlywin,courageusuallytriumphsoverfear,thefamilydoghardlyevercontractsrabies;thesearethingsIknewattwenty-five,andthingsIstillknownow,attheageof25×2.ButIknowsomethingelseaswell:there’saplaceinmostofuswheretherainisprettymuchconstant,the

shadowsarealwayslong,andthewoodsarefullofmonsters.Itisgoodtohaveavoiceinwhichtheterrorsofsuchaplacecanbearticulatedanditsgeographypartiallydescribed,withoutdenyingthesunshineandclaritythatfillsomuchofourordinarylives.

InThinner,Bachmanspokeforthefirsttimeonhisown—itwastheonlyoneofthe

earlyBachmannovelsthathadhisnameonthefirstdraftinsteadofmine—anditstruckmeasreallyunfairthat,justashewasstartingtotalkwithhisownvoice,heshouldhavebeenmistakenforme.Andamistakewasjustwhatitfeltlike,becausebythenBachmanhadbecomeakindofidforme;hesaidthethingsIcouldn’t,andthethoughtofhimoutthereonhisNewHampshiredairy

farm—notabest-sellingwriterwhogetshisnameinsomestupidForbeslistofentertainerstoorichfortheirowngoodorhisfaceontheTodayshowordoingcameosinmovies—quietlywritinghisbooksgavehimpermissiontothinkinwaysIcouldnotthinkandspeakinwaysIcouldnotspeak.Andthenthesenewsstoriescameoutsaying“BachmanisreallyKing,”andtherewasnoone

—notevenme—todefendthedeadman,ortopointouttheobvious:thatKingwasalsoreallyBachman,atleastsomeofthetime.

UnfairIthoughtthenandunfairIthinknow,butsometimeslifebitesyoualittle,that’sall.IdeterminedtoputBachmanoutofmythoughtsandmylife,andsoIdid,foranumberofyears.Then,whileIwaswritinga

novel(aStephenKingnovel)calledDesperation,RichardBachmansuddenlyappearedinmylifeagain.

IwasworkingonaWangdedicatedwordprocessoratthattime;itlookedlikethevisiphoneinanoldFlashGordonserial.Thiswaspairedwithamarginallymorestate-of-artlaserprinter,andfromtimetotime,whenanideaoccurredtome,I

wouldwritedownaphraseoraputativetitleonascrapofpaperandScotch-tapeittothesideoftheprinter.AsInearedthethree-quartermarkonDesperation,Ihadascrapwithasinglewordprintedonit:REGULATORS.Ihadhadagreatideaforanovel,somethingthathadtodowithtoys,guns,TV,andsuburbia.Ididn’tknowifIwouldeverwriteit—lotsofthose“printernotes”nevercameto

anything—butitwascertainlycooltothinkabout.

Then,onerainyday(aRichardStarksortofday),asIwaspullingintomydriveway,Ihadanidea.Idon’tknowwhereitcamefrom;itwastotallyunconnectedtoanyofthetriviatumblingthroughmyheadatthetime.TheideawastotakethecharactersfromDesperationandput

themintoTheRegulators.Insomecases,Ithought,theycouldplaythesamepeople;inothers,theywouldchange;inneithercasewouldtheydothesamethingsorreactinthesameways,becausethedifferentstorieswoulddictatedifferentcoursesofaction.Itwouldbe,Ithought,likethemembersofarepertorycompanyactingintwodifferentplays.

Thenanevenmoreexcitingideastruckme.IfIcouldusetherepcompanyconceptwiththecharacters,Icoulduseitwiththeplotitselfaswell—IcouldstackagoodmanyoftheDesperationelementsinabrand-newconfiguration,andcreateakindofmirrorworld.Iknewevenbeforesettingoutthatplentyofcriticswouldcallthistwinningastunt…andtheywouldnotbewrong,exactly.But,I

thought,itcouldbeagoodstunt.Maybeevenanilluminatingstunt,onewhichshowcasedthemuscularityandversatilityofstory,itsallbutlimitlessabilitytoadaptafewbasicelementsintoendlesslypleasingvariations,itsprankishcharm.

Butthetwobookscouldn’tsoundexactlythesame,andtheycouldn’tmeanthesame,anymorethananEdward

AlbeeplayandonebyWilliamIngecansoundandmeanthesame,eveniftheyareperformedonsuccessivenightsbythesamecompanyofactors.HowcouldIpossiblycreateadifferentvoice?

AtfirstIthoughtIcouldn’t,andthatitwouldbebesttoconsigntheideatotheRubeGoldbergbinIkeepinthebottomofmymind—theone

markedINTERESTINGBUTUN-WORKABLECONTRAPTIONS.ThenitoccurredtomethatIhadhadtheanswerallalong:RichardBachmancouldwriteTheRegulators.Hisvoicesoundedsuperficiallythesameasmine,butunderneaththerewasaworldofdifference—allthedifferencebetweensunshineandrain,letussay.Andhisviewofpeoplewasalwaysdifferentfrommine,simultaneously

funnierandmorecold-hearted(BartDawesinRoadwork,myfavoriteoftheearlyBachmanbooks,isanexcellentexample).

OfcourseBachmanwasdead,Ihadannouncedthatmyself,butdeathisactuallyaminorproblemforanovelist—justaskPaulSheldon,whobroughtMiseryChastainbackforAnnieWilkes,orArthurConanDoyle,whobrought

SherlockHolmesbackfromReichen-bachFallswhenfansallovertheBritishEmpireclamoredforhim.Ididn’tactuallybringRichardBachmanbackfromthedead,anyway;Ijustvisualizedaboxofneglectedmanuscriptsinhisbasement,withTheRegulatorsontop.ThenItranscribedthebookBachmanhadalreadywritten.

Thattranscriptionwasa

littletougher…butitwasalsoimmenselyexhilarating.ItwaswonderfultohearBachman’svoiceagain,andwhatIhadhopedmighthappendidhappen:abookrolledoutthatwasakindoffraternaltwintotheoneIhadwrittenundermyownname(andthetwobookswerequiteliterallywrittenback-to-back,theKingbookfinishedononedayandtheBachmanbookcommencedonthevery

next).TheywerenomorealikethanKingandBachmanthemselves.DesperationisaboutGod;TheRegulatorsisaboutTV.Iguessthatmakesthembothabouthigherpowers,butverydifferentonesjustthesame.

TheimportanceofbeingBachmanwasalwaystheimportanceoffindingagoodvoiceandavalidpointofviewthatwerealittle

differentfrommyown.Notreallydifferent;Iamnotschizoenoughtobelievethat.ButIdobelievethattherearetricksallofususetochangeourperspectivesandourperceptions—toseeourselvesnewbydressingupindifferentclothesanddoingourhairindifferentstyles—andthatsuchtrickscanbeveryuseful,awayofrevitalizingandrefreshingoldstrategiesforlivinglife,

observinglife,andcreatingart.NoneofthesecommentsareintendedtosuggestthatIhavedoneanythinggreatintheBachmanbooks,andtheyaresurelynotmadeasargumentsforartisticmerit.ButIlovewhatIdotoomuchtowanttogostaleifIcanhelpit.BachmanhasbeenonewayinwhichIhavetriedtorefreshmycraft,andtokeepfrombeingtoocomfyandwell-padded.

TheseearlybooksshowsomeprogressionoftheBachmanpersona,Ihope,andIhopetheyalsoshowtheessenceofthatpersona.Dark-toned,despairingevenwhenheislaughing(despairingmostwhenhe’slaughing,infact),RichardBachmanisn’tafellowI’dwanttobeallthetime,evenifhewerestillalive…butit’sgoodtohavethatoption,thatwindowontheworld,

polarizedthoughitmaybe.Still,asthereaderworkshisorherwaythroughthesestories,he/shemaydiscoverthatDickBachmanhasonethingincommonwithThadBeaumont’salterego,GeorgeStark:he’snotaveryniceguy.

AndIwonderifthereareanyothergoodmanuscripts,atornearcompletion,inthatboxfoundbythewidowed

Mrs.BachmaninthecellaroftheirNewHampshirefarmhouse.

SometimesIwonderaboutthatalot.

—StephenKing

Lovell,MaineApril16,1996

THERUNNINGMAN

…Minus100andCOUNTING…

Shewassquintingatthethermometerinthewhitelightcomingthroughthewindow.Beyondher,inthedrizzle,theotherhighrisesinCo-OpCityroselikethegrayturretsofapenitentiary.

Below,intheairshaft,clotheslinesflappedwithraggedwash.Ratsandplumpalleycatscirculatedthroughthegarbage.

Shelookedatherhusband.Hewasseatedatthetable,staringupattheFree-Veewithsteady,vacantconcentration.Hehadbeenwatchingitforweeksnow.Itwasn’tlikehim.Hehatedit,alwayshad.Ofcourse,every

Developmentapartmenthadone—itwasthelaw—butitwasstilllegaltoturnthemoff.TheCompulsoryBenefitBillof2021hadfailedtogettherequiredtwo-thirdsmajoritybysixvotes.Ordinarilytheyneverwatchedit.ButeversinceCathyhadgottensick,hehadbeenwatchingthebig-moneygiveaways.Itfilledherwithsickfear.

Behindthecompulsiveshriekingofthehalf-timeannouncernarratingthelatestnewsieflick,Cathy’sflu-hoarsenedwailingwentonandon.

“Howbadisit?”Richardsasked.

“Notsobad.”

“Don’tshitme.”

“It’sahundredandfour.”

Hebroughtbothfistsdownonthetable.Aplasticdishjumpedintotheairandclattereddown.

“We’llgetadoctor.Trynottoworrysomuch.Listen—”Shebegantobabblefranticallytodistracthim;hehadturnedaroundandwaswatchingtheFree-Veeagain.Half-timewasover,andthe

gamewasonagain.Thiswasn’toneofthebigones,ofcourse,justacheapdaytimecome-oncalledTreadmilltoBucks.Theyacceptedonlychronicheart,liver,orlungpatients,sometimesthrowinginacripforcomicrelief.Everyminutethecontestantcouldstayonthetreadmill(keepingupasteadyflowofchatterwiththeemcee),hewontendollars.Everytwominutestheemceeaskeda

BonusQuestioninthecontestant’scategory(thecurrentpal,aheart-murmurfromHackensack,wasanAmericanhistorybuff)whichwasworthfiftydollars.Ifthecontestant,dizzy,outofbreath,heartdoingfantasticrubberacrobaticsinhischest,missedthequestion,fiftydollarswasdeductedfromhiswinningsandthetreadmillwasspeededup.

“We’llgetalong.Ben.Wewill.Really.I…I’ll…”

“You’llwhat?”Helookedatherbrutally.“Hustle?Nomore,Sheila.She’sgottohavearealdoctor.Nomoreblockmidwifewithdirtyhandsandwhiskeybreath.Allthemodernequipment.I’mgoingtoseetoit.”

Hecrossedtheroom,eyesswivelinghypnoticallytothe

Free-Veeboltedintoonepeelingwallabovethesink.Hetookhischeapdenimjacketoffitshookandpulleditonwithfretfulgestures.

“No!No,Iwon’t…won’tallowit.You’renotgoingto—”

“Whynot?Atworstyoucangetafewoldbucksastheheadofafatherlesshouse.Onewayortheotheryou’ll

havetoseeherthroughthis.”

Shehadneverreallybeenahandsomewoman,andintheyearssinceherhusbandhadnotworkedshehadgrownscrawny,butinthismomentshelookedbeautiful…imperious.“Iwon’ttakeit.I’drathersellthegovieatwo-dollarpieceoftailwhenhecomestothedoorandsendhimbackwithhisdirtybloodmoneyinhispocket.

ShouldItakeabountyonmyman?”

Heturnedonher,grimandhumorless,clutchingsomethingthatsethimapart,aninvisiblesomethingforwhichtheNetworkhadruthlesslycalculated.Hewasadinosaurinthistime.Notabigone,butstillathrowback,anembarrassment.Perhapsadanger.Bigcloudscondensearoundsmallparticles.

Hegesturedatthebedroom.“Howaboutherinanunmarkedpauper’sgrave?Doesthatappealtoyou?”

Itleftherwithonlytheargumentofinsensatesorrow.Herfacecrackedanddissolvedintotears.

“Ben,thisisjustwhattheywant,forpeoplelikeus,likeyou—”

“Maybetheywon’ttakeme,”hesaid,openingthedoor.“MaybeIdon’thavewhateveritistheylookfor.”

“Ifyougonow,they’llkillyou.AndI’llbeherewatchingit.Doyouwantmewatchingthatwithherinthenextroom?”Shewashardlycoherentthroughhertears.

“Iwanthertogoonliving.”Hetriedtoclosethedoor,but

sheputherbodyintheway.

“Givemeakissbeforeyougo,then.”

Hekissedher.Downthehall,Mrs.Jenneropenedherdoorandpeeredout.Therichodorofcornedbeefandcabbage,tantalizing,maddening,driftedtothem.Mrs.Jennerdidwell—shehelpedoutatthelocaldiscountdrugandhadan

almostuncannyeyeforillegal-cardcarriers.

“You’lltakethemoney?”Richardsasked.“Youwon’tdoanythingstupid?”

“I’lltakeit,”shewhispered.“YouknowI’lltakeit.”

Heclutchedherawkwardly,thenturnedawayquickly,withnograce,andplungeddownthecrazilyslanting,ill-

lightedstairwell.

Shestoodinthedoorway,shakenbysoundlesssobs,untilsheheardthedoorslamhollowlyfiveflightsdown,andthensheputherapronuptoherface.Shewasstillclutchingthethermometershehadusedtotakethebaby’stemperature.

Mrs.Jennercreptupsoftlyandtwitchedtheapron.

“Dearie,”shewhispered,“Icanputyouontoblackmarketpenicillinwhenthemoneygetshere…realcheap…goodquality—”

“Getout!”shescreamedather.

Mrs.Jennerrecoiled,herupperliprisinginstinctivelyawayfromtheblackenedstumpsofherteeth.“Justtryingtohelp,”shemuttered,

andscurriedbacktoherroom.

Barelymuffledbythethinplastiwood,Cathy’swailscontinued.Mrs.Jenner’sFree-Veeblaredandhooted.ThecontestantonTreadmilltoBuckshadjustmissedaBonusQuestionandhadhadaheartattacksimultaneously.Hewasbeingcarriedoffonarubberstretcherwhiletheaudienceapplauded.

Upperliparisingandfallingmetronomically,Mrs.JennerwroteSheilaRichards’snamedowninhernotebook.“We’llsee,”shesaidtonoone.“We’lljustsee,Mrs.Smell-So-Sweet.”

Sheclosedthenotebookwithavicioussnapandsettleddowntowatchthenextgame.

…Minus099andCOUNTING…

ThedrizzlehaddeepenedintoasteadyrainbythetimeRichardshitthestreet.ThebigSmokeDokesforHallucinogenicJokesthermometeracrossthestreetstoodatfifty-onedegrees.

(JusttheRightTemptoStokeUpaDoke—HightotheNthDegree!)Thatmightmakeitsixtyintheirapartment.AndCathyhadtheflu.

Arattrottedlazily,lousily,acrossthecrackedandblisteredcementofthestreet.Acrosstheway,theancientandrustedskeletonofa2013Humberstoodondecayedaxles.Ithadbeencompletelystripped,eventothewheel

bearingsandmotormounts,butthecopsdidn’ttakeitaway.ThecopsrarelyventuredsouthoftheCanalanymore.Co-OpCitystoodinaradiatingratwarrenofparkinglots,desertedshops,UrbanCenters,andpavedplaygrounds.Thecyclegangswerethelawhere,andallthosenewsieitemsabouttheintrepidBlockPoliceofSouthCitywerenothingbutapileofwarmcrap.Thestreets

wereghostly,silent.Ifyouwentout,youtookthepneumobusoryoucarriedagascylinder.

Hewalkedfast,notlookingaround,notthinking.Theairwassulphurousandthick.Fourcyclesroaredpastandsomeonethrewaraggedhunkofasphaltpaving.Richardsduckedeasily.Twopneumobusespassedhim,buffetinghimwithair,buthedidnot

flagthem.Theweek’stwenty-dollarunemploymentallotment(oldbucks)hadbeenspent.Therewasnomoneytobuyatoken.Hesupposedtherovingpackscouldsensehispoverty.Hewasnotmolested.

Highrises,Developments,chain-linkfences,parkinglotsemptyexceptforstrippedderelicts,obscenitiesscrawledonthepavementin

softchalkandnowblurringwiththerain.Crashed-outwindows,rats,wetbagsofgarbagesplashedoverthesidewalksandintothegutters.Graffitiwrittenjaggedlyoncrumblinggraywalls:HONKYDON’TLETTHESUNSETONYOUHEAR.HOMEFOLKSBLOWDOKES.YOURMOMMYITCHES.SKINYOURBANANA.TOMMY’SPUSHING.

HITLERWASCOOL.MARY.SID.KILLALLKIKES.TheoldG.A.sodiumlightsputupinthe70sbustedwithrocksandhunksofpaving.Notechnicowasgoingtoreplacethemdownhere;theywereontheNewCreditDollar.Technicosstayuptown,baby.Uptown’scool.Everythingsilentexceptfortherising-then-descendingwhooshofthepneumobusesandtheechoingclackof

Richards’sfootfalls.Thisbattlefieldonlylightsupatnight.Inthedayitisadesertedgraysilencewhichcontainsnomovementbutthecatsandratsandfatwhitemaggotstrundlingacrossthegarbage.Nosmellbutthedecayingreekofthisbraveyear2025.TheFree-Veecablesaresafelyburiedunderthestreetsandnoonebutanidiotorarevolutionarywouldwanttovandalizethem.Free-

Veeisthestuffofdreams,thebreadoflife.Scagistwelveoldbucksabag,FriscoPushgoesfortwentyatab,buttheFree-Veewillfreakyoufornothing.Fartheralong,ontheothersideoftheCanal,thedreammachinerunstwenty-fourhoursaday…butitrunsonNewDollars,andonlyemployedpeoplehaveany.Therearefourmillionothers,almostallofthemunemployed,southofthe

CanalinCo-OpCity.

Richardswalkedthreemilesandtheoccasionalliquorstoresandsmokeshops,atfirstheavilygrilled,becamemorenumerous.ThentheX-Houses(!!24Perversions—Count’Em24!!),theHockeries,theBloodEmporiums.Greaserssittingoncyclesateverycorner,theguttersburiedinsnowdriftsofroachends.RichBlokes

SmokeDokes.

Hecouldseetheskyscrapersrisingintothecloudsnow,highandclean.ThehighestofallwastheNetworkGamesBuilding,onehundredstories,thetophalfburiedincloudandsmogcover.Hefixedhiseyesonitandwalkedanothermile.Nowthemoreexpensivemoviehouses,andsmokeshopswithnogrills(but

Rent-A-Pigsstoodoutside,electricmove-alongshangingfromtheirSamBrownebelts).Acitycoponeverycorner.ThePeople’sFountainPark:Admission75¢.Well-dressedmotherswatchingtheirchildrenastheyfrolickedontheastroturfbehindchain-linkfencing.Acoponeithersideofthegate.Atiny,patheticglimpseofthefountain.

HecrossedtheCanal.

AshegotclosertotheGamesBuildingitgrewtaller,moreandmoreimprobablewithitsimpersonaltiersofrisingofficewindows,itspolishedstonework.Copswatchinghim,readytohustlehimalongorbusthimifhetriedtocommitloitering.Uptowntherewasonlyonefunctionforamaninbaggygraypants

andacheapbowlhaircutandsunkeneyes.ThatpurposewastheGames.

Thequalifyingexaminationsbeganpromptlyatnoon,andwhenBenRichardssteppedbehindthelastmaninline,hewasalmostintheumbraoftheGamesBuilding.Butthebuildingwasstillnineblocksandoveramileaway.Thelinestretchedbeforehimlikeaneternalsnake.Soonothers

joineditbehindhim.Thepolicewatchedthem,handsoneithergunbuttsormove-alongs.Theysmiledanonymous,contemptuoussmiles.

—Thatonelooklikeahalf-wittoyou,Frank?Lookslikeonetome.

—Guydownthereastmeiftherewasaplacewherehecouldgotothebathroom.

Canyamagineit?

—Sonsofbitchesain’t—

—Killtheirownmothersfora—

—Smelledlikehedidn’thaveabathfor—

—Ain’tnothinlikeafreakshowIalways—

Headsdownagainstthe

rain,theyshuffledaimlessly,andafterawhilethelinebegantomove.

…Minus098andCOUNTING…

ItwasafterfourwhenBenRichardsgottothemaindeskandwasroutedtoDesk9(Q-R).Thewomansittingattherumblingplastipunchlookedtiredandcruelandimpersonal.Shelookedat

himandsawnoone.

“Name,last-first-middle.”

“Richards,BenjaminStuart.”

Herfingersracedoverthekeys.Clitter-clitter-clitterwentthemachine.

“Age-height-weight.”

“Twenty-eight,six-two,

one-sixty-five.”

Clitter-clitter-clitter

Thehugelobbywasanechoing,reboundingtombofsound.Questionsbeingaskedandanswered.Peoplewerebeingledoutweeping.Peoplewerebeingthrownout.Hoarsevoiceswereraisedinprotest.Ascreamortwo.Questions.Alwaysquestions.

“Lastschoolattended?”

“ManualTrades.”

“Didyougraduate?”

“No.”

“Howmanyyears,andatwhatagedidyouleave?”

“Twoyears.Sixteenyearsold.”

“Reasonsforleaving?”

“Igotmarried.”

Clitter-clitter-clitter

“Nameandageofspouseifany.”

“SheilaCatherineRichards,twenty-six.”

“Namesandagesofchildren,ifany.”

“CatherineSarahRichards,eighteenmonths.”

Clitter-clitter-clitter

“Lastquestion,mister.Don’tbotherlying;they’llpickitupduringthephysicalanddisqualifyyouthere.Haveyoueverusedheroinorthesynthetic-amphetaminehallucinogencalledSanFranciscoPush?”

“No.”

Clitter.

Aplasticcardpoppedoutandshehandedittohim.“Don’tlosethis,bigfella.Ifyoudo,youhavetostartbackatgonextweek.”Shewaslookingathimnow,seeinghisface,theangryeyes,lankybody.Notbadlooking.Atleastsomeintelligence.Goodstats.

Shetookhiscardbackabruptlyandpunchedofftheupperright-handcorner,givingitanoddmilledappearance.

“Whatwasthatfor?”

“Nevermind.Somebodywilltellyoulater.Maybe.”Shepointedoverhisshoulderatalonghallwhichledtowardabankofelevators.Dozensofmenfreshfromthe

deskswerebeingstopped,showingtheirplasticI.D.sandmovingon.AsRichardswatched,atrembling,sallow-facedPushfreakwasstoppedbyacopandshownthedoor.Thefreakbegantocry.Buthewent.

“Tougholdworld,bigfella,”thewomanbehindthedesksaidwithoutsympathy.“Movealong.”

Richardsmovedalong.Behindhim,thelitanywasalreadybeginningagain.

…Minus097andCOUNTING…

Ahard,callusedhandslappedhisshoulderattheheadofthehallbeyondthedesks.“Card,buddy.”

Richardsshowedit.Thecoprelaxed,hisfacesubtleand

Chinesewithdisappointment.

“Youliketurningthemback,don’tyou?”Richardsasked.“Itreallygivesyouacharge,doesn’tit?”

“Youwanttogodowntown,maggot?”

Richardswalkedpasthim,andthecopmadenomove.

Hestoppedhalfwaytothe

bankofelevatorsandlookedback.“Hey.Cop.”

Thecoplookedathimtruculently.

“Gotafamily?Itcouldbeyounextweek.”

“Moveon!”thecopshoutedfuriously.

Withasmile,Richardsmovedon.

Therewasalineofperhapstwentyapplicantswaitingattheelevators.Richardsshowedoneofthecopsondutyhiscardandthecoplookedathimclosely.“Youahardass,sonny?”

“Justaboutassmartasyoutalkwithoutthatgunonyourlegandyourpantsdownaroundyourankles,”Richardssaid,stillsmiling.“Wanttotryit?”

Foramomenthethoughtthecopwasgoingtoswingathim.“They’llfixyou,”thecopsaid.“You’lldosomewalkingonyourkneesbeforeyou’redone.”

Thecopswaggeredovertothreenewarrivalsanddemandedtoseetheircards.

ThemanaheadofRichardsturnedaround.Hehadanervous,unhappyfaceand

curlyhairthatcamedowninawidow’speak.“Say,youdon’twanttoantagonizethem,fella.They’vegotagrapevine.”

“Isthatso?”Richardsasked,lookingathimmildly.

Themanturnedaway.

Abruptlytheelevatordoorssnappedopen.Ablackcopwithahugegutstood

protectingthebankofpushbuttons.Anothercopsatonasmallstoolreadinga3-DPervertMaginasmallbulletproofcubiclethesizeofatelephoneboothattherearofthelargecar.Asawed-offshotgunrestedbetweenhisknees.Shellswerelinedupbesidehimwithineasyreach.

“Steptotherear!”thefatcopcriedwithboredimportance.“Steptotherear!

Steptotherear!”

Theycrowdedintoadepthwhereadeepbreathwasimpossible.SadfleshwalledRichardsoneveryside.Theywentuptothesecondfloor.Thedoorssnappedopen.Richards,whostoodaheadtallerthananyoneelseinthecar,sawahugewaitingroomwithmanychairsdominatedbyahugeFree-Vee.Acigarettedispenserstoodin

onecorner.

“Stepout!Stepout!ShowI.D.cardstoyourleft!”

Theysteppedout,holdingouttheirI.D.cardstotheimpersonallensofacamera.Threecopsstoodcloseby.Forsomereason,abuzzerwentoffatthesightofsomedozencards,andtheholderswerejerkedoutoflineandhustledaway.

Richardsshowedhiscardandwaswavedon.Hewenttothecigarettemachine,gotapackageofBlamsandsatdownasfarfromtheFree-Veeaspossible.Helitupasmokeandexhaled,coughing.Hehadn’thadacigaretteinalmostsixmonths.

…Minus096andCOUNTING…

TheycalledtheA’sforthephysicalalmostimmediately,andabouttwodozenmengotupandfiledthroughadoorbeyondtheFree-Vee.AlargesigntackedoverthedoorreadTHISWAY.Therewasan

arrowbelowthelegend,pointingatthedoor.TheliteracyofGamesapplicantswasnotoriouslylow.

Theyweretakinganewlettereveryfifteenminutesorso.BenRichardshadsatdownataboutfive,andsoheestimateditwouldbequarterofninebeforetheygottohim.Hewishedhehadbroughtabook,buthesupposedthingswerejustas

wellastheywere.Bookswereregardedwithsuspicionatbest,especiallywhencarriedbysomeonefromsouthoftheCanal.PervertMagsweresafer.

Hewatchedthesixo’clocknewsierestlessly(thefightinginEcuadorwasworse,newcannibalriotshadbrokenoutinIndia,theDetroitTigershadtakentheHardingCatamountsbyascoreof6–2

inanafternoongame),andwhenthefirstoftheevening’sbig-moneygamescameonatsix-thirty,hewentrestlesslytothewindowandlookedout.Nowthathismindwasmadeup,theGamesboredhimagain.Mostoftheothers,however,werewatchingFunGunswithadreadfulfascination.Nextweekitmightbethem.

Outside,daylightwas

bleedingslowlytowarddusk.Theelswereslammingathighspeedthroughthepowerringsabovethesecond-floorwindow,theirpowerfulheadlightssearchingthegrayair.Onthesidewalksbelow,crowdsofmenandwomen(mostofthem,ofcourse,technicosorNetworkbureaucrats)werebeginningtheirevening’sprowlinsearchofentertainment.ACertifiedPusherwashawking

hiswaresonthecorneracrossthestreet.Amanwithasableddollyoneacharmpassedbelowhim;thetriowaslaughingaboutsomething.

HehadasuddenawfulwaveofhomesicknessforSheilaandCathy,andwishedhecouldcallthem.Hedidn’tthinkitwasallowed.Hecouldstillwalkout,ofcourse;severalmenalready

had.Theywalkedacrosstheroom,grinningobscurelyatnothing,tousethedoormarkedTOSTREET.Backtotheflatwithhisdaughterglowingfever-brightintheotherroom?No.Couldn’t.Couldn’t.

Hestoodatthewindowalittlewhilelonger,thenwentbackandsatdown.Thenewgame,DigYourGrave,wasbeginning.

ThefellowsittingnexttoRichardstwitchedhisarmanxiously.“Isittruethattheywashoutoverthirtypercentjustonthephysicals?”

“Idon’tknow,”Richardssaid.

“Jesus,”thefellowsaid.“Igotbronchitis.MaybeTreadmilltoBucks…”

Richardscouldthinkof

nothingtosay.Thepal’srespirationsoundedlikeafarawaytrucktryingtoclimbasteephill.

“Igotafambly,”themansaidwithsoftdesperation.

RichardslookedattheFree-Veeasifitinterestedhim.

Thefellowwasquietforalongtime.Whentheprogramchangedagainatseven-thirty,

Richardsheardhimaskingthemanonhisothersideaboutthephysical.

Itwasfulldarkoutsidenow.Richardswonderedifitwasstillraining.Itseemedlikeaverylongevening.

…Minus095andCOUNTING…

WhentheR’swentthroughthedoorundertheredarrowandintotheexaminationroomitwasjustafewminutesafternine-thirty.Alotoftheinitialexcitementhadwornoff,andpeople

wereeitherwatchingtheFree-Veeavidly,withnoneoftheirpriordread,ordozing.ThemanwiththenoisychesthadanamethatbeganwithLandhadbeencalledoveranhourbefore.Richardswonderedidlyifhehadbeencut.

Theexaminationroomwaslongandtiled,litwithfluorescenttubes.Itlookedlikeanassemblyline,with

boreddoctorsstandingatvariousstationsalongtheway.

Wouldanyofyouliketocheckmylittlegirl?Richardsthoughtbitterly.

Theapplicantsshowedtheircardstoanothercameraeyeembeddedinthewallandwereorderedtostopbyarowofclotheshooks.Adoctorinalongwhitelabcoatwalked

overtothem,clipboardtuckedunderonearm.

“Strip,”hesaid.“Hangyourclothesonthehooks.Rememberthenumberoveryourhookandgivethenumbertotheorderlyatthefarend.Don’tworryaboutyourvaluables.Nobodyherewantsthem.”

Valuables.Thatwasahotone,Richardsthought,

unbuttoninghisshirt.HehadanemptywalletwithafewpicturesofSheilaandCathy,areceiptforashoesolehehadhadreplacedatthelocalcobbler’ssixmonthsago,akeyringwithnokeysonitexceptforthedoorkey,ababysockthathedidnotrememberputtinginthere,andthepackageofBlamshehadgottenfromthemachine.

Hewaswearingtattered

skivviesbecauseSheilawastoostubborntolethimgowithout,butmanyofthemenwerebuckundertheirpants.Soontheyallstoodstrippedandanonymous,penisesdanglingbetweentheirlegslikeforgottenwar-clubs.Everyoneheldhiscardinonehand.Someshuffledtheirfeetasifthefloorwerecold,althoughitwasnot.Thefaint,impersonallynostalgicodorofalcoholdriftedthrough.

“Stayinline,”thedoctorwiththeclipboardwasinstructing.“Alwaysshowyourcard.Followinstructions.”

Thelinemovedforward.Richardssawtherewasacopwitheachdoctoralongtheway.Hedroppedhiseyesandwaitedpassively.

“Card.”

Hegavehiscardover.Thefirstdoctornotedthenumber,thensaid:“Openyourmouth.”

Richardsopenedit.Histonguewasdepressed.

Thenextdoctorpeeredintohispupilswithatinybrightlight,andthenstaredinhisears.

Thenextplacedthecold

circleofastethoscopeonhischest.“Cough.”

Richardscoughed.Downthelineamanwasbeinghauledaway.Heneededthemoney,theycouldn’tdoit,he’dgethislawyeronthem.

Thedoctormovedhisstethoscope.“Cough.”

Richardscoughed.Thedoctorturnedhimaroundand

putthestethoscopeonhisback.

“Takeadeepbreathandholdit.”Thestethoscopemoved.

“Exhale.”

Richardsexhaled.

“Movealong.”

Hisbloodpressurewas

takenbyagrinningdoctorwithaneyepatch.Hewasgivenashort-arminspectionbyabaldmedicowhohadseverallargebrownfreckles,likeliverspots,onhispate.Thedoctorplacedacoolhandbetweenthesacofhisscrotumandhisupperthigh.

“Cough.”

Richardscoughed.

“Movealong.”

Histemperaturewastaken.Hewasaskedtospitinacup.Halfway,now.Halfwaydownthehall.Twoorthreemenhadalreadyfinishedup,andanorderlywithapastyfaceandrabbitteethwasbringingthemtheirclothesinwirebaskets.Halfadozenmorehadbeenpulledoutofthelineandshownthestairs.

“Bendoverandspreadyourcheeks.”

Richardsbentandspread.Afingercoatedwithplasticinvadedhisrectalchannel,explored,retreated.

“Movealong.”

Hesteppedintoaboothwithcurtainsonthreesides,liketheoldvotingbooths—votingboothshadbeendone

awaywithbycomputerelectionelevenyearsago—andurinatedinabluebeaker.Thedoctortookitandputitinawirerack.

Atthenextstophelookedataneye-chart.“Read,”thedoctorsaid.

“E—A,L—D,M,F—S,P,M,Z—K,L,A,C,D—U,S,G,A—”

“That’senough.Movealong.”

Heenteredanotherpseudovotingboothandputearphonesoverhishead.Hewastoldtopushthewhitebuttonwhenheheardsomethingandtheredbuttonwhenhedidn’thearitanymore.Thesoundwasveryhighandfaint—likeadogwhistlethathadbeenpitch-loweredintojustaudible

humanrange.Richardspushedbuttonsuntilhewastoldtostop.

Hewasweighed.Hisarcheswereexamined.Hestoodinfrontofafluoroscopeandputonaleadapron.Adoctor,chewinggumandsingingsomethingtunelesslyunderhisbreath,tookseveralpicturesandnotedhiscardnumber.

Richardshadcomeinwithagroupofaboutthirty.Twelvehadmadeittothefarendoftheroom.Someweredressedandwaitingfortheelevator.Aboutadozenmorehadbeenhauledoutofline.Oneofthemtriedtoattackthedoctorthathadcuthimandwasfelledbyapolicemanwieldingamove-alongatfullcharge.Thepalfellasifpoleaxed.

Richardsstoodatalowtableandwasaskedifhehadhadsomefiftydifferentdiseases.Mostofthemwererespiratoryinnature.ThedoctorlookedupsharplywhenRichardssaidtherewasacaseofinfluenzainthefamily.

“Wife?”

“No.Mydaughter.”

“Age?”

“Ayearandahalf.”

“Haveyoubeenimmunized?Don’ttrytolie!”thedoctorshoutedsuddenly,asifRichardshadalreadytriedtolie.“We’llcheckyourhealthstats.”

“ImmunizedJuly2023.BoosterSeptember2023.Blockhealthclinic.”

“Movealong.”

Richardshadasuddenurgetoreachoverthetableandpopthemaggot’sneck.Instead,hemovedalong.

Atthelaststop,asevere-lookingwomandoctorwithclose-croppedhairandanElectricJuicerpluggedintooneearaskedhimifhewasahomosexual.

“No.”

“Haveyoueverbeenarrestedonafelonycharge?”

“No.”

“Doyouhaveanyseverephobias?BythatImean—”

“No.”

“Youbetterlistentothedefinition,”shesaidwitha

fainttouchofcondescension.“Imean—”

“DoIhaveanyunusualandcompulsivefears,suchasacrophobiaorclaustrophobia.Idon’t.”

Herlipspressedtightlytogether,andforamomentsheseemedonthevergeofsharpcomment.

“Doyouuseorhaveyou

usedanyhallucinogenicoraddictivedrugs?”

“No.”

“DoyouhaveanyrelativeswhohavebeenarrestedonchargesofcrimesagainstthegovernmentoragainstthegovernmentoragainsttheNetwork?”

“No.”

“SignthisloyaltyoathandthisGamesCommissionreleaseform,Mr.,uh,Richards.”

Hescratchedhissignature.

“Showtheorderlyyourcardandtellhimthenumber—”

Heleftherinmidsentenceandgesturedatthebuck-toothedorderlywithhisthumb.“Numbertwenty-six,

Bugs.”Theorderlybroughthisthings.Richardsdressedslowlyandwentoverbytheelevator.Hisanusfelthotandembarrassed,violated,alittleslipperywiththelubricantthedoctorhadused.

Whentheywereallbunchedtogether,theelevatordooropened.ThebulletproofJudasholewasemptythistime.Thecopwasaskinnymanwithalargewenbeside

hisnose.“Steptotherear,”hechanted.“Pleasesteptotherear.”

Asthedoorclosed,RichardscouldseetheS’scominginatthefarendofthehall.Thedoctorwiththeclipboardwasapproachingthem.Thenthedoorsclickedtogether,cuttingofftheview.

Theyrodeuptothethirdfloor,andthedoorsopened

onahuge,semilitdormitory.Rowsandrowsofnarrowiron-and-canvascotsseemedtostretchouttoinfinity.

Twocopsbegantocheckthemoutoftheelevator,givingthembednumbers.Richards’swas940.Thecothadonebrownblanketandaveryflatpillow.Richardslaydownonthecotandlethisshoesdroptothefloor.Hisfeetdangledovertheend;

therewasnothingtobedoneaboutit.

Hecrossedhisarmsunderhisheadandstaredattheceiling.

…Minus094andCOUNTING…

Hewasawakenedpromptlyatsixthefollowingmorningbyaveryloudbuzzer.Foramomenthewasfoggy,disoriented,wonderingifSheilahadboughtanalarmclockorwhat.Thenitcame

tohimandhesatup.

Theywereledbygroupsoffiftyintoalargeindustrialbathroomwheretheyshowedtheircardstoacameraguardedbyapoliceman.Richardswenttoablue-tiledbooththatcontainedamirror,abasin,ashower,atoilet.Ontheshelfabovethebasinwasarowoftoothbrusheswrappedincellophane,anelectricrazor,abarofsoap,

andahalf-usedtubeoftoothpaste.Asigntuckedintothecornerofthemirrorread:RESPECTTHISPROPERTY!Beneathit,someonehadscrawled:IONLYRESPECTMYASS!

Richardsshowered,driedwithatowelthattoppedapileonthetoilettank,shaved,andbrushed.

Theywereletintoa

cafeteriawheretheyshowedtheirI.D.cardsagain.Richardstookatrayandpusheditdownastainlesssteelledge.Hewasgivenaboxofcornflakes,agreasydishofhomefries,ascoopofscrambledeggs,apieceoftoastascoldandhardasamarblegravestone,ahalfpintofmilk,acupofmuddycoffee(nocream),anenvelopeofsugar,anenvelopeofsalt,andapatof

fakebutteronatinysquareofoilypaper.

Hewolfedthemeal;theyalldid.ForRichardsitwasthefirstrealfood,otherthangreasypizzawedgesandgovernmentpill-commodities,thathehadeateninGodknewhowlong.Yetitwasoddlybland,asifsomevampirechefinthekitchenhadsuckedallthetasteoutofitandleftonly

brutenutrients.

Whatweretheyeatingthismorning?Helppills.Fakemilkforthebaby.Asuddenfeelingofdesperationswelledoverhim.Christwhenwouldtheystartseeingmoney?Today?Tomorrow?Nextweek?

Ormaybethatwasjustagimmicktoo,aflashycome-on.Maybetherewasn’teven

anyrainbow,letaloneapotofgold.

Hesatstaringathisemptyplateuntiltheseveno’clockbuzzerwentandtheyweremovedontotheelevators.

…Minus093andCOUNTING…

OnthefourthfloorRichards’sgroupoffiftywasherdedfirstintoalarge,furniturelessroomringedwithwhatlookedlikeletterslots.Theyshowedtheircardsagain,andtheelevator

doorswhooshedclosedbehindthem.

AgauntmanwithrecedinghairwiththeGamesemblem(thesilhouetteofahumanheadsuperimposedoveratorch)onhislabcoatcameintotheroom.

“Pleaseundressandremoveallvaluablesfromyourclothes,”hesaid.“Thendropyourclothesintooneofthe

incineratorslots.You’llbeissuedGamescoveralls.”Hesmiledmagnanimously.“YoumaykeeptheoverallsnomatterwhatyourpersonalGamesresolutionmaybe.”

Therewassomegrumbling,buteveryonecomplied.

“Hurry,please,”thegauntmansaid.Heclappedhishandstogethertwice,likeafirst-gradeteachersignaling

theendofplaytime.“Wehavelotsaheadofus.”

“Areyougoingtobeacontestant,too?”Richardsasked.

Thegauntmanfavoredhimwithapuzzledexpression.Somebodyinthebacksnickered.

“Nevermind,”Richardssaid,andsteppedoutofhis

trousers.

Heremovedhisunvaluablevaluablesanddumpedhisshirt,pants,andskivviesintoaletterslot.Therewasabrief,hungryflashofflamefromsomewherefarbelow.

Thedoorattheotherendopened(therewasalwaysadoorattheotherend;theywerelikeratsinahuge,upward-tendingmaze:an

Americanmaze,Richardsreflected),andmentrundledinlargebasketsonwheels,labeledS,M,L,andXL.RichardsselectedanXLforitslengthandexpectedittohangbaggilyonhisframe,butitfitquitewell.Thematerialwassoft,clingy,almostlikesilk,buttougherthansilk.Asinglenylonzipperranupthefront.Theywerealldarkblue,andtheyallhadtheGamesemblemon

therightbreastpocket.Whentheentiregroupwaswearingthem,BenRichardsfeltasifhehadlosthisface.

“Thisway,please,”thegauntmansaid,andusheredthemintoanotherwaitingroom.TheinevitableFree-Veeblaredandcackled.“You’llbecalledingroupsoften.”

ThedoorbeyondtheFree-

VeewastoppedbyanothersignreadingTHISWAY,completewitharrow.

Theysatdown.Afterawhile,Richardsgotupandwenttothewindowandlookedout.Theywerehigherup,butitwasstillraining.Thestreetswereslickandblackandwet.HewonderedwhatSheilawasdoing.

…Minus092andCOUNTING…

Hewentthroughthedoor,oneofagroupoftennow,atquarterpastten.Theywentthroughsinglefile.Theircardswerescanned.Thereweretenthree-sidedbooths,buttheseweremore

substantial.Thesideswereconstructedofdrilledsoundproofcorkpaneling.Theoverheadlightingwassoftandindirect.Muzakwasemanatingfromhiddenspeakers.Therewasaplushcarpetonthefloor;Richards’sfeetfeltstartledbysomethingthatwasn’tcement.

Thegauntmanhadsaidsomethingtohim.

Richardsblinked.“Huh?”

“Booth6,”thegauntmansaidreprovingly.

“Oh.”

HewenttoBooth6.Therewasatableinside,andalargewallclockmountedateyelevelbeyondit.OnthetablewasasharpenedG-A/IBMpencilandapileofunlinedpaper.Cheapgrade,Richards

noted.

Standingbesideallthiswasadazzlingcomputer-agepriestess,atall,Junoesqueblondewearingiridescentshortshortswhichcleanlyoutlinedthedelta-shapedriseofherpudenda.Roughednipplespokedperkilythroughasilkfishnetblouselet.

“Sitdown,please,”shesaid,“IamRindaWard,your

tester.”Sheheldoutherhand.

Startled,Richardsshookit.“BenjaminRichards.”

“MayIcallyouBen?”Thesmilewasseductivebutimpersonal.Hefeltexactlythetokenriseofdesirehewassupposedtofeelforthiswell-stackedfemalewithherwell-fedbodyondisplay.Itangeredhim.Hewonderedifshegotherkicksthisway,

showingitofftothepoorslobsontheirwaytothemeatgrinder.

“Sure,”hesaid.“Nicetits.”

“Thankyou,”shesaid,unruffled.Hewasseatednow,lookingupwhileshelookeddown,anditaddedanevenmoreembarrassingangletothepicture.“Thistesttodayistoyourmentalfacultieswhatyourphysical

yesterdaywastoyourbody.Itwillbeafairlylongtest,andyourluncheonwillbearoundthreethisafternoon—assumingyoupass.”Thesmilewinkedonandoff.

“Thefirstsectionisverbal.YouhaveonehourfromthetimeIgiveyouthetestbooklet.Youmayaskquestionsduringtheexamination,andIwillanswerthemifIamallowed

todoso.Iwillnotgiveyouanyanswerstotestquestions,however.Doyouunderstand?”

“Yes.”

Shehandedhimthebooklet.Therewasalargeredhandprintedonthecover,palmoutward.Inlargeredlettersbeneath,itsaid:

STOP!

Beneaththis:Donotturntothefirstpageuntilyourtesterinstructsyoutoproceed.

“Heavy,”Richardsremarked.

“Pardonme?”Theperfectlysculptedeyebrowswentupanotch.

“Nothing.”

“Youwillfindananswer

sheetwhenyouopenyourbooklet,”sherecited.“Pleasemakeyourmarksheavyandblack.Ifyouwishtochangeananswer,pleaseerasecompletely.Ifyoudonotknowananswer,donotguess.Doyouunderstand?”

“Yes.”

“Thenpleaseturntopageoneandbegin.WhenIsaystop,pleaseputyourpencil

down.Youmaybegin.”

Hedidn’tbegin.Heeyedherbodyslowly,insolently.

Afteramoment,sheflushed.“Yourhourhasbegun,Ben.Youhadbetter—”

“Why,”heasked,“doeseverybodyassumethatwhentheyaredealingwithsomeonefromsouthofthe

Canaltheyaredealingwithahornymentalincompetent?”

Shewascompletelyflusterednow.“I…Inever…”

“No,younever.”Hesmiledandpickeduphispencil.“MyChrist,youpeoplearedumb.”

Hebenttothetestwhileshewasstilltryingtofindananswerorevenareasonforhisattack;sheprobablyreally

didn’tunderstand.

Thefirstsectionrequiredhimtomarktheletterofthecorrectfill-in-the-blankanswer.

1. One———doesnotmakeasummer.

a.thoughtb.beerc.swallowd.crimee.noneof

these

Hefilledinhisanswersheetrapidly,rarelystoppingtodeliberateorconsiderananswertwice.Fill-inswerefollowedbyvocabulary,thenbyword-contrasts.Whenhefinished,thehourallottedstillhadfifteenminutestorun.Shemadehimkeephisexam—legallyhecouldn’tgiveittoheruntilthehourwasup—soRichardsleanedbackand

wordlesslyogledhernearlynakedbody.Thesilencegrewthickandoppressive,charged.Hecouldseeherwishingforanovercoatanditpleasedhim.

Whenthetimewasup,shegavehimasecondexam.Onthefirstpage,therewasadrawingofagasolinecarburetor.Below:

Youwouldputthisina

a.lawnmowerb.Free-Veec.electrichammockd.automobilee.noneofthese

Thethirdexamwasamathdiagnostic.Hewasnotsogoodwithfiguresandhebegantosweatlightlyashesawtheclockgettingawayfromhim.Intheend,itwasnearlyadeadheat.Hedidn’t

getachancetofinishthelastquestion.RindaWardsmiledatrifletoowidelyasshepulledthetestandanswersheetawayfromhim.“Notsofastonthatone,Ben.”

“Butthey’llallberight,”hesaid,andsmiledbackather.Heleanedforwardandswattedherlightlyontherump.“Takeashower,kid.Youdonegood.”

Sheblushedfuriously.“Icouldhaveyoudisqualified.”

“Bullshit.Youcouldgetyourselffired,that’sall.”

“Getout.Getbackinline.”Shewassnarling,suddenlyneartears.

Hefeltsomethingalmostlikecompassionandchokeditback.“Youhaveanicenighttonight,”hesaid.“You

gooutandhaveanicesix-coursemealwithwhoeveryou’resleepingwiththisweekandthinkaboutmykiddyingoffluinashittythree-roomDevelopmentapartment.”

Heleftherstaringafterhim,white-faced.

Hisgroupoftenhadbeencuttosix,andtheytroopedintothenextroom.Itwas

one-thirty.

…Minus091andCOUNTING…

Thedoctorsittingontheothersideofthetableinthesmallboothworeglasseswithtinythicklenses.Hehadakindofnasty,pleasedgrinthatremindedRichardsofahalf-withehadknownasa

boy.Thekidhadenjoyedcrouchingunderthehighschoolbleachersandlookingupgirls’skirtswhilehefloggedhisdog.Richardsbegantogrin.

“Somethingpleasant?”thedoctorasked,flippingupthefirstinkblot.Thenastygrinwidenedthetiniestbit.

“Yes.YouremindmeofsomeoneIusedtoknow.”

“Oh?Who?”

“Nevermind.”

“Verywell.Whatdoyouseehere?”

Richardslookedatit.Aninflatedbloodpressurecuffhadbeencinchedtohisrightarm.Anumberofelectrodeshadbeenpastedtohishead,andwiresfrombothhisheadandarmwerejackedintoa

consolebesidethedoctor.Squigglylinesmovedacrossthefaceofacomputerconsole.

“TwoNegrowomen.Kissing.”

Heflippedupanotherone.“This?’

“Asportscar.LookslikeaJag.”

“Doyoulikegascars?”

Richardsshrugged.“IhadamodelcollectionwhenIwasakid.”

Thedoctormadeanoteandflippedupanothercard.

“Sickperson.She’slyingonherside.Theshadowsonherfacelooklikeprisonbars.”

“Andthislastone?”

Richardsburstoutlaughing.“Lookslikeapileofshit.”Hethoughtofthedoctor,completewithhiswhitecoat,runningaroundunderthebleachers,lookingupgirls’skirtsandjackingoff,andhebegantolaughagain.Thedoctorsatsmilinghisnastysmile,makingthevisionmorereal,thusfunnier.Atlasthisgigglestaperedofftoasnortortwo.Richardshiccuppedonceandwasstill.

“Idon’tsupposeyou’dcaretotellme—”

“No,”Richardssaid.“Iwouldn’t.”

“We’llproceedthen.Wordassociation.”Hedidn’tbothertoexplainit.Richardssupposedwordwasgettingaround.Thatwasgood;itwouldsavetime.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Thedoctorproducedastopwatchfromaninsidepocket,clickedthebusinessendofhisballpointpen,andconsideredalistinfrontofhim.

“Doctor.”

“Nigger,”Richardsresponded.

“Penis.”

“Cock.”

“Red.”

“Black.”

“Silver.”

“Dagger.”

“Rifle.”

“Murder.”

“Win.”

“Money.”

“Sex.”

“Tests.”

“Strike.”

“Out.”

Thelistcontinued;theywentthroughoverfiftywordsbeforethedoctorclickedthestemofthestopwatchdownanddroppedhispen.“Good,”hesaid.HefoldedhishandsandlookedatRichardsseriously.“Ihaveafinalquestion,Ben.Iwon’tsaythatI’llknowaliewhenIhearit,butthemachineyou’rehookeduptowillgiveaverystrongindicationonewayortheother.Haveyou

decidedtotryforqualificationstatusintheGamesoutofanysuicidalmotivation?”

“No.”

“Whatisyourreason?”

“Mylittlegirl’ssick.Sheneedsadoctor.Medicine.Hospitalcare.”

Theballpointscratched.

“Anythingelse?”

Richardswasonthevergeofsayingno(itwasnoneoftheirbusiness)andthendecidedhewouldgiveitall.Perhapsbecausethedoctorlookedlikethatnearlyforgottendirtyboyofhisyouth.Maybeonlybecauseitneededtobesaidonce,tomakeitcoalesceandtakeconcreteshape,asthingsdowhenamanforceshimselfto

translateunformedemotionalreactionsintospokenwords.

“Ihaven’thadworkforalongtime.Iwanttoworkagain,evenifit’sonlybeingthesucker-maninaloadedgame.Iwanttoworkandsupportmyfamily.Ihavepride.Doyouhavepride,Doctor?”

“Itgoesbeforeafall,”thedoctorsaid.Heclickedthetip

ofhisballpointin.“Ifyouhavenothingtoadd,Mr.Richards—”Hestoodup.That,andtheswitchbacktohissurname,suggestedthattheinterviewwasoverwhetherRichardshadanymoretosayornot.

“No.”

“Thedoorisdownthehalltoyourright.Goodluck.”

“Sure,”Richardssaid.

…Minus090andCOUNTING…

ThegroupRichardshadcomeinwithwasnowreducedtofour.Thenewwaitingroomwasmuchsmaller,andthewholegrouphadbeenreducedroughlybythesamefigureofsixtypercent.The

lastoftheY’sandZ’sstraggledinatfour-thirty.Atfour,anorderlyhadcirculatedwithatrayoftastelesssandwiches.Richardsgottwoofthemandsatmunching,listeningtoapalnamedRettenmundasheregaledRichardsandafewotherswithaseeminglyinexhaustiblefundofdirtystories.

Whenthewholegroupwas

together,theywereshuntedintoanelevatorandliftedtothefifthfloor.Theirquartersweremadeupofalargecommonroom,acommunallavatory,andtheinevitablesleep-factorywithitsrowsofcots.Theywereinformedthatacafeteriadownthehallwouldserveahotmealatseveno’clock.

Richardssatstillforafewminutes,thengotupand

walkedovertothecopstationedbythedoortheyhadcomeinthrough.“Isthereatelephone,pal?”Hedidn’texpecttheywouldbeallowedtophoneout,butthecopmerelyjerkedhisthumbtowardthehall.

Richardspushedthedooropenacrackandpeeredout.Sureenough,thereitwas.Payphone.

Helookedatthecopagain.“Listen,ifyouloanmefiftycentsforthephone,I’ll—”

“Screwoff,Jack.”

Richardsheldhistemper.“Iwanttocallmywife.Ourkidissick.Putyourselfinmyplace,forChrist’ssake.”

Thecoplaughed:ashort,chopping,uglysound.“Youtypesareallthesame.Astory

foreverydayoftheyear.Technicolorand3-DonChristmasandMother’sDay.”

“Youbastard,”Richardssaid,andsomethinginhiseyes,thestanceofhisshoulderssuddenlymadethecopshifthisgazetothewall.“Aren’tyoumarriedyourself?Didn’tyoueverfindyourselfstrappedandhavetoborrow,evenifit

tastedlikeshitinyourmouth?”

Thecopsuddenlyjammedahandintohisjumperpocketandcameupwithafistfulofplasticcoins.HethrusttwoNewQuartersatRichards,stuffedtherestofthemoneybackinhispocket,andgrabbedahandfulofRichards’stunic.“IfyousendanybodyelseoverherebecauseCharlieGradyisa

softtouch,I’llbeatyoursonofabitchingbrainsout,maggot.”

“Thankyou,”Richardssaidsteadily.“Fortheloan.”

CharlieGradylaughedandlethimgo.Richardswentoutintothehall,pickedupthephone,anddroppedhismoneyintothehorn.Itbangedhollowlyandforamomentnothinghappened

—oh,Jesus,allfornothing—butthenthedialtonecame.Hepunchedthenumberofthefifthfloorhallphoneslowly,hopingtheJennerbitchdownthehallwouldn’tanswer.She’djustassoonyellwrongnumberwhensherecognizedhisvoiceandhewouldlosehismoney.

Itrang,sixtimes,andthenanunfamiliarvoicesaid:“Hello?”

“IwanttotalktoSheilaRichardsin5C.”

“Ithinkshewentout,”thevoicesaid.Itgrewinsinuating.“Shewalksupanddowntheblock,youknow.Theygotasickkid.Themanthereisshiftless.”

“Justknockonthedoor,”hesaid,cottonmouthed.

“Holdon.”

Thephoneontheotherendcrashedagainstthewallastheunfamiliarvoiceletitdangle.Faraway,dim,asifinadream,heheardtheunfamiliarvoiceknockingandyelling:“Phone!Phoneforya,MissusRichards!”

Halfaminutelatertheunfamiliarvoicewasbackontheline.“Sheain’tthere.Icanhearthekidyellin,butsheain’tthere.LikeIsay,she

keepsaneyeoutwhenthefleet’sin.”Thevoicegiggled.

Richardswishedhecouldteleporthimselfthroughthephonelineandpopoutontheotherend,likeanevilgeniefromablackbottle,andchoketheunfamiliarvoiceuntilhiseyeballspoppedoutandrolledonthefloor.

“Takeamessage,”hesaid.“Writeitonthewallifyou

haveto.”

“Ain’tgotnopencil.I’mhanginup.G’bye.”

“Wait!”Richardsyelled,panicinhisvoice.

“I’m…justasecond.”Grudginglythevoicesaid,“Shecominupthestairsnow.”

Richardscollapsedsweatily

againstthewall.AmomentlaterSheila’svoicewasinhisear,quizzical,wary,alittlefrightened:“Hello?”

“Sheila.”Heclosedhisyes,lettingthewallsupporthim.

“Ben,Ben,isthatyou?Areyouallright?”

“Yeah.Fine.Cathy.Isshe—”

“Thesame.Thefeverisn’tsobadbutshesoundssocroupy.Ben,Ithinkthere’swaterinherlungs.Whatifshehaspneumonia?”

“It’llbeallright.It’llbeallright.”

“I—”Shepaused,alongpause.“Ihatetoleaveher,butIhadto.Ben,Iturnedtwotricksthismorning.I’msorry.ButIgothersomemedicine

atthedrug.Somegoodmedicine.”Hervoicehadtakenonazealous,evangelicallilt.

“Thatstuffisshit,”hesaid.“Listen:Nomore,Sheila.Please.IthinkI’minhere.Really.Theycan’tcutmanymoreguysbecausethere’stoomanyshows.There’sgottobeenoughcannonfoddertogoaround.Andtheygiveadvances,Ithink.Mrs.

Upshaw—”

“Shelookedawfulinblack,”Sheilabrokeintonelessly.

“Nevermindthat.YoustaywithCathy,Sheila.Nomoretricks.”

“Allright.Iwon’tgooutagain.”Buthedidn’tbelievehervoice.Fingerscrossed,Sheila?“Iloveyou,Ben.”

“AndIlo—”

“Threeminutesareup,”theoperatorbrokein.“Ifyouwishtocontinue,pleasedepositoneNewQuarterorthreeoldquarters.”

“Waitasecond!”Richardsyelled.“Getoffthegoddamline,bitch.You—”

Theemptyhumofabrokenconnection.

Hethrewthereceiver.Itflewthelengthofitssilvercord,thenrebounded,strikingthewallandthenpendulumingslowlybackandforthlikesomestrangesnakethathadbittenonceandthendied.

Somebodyhastopay,Richardsthoughtnumblyashewalkedback.Somebodyhasto.

…Minus089andCOUNTING…

Theywerequarteredonthefifthflooruntilteno’clockthefollowingday,andRichardswasnearlyoutofhismindwithanger,worry,andfrustrationwhenayoungandslightlyfaggoty-looking

palinaskintightGamesuniformaskedthemtopleasestepintotheelevator.Theywereperhapsthreehundredinall:oversixtyoftheirnumberhadbeenremovedsoundlesslyandpainlesslythenightbefore.Oneofthemhadbeenthekidwiththeinexhaustiblefundofdirtyjokes.

Theyweretakentoasmallauditoriumonthesixthfloor

ingroupsoffifty.Theauditoriumwasveryluxurious,doneingreatquantitiesofredplush.Therewasanashtraybuiltintotherealwoodarmofeveryseat,andRichardshauledouthiscrumpledpackofBlams.Hetappedhisashesonthefloor.

Therewasasmallstageatthefront,andinthecenterofthat,alectern.Apitcherofwaterstoodonit.

Ataboutfifteenminutespastten,thefaggoty-lookingfellowwalkedtothelecternandsaid:“I’dlikeyoutomeetArthurM.Burns,AssistantDirectorofGames.”

“Huzzah,”somebodybehindRichardssaidinasourvoice.

Aportlymanwithatonsuresurroundedbygrayhairstrodetothelectern,pausing

andcockinghisheadashearrived,asiftoappreciatearoundofapplausewhichonlyhecouldhear.Thenhesmiledatthem,abroad,twinklingsmilethatseemedtotransformhimintoapudgy,agingCupidinabusinesssuit.

“Congratulations,”hesaid.“You’vemadeit.”

Therewasahugecollective

sigh,followedbysomelaughterandback-slapping.Morecigaretteswerelitup.

“Huzzah,”thesourvoicerepeated.

“Shortly,yourprogramassignmentsandseventhfloorroomnumberswillbepassedout.Theexecutiveproducersofyourparticularprogramswillexplainfurtherexactlywhatisexpectedofyou.But

beforethathappens,IjustwanttorepeatmycongratulationsandtellyouthatIfindyoutobeacourageous,resourcefulgroup,refusingtoliveonthepublicdolewhenyouhavemeansatyourdisposaltoacquityourselvesasmen,and,mayIaddpersonally,astrueheroesofourtime.”

“Bullshit,”thesourvoiceremarked.

“Furthermore,IspeakfortheentireNetworkwhenIwishyougoodluckandGodspeed.”ArthurM.Burnschuckledporkilyandrubbedhishandstogether.“Well,Iknowyou’reanxioustogetthoseassignments,soI’llspareyouanymoreofmyjabber.”

Asidedoorpoppedopen,andadozenGamesusherswearingredtunicscameinto

theauditorium.Theybegantocalloutnames.Whiteenvelopeswerepassedout,andsoontheylitteredthefloorlikeconfetti.Plasticassignmentcardswereread,exchangedwithnewacquaintances.Thereweremuffledgroans,cheers,catcalls.ArthurM.Burnspresidedoveritallfromhispodium,smilingbenevolently.

—ThatChristlyHowHotCanYouTakeIt,JesusIhatetheheat

—theshow’sagoddamtwo-bitter,comesonrightaftertheflictoons,forGod’ssake

—TreadmilltoBucks,gosh,Ididn’tknowmyheartwas—

—IwashopingI’dgetitbutIdidn’treallythink—

—HeyJake,youeverseenthisSwimtheCrocodiles?Ithought—

—nothinglikeIexpected—

—Idon’tthinkyoucan—

—Miserablegoddam—

—ThisRunForYourGuns—

“BenjaminRichards!Ben

Richards?”

“Here!”

Hewashandedaplainwhiteenvelopeandtoreitopen.Hisfingerswereshakingslightlyandittookhimtwotriestogetthesmallplasticcardout.Hefrowneddownatit,notunderstanding.Noprogramassignmentwaspunchedonit.Thecardreadsimply:ELEVATORSIX.

HeputthecardinhisbreastpocketwithhisI.D.andlefttheauditorium.Thefirstfiveelevatorsattheendofthehallweredoingabriskbusinessastheyferriedthefollowingweek’scontestantsuptotheseventhfloor.TherewerefourothersstandingbythecloseddoorsofElevator6,andRichardsrecognizedoneofthemastheownerofthesourvoice.

“What’sthis?”Richardsasked,“Arewegettingthegate?”

Themanwiththesourvoicewasabouttwenty-five,notbadlooking.Onearmwaswithered,probablybypolio,whichhadcomebackstrongin2005.IthaddoneespeciallywellinCo-Op.

“Nosuchluck,”hesaid,andlaughedemptily.“Ithink

we’regettingthebig-moneyassignments.Theoneswheretheydomorethanjustlandyouinthehospitalwithastrokeorputoutaneyeorcutoffanarmortwo.Theoneswheretheykillyou.Primetime,baby.”

Theywerejoinedbyasixthpal,agood-lookingkidwhowasblinkingateverythinginasurprisedway.

“Hello,sucker,”themanwiththesourvoicesaid.

Ateleveno’clock,afteralltheothershadbeentakenaway,thedoorsofElevator6poppedopen.TherewasacopridingintheJudasholeagain.

“See?”themanwiththesourvoicesaid.“We’redangerouscharacters.Publicenemies.They’regonnarub

usout.”HemadeatoughgangsterfaceandsprayedthebulletproofcompartmentwithanimaginaryStengun.Thecopstaredathimwoodenly.

…Minus088andCOUNTING…

Thewaitingroomontheeighthfloorwasverysmall,veryplush,veryintimate,veryprivate.Richardshaditalltohimself.

Attheendoftheelevator

ride,threeofthemhadbeenpromptlywhiskedawaydownaplushlycarpetedcorridorbythreecops.Richards,themanwiththesourvoice,andthekidwhoblinkedalothadbeentakenhere.

AreceptionistwhovaguelyremindedRichardsofoneoftheoldtee-veesexstars(LizKelly?GraceTaylor?)hehadwatchedasakidsmiledatthethreeofthemwhentheycame

in.Shewassittingatadeskinanalcove,surroundedbysomanypottedplantsthatshemighthavebeeninanEcuadorianfoxhole.“Mr.Jansky,”shesaidwithablindingsmile.“Gorightin.”

Thekidwhoblinkedalotwentintotheinnersanctum.Richardsandthemanwiththesourvoice,whosenamewasJimmyLaughlin,madewaryconversation.Richards

discoveredthatLaughlinlivedonlythreeblocksawayfromhim,onDockStreet.Hehadheldapart-timejobuntiltheyearbeforeasanenginewiperforGeneralAtomics,andhadthenbeenfiredfortakingpartinasit-downstrikeprotestingleakyradiationshields.

“Well,I’malive,anyway,”hesaid.“Accordingtothosemaggots,that’sallthat

counts.I’msterile,ofcourse.Thatdon’tmatter.That’soneofthelittlerisksyourunfortheprincelysumofsevenNewBucksaday.”

WhenG-Ahadshownhimthedoor,thewitheredarmhadmadeiteventoughertogetajob.Hiswifehadcomedownwithbadasthmatwoyearsbefore,wasnowbed-ridden.“FinallyIdecidedtogoforthebigbrassring,”

Laughlinsaidwithabittersmile.“MaybeI’llgetachancetopushafewcreepsoutahighwindowbeforeMcCone’sboysgetme.”

“Doyouthinkitreallyis—”

“TheRunningMan?Betyoursweetass.Givemeoneofthosecruddycigarettes,pal.”

Richardsgavehimone.

Thedooropenedandthekidwhoblinkedalotcameoutonthearmofabeautifuldollywearingtwohandkerchiefsandaprayer.Thekidgavethemasmall,nervoussmileastheywentby.

“Mr.Laughlin?Wouldyougoin,please?”

SoRichardswasalone,unlessyoucountedthe

receptionist,whohaddisappearedintoherfoxholeagain.

Hegotupandwentovertothefreecigarettemachineinthecorner.Laughlinmustberight,hereflected.ThecigarettemachinedispensedDokes.Theymusthavehitthebigleagues.HegotapackageofBlams,satdown,andlitoneup.

AbouttwentyminuteslaterLaughlincameoutwithanash-blondeonhisarm.“Afriendofminefromthecarpool,”hesaidtoRichards,andpointedattheblonde.Shedimpleddutifully.Laughlinlookedpained.“Atleastthebastardtalksstraight,”hesaidtoRichards.“Seeyou.”

Hewentout.Thereceptionistpokedherhead

outofherfoxhole.“Mr.Richards?Wouldyoustepin,please?”

Hewentin.

…Minus087andCOUNTING…

Theinnerofficelookedbigenoughtoplaykillballin.Itwasdominatedbyahuge,one-wallpicturewindowthatlookedwestoverthehomesofthemiddleclass,thedocksidewarehousesandoil

tanks,andHardingLakeitself.Bothskyandwaterwerepearl-gray;itwasstillraining.Alargetankerfaroutwaschuggingfromrighttoleft.

Themanbehindthedeskwasofmiddleheightandveryblack.Soblack,infact,thatforamomentRichardswasstruckwithunreality.Hemighthavesteppedoutofaminstrelshow.

“Mr.Richards.”Heroseandextendedhishandoverthedesk.WhenRichardsdidnotshakeit,hedidnotseemparticularlyflustered.Hemerelytookhishandbacktohimselfandsatdown.

Aslingchairwasnexttothedesk.RichardssatdownandbuttedhissmokeinanashtraywiththeGamesemblemembossedonit.

“I’mDanKillian,Mr.Richards.Bynowyou’veprobablyguessedwhyyou’vebeenbroughthere.Ourrecordsandyourtestscoresbothsayyou’reabrightboy.”

Richardsfoldedhishandsandwaited.

“You’vebeenslatedasacontestantonTheRunningMan,Mr.Richards.It’sourbiggestshow;it’sthemost

lucrative—anddangerous—forthemeninvolved.I’vegotyourfinalconsentformhereonmydesk.I’venodoubtthatyou’llsignit,butfirstIwanttotellyouwhyyou’vebeenselectedandIwantyoutounderstandfullywhatyou’regettinginto.”

Richardssaidnothing.

Killianpulledadossierontothevirginsurfaceofhisdesk

blotter.Richardssawthatithadhisnametypedonthefront.Killianflippeditopen.

“BenjaminStuartRichards.Agetwenty-eight,bornAugust8,1997,cityofHarding.AttendedSouthCityManualTradesfromSeptemberof2011untilDecemberof2013.Suspendedtwiceforfailuretorespectauthority.Ibelieveyoukickedtheassistant

principalintheupperthighoncewhilehisbackwasturned?”

“Crap,”Richardssaid.“Ikickedhimintheass.”

Killiannodded.“Howeveryousay,Mr.Richards.YoumarriedSheilaRichards,néeGordon,attheageofsixteen.Old-stylelifetimecontract.Rebelalltheway,uh?Nounionaffiliationduetoyour

refusaltosigntheUnionOathofFealtyandtheWageControlArticles.IbelievethatyoureferredtoAreaGovernorJohnsburyas‘acorn-holingsonofabitch.’”

“Yes,”Richardssaid.

“Yourworkrecordhasbeenspottyandyou’vebeenfired…let’ssee…atotalofsixtimesforsuchthingsasinsubordination,insulting

superiors,andabusivecriticismofauthority.”

Richardsshrugged.

“Inshort,youareregardedasantiauthoritarianandantisocial.You’readeviatewhohasbeenintelligentenoughtostayoutofprisonandserioustroublewiththegovernment,andyou’renothookedonanything.Astaffpsychologistreportsyousaw

lesbians,excrement,andapollutivegasvehicleinvariousinkblots.Healsoreportsahigh,unexplaineddegreeofhilarity—”

“HeremindedmeofakidIusedtoknow.Helikedtohideunderthebleachersatschoolandwhackoff.Thekid,Imean.Idon’tknowwhatyourdoctorlikestodo.”

“Isee.”Killiansmiled

briefly,whiteteethglitteringinallthatdarkness,andwentbacktohisfolder.“YouheldracialresponsesoutlawedbytheRacialActof2004.Youmadeseveralratherviolentresponsesduringtheword-associationtest.”

“I’mhereonviolentbusiness,”Richardssaid.

“Tobesure.Andyetwe—andhereIspeakinalarger

sensethantheGamesAuthority;Ispeakinthenationalsense—viewtheseresponseswithextremedisquiet.”

“AfraidsomeonemighttapeastickofIrishtoyourignitionsystemsomenight?”Richardsasked,grinning.

Killianwethisthumbreflectivelyandturnedtothenextsheet.“Fortunately—for

us—you’vegivenahostagetofortune,Mr.Richards.YouhaveadaughternamedCatherine,eighteenmonths.Wasthatamistake?”Hesmiledfrostily.

“Planned,”Richardssaidwithoutrancor.“IwasworkingforG-Athen.Somehow,someofmyspermlivedthroughit.AjestofGod,maybe.Withtheworldthewayitis,Isometimes

thinkwemusthavebeenoffourtrolley.”

“Atanyrate,you’rehere,”Killiansaid,continuingtosmilehiscoldsmile.“AndnextTuesdayyouwillappearonTheRunningMan.You’veseentheprogram?”

“Yes.”

“Thenyouknowit’sthebiggestthinggoingonFree-

Vee.It’sfilledwithchancesforviewerparticipation,bothvicariousandactual.Iamexecutiveproduceroftheprogram.”

“That’sreallywonderful,”Richardssaid.

“TheprogramisoneofthesurestwaystheNetworkhasofgettingridofembryotroublemakerssuchasyourself,Mr.Richards.

We’vebeenonforsixyears.Todate,wehavenosurvivals.Tobebrutallyhonest,weexpecttohavenone.”

“Thenyou’rerunningacrookedtable,”Richardssaidflatly.

Killianseemedmoreamusedthanhorrified.“Butwe’renot.Youkeepforgettingyou’rean

anachronism,Mr.Richards.Peoplewon’tbeinthebarsandhotelsorgatheringinthecoldinfrontofappliancestoresrootingforyoutogetaway.Goodness!no.Theywanttoseeyouwipedout,andthey’llhelpiftheycan.Themoremessythebetter.AndthereisMcConetocontendwith.EvanMcConeandtheHunters.”

“Theysoundlikeaneo-

group,”Richardssaid.

“McConeneverloses,”Killiansaid.

Richardsgrunted.

“You’llappearliveTuesdaynight.Subsequentprogramswillbeapatch-upoftapes,films,andlivetricastswhenpossible.We’vebeenknowntointerruptscheduledbroadcastingwhena

particularlyresourcefulcontestantisonthevergeofreachinghis…personalWaterloo,shallwesay.

“Therulesaresimplicitythemselves.You—oryoursurvivingfamily—willwinonehundredNewDollarsforeachhouryouremainfree.Westakeyoutoforty-eighthundreddollarsrunningmoneyontheassumptionthatyouwillbeabletofoxthe

Huntersforforty-eighthours.Theunspentbalancerefundable,ofcourse,ifyoufallbeforetheforty-eighthoursareup.You’regivenatwelve-hourheadstart.Ifyoulastthirtydays,youwintheGrandPrize.OnebillionNewDollars.”

Richardsthrewbackhisheadandlaughed.

“Mysentimentsexactly,”

Killiansaidwithadrysmile.“Doyouhaveanyquestions?”

“Justone,”Richardssaid,leaningforward.Thetracesofhumorhadvanishedfromhisfacecompletely.“Howwouldyouliketobetheoneoutthere,ontherun?”

Killianlaughed.Heheldhisbellyandhugemahoganylaughterrolledrichlyinthe

room.“Oh…Mr.Richards…youmustexcusem-me—”andhewentoffintoanothergale.

Atlast,dabbinghiseyeswithalargewhitehandkerchief,Killianseemedtogethimselfundercontrol.“Yousee,notonlyareyoupossessedofasenseofhumor,Mr.Richards.You…I—”Hechokednewlaughterdown.“Pleaseexcuseme.

You’vestruckmyfunnybone.”

“IseeIhave.”

“Otherquestions?”

“No.”

“Verygood.Therewillbeastaffmeetingbeforetheprogram.Ifanyquestionsshoulddevelopinthatfascinatingmindofyours,

pleaseholdthemuntilthen.”Killianpressedabuttononhisdesk.

“Sparemethecheapsnatch,”Richardssaid.“I’mmarried.”

Killian’seyebrowswentup.“Areyouquitesure?Fidelityisadmirable,Mr.Richards,butit’salongtimefromFridaytoTuesday.Andconsideringthefactthatyou

mayneverseeyourwifeagain—”

“I’mmarried.”

“Verywell.”Henoddedtothegirlinthedoorwayandshedisappeared.“Anythingwecandoforyou,Mr.Richards?You’llhaveaprivatesuiteontheninthfloor,andmealrequestswillbefilledwithinreason.”

“Agoodbottleofbourbon.AndatelephonesoIcantalktomyw—”

“Ah,no,I’msorry,Mr.Richards.Thebourbonwecando.Butonceyousignthisreleaseform”—hepusheditovertoRichardsalongwithapen—“you’reincommunicadountilTuesday.Wouldyoucaretoreconsiderthegirl?”

“No,”Richardssaid,andscrawledhisnameonthedottedline.“Butyoubettermakethattwobottlesofbourbon.”

“Certainly.”Killianstoodandofferedhishandagain.

Richardsdisregardeditagain,andwalkedout.

Killianlookedafterhimwithblankeyes.Hewasnot

smiling.

…Minus086andCOUNTING…

ThereceptionistpoppedpromptlyoutofherfoxholeasRichardswalkedthroughandhandedhimanenvelope.Onthefront:

Mr.Richards,

Isuspectoneofthethingsthatyouwillnotmentionduringourinterviewisthefactthatyouneedmoneybadlyrightnow.Isitnottrue?

Despiterumorstothecontrary,GamesAuthoritydoesnotgiveadvances.Youmustnotlookuponyourselfasacontestantwithalltheglitterthatwordentails.Youarenota

Free-Veestarbutonlyaworkingjoewhoisbeingpaidextremelywellforundertakingadangerousjob.

However,GamesAuthorityhasnorulewhichforbidsmefromextendingyouapersonalloan.Insideyouwillfindtenpercentofyouradvancesalary—notinNewDollars,Ishould

cautionyou,butinGamesCertificatesredeemablefordollars.Shouldyoudecidetosendthesecertificatestoyourwife,asIsuspectyouwill,shewillfindtheyhaveoneadvantageoverNewDollars;areputabledoctorwillacceptthemaslegaltender,whileaquackwillnot.

Sincerely,DanKillian

RichardsopenedtheenvelopeandpulledoutathickbookofcouponswiththeGamessymbolonthevellumcover.Insidewereforty-eightcouponswithafacevalueoftenNewDollarseach.RichardsfeltanabsurdwaveofgratitudetowardKilliansweephimandcrushedit.HehadnodoubtthatKillianwouldattachfourhundredandeightydollarsofhisadvancemoney,and

besidesthat,four-eightywasaprettygoddamcheappricetopayforinsuranceonthebigshow,thecontinuedhappinessoftheclient,andKillian’sownbig-moneyjob.

“Shit,”hesaid.

Thereceptionistpokedattentivelyoutofherfoxhole.“Didyousaysomething,Mr.Richards?”

“No.Whichwaytotheelevators?”

…Minus085andCOUNTING…

Thesuitewassumptuous.

Wall-to-wallcarpetingalmostdeepenoughtobreaststrokeincoveredthefloorsofallthreerooms:livingroom,bedroom,andbath.TheFree-

Veewasturnedoff;blessedsilenceprevailed.Therewereflowersinthevases,andonthewallnexttothedoorwasabuttondiscreetlymarkedSERVICE.Theservicewouldbefast,too,Richardsthoughtcynically.Thereweretwocopsstationedoutsidehisninth-floorsuitejusttomakesurehedidn’tgowandering.

Hepushedtheservicebutton,andthedooropened.

“Yes,Mr.Richards,”oneofthecopssaid.RichardsfanciedhecouldseehowsourthatMistertastedinhismouth.“Thebourbonyouaskedforwillbe—”

“It’snotthat,”Richardssaid.HeshowedthecopthebookofcouponsKillianhadleftforhim.“Iwantyoutotakethissomewhere.”

“Justwritethenameand

address,Mr.Richards,andI’llseethatit’sdelivered.”

Richardsfoundthecobbler’sreceiptandwrotehisaddressandSheila’snameonthebackofit.Hegavethetatteredpaperandthecouponbooktothecop.HewasturningawaywhenanewthoughtstruckRichards.“Hey!Justasecond!”

Thecopturnedback,and

Richardspluckedthecouponbookoutofhishand.Heopenedittothefirstcoupon,andtoreonetenthofitalongtheperforatedline.Equivalentvalue:OneNewDollar.

“DoyouknowacopnamedCharlieGrady?”

“Charlie?”Thecoplookedathimwarily.“Yeah,IknowCharlie.He’sgotfifth-floor

duty.”

“Givehimthis.”Richardshandedhimthecouponsection.“Tellhimtheextrafiftycentsishisusurer’sfee.”

Thecopturnedawayagain,andRichardscalledhimbackoncemore.

“You’llbringmewrittenreceiptsfrommywifeandfromGrady,won’tyou?”

Disgustshowedopenlyonthecop’sface.“Ain’tyouthetrustingsoul?”

“Sure,”Richardssaid,smilingthinly.“Youguystaughtmethat.SouthoftheCanalyoutaughtmeallaboutit.”

“It’sgonnabefun,”thecopsaid,“watchingthemgoafteryou.I’mgonnabegluedtomyFree-Veewithabeerin

eachhand.”

“Justbringmethereceipts,”Richardssaid,andclosedthedoorgentlyinthecop’sface.

Thebourboncametwentyminuteslater,andRichardstoldthesurpriseddeliverymanthathewouldlikeacoupleofthicknovelssentup.

“Novels?”

“Books.Youknow.Read.Words.Movablepress.”Richardspantomimedflippingpages.

“Yes,sir,”hesaiddoubtfully.“Doyouhaveadinnerorder?”

Christ,theshitwasgettingthick.Hewasdrowninginit.Richardssawasuddenfantasy-cartoon:Manfallsintoouthouseholeand

drownsinpinkshitthatsmellslikeChanelNo.5.Thekicker:Itstilltasteslikeshit.

“Steak.Peas.Mashedpotatoes.”God,whatwasSheilasittingdownto?Aproteinpillandacupoffakecoffee?“Milk.Applecobblerwithcream.Gotit?”

“Yes,sir.Wouldyoulike—”

“No,”Richardssaid,suddenlydistraught.“No.Getout.”Hehadnoappetite.Absolutelynone.

…Minus084andCOUNTING…

WithsouramusementRichardsthoughtthattheGamesbellboyhadtakenhimliterallyaboutthenovels:Hemusthavepickedthemoutwitharulerashisonlyguide.Anythingoveraninchanda

halfisokay.HehadbroughtRichardsthreebookshehadneverheardof:twogoldenoldiestitledGodIsanEnglishmanandNotasaStrangerandahugetomewrittenthreeyearsagocalledThePleasureofServing.Richardspeekedintothatonefirstandwrinkledhisnose.PoorboymakesgoodinGeneralStomics.Risesfromenginewipertogeartradesman.Takesnight

courses(onwhat?Richardswondered,Monopolymoney?).Fallsinlovewithbeautifulgirl(apparentlysyphilishadn’trottedhernoseoffyet)atablockorgy.Promotedtojuniortechnicofollowingdazzlingaptitudescores.Three-yearmarriagecontractfollows,and—

Richardsthrewthebookacrosstheroom.GodIsanEnglishmanwasalittle

better.Hepouredhimselfabourbonontherocksandsettledintothestory.

Bythetimethediscreetknockcame,hewasthreehundredpagesin,andprettywellinthebagtoboot.Oneofthebourbonbottleswasempty.Hewenttothedoorholdingtheotherinhishand.Thecopwasthere.“Yourreceipts,Mr.Richards,”hesaid,andpulledthedoor

closed.

Sheilahadnotwrittenanything,buthadsentoneofCathy’sbabypictures.Helookedatitandfelttheeasytearsofdrunkennessprickhiseyes.Heputitinhispocketandlookedattheotherreceipt.CharlieGradyhadwrittenbrieflyonthebackofatrafficticketform:

Thanks,maggot.Get

stuffed.CharlieGrady

Richardssnickeredandletthepaperflittertothecarpet.“Thanks,Charlie,”hesaidtotheemptyroom.“Ineededthat.”

HelookedatthepictureofCathyagain,atiny,red-facedinfantoffourdaysatthetimeofthephoto,screamingherheadoff,swimmingina

whitecradledressthatSheilahadmadeherself.HefeltthetearslurkingandmadehimselfthinkofgoodoldCharlie’sthank-younote.Hewonderedifhecouldkilltheentiresecondbottlebeforehepassedout,anddecidedtofindout.

Healmostmadeit.

…Minus083andCOUNTING…

RichardsspentSaturdaylivingthroughahugehangover.HewasalmostoveritbySaturdayevening,andorderedtwomorebottlesofbourbonwithsupper.Hegotthroughbothofthemand

wokeupinthepaleearlylightofSundaymorningseeinglargecaterpillarswithflat,murderouseyescrawlingslowlydownthefarbedroomwall.HedecidedthenitwouldbeagainsthisbestintereststowreckhisreactionscompletelybeforeTuesday,andlaidoffthebooze.

Thishangoverwasslowerdissipating.Hethrewupa

gooddeal,andwhentherewasnothinglefttothrowup,hehaddryheaves.Thesetaperedoffaroundsixo’clockSundayevening,andheorderedsoupfordinner.Nobourbon.Heaskedforadozenneo-rockdiscerstoplayonthesuite’ssoundsystem,andtiredofthemquickly.

Hewenttobedearly.Andsleptpoorly.

HespentmostofMondayonthetinyglassed-interracethatopenedoffthebedroom.Hewasveryhighabovethewaterfrontnow,andthedaywasaseriesofsunandshowersthatwasfairlypleasant.Hereadtwonovels,wenttobedearlyagain,andsleptalittlebetter.Therewasanunpleasantdream:Sheilawasdead,andhewasatherfuneral.Somebodyhadproppedherupinhercoffin

andstuffedagrotesquecorsageofNewDollarsinhermouth.Hetriedtoruntoherandremovetheobscenity;handsgrabbedhimfrombehind.Hewasbeingheldbyadozencops.OneofthemwasCharlieGrady.Hewasgrinningandsaying“Thisiswhathappenstolosers,maggot.”Theywereputtingtheirpistolstohisheadwhenhewokeup.

“Tuesday,”hesaidtonooneatall,androlledoutofbed.ThefashionableG-Asunburstclockonthefarwallsaiditwasnineminutesafterseven.ThelivetricastofTheRunningManwouldbegoingoutalloverNorthAmericainlessthanelevenhours.Hefeltahotdropoffearinhisstomach.Intwenty-threehourshewouldbefairgame.

Hehadalonghotshower,

dressedinhiscoverall,orderedhamandeggsforbreakfast.HealsogotthebellboyondutytosendupacartonofBlams.

Hespenttherestofthemorningandearlyafternoonreadingquietly.Itwastwoo’clockonthenosewhenasingleformalrapcameatthedoor.ThreepoliceandArthurM.Burns,lookingpottyandmorethanabitridiculousina

Gamessinglet,walkedin.Allofthecopswerecarryingmove-alongs.

“It’stimeforyourfinalbriefing,Mr.Richards,”Burnssaid.“Wouldyou—”

“Sure,”Richardssaid.Hemarkedhisplaceinthebookhehadbeenreadingandputitdownonthecoffeetable.Hewassuddenlyterrified,closetopanic,andhewasvery

gladtherewasnoperceptibleshakeinhisfingers.

…Minus082andCOUNTING…

ThetenthflooroftheGamesBuildingwasagreatdealdifferentfromtheonesbelow,andRichardsknewthathewasmeanttogonohigher.Thefictionofupwardmobilitywhichstartedinthe

grimystreet-levellobbyendedhereonthetenthfloor.Thiswasthebroadcastfacility.

Thehallwayswerewide,white,andstark.Brightyellowgo-cartspoweredbyG-Asolar-cellmotorspotteredhereandthere,carryingloadsofFree-Veetechnicostostudiosandcontrolrooms.

Acartwaswaitingforthemwhentheelevatorstopped,andthefiveofthem—Richards,Burnsandcops—climbedaboard.NeckscranedandRichardswaspointedoutseveraltimesastheymadethetrip.OnewomaninayellowGamesshorts-and-halteroutfitwinkedandblewRichardsakiss.Hegaveherthefinger.

Theyseemedtotravel

miles,throughdozensofinterconnectingcorridors.Richardscaughtglimpsesintoatleastadozenstudios,oneofthemcontainingtheinfamoustreadmillseenonTreadmilltoBucks.Atourgroupfromuptownwastryingitoutandgiggling.

AtlasttheycametoastopbeforeadoorwhichreadTHERUNNINGMAN:ABSOLUTELYNO

ADMITTANCE.BurnswavedtotheguardinthebulletproofboothbesidethedoorandthenlookedatRichards.

“PutyourI.D.intheslotbetweentheguardboothandthedoor,”Burnssaid.

Richardsdidit.Hiscarddisappearedintotheslot,andasmalllightwentonintheguardbooth.Theguardpushedabuttonandthedoor

slidopen.Richardsgotbackintothecartandtheyweretrundledintotheroombeyond.

“Where’smycard?”Richardsasked.

“Youdon’tneeditanymore.”

Theywereinacontrolroom.Theconsolesectionwasemptyexceptforabald

technicowhowassittinginfrontofablankmonitorscreen,readingnumbersintoamicrophone.

Acrosstotheleft,DanKillianandtwomenRichardshadn’tmetweresittingaroundatablewithfrostyglasses.Oneofthemwasvaguelyfamiliar,tooprettytobeatechnico.

“Hello,Mr.Richards.Hello,

Arthur.Wouldyoucareforasoftdrink,Mr.Richards?”

Richardsfoundhewasthirsty;itwasquitewarmonteninspiteofthemanyair-conditioningunitshehadseen.“I’llhaveaRooty-Toot,”hesaid.

Killianrose,wenttoacold-cabinet,andsnappedthelidfromaplasticsqueeze-bottle.Richardssatdownandtook

thebottlewithanod.

“Mr.Richards,thisgentlemanonmyrightisFredVictor,thedirectorofTheRunningMan.Thisotherfellow,asI’msureyouknow,isBobbyThompson.”

Thompson,ofcourse.HostandemceeofTheRunningMan.Heworeanattygreentunic,slightlyiridescent,andsportedamaneofhairthat

wassilvery-attractiveenoughtobesuspect.

“Doyoudyeit?”Richardsasked.

Thompson’simpeccableeyebrowswentup.“Ibegpardon?”

“Nevermind,”Richardssaid.

“You’llhavetomake

allowancesforMr.Richards,”Killiansaid,smiling.“Heseemsafflictedwithanextremecaseoftherudes.”

“Quiteunderstandable,”Thompsonsaid,andlitacigarette.Richardsfeltawaveofunrealitysurgeoverhim.“Underthecircumstances.”

“Comeoverhere,Mr.Richards,ifyouplease,”

Victorsaid,takingcharge.HeledRichardstothebankofscreensontheothersideoftheroom.Thetechnicohadfinishedwithhisnumbersandhadlefttheroom.

Victorpunchedtwobuttonsandleft-rightviewsofTheRunningMansetsprangintoview.

“Wedon’tdoarun-throughhere,”Victorsaid.“Wethink

itdetractsfromspontaneity.Bobbyjustwingsit,andhedoesaprettydamngoodjob.Wegoonatsixo’clock,Hardingtime.Bobbyiscenterstageonthatraisedbluedais.Hedoesthelead-in,givingarundownonyou.Themonitorwillflashacoupleofstillpictures.You’llbeinthewingsatstageright,flankedbytwoGamesguards.They’llcomeonwithyou,armedwithriotguns.Move-

alongswouldbemorepracticalifyoudecidedtogivetrouble,buttheriotgunsaregoodtheater.”

“Sure,”Richardssaid.

“Therewillbealotofbooingfromtheaudience.Wepackitthatwaybecauseit’sgoodtheater.Justlikethekillballmatches.”

“Aretheygoingtoshootme

withfakebullets?”Richardsasked.“Youcouldputafewbloodbagsonme,tospatteroncue.Thatwouldbegoodtheater,too.”

“Payattention,please,”Victorsaid.“Youandtheguardsgoonwhenyournameiscalled.Bobbywill,uh,interviewyou.Feelfreetoexpressyourselfascolorfullyasyouplease.It’sallgoodtheater.Then,aroundsix-ten,

justbeforethefirstNetworkpromo,you’llbegivenyourstakemoneyandexit—sansguards—atstageleft.Doyouunderstand?”

“Yes.WhataboutLaughlin?”

Victorfrownedandlitacigarette.“Hecomesonafteryou,atsix-fifteen.Weruntwocontestssimultaneouslybecauseoftenoneofthe

contestantsis,uh,inadeptatstayingaheadoftheHunters.”

“Withthekidasaback-up?”

“Mr.Jansky?Yes.Butnoneofthisconcernsyou,Mr.Richards.Whenyouexitstageleft,you’llbegivenatapemachinewhichisaboutthesizeofaboxofpopcorn.Itweighssixpounds.Withit,

you’llbegivensixtytapeclipswhichareaboutfourincheslong.Theequipmentwillfitinsideacoatpocketwithoutabulge.It’satriumphofmoderntechnology.”

“Swell.”

Victorpressedhislipstogether.“AsDanhasalreadytoldyou,Richards,you’reacontestantonlyforthe

masses.Actually,youareaworkingmanandyoushouldviewyourroleinthatlight.Thetapecartridgescanbedroppedintoanymailslotandtheywillbedeliveredexpresstoussowecaneditthemforairingthatnight.Failuretodeposittwoclipsperdaywillresultinlegaldefaultofpayment.”

“ButI’llstillbehunteddown.”

“Right.Somailthosetapes.Theywon’tgiveawayyourlocation;theHuntersoperateindependentlyofthebroadcastingsection.”

Richardshadhisdoubtsaboutthatbutsaidnothing.

“Afterwegiveyoutheequipment,youwillbeescortedtothestreetelevator.ThisgivesdirectlyonRampartStreet.Onceyou’re

there,you’reonyourown.”Hepaused.“Questions?”

“No.”

“ThenMr.Killianhasonemoremoneydetailtostraightenoutwithyou.”

TheywalkedbacktowhereDanKillianwasinconversationwithArthurM.Burns.RichardsaskedforanotherRooty-Tootandgot

it.

“Mr.Richards,”Killiansaid,twinklinghisteethathim.“Asyouknow,youleavethestudiounarmed.Butthisisnottosayyoucannotarmyourselfbyfairmeansorfoul.Goodness!No.You—oryourestate—willbepaidanadditionalonehundreddollarsforanyHunterorrepresentativeofthelawyoushouldhappentodispatch—”

“Iknow,don’ttellme,”Richardssaid.“It’sgoodtheater.”

Killiansmileddelightedly.“Howveryastuteofyou.Yes.However,trynottobaganyinnocentbystanders.That’snotkosher.”

Richardssaidnothing.

“Theotheraspectoftheprogram—”

“Thestooliesandindependentcameramen.Iknow.”

“They’renotstoolies;they’regoodNorthAmericancitizens.”ItwasdifficulttotellwhetherKillian’stoneofhurtwasrealorironic.“Anyway,there’san800numberforanyonewhospotsyou.AverifiedsightingpaysonehundredNewDollars.Asightingwhichresultsinakill

paysathousand.Wepayindependentcameramentendollarsafootandup—”

“RetiretoscenicJamaicaonbloodmoney,”Richardscried,spreadinghisarmswide.“Getyourpictureonahundred3-Dweeklies.Betheidolofmillions.Justholographfordetails.”

“That’senough,”Killiansaidquietly.Bobby

Thompsonwasbuffinghisfingernails;Victorhadwanderedoutandcouldbefaintlyheardyellingatsomeoneaboutcameraangles.

Killianpressedabutton.“MissJones?Readyforyou,sweets.”Hestoodupandofferedhishandagain.“Makeupnext,Mr.Richards.Thenthelightingruns.You’llbequarteredoffstageandwe

won’tmeetagainbeforeyougoon.So—”

“It’sbeengrand,”Richardssaid.Hedeclinedthehand.

MissJonesledhimout.Itwas2:30.

…Minus081andCOUNTING…

Richardsstoodinthewingswithacoponeachside,listeningtothestudioaudienceastheyfranticallyapplaudedBobbyThompson.Hewasnervous.Hejeeredathimselfforit,butthe

nervousnesswasafact.Jeeringwouldnotmakeitgoaway.Itwas6:01.

“Tonight’sfirstcontestantisashrewd,resourcefulmanfromsouthoftheCanalinourownhomecity,”Thompsonwassaying.ThemonitorfadedtoastarkportraitofRichardsinhisbaggygrayworkshirt,takenbyahiddencameradaysbefore.Thebackground

lookedlikethefifthfloorwaitingroom.Ithadbeenretouched,Richardsthought,tomakehiseyesdeeper,hisforeheadalittlelower,hischeeksmoreshadowed.Hismouthhadbeengivenajeering,curledexpressionbysometechnico’sairbrush.Allinall,theRichardsonthemonitorwasterrifying—theangelofurbandeath,brutal,notverybright,butpossessedofacertainprimitiveanimal

cunning.Theuptownapartmentdweller’sboogeyman.

“ThismanisBenjaminRichards,agetwenty-eight.Knowthefacewell!Inahalf-hour,thismanwillbeontheprowl.AverifiedsightingbringsyouonehundredNewDollars!AsightingwhichresultsinakillresultsinonethousandNewDollarsforyou!”

Richards’smindwaswandering;itcamebacktothepointwithamightysnap.

“…andthisisthewomanthatBenjaminRichards’sawardwillgoto,ifandwhenheisbroughtdown!”

ThepicturedissolvedtoastillofSheila…buttheairbrushhadbeenatworkagain,thistimewieldedwithaheavierhand.Theresults

werebrutal.Thesweet,not-so-good-lookingfacehadbeentransformedintothatofavapidslattern.Full,poutinglips,eyesthatseemedtoglitterwithavarice,asuggestionofadoublechinfadingdowntowhatappearedtobebarebreasts.

“Youbastard!”Richardsgrated.Helungedforward,butpowerfularmsheldhimback.

“Simmerdown,buddy.It’sonlyapicture.”

Amomentlaterhewashalfled,halfdraggedonstage.

Theaudiencereactionwasimmediate.Thestudiowasfilledwithscreamedcriesof“Boo!Cyclebum!”“Getout,youcreep!”“Killhim!Killthebastard!”“Youeatit!”“Getout,getout!”

BobbyThompsonheldhisarmsupandshoutedgood-naturedlyforquiet.“Let’shearwhathe’sgottosay.”Theaudiencequieted,butreluctantly.

Richardsstoodbull-likeunderthehotlightswithhisheadlowered.Heknewhewasprojectingexactlytheauraofhateanddefiancethattheywantedhimtoproject,buthecouldnothelpit.

HestaredatThompsonwithhard,redrimmedeyes.“Somebodyisgoingtoeattheirownballsforthatpictureofmywife,”hesaid.

“Speakup,speakup,Mr.Richards!”Thompsoncriedwithjusttherightnoteofcontempt.“Nobodywillhurtyou…atleast,notyet.”

Morescreamsandhystericalvituperationfromthe

audience.

Richardssuddenlywheeledtofacethem,andtheyquietedasifslapped.Womenstaredathimwithfrightened,half-sexualexpressions.Mengrinnedupathimwithblood-hateintheireyes.

“Youbastards!”hecried.“Ifyouwanttoseesomebodydiesobad,whydon’tyoukilleachother?”

Hisfinalwordsweredrownedinmorescreams.Peoplefromtheaudience(perhapspaidtodoso)weretryingtogetonstage.Thepolicewereholdingthemback.Richardsfacedthem,knowinghowhemustlook.

“Thankyou,Mr.Richards,forthosewordsofwisdom.”Thecontemptwaspalpablenow,andthecrowd,nearlysilentagain,waseatingitup.

“Wouldyouliketotellouraudienceinthestudioandathomehowlongyouthinkyoucanholdout?”

“Iwanttotelleverybodyinthestudioandathomethatthatwasn’tmywife!Thatwasacheapfake—”

Thecrowddrownedhimout.Theirscreamsofhatehadreachedanearfeverpitch.Thompsonwaited

nearlyaminuteforthemtoquietalittle,andthenrepeated:“Howlongdoyouexpecttoholdout,MisterRichards?”

“Iexpecttogothewholethirty,”Richardssaidcoolly.“Idon’tthinkyou’vegotanybodywhocantakeme.”

Morescreaming.Shakenfists.Someonethrewatomato.

BobbyThompsonfacedtheaudienceagainandcried:“Withthoselastcheapwordsofbravado,Mr.Richardswillbeledfromourstage.Tomorrowatnoon,thehuntbegins.Rememberhisface!Itmaybenexttoyouonapneumobus…inajetplane…ata3-Drack…inyourlocalkillballarena.Tonighthe’sinHarding.TomorrowinNewYork?Boise?Albuquerque?Columbus?Skulkingoutside

yourhome?Willyoureporthim?”

“YESS!!!”theyscreamed.

Richardssuddenlygavethemthefinger—bothfingers.Thistimetherushforthestagewasbynostretchoftheimaginationsimulated.Richardswasrushedoutthestage-leftexitbeforetheycouldriphimapartoncamera,thusdeprivingthe

Networkofallthejuicyupcomingcoverage.

…Minus080andCOUNTING…

Killianwasinthewings,andconvulsedwithamusement.“Fineperformance,Mr.Richards.Fine!God,IwishIcouldgiveyouabonus.Thosefingers…superb!”

“Weaimtoplease,”Richardssaid.Themonitorsweredissolvingtoapromo.“Givemethegoddamcameraandgofuckyourself.”

“That’sgenericallyimpossible,”Killiansaid,stillgrinning,“buthere’sthecamera.”Hetookitfromthetechnicowhohadbeencradlingit.“Fullyloadedandreadytogo.Andherearetheclips.”HehandedRichardsa

small,surprisinglyheavyoblongboxwrappedinoilcloth.

Richardsdroppedthecameraintoonecoatpocket,theclipsintotheother.“Okay.Where’stheelevator?”

“Notsofast,”Killiansaid.“You’vegotaminute…twelveofthem,actually.Yourtwelvehours’leeway

doesn’tstartofficiallyuntilsix-thirty.”

Thescreamsofragehadbegunagain.Lookingoverhisshoulder,RichardssawthatLaughlinwason.Hisheartwentouttohim.

“Ilikeyou,Richards,andIthinkyou’lldowell,”Killiansaid.“YouhaveacertaincrudestylethatIenjoyimmensely.I’macollector,

youknow.CaveartandEgyptianartifactsaremyareasofspecialization.YouaremoreanalogoustothecaveartthantomyEgyptianurns,butnomatter.Iwishyoucouldbepreserved—collected,ifyouplease—justasmyAsiancavepaintingshavebeencollectedandpreserved.”

“Grabarecordingofmybrainwaves,youbastard.

They’reonrecord.”

“SoI’dliketogiveyouapieceofadvice,”Killiansaid,ignoringhim.“Youdon’treallyhaveachance;nobodydoeswithawholenationinonthemanhuntandwiththeincrediblysophisticatedequipmentandtrainingthattheHuntershave.Butifyoustaylow,you’lllastlonger.Useyourlegsinsteadofanyweaponsyouhappentopick

up.Andstayclosetoyourownpeople.”HeleveledafingeratRichardsinemphasis.“Notthesegoodmiddle-classfolksoutthere;theyhateyourguts.Yousymbolizeallthefearsofthisdarkandbrokentime.Itwasn’tallshowandaudience-packingoutthere,Richards.Theyhateyourguts.Couldyoufeelit?”

“Yes,”Richardssaid.“Ifelt

it.Ihatethem,too.”

Killiansmiled.“That’swhythey’rekillingyou.”HetookRichards’sarm;hisgripwassurprisinglystrong.“Thisway.”

Behindthem,LaughlinwasbeingraggedbyBobbyThompsontotheaudience’ssatisfaction.

Downawhitecorridor,their

footfallsechoinghollowly—alone.Allalone.Oneelevatorattheend.

“ThisiswhereyouandIpartcompany,”Killiansaid.“Expresstothestreet.Nineseconds.”

Heofferedhishandforthefourthtime,andRichardsrefuseditagain.Yethelingeredamoment.

“WhatifIcouldgoup?”heasked,andgesturedwithhisheadtowardtheceilingandtheeightystoriesabovetheceiling.“WhocouldIkillupthere?WhocouldIkillifIwentrighttothetop?”

Killianlaughedsoftlyandpunchedthebuttonbesidetheelevator;thedoorspoppedopen.“That’swhatIlikeaboutyou,Richards.Youthinkbig.”

Richardssteppedintotheelevator.Thedoorsslidtowardeachother.

“Staylow,”Killianrepeated,andthenRichardswasalone.

Thebottomdroppedoutofhisstomachastheelevatorsanktowardthestreet.

…Minus079andCOUNTING…

Theelevatoropeneddirectlyontothestreet.AcopwasstandingbyitsfrontageonNixonMemorialPark,buthedidnotlookatRichardsashesteppedout;onlytappedhismove-alongreflectivelyand

staredintothesoftdrizzlethatfilledtheair.

Thedrizzlehadbroughtearlydusktothecity.Thelightsglowedmysticallythroughthedarkness,andthepeoplemovingonRampartStreetintheshadowoftheGamesBuildingwereonlyinsubstantialshadows,asRichardsknewhemustbehimself.Hebreatheddeeplyofthewet,sulphur-tainted

air.Itwasgoodinspiteofthetaste.Itseemedthathehadjustbeenletoutofprison,ratherthanfromonecommunicatingcelltoanother.Theairwasgood.Theairwasfine.

Stayclosetoyourownpeople,Killianhadsaid.Ofcoursehewasright.Richardshadn’tneededKilliantotellhimthat.OrtoknowthattheheatwouldbeheaviestinCo-

OpCitywhenthetrucebrokeatnoontomorrow.Butbythenhewouldbeoverthehillsandfaraway.

Hewalkedthreeblocksandhailedataxi.Hewashopingthecab’sFree-Veewouldbebusted—alotofthemwere—butthisonewasinA-1workingorder,andblaringtheclosingcreditsofTheRunningMan.Shit.

“Where,buddy?”

“RobardStreet.”Thatwasfiveblocksfromhisdestination;whenthecabdroppedhim,hewouldgobackyardexpresstoMolie’splace.

Thecabaccelerated,ancientgas-poweredengineadiscordantsymphonyofpoundingpistonsandmanifoldnoise.Richards

slumpedbackagainstthevinylcushions,intowhathehopedwasdeepershadow.

“Hey,IjustseenyouontheFree-Vee!”thecabbieexclaimed.“You’rethatguyPritchard!”

“Pritchard.That’sright,”Richardssaidresignedly.TheGamesBuildingwasdwindlingbehindthem.Apsychologicalshadow

seemedtobedwindlingproportionallyinhismind,inspiteofthebadluckwiththecabbie.

“Jesus,yougotballs,buddy.I’llsaythat.Youreallydo.Christ,they’llkillya.Youknowthat?They’llkillyafuckin-eyedead.Youmustreallyhaveballs.”

“That’sright.Twoofthem.Justlikeyou.”

“Twoof’m!”thecabbierepeated.Hewasecstatic.“Jesus,that’sgood.That’shot!YoumindifItellmywifeIhadjaasafare?ShegoesbatshitfortheGames.I’llhaftareportchatoo,butChrist,Iwon’tgetnohunnertforit.Cabbiesgottahaveatleastonesupportinwitness,y’know.Knowinmyluck,noonesawyagettinin.”

“Thatwouldbetough,”

Richardssaid.“I’msorryyoucan’thelpkillme.ShouldIleaveanotesayingIwashere?”

“Jesus,couldja?That’dbe—”

TheyhadjustcrossedtheCanal.“Letmeouthere,”Richardssaidabruptly.HepulledaNewDollarfromtheenvelopeThompsonhadhandedhim,anddroppedit

onthefrontseat.

“Gee,Ididn’tsaynothin,didI?Idintmeanta—”

“No,”Richardssaid.

“Couldjagimmethatnote—”

“Getstuffed,maggot.”

HelungedoutandbeganwalkingtowardDrummond

Street.Co-OpCityroseskeletalinthegatheringdarknessbeforehim.Thecabbie’syellfloatedafterhim:“Ihopetheygetyaearly,youcheapfuck!”

…Minus078andCOUNTING…

Throughabackyard;througharaggedholeinacyclonefenceseparatingonebarrenasphaltdesertfromanother;acrossaghostly,abandonedconstructionsite;pausingfarbackinshatteredshadowsas

acyclepackroaredby,headlampsglaringinthedarklikethepsychopathiceyesofnocturnalwerewolves.Thenoverafinalfence(cuttingonehand)andhewasrappingonMolieJernigan’sbackdoor—whichistosay,themainentrance.

MolieranaDockStreethockshopwhereafellowwithenoughbuckstospreadaroundcouldbuyapolice-

specialmove-along,afull-chokeriotgun,asubmachinegun,heroin,Push,cocaine,dragdisguises,astyroflexpseudo-woman,arealwhoreifyouweretoostrappedtoaffordstyroflex,thecurrentaddressofoneofthreefloatingcrap-games,thecurrentaddressofaswingingPervertoClub,orahundredotherillegalitems.IfMoliedidn’thavewhatyouwanted,hewouldorderitforyou.

Includingfalsepapers.

Whenheopenedthepeepholeandsawwhowasthere,heofferedakindlysmileandsaid:“Whydon’tyougoaway,pal?Ineversawyou.”

“NewDollars,”Richardsremarked,asiftotheairitself.Therewasapause.Richardsstudiedthecuffofhisshirtasifhehadnever

seenitbefore.

Thentheboltsandlockswereopened,quickly,asifMoliewereafraidRichardswouldchangehismind.Richardscamein.TheywereinMolie’splacebehindthestore,whichwasaratwarrenofoldnewsies,stolenmusicalinstruments,stolencameras,andboxesofblack-marketgroceries.Moliewasbynecessitysomethingofa

RobinHood;apawnbrokersouthoftheCanaldidnotremaininbusinesslongifhebecametoogreedy.Molietooktherichuptownmaggotsasheavilyashecouldandsoldintheneighborhoodatclosetocost—sometimeslowerthancostifsomepalwasbeingsqueezedhard.ThushisreputationinCo-OpCitywasexcellent,hisprotectionsuperb.IfacopaskedaSouthCitystoolie

(andtherewerehundredsofthem)aboutMolieJernigan,theinformantletitbeknownthatMoliewasaslightlysenileold-timerwhotookalittlegraftandsoldalittleblackmarket.Anynumberofuptownswellswithstrangesexualtendenciescouldhavetoldthepolicedifferently,buttherewerenovicebustsanymore.Everyoneknewvicewasbadforanyrealrevolutionaryclimate.The

factthatMoliealsoranamoderatelyprofitabletradeinforgeddocuments,strictlyforlocalcustomers,wasunknownuptown.Still,Richardsknew,toolingpapersforsomeoneashotashewaswouldbeextremelydangerous.

“Whatpapers?”Molieasked,sighingdeeplyandturningonanancientgoosenecklampthatflooded

theworkingareaofhisdeskwithbrightwhitelight.Hewasanoldman,approachingseventy-five,andinthecloseglowofthelighthishairlookedlikespunsilver.

“Driver’slicense.MilitaryServiceCard.StreetIdenticard.Axialchargecard.SocialRetirementcard.”

“Easy.Sixty-buckjobforanyonebutyou,Bennie.”

“You’lldoit?”

“Foryourwife,I’lldoit.Foryou,no.Idon’tputmyheadinthenooseforanycrazy-assbastardlikeBennieRichards.”

“Howlong,Molie?”

Molie’seyesflashedsardonically.“KnowinyoursituationasIdo,I’llhurryit.Anhourforeach.”

“Christ,Fivehours…canIgo—”

“No,youcan’t.Areyounuts,Bennie?AcopcomespullinuptoyourDevelopmentlastweek.He’sgotaenvelopeforyourollady.HecameinaBlackWagonwithaboutsixbuddies.FlapperDonniganwasstandinonthecornerpitchinnickswithGerryHanrahanwhenittransfired.

Flappertellsmeeverythin.Theboy’ssoft,youknow.”

“IknowFlapper’ssoft,”Richardssaidimpatiently.“Isentthemoney.Isshe—”

“Whoknows?Whosees?”Molieshruggedandrolledhiseyesasheputpensandblankformsinthecenterofthepooloflightthrownbythelamp.“They’refourdeeparoundyourbuilding,Bennie.

Anyonewhosenttooffertheircondolenceswouldendupinacellartalkintoabunchofrubberclubs.Evengoodfriendsdon’tneedthatscam,notevenwithyourolladyflush.Yougotanameyouwantspecialonthese?”

“Doesn’tmatteraslongasit’sAnglo.Jesus,Molie,shemusthavecomeoutforgroceries.Andthedoctor—”

“ShesentBudgieO’Sanchez’skid.What’shisname.”

“Walt.”

“Yeah,that’sit.Ican’tkeepthegoddamspicsandmicksstraightnomore.I’mgettinsenile,Bennie.Blowinmycool.”HeglaredupatRichardssuddenly.“IrememberwhenMickJaggerwasabigname.Youdon’t

evenknowwhohewas,doya?”

“Iknowwhohewas,”Richardssaid,distraught.HeturnedtoMolie’ssidewalk-levelwindow,frightened.Itwasworsethanhethought.SheilaandCathywereinthecage,too.Atleastuntil—

“They’reokay,Bennie,”Moliesaidsoftly.“Juststayaway.You’repoisontothem

now.Canyoudigit?”

“Yes,”Richardssaid.Hewassuddenlyoverwhelmedwithdespair,blackandawful.I’mhomesick,hethought,amazed,butitwasmore,itwasworse.Everythingseemedoutofwhack,surreal.Theveryfabricofexistencebulgingattheseams.Faces,whirling:Laughlin,Burns,Killian,Jansky,Molie,Cathy,Sheila—

Helookedoutintotheblackness,trembling.Moliehadgonetowork,crooningsomeoldsongfromhisvacantpast,somethingabouthavingBetteDaviseyes,whothehellwasthat?

“Hewasadrummer,”Richardssaidsuddenly.“WiththatEnglishgroup,theBeetles.MickMcCartney.”

“Yah,youkids,”Moliesaid,

bentoverhiswork.“That’sallyoukidsknow.”

…Minus077andCOUNTING…

HeleftMolie’sattenpastmidnight,twelvehundredNewDollarslighter.Thepawnbrokerhadalsosoldhimalimitedbutfairlyeffectivedisguise:grayhair,spectacles,mouthwadding,

plasticbuck-teethwhichsubtlytransfiguredhislipline.“Giveyourselfalittlelimp,too,”Molieadvised.“Notabigattention-getter.Justalittleone.Remember,youhavethepowertocloudmen’sminds,ifyouuseit.Don’trememberthatline,doya?”

Richardsdidn’t.

Accordingtohisnewwallet

cards,hewasJohnGriffenSpringer,atext-tapesalesmanfromHarding.Hewasaforty-three-year-oldwidower.Notechnicostatus,butthatwasjustaswell.Technicoshadtheirownlanguage.

RichardsreemergedonRobardStreetat12:30,agoodhourtogetrolled,mugged,orkilled,butabadhourtomakeanykindofunnoticedgetaway.Still,he

hadlivedsouthoftheCanalallhislife.

HecrossedtheCanaltwomilesfartherwest,almostontheedgeofthelake.Hesawapartyofdrunkenwinoshuddledaroundafurtivefire,severalrats,butnocops.By1:15A.M.hewascuttingacrossthefaredgeoftheno-man’s-landofwarehouses,cheapbeaneries,andshippingofficesonthenorthsideof

theCanal.At1:30hewassurroundedbyenoughuptownershoppingfromonesleazydivetothenexttosafelyhailacab.

Thistimethedriverdidn’tgivehimasecondlook.

“Jetport,”Richardssaid.

“I’myourman,pal.”

Theairthrustersshoved

themupintotraffic.Theywereattheairportby1:50.Richardslimpedpastseveralcopsandsecurityguardswhoshowednointerestinhim.HeboughtatickettoNewYorkbecauseitcamenaturallytomind.TheI.D.checkwasroutineanduneventful.Hewasonthe2:20speedshuttletoNewYork.Therewereonlyfortyorsopassengers,mostofthemsnoozingbusinessmenandstudents.

ThecopintheJudasholedozedthroughtheentiretrip.Afterawhile,Richardsdozed,too.

Theytoucheddownat3:06,andRichardsdeplanedandlefttheairportwithoutincident.

At3:15thecabwasspiralingdowntheLindsayOverway.TheycrossedCentralParkonadiagonal,

andat3:20,BenRichardsdisappearedintothelargestcityonthefaceoftheearth.

…Minus076andCOUNTING…

HewenttoearthintheBrantHotel,aso-soestablishmentontheEastSide.Thatpartofthecityhadbeengraduallyenteringanewcycleofchic.YettheBrantwaslessthanamilefromManhattan’sown

blightedinnercity—alsothelargestintheworld.Ashecheckedin,heagainthoughtofDanKillian’spartingwords:Stayclosetoyourownpeople.

AfterleavingthetaxihehadwalkedtoTimesSquare,notwantingtocheckintoanyhotelduringthesmallmorninghours.Hespentthefiveandahalfhoursfrom3:30to9:00inanall-night

pervertoshow.Hehadwanteddesperatelytosleep,butbothtimeshehaddozedoff,hehadbeensnappedawakebythefeeloflightfingerscrawlinguphisinnerthigh.

“Howlongwillyoubestaying,sir?”thedeskclerkasked,glancingatRichards’sregistrationasJohnG.Springer.

“Don’tknow,”Richardssaid,tryingformeekaffability.“Alldependsontheclients,youunderstand.”HepaidsixtyNewDollars,holdingtheroomfortwodays,andtooktheelevatoruptothetwenty-thirdfloor.TheroomofferedasomberviewofthesqualidEastRiver.ItwasraininginNewYork,too.

Theroomwascleanbut

sterile;therewasaconnectingbathroomandthetoiletmadeconstant,ominousnoisesthatRichardscouldnotrectifyevenbywigglingtheballinthetank.

Hehadbreakfastsentup—apoachedeggontoast,orangedrink,coffee.Whentheboyappearedwiththetray,hetippedlightlyandforgettably.

Withbreakfastoutofthe

way,hetookoutthevideotapecameraandlookedatit.AsmallmetalplatelabeledINSTRUCTIONSwassetjustbelowtheviewfinder.Richardsread:

1.PushtapecartridgeintoslotmarkedAuntilitclickshome.

2.Setviewfinderbymeansofcrosshairswithinthesight.

3.PushbuttonmarkedBtorecordsoundwithvideo.

4.Whenthebellsounds,tapecartridgewillpopoutautomatically.

Recordingtime:10minutes.

Good,Richardsthought.Theycanwatchmesleep.

Hesetthecameraonthe

bureaunexttotheGideonBibleandsightedthecrosshairsonthebed.Thewallbehindwasblankandnondescript;hedidn’tseehowanyonecouldpinpointhislocationfromeitherthebedorthebackground.Streetnoisefromthisheightwasnegligible,buthewouldleavetheshowerrunningjustincase.

Evenwithforethought,he

nearlypressedthebuttonandsteppedintothecamera’sfieldofvisionwithhisnakeddisguisehangingout.Someofitcouldhavebeenremoved,butthegrayhairhadtostay.Heputthepillowslipoverhishead.Thenhepressedthebutton,walkedovertothebed,andsatdownfacingthelens.

“Peekaboo,”BenRichardssaidhollowlytohisimmense

listeningandviewingaudiencethatwouldwatchthistapelatertonightwithhorrifiedinterest.“Youcan’tseeit,butI’mlaughingatyoushiteaters.”

Helayback,closedhiseyes,andtriedtothinkofnothingatall.Whenthetapeclippoppedouttenminuteslater,hewasfastasleep.

…Minus075andCOUNTING…

Whenhewokeupitwasjustafter4P.M.—thehuntwason,then.Hadbeenforthreehours,figuringforthetimedifference.Thethoughtsentachillthroughhismiddle.

Heputanewtapeinthecamera,tookdowntheGideonBible,andreadtheTenCommandmentsoverandoverfortenminuteswiththepillowsliponhishead.

Therewereenvelopesinthedeskdrawer,butthenameandaddressofthehotelwasonthem.Hehesitated,andknewitmadenodifference.HewouldhavetotakeKillian’swordthathis

location,asrevealedbypostmarksorreturnaddresses,wouldnotberevealedtoMcConeandhisbirddogsbytheGamesAuthority.Hehadtousethepostalservice.Theyhadsuppliedhimwithnocarrierpigeons.

Therewasamaildropbytheelevators,andRichardsdroppedtheclipsintotheout-of-townslotwithhuge

misgivings.AlthoughpostalauthoritieswerenoteligibleforanyGamesmoneyforreportingthewhereaboutsofcontestants,itstillseemedlikeahorriblyriskythingtodo.Buttheonlyotherthingwasdefault,andhecouldn’tdothat,either.

Hewentbacktohisroom,shutofftheshower(thebathroomwasassteamyasatropicaljungle),andlaydown

onthebedtothink.

Howtorun?Whatwasthebestthingtodo?

Hetriedtoputhimselfintheplaceofanaveragecontestant.Thefirstimpulse,ofcourse,waspureanimalinstinct:Gotoearth.Makeadenandcowerinthere.

Andsohehaddone.TheBrantHotel.

WouldtheHuntersexpectthat?Yes.Theywouldnotbelookingforarunningmanatall.Theywouldbelookingforahidingman.

Couldtheyfindhiminhisden?

Hewantedverybadlytoanswerno,buthecouldnot.Hisdisguisewasgood,buthastilyputtogether.Notmanypeopleareobservant,

buttherearealwayssome.Perhapshehadbeentabbedalready.Thedeskclerk.Thebellboywhohadbroughthisbreakfast.PerhapsevenbyoneofthefacelessmeninthepervertoshowonForty-secondStreet.

Notlikely,butpossible.

Andwhatabouthisrealprotection,thefalseI.D.Moliehadprovided?Good

forhowlong?Well,thetaxidriverwhohadtakenhimfromtheGamesBuildingcouldputhiminSouthCity.AndtheHunterswerefearfully,dreadfullygood.Theywouldbeleaninghardoneveryoneheknew,fromJackCragertothatbitchEileenJennerdownthehall.Heavyheat.Howlonguntilsomebody,maybeahead-softielikeFlapperDonnigan,letitslipthathadforged

papersonoccasion?AndiftheyfoundMolie,hewasblown.Thepawnbrokerwouldholdoutlongenoughtotakeabeltingaround;hewascannyenoughtowantafewvisiblebattlescarstosportaroundtheneighborhood.Justsohisplacedidn’thaveabadcaseofspontaneouscombustionsomenight.Then?AsimplecheckofHarding’sthreejetportswoulduncoverJohn

G.Springer’smidnightjaunttoFreakCity.

IftheyfoundMolie.

Youassumetheywill.Youhavetoassumetheywill.

Thenrun.Where?

Hedidn’tknow.HehadspenthisentirelifeinHarding.IntheMidwest.Hedidn’tknowtheEastCoast;

therewasnoplaceherehecouldruntoandfeelthathewasonfamiliarturf.Sowhere?Where?

Histeasedandunhappyminddriftedintoamorbiddaydream.TheyhadfoundMoliewithnotroubleatall.PriedtheSpringernameoutofhiminaneasyfiveminutes,afterpullingtwofingernails,fillinghisnavelwithlighterfluidand

threateningtostrikeamatch.TheyhadgottenRichards’sflightnumberwithonequickcall(handsome,nondescriptmeningarbardinecoatsofidenticalcutandmake)andhadarrivedinNewYorkby2:30E.S.T.AdvancemenhadalreadygottentheaddressoftheBrantbyatelexcanvassoftheNewYorkCityhotel-listings,whichwerecomputertabulateddaybyday.Theywereoutsidenow,

surroundingtheplace.BusboysandbellboysandclerksandbartendershadbeenreplacedbyHunters.Halfadozencomingupthefireescape.Anotherfiftypackingallthreeelevators.Moreandmore,pullingupinaircarsallaroundthebuilding.Nowtheywereinthehall,andinamomentthedoorwouldcrashopenandtheywouldlungein,atapemachinegrinding

enthusiasticallyawayonarollingtripodabovetheirmuscularshoulders,gettingitalldownforposterityastheyturnedhimintohamburger.

Richardssatup,sweating.Didn’tevenhaveagun,notyet.

Run.Fast.

Bostonwoulddo,tostart.

…Minus074andCOUNTING…

Helefthisroomat5:00P.M.andwentdowntothelobby.Thedeskclerksmiledbrightly,probablylookingforwardtohiseveningrelief.

“Afternoon,Mr.,uh—”

“Springer.”Richardssmiledback.“Iseemtohavestruckoil,myman.Threeclientswhoseem…receptive.I’llbeoccupyingyourexcellentfacilityforanadditionaltwodays.MayIpayinadvance?”

“Certainly,sir.”

Dollarschangedhands.Stillbeaming,Richardswentbackuptohisroom.Thehallwasempty.RichardshungtheDO

NOTDISTURBsignonthedoorknobandwentquicklytothefirestairs.

Luckwaswithhimandhemetnoone.Hewentallthewaytothegroundfloorandslippedoutthesideentranceunobserved.

Therainhadstopped,butthecloudsstillhungandloweredoverManhattan.Theairsmelledlikearancid

battery.Richardswalkedbriskly,discardingthelimp,tothePortAuthorityElectricBusterminal.AmancouldstillbuyaticketonaGreyhoundwithoutsigninghisname.

“Boston,”hesaidtothebeardedticket-vendor.

“Twenty-threebucks,pal.Buspullsoutatsix-fifteensharp.”

Hepassedoverthemoney;itlefthimwithsomethinglessthanthreethousandNewDollars.Hehadanhourtokill,andtheterminalwaschock-fullofpeople,manyofthemVol-Army,withtheirblueberetsandblank,boyish,brutalfaces.HeboughtaPervertMag,satdown,andproppeditinfrontofhisface.Forthenexthourhestaredatit,turningapageoccasionallytotryandavoidlookinglikea

statue.

Whenthebusrolleduptothepier,heshuffledtowardtheopendoorswiththerestofthenondescriptassortment.

“Hey!Hey,you!”

Richardsstaredaround;asecuritycopwasapproachingontherun.Hefroze,unabletotakeflight.Adistantpartofhisbrainwasscreaming

thathewasabouttobecutdownrighthere,righthereinthisshittybusterminalwithwadsofgumonthefloorandcasualobscenitiesscrawledonthedirt-cakedwalls;hewasgoingtobesomedumbflatfoot’sfluketrophy.

“Stophim!Stopthatguy!”

Thecopwasveering.Itwasn’thimatall.Richardssaw.Itwasascruffy-looking

kidwhowasrunningforthestairs,swingingalady’spurseinonehandandbowlingbystandersthiswayandthatliketenpins.

Heandhispursuerdisappearedfromsight,takingthestairsthreebythreeinhugeleaps.Theknotofembarkers,debarkers,andgreeterswatchedthemwithvagueinterestforamomentandthenpickedupthe

threadsofwhattheyhadbeendoing,asifnothinghadhappened.

Richardsstoodinline,tremblingandcold.

Hecollapsedintoaseatnearthebackofthecoach,andafewminuteslaterthebushummedsmoothlyuptheramp,paused,andjoinedtheflowoftraffic.Thecopandhisquarryhaddisappeared

intothegeneralmobofhumanity.

IfI’dhadagun.Iwouldhaveburnedhimwherehestood,Richardsthought.Christ.Oh,Christ.

Andontheheelsofthat:Nexttimeitwon’tbeapursesnatcher.It’llbeyou.

HewouldgetaguninBostonanyway.Somehow.

HerememberedLaughlinsayingthathewouldpushafewofthemoutahighwindowbeforetheytookhim.

Thebusrollednorthinthegatheringdarkness.

…Minus073andCOUNTING…

TheBostonY.M.C.A.stoodonupperHuntingtonAvenue.Itwashuge,blackwithyears,old-fashioned,andboxy.ItstoodinwhatusedtobeoneofBoston’sbetterareasinthemiddleofthelastcentury.It

stoodtherelikeaguiltyreminderofanothertime,anotherday,itsold-fashionedneonstillwinkingitsletterstowardthesinfultheaterdistrict.Itlookedliketheskeletonofamurderedidea.

WhenRichardswalkedintothelobby,thedeskclerkwasarguingwithatiny,scrufflyblackboyinakillballjerseysobigthatitreacheddownoverhisbluejeansto

midshin.Thedisputedterritoryseemedtobeagummachinethatstoodinsidethelobbydoor.

“Ilossmynickel,honky.Ilossmymuh-fuhnnickel!”

“Ifyoudon’tgetoutofhere,I’llcallthehousedetective,kid.That’sall.I’mdonetalkingtoyou.”

“Butthatgoddammachine

tookmynickel!”

“Youstopswearingatme,youlittlescumbag!”Theclerk,wholookedanold,coldthirty,reacheddownandshookthejersey.Itwastoohugeforhimtobeabletoshaketheboyinside,too.“Nowgetoutofhere.I’mthroughtalking.”

Seeinghemeantit,thealmostcomicmaskofhate

anddefiancebelowthedarksunburstofthekid’safrobrokeintoahurt,agonizedgrimaceofdisbelief.“Lissen,thasstheoneymuh-fuhnnickelIgot.Thatgumballmachineatemynickel!That—”

“I’mcallingthehousedickrightnow.”Theclerkturnedtowardtheswitchboard.Hisjacket,arefugeefromsomebargaincounter,flapped

tiredlyaroundhisthinbutt.

Theboykickedtheplaxteelpostofthegummachine,thenran.“Muh-fuhnwhitehonkysumbitch!”

Theclerklookedafterhim,thesecuritybutton,realormythicalunpressed.HesmiledatRichards,showinganoldkeyboardwithafewmissingkeys.“Youcan’ttalktoniggersanymore.I’dkeep

themincagesifIrantheNetwork.”

“Hereallyloseanickel?”Richardsasked,signingtheregisterasJohnDeeganfromMichigan.

“Ifhedid,hestoleit,”theclerksaid.“Oh,Isupposehedid.ButifIgavehimanickel,I’dhavetwohundredpickaninniesinherebynightfallclaimingthesame

thing.Wheredotheylearnthatlanguage?That’swhatIwanttoknow.Don’ttheirfolkscarewhattheydo?Howlongwillyoubestaying,Mr.Deegan?”

“Idon’tknow.I’mintownonbusiness.”Hetriedonagreasysmile,andwhenitfeltright,hewidenedit.Thedeskclerkrecognizeditinstantly(perhapsfromhisownreflectionlookingupathim

fromthedepthsofthefake-marblecounter,whichhadbeenpolishedbyamillionelbows)andgaveitbacktohim.

“That’s$15.50,Mr.Deegan.”HepushedakeyattachedtoawornwoodentongueacrossthecountertoRichards.“Room512.”

“Thankyou.”Richardspaidcash.Again,noI.D.Thank

GodfortheY.M.C.A.

HecrossedtotheelevatorsandlookeddownthecorridortotheChristianLendingLibraryontheleft.Itwasdimlylitwithflyspeckedyellowglobes,andanoldmanwearinganovercoatandgalosheswasperusingatract,turningthepagesslowlyandmethodicallywithatrembling,wettedfinger.Richardscouldhearthe

cloggedwhistleofhisbreathingfromwherehewasbytheelevators,andfeltamixtureofsorrowandhorror.

Theelevatorclunkedtoastop,andthedoorsopenedwithwheezyreluctance.Ashesteppedin,theclerksaidloudly:“It’sasinandashame.I’dputthemallincages.”

Richardsglancedup,

thinkingtheclerkwasspeakingtohim,buttheclerkwasnotlookingatanything.

Thelobbywasveryemptyandverysilent.

…Minus072andCOUNTING…

Thefifthfloorhallstankofpee.

ThecorridorwasnarrowenoughtomakeRichardsfeelclaustrophobic,andthecarpet,whichmighthave

beenred,hadwornawayinthemiddletorandomstrings.Thedoorswereindustrialgray,andseveralofthemshowedthemarksoffreshkicks,smashes,orattemptstojimmy.SignsateverytwentypacesadvisedthattherewouldbeNOSMOKINGINTHISHALLBYORDEROFFIREMARSHAL.Therewasacommunalbathroominthecenter,andtheurinestenchbecamesuddenlysharp.It

wasasmellRichardsassociatedautomaticallywithdespair.Peoplemovedrestlesslybehindthegraydoorslikeanimalsincages—animalstooawful,toofrightening,tobeseen.SomeonewaschantingwhatmighthavebeentheHailMaryoverandoverinadrunkenvoice.Strangegobblingnoisescamefrombehindanotherdoor.Acountry-westerntunefrom

behindanother(“Iain’tgotabuckforthephoneandI’msoalone…”).Shufflingnoises.Thesolitarysqueakofbedspringsthatmightmeanamaninhisownhand.Sobbing.Laughter.Thehystericalgruntsofadrunkenargument.Andfrombehindthese,silence.Andsilence.AmanwithahideouslysunkenchestwalkedpastRichardswithoutlookingathim,carryingabarofsoapanda

towelinonehand,wearinggraypajamabottomstiedwithstring.Heworepaperslippersonhisfeet.

Richardsunlockedhisroomandsteppedin.Therewasapolicebarontheinside,andheusedit.Therewasabedwithalmost-whitesheetsandanArmysurplusblanket.Therewasabureaufromwhichtheseconddrawerwasmissing.Therewasapicture

ofJesusononewall.Therewasasteelrodwithtwocoathangerskitty-corneredintherightangleoftwowalls.Therewasnothingelsebutthewindow,whichlookedoutonblackness.Itwas10:15.

Richardshunguphisjacket,slippedoffhisshoes,andlaydownonthebed.Herealizedhowmiserableandunknownandvulnerablehewasinthe

world.Theuniverseseemedtoshriekandclatterandroararoundhimlikeahugeandindifferentjalopyrushingdownahillandtowardthelipofabottomlesschasm.Hislipsbegantotremble,andthenhecriedalittle.

Hedidn’tputitontape.Helaylookingattheceiling,whichwascrackedintoamillioncrazyscrawls,likeabadpotter’s-glaze.Theyhad

beenafterhimforovereighthoursnow.Hehadearnedeighthundreddollarsofhisstakemoney.Christ,notevenoutoftheholeyet.

Andhe’dmissedhimselfonFree-Vee.Christ,yes.Thebag-over-the-headspectacular.

Wherewerethey?StillinHarding?NewYork?OrontheirwaytoBoston?No,they

couldn’tbeontheirwayhere,couldthey?Thebushadnotpassedthroughanyroad-blocks.Hehadleftthebiggestcityintheworldanonymously,andhewashereunderanassumedname.Theycouldn’tbeontohim.Noway.

TheBostonYmightbesafeforaslongastwodays.AfterthathecouldmovenorthtowardNewHampshireand

Vermont,orsouthtowardHartfordorPhiladelphiaorevenAtlanta.Furthereastwastheocean,andbeyonditwasBritainandEurope.Itwasanintriguingidea,butprobablyoutofreach.PassagebyplanerequiredI.D.,whatwithFranceundermartiallaw,andwhilestowing-awaymightbepossible,discoverywouldmeanaquickandfinalendtothewholething.Andwest

wasout.Westwaswheretheheatwasthehottest.

Ifyoucan’tstandtheheat,getoutofthekitchen.Whohadsaidthat?Moliewouldknow.Hesnickeredalittleandfeltbetter.

Thedisembodiedsoundofaradiocametohisears.

Itwouldbegoodtogetthegunnow,tonight,buthewas

tootired.Theridehadtiredhim.Beingafugitivetiredhim.AndheknewinananimalwaythatwentdeeperthantherationalthatverysoonhemightbesleepinginanOctober-coldculvertorinaweed-andcinder-chokedgully.

Theguntomorrownight.

Heturnedoffthelightandwenttobed.

…Minus071andCOUNTING…

Itwasshowtimeagain.

Richardsstoodwithhisbuttockstowardthevideorecorder,hummingthethememusictoTheRunningMan.AY.M.C.A.pillowslipwas

overhishead,turnedinsideoutsothenamestampedonitshemwouldn’tshow.

ThecamerahadinspiredRichardstoakindofcreativehumorthatheneverwouldhavebelievedhepossessed.Theself-imagehe’dalwaysheldwasthatofaratherdourman,withlittleornohumorinhisoutlook.Theprospectofhisapproachingdeathhaduncoveredasolitary

comedianhidinginside.

Whentheclippoppedout,hedecidedtosavethesecondforafternoon.Thesolitaryroomwasboring,andperhapssomethingelsewouldoccurtohim.

Hedressedslowlyandthenwenttothewindowandlookedout.

Thursdaymorningtraffic

hustledbusilyupanddownHuntingtonAvenue.Bothsidewalkswerecrowdedwithslowlymovingpedestrians.Someofthemwerescanningbright-yellowHelp-WantedFax.Mostofthemjustwalked.Therewasacop,itseemed,oneverycorner.Richardscouldheartheminhismind:Movealong.Ain’tyougotsomeplacetogo?Pickitup,maggot.

Soyoumovedontothenextcorner,whichwasjustlikethelastcorner,andweremovedalongagain.Youcouldtrytogetmadaboutit,butmostlyyourfeethurttoomuch.

Richardsdebatedtheriskofgoingdownthehallandshowering.Hefinallydecideditwouldbeokay.Hewentdownwithatoweloverhisshoulder,metnoone,and

walkedintothebathroom.

Essenceofurine,shit,puke,anddisinfectantmingled.Allthecrapperdoorshadbeenyankedoff,ofcourse.SomeonehadscrawledFUKTHENETWORKinfoot-highlettersabovetheurinal.Itlookedasthoughhemighthavebeenangrywhenhedidit.Therewasapileoffecesinoneoftheurinals.Someonemusthavebeenreallydrunk,

Richardsthought.Afewsluggishautumnflieswerecrawlingoverit.Hewasnotdisgusted;thesightwastoocommon;buthewasmatter-of-factlygladhehadwornhisshoes.

Healsohadtheshowerroomtohimself.Thefloorwascrackedporcelain,thewallsgougedtilewiththickrunnelsofdecaynearthebottoms.Heturnedonarust-

cloggedshowerhead,fullhot,andwaitedpatientlyforfiveminutesuntilthewaterrantepid,andthenshoweredquickly.Heusedascrapofsoaphefoundonthefloor,theYhadeitherneglectedtosupplyitorthechambermaidhadwalkedoffwithhis.

Onhiswaybacktohisroom,amanwithaharelipgavehimatract.

Richardstuckedhisshirtin,satonhisbed,andlitacigarette.Hewashungrybutwouldwaituntildusktogooutandeat.

Boredomdrovehimtothewindowagain.Hecounteddifferentmakesofcars—Fords,Chevies,Wints,VW’s,Plymouths,Studebakers,Rambler-Supremes.Firstonetoahundredwins.Adullgame,butbetterthanno

game.

FurtherupHuntingtonAvenuewasNortheasternUniversity,anddirectlyacrossthestreetfromtheYwasalargeautomatedbookshop.Whilehecountedcars,Richardswatchedthestudentscomeandgo.TheywereinsharpcontrasttotheWanted-Faxidlers;theirhairwasshorter,andtheyallseemedtobewearingtartan

jumpers,whichwerethisyear’skampuskraze.Theywalkedthroughthemillingruckandinsidetomaketheirpurchaseswithanairofuncomfortablepatronizationandhail-fellowthatleftacurdledamusementinRichards’smouth.Thefive-minutespacesinfrontofthestorefilledandemptiedwithsporty,flashycars,oftenofexoticmake.Mostofthemhadcollegedecalsintheback

windows:Northeastern,M.I.T.,BostonCollege,Harvard.Mostofthenews-faxbumstreatedthesportycarsaspartofthescenery,butafewlookedatthemwithdumbandwretchedlonging.

AWintpulledoutofthespacedirectlyinfrontofthestoreandaFordpulledin,settlingtoaninchabovethepavementasthedriver,acrewcutfellowsmokinga

foot-longcigar,putitinidle.Thecardippedslightlyashispassenger,adudeinabrownandwhitehuntingjacket,gotoutandzippedinside.

Richardssighed.Countingcarswasaverypoorgame.Fordswereaheadoftheirnearestcontenderbyascoreof78to40.Theoutcomegoingtobepredictableasthenextelection.

SomeonepoundedonthedoorandRichardsstiffenedlikeabolt.

“Frankie?Youinthere,Frankie?”

Richardssaidnothing.Frozenwithfear,heplayedastatue.

“Youeatshit,Frankie-baby.”Therewasachortleofdrunkenlaughterandthe

footstepsmovedon.Poundingonthenextdoorup.“Youinthere,Frankie?”

Richards’sheartslippedslowlydownfromhisthroat.

TheFordwaspullingout,andanotherFordtookitsplace.Number79.Shit.

Thedayslippedintoafternoon,andthenitwasoneo’clock.Richardsknewthis

bytheringingofvariouschimesinchurchesfaraway.Ironically,themanlivingbytheclockhadnowatch.

Hewasplayingavariationofthecargamenow.Fordsworthtwopoints,Studebakersthree,Wintsfour.Firstonetofivehundredwins.

Itwasperhapsfifteenminuteslaterthathenoticed

theyoungmaninthebrownandwhitehuntingjacketleaningagainstalamppostbeyondthebookstoreandreadingaconcertposter.Hewasnotbeingmovedalong;infact,thepoliceseemedtobeignoringhim.

You’rejumpingatshadows,maggot.Nextyou’llseetheminthecorners.HecountedaWintwithadentedfender.AyellowFord.Anold

Studebakerwithawheezingaircylinder,dippinginslightcycles.AVW—nogood,they’reoutoftherunning.AnotherWint.AStudebaker.

Amansmokingafoot-longcigarwasstandingnonchalantlyatthebusstoponthecorner.Hewastheonlypersonthere.Withgoodreason.Richardshadseenthebusescomeandgo,andknewtherewouldn’tbeanotherone

alongforforty-fiveminutes.

Richardsfeltacoolnesscreepintohistesticles.

Anoldmaninathreadbareblackovercoatsauntereddownthesideofthestreetandleanedcasuallyagainstthebuilding.

Twofellowsintartanjumpersgotoutofataxi,talkinganimatedly,andbegan

tostudythemenuinthewindowoftheStockholmRestaurant.

Acopwalkedoverandconversedwiththemanatthebusstop.Thenthecopwalkedawayagain.

Richardsnotedwithanumb,distantterrorthatagoodmanyofthenewspaperbumswereidlingalongmuchmoreslowly.Theirclothes

andstylesofwalkingseemedoddlyfamiliar,asiftheyhadbeenaroundagreatmanytimesbeforeandRichardswasjustbecomingawareofit—inthetentative,uneasywayyourecognizethevoicesofthedeadindreams.

Thereweremorecops,too.

I’mbeingbracketed,hethought.Theideabroughtahelpless,rabbitterror.

No,hismindcorrected.You’vealreadybeenbracketed.

…Minus070andCOUNTING…

Richardswalkedrapidlytothebathroom,beingcalm,ignoringhisterrorthewayamanonahighledgeignoresthedrop.Ifhewasgoingtogetoutofthis,itwouldbebykeepinghishead.Ifhe

panicked,hewoulddiequickly.

Someonewasintheshower,singingapopularsonginacrackedandpitchlessvoice.Noonewasattheurinalsorthewashstands.

Thetrickhadpoppedeffortlesslyintohismindashehadstoodbythewindow,watchingthemgatherintheiroffhand,sinisterway.Ifit

hadn’toccurredtohim,hethoughthewouldbethereyet,likeAladdinwatchingsmokefromthelampcoalesceintoanomnipotentdjinn.TheyhadusedthetrickasboystostealnewspapersfromDevelopmentbasements.Molieboughtthem;twocentsapound.

Hetookoneofthewiretoothbrushholdersoffthewallwithahardsnapofhis

wrist.Itwasalittlerusted,butthatwouldn’tmatter.Hewalkeddowntotheelevator,bendingthetoothbrushholderoutstraight.

Hepushedthecallbutton,andthecagetookasloweternitytocomedownfromeight.Itwasempty.ThankChristitwasempty.

Hesteppedin,lookedbrieflydownthehalls,and

thenturnedtothecontrolpanel.Therewasakeyslotbesidethebuttonmarkedforthebasement.Thejanitorwouldhaveaspecialcardtoshoveinthere.Anelectriceyescannedthecardandthenthejanitorcouldpushthebuttonandridedowntothebasement.

Whatifitdoesn’twork?

Nevermindthat.Never

mindthatnow.

Grimacinginanticipationofapossibleelectricshock,Richardsjammedthetoothbrushwireintotheslotandpushedthebasementbuttonsimultaneously.

Therewasanoisefrominsidethecontrolpanelthatsoundedlikeabriefelectroniccurse.Therewasalight,tinglingjoltuphisarm.

Foramoment,nothingelse.Thenthefoldingbrassgateslidacross,thedoorsclosed,andtheelevatorlurchedunhappilydownward.Asmalltendrilofbluesmokecurledoutoftheslotinthepanel.

Richardsstoodawayfromtheelevatordoorandwatchedthenumbersflashbackwards.WhentheLlit,themotorhighabovemadeagrinding

sound,andthecarseemedabouttostop.Then,afteramoment(perhapsafteritthoughtithadscaredRichardsenough),itdescendedagain.TwentysecondslaterthedoorsslidopenandRichardssteppedoutintothehugedimbasement.Therewaswaterdrippingsomewhere,andthescurryofadisturbedrat.Butotherwise,thebasementwashis.Fornow.

…Minus069andCOUNTING…

Huge,rustedheatingpipesfestoonedwithcobwebscrawledcrazilyallovertheceiling.Whenthefurnacekickedonsuddenly,Richardsalmostscreamedinterror.Thesurgeofadrenalinetohis

limbsandheartwaspainful,foramomentalmostincapacitating.

Therewerenewspapershere,too,Richardssaw.Thousandsofthem,stackedupandtiedwithstring.Theratshadnestedinthembythethousands.Wholefamiliesstaredoutattheinterloperwithrubydistrustfuleyes.

Hebegantowalkaway

fromtheelevator,pausinghalfwayacrossthecrackedcementfloor.Therewasalargefuseboxboltedtoasupportingpost,andbehindit,leaningagainsttheotherside,alitteroftools.Richardstookthecrowbarandcontinuedtowalk,keepinghiseyesonthefloor.

Nearthefarwallhespiedthemainstormdrain,tohisleft.Hewalkedoverand

lookedatit,wonderinginthebackofhismindiftheyknewhewasdownhereyet.

Thestormdrainwasconstructedofventedsteel.Itwasaboutthreefeetacross,andonthefarsidetherewasaslotforthecrowbar.Richardsslippeditin,leveredupthecover,andthenputonefootonthecrowbartoholdit.Hegothishandsunderthelipofthecoverandpushedit

over.Itfelltothecementwithaclangthatmadetheratssqueakwithdismay.

Thepipebeneathslanteddownataforty-five-degreeangle,andRichardsguessedthatitsborecouldbenomorethantwoandahalffeet.Itwasverydark.Claustrophobiasuddenlyfilledhismouthwithflannel.Toosmalltomaneuverin,almosttoosmalltobreathe

in.Butithadtobe.

Heturnedthestorm-draincoverbackoverandedgedittowardthepipeentrancejustenoughsohecouldgripitfrombeneathoncehewasdownthere.Thenhewalkedovertothefusebox,hammeredthepadlockoffwiththecrowbar,andshoveditopen.Hewasabouttobeginpullingfuseswhenanotherideaoccurredtohim.

Hewalkedovertothenewspaperswhichlayindirtyyellowdriftsagainstthewholeeasternlengthofthecellar.Thenheferretedoutthefoldedanddog-earedbookofmatcheshehadbeenlightinghissmokeswith.Therewerethreeleft.Heyankedoutasheetofpaperandformeditintoaspill;helditunderhisarmlikeaduncecapandlitamatch.Thefirstonegutteredoutina

draft.Thesecondfelloutofhistremblinghandandhissedoutonthedampconcrete.

Thethirdstayedalight.Heheldittohispaperspillandyellowflamebloomed.Arat,perhapssensingwhatwastocome,ranacrosshisfootandintothedarkness.

Aterriblesenseofurgencyfilledhimnow,andyethewaiteduntilthespillwas

flamingafoothigh.Hehadnomorematches.Carefully,hetuckeditintoafissureinthechest-highpaperwallandwaiteduntilhesawthatthefirewasspreading.

ThehugeoiltankwhichservicedtheYwasbuiltintotheadjoiningwall.Perhapsitwouldblow.Richardsthoughtitwould.

Trottingnow,hewentback

tothefuseboxandbeganrippingoutthelongtubularfuses.Hegotmostofthembeforethebasementlightswentout.Hefelthiswayacrosstothestormdrain,aidedbythegrowing,flickeringlightoftheburningpapers.

Hesatdownwithhisfeetdangling,andthenslowlyeasedin.Whenhisheadwasbelowthelevelofthefloor,

hepressedhiskneesagainstthesidesofthepipetoholdhimselfsteady,andworkedhisarmsupabovehishead.Itwasslowwork.Therewasverylittleroomtomove.Thelightofthefirewasbrilliantyellownow,andthecracklingsoundofburningfilledhisears.Thenhisgropingfingersfoundthelipofthedrain,andheslidthemupuntiltheygrippedtheventedcover.Heyankeditforwardslowly,

supportingmoreandmoreoftheweightwiththemusclesofhisbackandneck.Whenhejudgedthatthefaredgeofthecoverwasontheedgeofdroppingintoplace,hegaveonelastfiercetug.

Thecoverdroppedintoplacewithaclang,bendingbothwristsbackcruelly.Richardslethiskneesrelax,andhesliddownwardlikeaboyshootingthechutes.The

pipewascoatedwithslime,andheslideffortlesslyabouttwelvefeettowherethepipeelbowbentintoastraightline.Hisfeetstrucksmartly,andhestoodtherelikeadrunkleaningagainstalamppost.

Buthecouldn’tgetintothehorizontalpipe.Theelbowbendwastoosharp.

Thetasteofthe

claustrophobiabecamehuge,gagging.Trapped,hismindbabbled.Trappedinhere,trapped,trapped—

Asteelscreamroseinhisthroatandhechokeditdown.

Calmdown.Sure,it’sveryhackneyed,verytrite,butwemustbeverycalmdownhere.Verycalm.Becauseweareatthebottomofthispipeandwecan’tgetupandwecan’tget

downandifthefuckingoiltankgoesboom,wearegoingtobefricasseedveryneatlyand—

Slowlyhebegantowrigglearounduntilhischestwasagainstthepipeinsteadofhisback.Theslimecoatingactedasalubricant,helpinghismovement.Itwasverybrightinthepipenow,andgettingwarmer.Theventedcoverthrewprison-barshadowson

hisstrugglingface.

Onceleaningagainsthischestandbellyandgroin,withhiskneesbendingtherightway,hecouldslipdownfurther,lettinghiscalvesandfeetslideintothehorizontalpipeuntilhewasintheprayingposition.Stillnogood.Hisbuttockswerepushingagainstthesolidceramicfacingabovetheentrancetothehorizontal

pipe.

Faintly,itseemedthathecouldhearshoutedcommandsabovetheheavycrackleofthefire,butitmighthavebeenhisimagination,whichwasnowstrainedandfeveredbeyondthepointoftrust.

Hebegantoflexthemusclesofhisthighsandcalvesinatiringseesaw

rhythm,andlittlebylittlehiskneesbegantoslideoutfromunderhim.Heworkedhishandsupoverhisheadagaintogivehimselfmoreroom,andnowhisfacelaysolidlyagainsttheslimeofthepipe.Hewasveryclosetofittingnow.Heswayedhisbackasmuchashecouldandbegantopushwithhisarmsandhead,theonlythingsleftinanypositiontogivehimleverage.

Whenhehadbeguntothinktherewasnotenoughroom,thathewasgoingtosimplyhanghere,unabletomoveeitherway,hishipsandbuttockssuddenlypoppedthroughthehorizontalpipe’sopeninglikeachampagnecorkfromatightbottleneck.Thesmallofhisbackscrapedexcruciatinglyashiskneesslidoutfromunderhim,andhisshirtruckeduptohisshoulderblades.Thenhewas

inthehorizontalpipe—exceptforhisheadandarms,whichwerebentbackatajoint-twistingangle.Hewriggledtherestofthewayinandthenpausedthere,panting,hisfacestreakedwithslimeandratdroppings,theskinofhislowerbackabradedandoozingblood.

Thispipewasnarrowerstill;hisshouldersscrapedlightlyonbothsideseachtimehis

chestroseinrespiration.

ThankGodI’munderfed.

Panting,hebegantobackintotheunknowndarknessofthepipe.

…Minus068andCOUNTING…

Hemadeslow,molelikeprogressforaboutfiftyyardsthroughthehorizontalpipe,backingupblindly.ThentheoiltankintheY’sbasementsuddenlyblewwitharoarthatsetupenough

sympatheticvibrationsinthepipestonearlyrupturehiseardrums.Therewasayellow-whiteflash,asifapileofphosphorushadignited.Itfadedtoarosy,shiftingglow.Afewmomentslaterablastofthermalairstruckhimintheface,makinghimgrinpainfully.

Thetapecamerainhisjacketpocketswungand

bouncedashetriedtobackupfaster.Thepipewaspickingupheatfromthefierceexplosionandfirethatwasragingsomewhereabovehim,thewaythehandleofaskilletpicksupheatfromagas-ring.RichardshadnourgetobebakeddownherelikeapotatoinaDutchoven.

Sweatrolleddownhisface,mixingwiththeblackstreaksofordurealreadythere,

makinghimlook,inthewaxingandwaningglowofthereflectedfire,likeanIndianpaintedforwar.Thesidesofthepipewerehottothetouchnow.

Lobsterlike,Richardshumpedbackwardsonhiskneesandforearms,hisbuttocksrisingtosmackthetopofthepipeateverymovement.Hisbreathcameinsharp,doglikegasps.The

airwashot,fulloftheslicktasteofoil,uncomfortabletobreathe.Aheadachesurfacedwithinhisskullandbegantopushdaggersintothebacksofhiseyes.

I’mgoingtofryinhere.I’mgoingtofry.

Thenhisfeetweresuddenlydanglingintheair.Richardstriedtopeerthroughhislegsandseewhatwasthere,butit

wastoodarkbehindandhiseyesweretoodazzledbythelightinfront.Hewouldhavetotakehischance.Hebackedupuntilhiskneeswereontheedgeofthepipe’sending,andthenslidthemcautiouslyover.

Hisshoesweresuddenlyinwater,coldandshockingaftertheheatofthepipe.

Thenewpiperanatright

anglestotheoneRichardshadjustcomethrough,anditwasmuchlarger—bigenoughtostandinbentover.Thethick,slowlymovingwatercameupoverhisankles.Hepausedforjustamomenttostarebackintothetinypipewithitssoftcircleofreflectedfire-glow.Thefactthathecouldseeanyglowatallfromthisdistancemeantthatitmusthavebeenaverybigbangindeed.

RichardsreluctantlyforcedhimselftoknowitwouldbetheirjobtoassumehimaliveratherthandeadintheinfernooftheY.M.C.A.basement,butperhapstheywouldnotdiscoverthewayhehadtakenuntilthefirewasundercontrol.Thatseemedasafeassumption.ButithadseemedsafetoassumethattheycouldnottracehimtoBoston,too.

Maybetheydidn’t.Afterall,whatdidyoureallysee?

No.Ithadbeenthem.Heknewit.TheHunters.Theyhadevencarriedtheodorofevil.Ithadwafteduptohisfifthfloorroomoninvisiblepsychicthermals.

Aratdog-paddledpasthim,pausingtolookupbrieflywithglitteringeyes.

Richardssplashedclumsilyoffafterit,inthedirectionthewaterwasflowing.

…Minus067andCOUNTING…

Richardsstoodbytheladder,lookingup,dumb-foundedbythelight.Noregulartraffic,whichwassomething,butlight—

Thelightwassurprising

becauseithadseemedthathehadbeenwalkinginthesewersforhourspileduponhours.Inthedarkness,withnovisualinputandnosoundbutthegurgleofwater,theoccasionalsoftsplashofarat,andtheghostlythumpingsinotherpipes(whathappensifsomeoneflushesajohnovermyhead,Richardswonderedmorbidly),histimesensehadbeenutterlydestroyed.

Now,lookingupatthemanholecoversomefifteenfeetabovehim,hesawthatthelighthadnotyetfadedoutoftheday.Therewereseveralcircularbreatherholesinthecover,andpencil-sizedraysoflightpressedcoinsofsunonhischestandshoulders.

Noair-carshadpassedoverthecoversincehehadgottenhere;onlyanoccasional

heavyground-vehicleandafleetofHondacycles.Itmadehimsuspectthat,morebygoodluckandthelawofaveragesthanbyinnersenseofdirection,hehadmanagedtofindhiswaytothecoreofthecity—tohisownpeople.

Still,hedidn’tdaregoupuntildark.Topassthetime,hetookoutthetapecamera,poppedinaclip,andbeganrecordinghischest.Heknew

thetapeswere“fast-light,”abletotakeadvantageoftheleastavailablelight,andhedidnotwanttogiveawaytoomuchofhissurroundings.Hedidnotalkingorcaperingthistime.Hewastootired.

Whenthetapewasdone,heputitwiththeotherexposedclip.Hewishedhecouldridhimselfofthenaggingsuspicion—almostacertainty—thatthetapeswere

pinpointinghim.Therehadtobeawaytobeatthat.Hadto.

Hesatdownstolidlyonthethirdrungoftheladdertowaitfordark.Hehadbeenrunningfornearlythirtyhours.

…Minus066andCOUNTING…

Theboy,sevenyearsold,black,smokingacigarette,leanedclosertothemouthofthealley,watchingthestreet.

Therehadbeenasudden,slightmovementinthestreet

wheretherehadbeennonebefore.Shadowsmoved,rested,movedagain.Themanholecoverwasrising.Itpausedandsomething—eyes?—glimmered.Thecoversuddenlyslidasidewithaclang.

Someone(orsomething,theboythoughtwithatraceoffear)wasmovingoutthere.MaybethedevilwascomingoutofhelltogetCassie,he

thought.MasaidCassiewasgoingtoheaventobewithDickyandtheotherangels.Theboythoughtthatwasbullshit.Everybodywenttohellwhentheydied,andthedeviljabbedthemintheasswithapitchfork.HehadseenapictureofthedevilinthebooksBradleyhadsnuckoutoftheBostonPublicLibrary.HeavenwasforPushfreaks.ThedevilwastheMan.

Itcouldbethedevil,hethoughtasRichardssuddenlyboostedhimselfoutofthemanholeandleanedforasecondontheseamedandsplitcementtogethisbreathback.Notailandnohorns,notredlikeinthatbook,butthemotherlookedcrazyandmeanenough.

Nowhewaspushingthecoverback,andnow—

—nowholyJesushewasrunningtowardthealley.

Theboygrunted,triedtorun,andfelloverhisownfeet.

Hewastryingtogetup,scramblinganddroppingthings,andthedevilsuddenlygrabbedhim.

“Doanstickmewifit!”hescreamedinathroat-closed

whisper.“Doanstickmewifnofork,yousumbitch—”

“Shhh!Shutup!Shutup!”Thedevilshookhim,makinghisteethrattlelikemarblesinhishead,andtheboyshutup.Thedevilpeeredaroundinanecstacyofapprehension.Theexpressiononhisfacewasalmostfarcicalinitsextremefear.TheboywasremindedofthecomicalfellowsonthatgameshowSwimthe

Crocodiles.Hewouldhavelaughedifhehadn’tbeensofrightenedhimself.

“Youain’tthedevil,”theboysaid.

“You’llthinkIamifyouyell.”

“Iain’tgonna,”theboysaidcontemptuously.“Whatyouthink,Iwannagetmyballscutoff?Jesus,Iain’tevenbig

enoughtocomeyet.”

“Youknowaquietplacewecango?”

“Doankillme,man.Iain’tgotnothin.”Theboy’seyes,whiteinthedarkness,rolledupathim.

“I’mnotgoingtokillyou.”

Holdinghishand,theboyledRichardsdownthe

twisting,litteredalleyandintoanother.Attheend,justbeforethealleyopenedontoanairshaftbetweentwofacelesshighrisebuildings,theboyledhimintoalean-tobuiltofscroungedboardsandbricks.Itwasbuiltforfourfeet,andRichardsbangedhisheadgoingin.

Theboypulledadirtyswatchofblackclothacrosstheopeningandfiddledwith

something.Amomentlateraweakglowlittheirfaces;theboyhadhookedasmalllightbulbtoanoldcrackedcarbattery.

“Ikifedthatbatterymyself,”theboysaid.“Bradleytolemehowtofixitup.He’sgotbooks.Igotanickelbag,too.I’llgiveittoyouifyoudon’tkillme.Youbetternot.Bradley’sintheStabbers.Youkillmeanhe’ll

makeyoushitinyourbootaneatit.”

“I’mnotdoinganykillings,”Richardssaidimpatiently.“Atleastnotlittlekids.”

“Iain’tnolittlekid!Ikifedthatfuckinbatterymyself!”

ThelookofinjuryforcedadentedgrintoRichards’sface.“Allright.What’syour

name,kid?”

“Ain’tnokid.”Then,sulkily:“Stacey.”

“Okay.Stacey.Good.I’montherun.Youbelievethat?”

“Yeah,youontherun.Youdintcomeouttathatmanholetobuydirtypos’cards.”HestaredspeculativelyatRichards.“Youahonky?Kindahardtotellwifallthat

dirt.”

“Stacey,I—”Hebrokeoffandranahandthroughhishair.Whenhespokeagain,heseemedtobetalkingtohimself.“Igottotrustsomebodyanditturnsouttobeakid.Akid.HotJesus,youain’tevensix,boy.”

“I’meightinMarch,”theboysaidangrily.“MysisterCassie’sgotcancer,”he

added.“Shescreamsalot.ThasswhyIlikeithere.Kifedthatfuckinbatterymyself.Youwannatokeup,mister?”

“No,andyoudon’teither.Youwanttwobucks,Stacey?”

“Chris’yes!”Distrustslidoverhiseyes.“Youdintcomeouttanomanholewithtwofuckinbucks.Thass

bullshit.”

RichardsproducedaNewDollarandgaveittotheboy.Hestaredatitwithawethatwasclosetohorror.

“There’sanotheroneifyoubringyourbrother,”Richardssaid,andseeinghisexpression,addedswiftly:“I’llgiveittoyouonthesidesohewon’tseeit.Bringhimalone.”

“Won’tdonogoodtotryankillBradley,man.He’llmakeyoushitinyourboot—”

“Andeatit.Iknow.Yourunandgethim.Waituntilhe’salone.”

“Threebucks.”

“No.”

“Lissenman,forthreebucksIcangetCassiesome

stuffatthedrug.Thenshewon’tscreamsofuckinmuch.”

Theman’sfacesuddenlyworkedasifsomeonetheboycouldn’tseehadpunchedhim.“Allright.Three.”

“NewDollars,”theboypersisted.

“Yes,forChrist’ssake,yes.Gethim.Andifyoubringthe

copsyouwon’tgetanything.”

Theboypaused,halfinandhalfoutofhislittlecubbyhole.“YoustupidifyouthinkIdothat.Ihatethemfuckinoinkersworsethananyone.Eventhedevil.”

Heleft,aseven-year-oldboywithRichards’slifeinhisgrubby,scabbedhands.Richardswastootiredtobereallyafraid.Heturnedoff

thelight,leanedback,anddozedoff.

…Minus065andCOUNTING…

Dreamingsleephadjustbegunwhenhistight-strungsensesrippedhimbacktowakefulness.Confused,inadarkplace,thebeginningofthenightmareheldhimforamomentandhethoughtthat

somehugepolicedogwascomingforhim,aterrifyingorganicweaponsevenfeethigh.HealmostcriedaloudbeforeStaceymadetherealworldfallintoplacebyhissing:

“IfhebrokemyfuckinlightI’mgonna—”

Theboywasviolentlyshushed.Theclothacrosstheentrancerippled,and

Richardsturnedonthelight.HewaslookingatStaceyandanotherblack.Thenewfellowwasmaybeeighteen,Richardsguessed,wearingacyclejacket,lookingatRichardswithamixtureofhateandinterest.

AswitchbladeclickedoutandglitteredinBradley’shand.“Ifyou’reheeled,dropitdown.”

“I’mnot.”

“Idon’tbelievethatsh—”Hebrokeoff,andhiseyeswidened.“Hey.You’rethatguyontheFree-Vee.YouoffedtheY.M.C.A.onHuntingtonAvenue.”Theloweringblacknessofhisfacewassplitbyaninvoluntarygrin.“Theysaidyoufriedfivecops.Thatprobablymeansfifteen.”

“Hecomeouttathemanhole,”Staceysaidimportantly.“Iknewitwasn’tthedevilrightaway.Iknewitwassomehonkysumbitch.Yougonnacuthim,Bradley?”

“Justshutupanletmentalk.”Bradleycametherestofthewayinside,squattingawkwardly,andsatacrossfromRichardsonasplinteryorangecrate.Helookedatthe

bladeinhishand,seemedsurprisedtoseeitstillthere,andcloseditup.

“You’rehotterthanthesun,man,”hesaidfinally.

“That’strue.”

“Whereyougonnagetto?”

“Idon’tknow.I’vegottogetoutofBoston.”

Bradleysatinsilentthought.“YougottacomehomewithmeanStacey.Wegottatalk,anwecan’tdoithere.Tooopen.”

“Allright,”Richardssaidwearily.“Idon’tcare.”

“Wegothebackway.Thepigsarecruisingtonight.NowIknowwhy.”

WhenBradleyledtheway

out,StaceykickedRichardssharplyintheshin.ForamomentRichardsstaredathim,notunderstanding,andthenremembered.HeslippedtheboythreeNewDollars,andStaceymadeitdisappear.

…Minus064andCOUNTING…

Thewomanwasveryold;Richardsthoughthehadneverseenanyoneasold.Shewaswearingacottonprinthousedresswithalargeripunderonearm;anancient,wrinkleddugswayedback

andforthagainsttheripasshewentaboutmakingthemealthatRichards’sNewDollarshadpurchased.Thenicotine-yellowedfingersdicedandparedandpeeled.Herfeet,splayedintogrotesqueboatshapesbyyearsofstanding,werecladinpinkterryclothslippers.Herhairlookedasifitmighthavebeenself-wavedbyanironheldinatremblinghand;itwaspushedbackintoa

kindofpyramidbythetwistedhairnetwhichhadgoneaskewatthebackofherhead.Herfacewasadeltaoftime,nolongerbrownorblack,butgrayish,stitchedwitharadiatinggalaxyofwrinkles,pouches,andsags.Hertoothlessmouthworkedcraftilyatthecigaretteheldthere,blowingoutpuffsofbluesmokethatseemedtohangaboveandbehindherinlittlebunchedblueballs.She

puffedbackandforth,describingatrianglebetweencounter,skillet,andtable.Hercottonstockingswererolledattheknee,andabovethemandtheflappinghemofherdressvaricoseveinsbunchedinclocksprings.

Theapartmentwashauntedbytheghostoflong-departedcabbage.

Inthefarbedroom,Cassie

screamed,whooped,andwassilent.BradleyhadtoldRichardswithakindofangryshamethatheshouldnotmindher.Shehadcancerinbothlungsandrecentlyithadspreadupwardintoherthroatanddownintoherbelly.Shewasfive.

Staceyhadgonebackoutsomewhere.

AsheandBradleyspoke

together,themaddeningaromaofsimmeringgroundbeef,vegetables,andtomatosaucebegantofilltheroom,drivingthecabbagebackintothecornersandmakingRichardsrealizehowhungryhewas.

“Icouldturnyouin,man.Icouldkillyouanstealallthatmoney.Turninthebody.Getathousandmorebucksandbeoneasystreet.”

“Idon’tthinkyoucoulddoit,”Richardssaid.“IknowIcouldn’t.”

“Why’reyoudoingit,anyway?”Bradleyaskedirritably.“Whyyoubeingtheirsucker?Youthatgreedy?”

“Mylittlegirl’snameisCathy,”Richardssaid.“YoungerthanCassie.Pneumonia.Shecriesallthe

time,too.”

Bradleysaidnothing.

“Shecouldgetbetter.Notlike…herinthere.Pneumonia’snoworsethanacold.Butyouhavetohavemedicineandadoctor.Thatcostsmoney.IwentforthemoneytheonlywayIcould.”

“Youstillasucker,”Bradleysaidwithflatand

somehowuncannyemphasis.“Yousuckinoffhalftheworldandtheycomininyourmoutheverynightatsix-thirty.YourlittlegirlwouldbebetterofflikeCassieinthisworld.”

“Idon’tbelievethat.”

“Thenyouballsierthanme,man.Iputaguyinthehospitaloncewitharupture.Somerichguy.Copschased

methreedays.Butyouballsierthanme.”Hetookacigaretteandlitit.“Maybeyou’llgothewholemonth.Abilliondollars.You’dhavetobuyafuckinfreighttraintohaulitoff.”

“Don’tswear,praiseGawd,”theoldwomansaidfromacrosstheroomwhereshewasslicingcarrots.

Bradleypaidnoattention.

“Youanyourwifeanlittlegirlwouldbeoneasystreetthen.Yougottwodaysalready.”

“No,”Richardssaid.“Thegame’srigged.YouknowthosetwothingsIgaveStaceytomailwhenheandyourmawentoutforgroceries?Ihavetomailtwoofthoseeverydaybeforemidnight.”HeexplainedtoBradleyabouttheforfeit

clause,andhissuspicionthattheyhadtracedhimtoBostonbypostmark.

“Easytobeatthat.”

“How?”

“Nevermind.Later.HowyougonnagetoutofBoston?Youawfulhot.Made’emmad,blowinuptheiroinkersattheY.M.C.A.TheyhadFree-Veeonthattonight.An

thoseonesyoutookwiththebagoveryourhead.Thatwasprettysharp,Ma!”hefinishedirritably,“when’sthatstuffgonnabeready?We’refallinawaytoshadowsrightbeforeya!”

“Shecominon,”Masaid.Sheploppedacoverovertherich,slowlybubblingmassandwalkedslowlyintothebedroomtositbythegirl.

“Idon’tknow,”Richardssaid.“I’lltrytogetacar,Iguess.I’vegotfakepapers,butIdon’tdareusethem.I’lldosomething—weardarkglasses—andgetoutofthecity.I’vebeenthinkingaboutgoingtoVermontandthencrossingoverintoCanada.”

Bradleygruntedandgotuptoputplatesonthetable.“BynowtheygoteveryhighwaygoingoutofBeantown

blocked.Amanwearindarkglassescallstentiontohimself.They’llturnyouintomonkeymeatbeforeyougetsixmiles.”

“ThenIdon’tknow,”Richardssaid.“IfIstayhere,they’llgetyouforanaccessory.”

Bradleybeganspreadingdishes.“Supposewegetacar.Yougotthesqueezin

green.Igotanamethatisn’thot.There’saspiconMilkStreetthat’llsellmeaWintforthreehundred.I’llgetoneofmybuddiestodriveituptoManchester.It’llbecoolasafoolinManchesterbecauseyou’rebottledupinBoston.Youeatin,Ma?”

“YesanpraiseGawd.”Shewaddledoutofthebedroom.“Yoursisterissleepinalittle.”

“Good.”Heladledupthreedishesofhamburgergumboandthenpaused.“Where’sStacey?”

“Saidhewasgointothedrug,”Masaidcomplacently,shovelinggumbointohertoothlessmawatablindingspeed.“Saidhegoantogetmedicine.”

“Ifhegetsbusted,I’llbreakhisass,”Bradleysaid,sitting

heavily.

“Hewon’t,”Richardssaid.“He’sgotmoney.”

“Yeah,maybewedon’tneednocharitymoney,graymeat.”

Richardslaughedandsaltedhismeal.“I’dprobablybeslabbednowifitwasn’tforhim,”hesaid.“Iguessitwasearnedmoney.”

Bradleyleanedforward,concentratingonhisplate.Noneofthemsaidanythingmoreuntilthemealwasdone.RichardsandBradleyhadtwohelpings;theoldwomanhadthree.Astheywerelightingcigarettes,akeyscratchedinthelockandallofthemstiffeneduntilStaceycamein,lookingguilty,frightened,andexcited.HewascarryingabrownbaginonehandandhegaveMaa

bottleofmedicine.

“Thassprimedope,”hesaid.“ThatolmanCurryastmewhereIgottwodollarsandsemney-ficentstobuyprimedopeanItolehimtogoshitinhisbootandeatit.”

“Doanswearorthedevilwillpokeyou,”Masaid.“Here’sdinner.”

Theyboy’seyeswidened.

“Jesus,there’smeatinit!”

“Naw,wejusshatinittomakeitthicker,”Bradleysaid.Theboylookedupsharply,sawhisbrotherwasjoking,giggled,andfellto.

“Willthedruggistgotothecops?”Richardsaskedquietly.

“Curry?Naw.Notiftheremightbesomemoresqueezin

greeninthisfambly.HeknowsCassie’sgottohaveheavydope.”

“WhataboutthisManchesterthing?”

“Yeah.Well,Vermont’snogood.Notenoughofourkindofpeople.Toughcops.IgetsomegoodfellalikeRichGoleontodrivethatWinttoManchesterandparkitinanautomaticgarage.ThenI

driveyouupinanothercar.”Hecrushedouthiscigarette.“Inthetrunk.They’reonlyusingJiffySniffersonthebackroad.We’llgorightup495.”

“Prettydangerousforyou,”Richardssaid.

“Oh,Iwasn’tgonnadoitfree.WhenCassiegoes,she’sgonnagooutwrecked.”

“PraiseGawd,”Masaid.

“Stillprettydangerousforyou.”

“AnypiggruntsatBradley,hemake’emshitintheirbootaneatit,”Staceysaid,wipinghismouth.WhenhelookedatBradley,hiseyesglitteredwiththeflatshineofheroworship.

“You’redribblinonyour

shirt,Skinner,”Bradleysaid.HeknuckledStacey’shead.“Youbeatinyourmeatyet,Skinner?Ain’tbigenough,areya?”

“Iftheycatchus,you’llgoinforthelongbomb,”Richardssaid.“Who’sgoingtotakecareoftheboy?”

“He’lltakecareofhimselfifsomethinghappens,”Bradleysaid.“Himselfand

Mahere.He’snothookedonnothin.Areyou,Stace?”

Staceyshookhisheademphatically.

“AnheknowsifIfindanypricksinhisarmsI’llbeathisbrainsout.Ain’tthatright,Stacey?”

Staceynodded.

“Besides,wecanusethe

money.Thisisahurtinfamily.Sodon’tsaynomoreaboutit.IguessIknowwhatI’mdoin.”

RichardsfinishedhiscigaretteinsilencewhileBradleywentintogiveCassiesomemedicine.

…Minus063andCOUNTING…

Whenheawoke,itwasstilldarkandtheinnertideofhisbodyputthetimeataboutfour-thirty.Thegirl,Cassie,hadbeenscreaming,andBradleygotup.Thethreeofthemweresleepinginthe

small,draftybackbedroom,StaceyandRichardsonthefloor.Masleptwiththegirl.

OverthesteadywheezeofStacey’sdeep-sleeprespiration,RichardsheardBradleycomeoutoftheroom.Therewasaclinkofaspooninthesink.Thegirl’sscreamsbecameisolatedmoanswhichtrailedintosilence.RichardscouldsenseBradleystandingsomewhere

inthekitchen,immobile,waitingforthesilencetocome.Hereturned,satdown,farted,andthenthebedspringsshiftedcreakilyashelaydown.

“Bradley?”

“What?”

“Staceysaidshewasonlyfive.Isthatso?”

“Yes.”Theurbandialecticwasgonefromhisvoice,makinghimsoundunrealanddreamlike.

“What’safive-year-oldkiddoingwithlungcancer?Ididn’tknowtheygotit.Leukemia,maybe.Notlungcancer.”

Therewasabitter,whisperedchucklefromthebed.“You’refromHarding,

right?What’stheair-pollutioncountinHarding?”

“Idon’tknow,”Richardssaid.“Theydon’tgivethemwiththeweatheranymore.Theyhaven’tfor…gee,Idon’tknow.Alongtime.”

“Notsince2020inBoston,”Bradleywhisperedback.“They’rescaredto.Youain’tgotanosefilter,doyou?”

“Don’tbestupid,”Richardssaidirritably.“Thegoddamthingscosttwohundredbucks,eveninthecut-ratestores.Ididn’tseetwohundredbucksalllastyear.Didyou?”

“No,”Bradleysaidsoftly.Hepaused.“Stacey’sgotone.Imadeit.MaandRichGoleonansomeotherpeoplegotem,too.”

“You’reshittingme,”Richardssaid.

“No,man.”Hestopped.RichardswassuddenlysurethatBradleywasweighingwhathehadsaidalreadyagainstagreatmanymorethingswhichhemightsay.Wonderinghowmuchwastoomuch.Whenthewordscameagain,theycamewithdifficulty.“We’vebeenreading.ThatFree-Veeshitis

forempty-heads.”

“Thegang,youknow.Someoftheguysarejustcruisers,youknow?Allthey’reinterestedinishonky-stompingonSaturdaynight.Butsomeofushavebeengoingdowntothelibrarysinceweweretwelveorso.”

“TheyletyouinwithoutacardinBoston?”

“No.Youcan’tgetacardunlessthere’ssomeonewithaguaranteedincomeoffivethousanddollarsayearinyourfamily.Wegotsomeplump-asskidankifedhiscard.Wetaketurnsgoing.Wegotagangsuitwewearwhenwego.”Bradleypaused.“YoulaughatmeandI’llcutyou,man.”

“I’mnotlaughing.”

“Atfirstweonlyreadsexbooks.ThenwhenCassiefirststartedgettingsick,Igotintothispollutionstuff.They’vegotallthebooksonimpuritycountsandsmoglevelsandnosefiltersinthereservesection.Wegotakeymadefromawaxblank.Man,didyouknowthateverybodyinTokyohadtowearanosefilterby2012?”

“No.”

“RichandDinkMoranbuiltapollutioncounter.Dinkdrewthepictureoutofthebook,andtheydiditfromcoffeecansandsomestufftheyboostedoutofcars.It’shidoutinanalley.Backin1978theyhadanairpollutionscalethatwentfromonetotwenty.Youunderstand?”

“Yes.”

“Whenitgotuptotwelve,

thefactoriesandallthepollution-producingshithadtoshutdowntilltheweatherchanged.Itwasafederallawuntil1987,whentheRevisedCongressrolleditback.”Theshadowonthebedroseuponitselbow.“Ibetyouknowalotofpeoplewithasthma,thatright?”

“Sure,”Richardssaidcautiously.“I’vegotatouchmyself.Yougetthatfromthe

air.Christ,everybodyknowsyoustayinthehousewhenit’shotandcloudyandtheairdoesn’tmove—”

“Temperatureinversion,”Bradleysaidgrimly.

“—andlotsofpeoplegetasthma,sure.TheairgetslikecoughsyrupinAugustandSeptember.Butlungcancer—”

“Youain’ttalkinaboutasthma,”Bradleysaid.“Youtalkinboutemphysema.”

“Emphysema?”Richardsturnedthewordoverinhismind.Hecouldnotassignameaningtoit,althoughthewordwasfaintlyfamiliar.

“Allthetissuesinyourlungsswellup.Youheaveanheaveanheave,butyou’restilloutofbreath.Youknow

alotofpeoplewhogetlikethat?”

Richardsthought.Hedid.Heknewalotofpeoplewhohaddiedlikethat.

“Theydon’ttalkaboutthatone,”Bradleysaid,asifhehadreadRichards’sthought.“NowthepollutioncountinBostonistwentyonagoodday.That’slikesmokingfourpacksofcigarettesadayjust

breathing.Onabaddayitgetsupashighasforty-two.Olddudesdropdeadallovertown.Asthmagoesonthedeathcertificate.Butit’stheair,theair,theair.Andthey’repouringitoutjustasfastastheycan,bigsmokestacksgoingtwenty-fourhoursaday.Thebigboyslikeitthatway.

“Thosetwo-hundred-dollarnosefiltersaren’tworthshit.

They’rejusttwopiecesofscreenwithalittlepieceofmetholatedcottonbetweenthem.That’sall.TheonlygoodonesarefromGeneralAtomics.Theonlyoneswhocanaffordthemarethebigboys.TheygaveustheFree-Veetokeepusoffthestreetssowecanbreatheourselvestodeathwithoutmakinganytrouble.Howdoyoulikethat?ThecheapestG-Anosefilteronthemarketgoesfor

sixthousandNewDollars.WemadeoneforStaceyfortenbucksfromthatbook.Weusedanatomicnuggetthesizeofthemoononyourfingernail.Gotitoutofahearingaidweboughtinahockshopforsevenbucks.Howdoyoulikethat?”

Richardssaidnothing.Hewasspeechless.

“WhenCassiebootsoff,

youthinkthey’llputcanceronthedeathcertificate?Shitthey’llputasthma.Elsesomebodymightgetscared.Somebodymightkifealibrarycardandfindoutlungcancerisupsevenhundredpercentsince2015.”

“Isthattrue?Orareyoumakingitup?”

“Ireaditinabook.Man,they’rekillingus.TheFree-

Veeiskillingus.TheFree-Veeiskillingus.It’slikeamagiciangettingyoutowatchthecakesfallingouttahishelper’sblousewhilehepullsrabbitsoutofhispantsandputs’eminhishat.”Hepausedandthensaiddreamily:“SometimesIthinkthatIcouldblowthewholethingouttathewaterwithtenminutestalktimeontheFree-Vee.Tellem.Showem.Everybodycouldhaveanose

filteriftheNetworkwantedemtohaveem.”

“AndI’mhelpingthem,”Richardssaid.

“Thatain’tyourfault.Yougottorun.”

Killian’sface,andthefaceofArthurM.BurnsroseupinfrontofRichards.Hewantedtosmashthem,stompthem,walkonthem.Betterstill,rip

outtheirnosefiltersandturnthemintothestreet.

“People’smad,”Bradleysaid.“They’vebeenmadatthehonkiesforthirtyyears.Alltheyneedisareason.Areason…onereason…”

Richardsdriftedofftosleepwiththerepetitioninhisears.

…Minus062andCOUNTING…

RichardsstayedinalldaywhileBradleywasoutseeingaboutthecarandarrangingwithanothermemberofthegangtodriveittoManchester.

BradleyandStaceycamebackatsix,andBradleythumbedontheFree-Vee.“Allset,man.Wegotonight.”

“Now?”

Bradleysmiledhumorlessly.“Don’tyouwanttoseeyourselfcoast-to-coast?”

Richardsdiscoveredhedid,andwhenTheRunningMan

lead-incameon,hewatched,fascinated.

BobbyThompsonstareddeadpanatthecamerafromthemiddleofabrilliantpostinaseaofdarkness.“Watch,”hesaid.“Thisisoneofthewolvesthatwalksamongyou.”

AhugeblowupofRichards’sfaceappearedonthescreen.Itheldfora

moment,thendissolvedtoasecondphotoofRichards,thistimeintheJohnGriffenSpringerdisguise.

DissolvebacktoThompson,lookinggrave.“IspeakparticularlytothepeopleofBostontonight.Yesterdayafternoon,fivepolicemenwenttoablazing,agonizeddeathinthebasementoftheBostonY.M.C.A.atthehandsofthiswolf,whohad

setaclever,mercilesstrap.Whoishetonight?Whereishetonight?Look!Lookathim!”

ThompsonfadedintothefirstofthetwoclipswhichRichardshadfilmedthatmorning.StaceyhaddroppedtheminamailboxonCommonwealthAvenue,acrossthecity.HehadletMaholdthecamerainthebackbedroom,afterhehaddraped

thewindowandallthefurniture.

“Allofyouwatchingthis,”Richards’simagesaidslowly.“Notthetechnicos,notthepeopleinthepenthouses—Idon’tmeanyoushits.YoupeopleintheDevelopmentsandtheghettosandthecheaphighrises.Youpeopleinthecyclegangs.Youpeoplewithoutjobs.Youkidsgettingbustedfordopeyou

don’thaveandcrimesyoudidn’tcommitbecausetheNetworkwantstomakesureyouaren’tmeetingtogetherandtalkingtogether.Iwanttotellyouaboutamonstrousconspiracytodepriveyouoftheverybreathiny—”

Theaudiosuddenlybecameamixtureofsqueaks,pops,andgargles.Amomentlateritdiedaltogether.Richards’smouthwasmoving,butno

soundwascomingout.

“Weseemtohavelostouraudio,”BobbyThompson’svoicecamesmoothly,“butwedon’tneedtolistentoanymoreofthismurderer’sradicalravingstounderstandwhatwe’redealingwith,dowe?”

“No!”Theaudiencescreamed.

“Whatwillyoudoifyouseehimonyourstreet?”

“TURNHIMIN!”

“Andwhatarewegoingtodowhenwefindhim?”

“KILLHIM!”

Richardspoundedhisfistagainstthetiredarmoftheonlyeasychairintheapartment’skitchen-living

room.“Thosebastards,”hesaidhelplessly.

“Didyouthinkthey’dletyougoontheairwithit?”Bradleyaskedmockingly.“Ohno,man.I’ms’prisedtheyletyougetawaywithasmuchastheydid.”

“Ididn’tthink,”Richardssaidsickly.

“No,Iguessyoudidn’t,”

Bradleysaid.

Thefirstclipfadedintothesecond.Inthisone,Richardshadaskedthepeoplewatchingtostormthelibraries,demandcards,findoutthetruth.HehadreadoffalistofbooksdealingwithairpollutionandwaterpollutionthatBradleyhadgivenhim.

Richards’simageopenedits

mouth.“Fuckeveryoneofyou,”hisimagesaid.Thelipsseemedtobemovingarounddifferentwords,buthowmanyofthetwohundredmillionpeoplewatchingweregoingtonoticethat?“Fuckallpigs.FucktheGamesCommission.I’mgonnakilleverypigIsee.I’mgonna—”Therewasmore,enoughsothatRichardswantedtoplughisearsandrunoutoftheroom.Hecouldn’ttellifit

wasthevoiceofamimic,oraharanguemadeupofsplicedbitsofaudiotape.

Theclipfacedtoasplit-screenofThompson’sfaceandthestillphotoofRichards.“Beholdtheman,”Thompsonsaid.“Themanwhowouldkill.Themanwhowouldmobilizeanarmyofmalcontentslikehimselftorunriotthroughyourstreets,rapingandburningand

overturning.Themanwouldlie,cheat,kill.Hehasdoneallthesethings.

“BenjaminRichards!”Thevoicecriedoutwithacold,commandingOldTestamentanger.“Areyouwatching?Ifso,youhavebeenpaidyourdirtybloodmoney.Ahundreddollarsforeachhour—nownumberfifty-four—thatyouhaveremainedfree.Andanextrafivehundred

dollars.Onehundredforeachofthesefivemen.”

Thefacesofyoung,clear-featuredpolicemenbeganappearingonthescreen.ThestillhadapparentlybeentakenataPoliceAcademygraduationexercise.Theylookedfresh,fullofsapandhope,heart-breakinglyvulnerable.Softly,asingletrumpetbegantoplayTaps.

“Andthese…”Thompson’svoicewasnowlowandhoarsewithemotion,“…theseweretheirfamilies.”

Wives,hopefullysmiling.Childrenthathadbeencoaxedtosmileintothecamera.Alotofchildren.Richards,coldandsickandnauseated,loweredhisheadandpressedthebackofhishandoverhismouth.

Bradley’shand,warmandmuscular,pressedhisneck.“Hey,no.No,man.That’sputon.That’sallfake.Theywereprobablyabunchofoldharnessbullswho—”

“Shutup,”Richardssaid.“Ohshutup.Just.Please.Shutup.”

“Fivehundreddollars,”Thompsonwassaying,andinfinitehateandcontempt

filledhisvoice.Richards’sfaceonthescreenagain,cold,hard,devoidofallemotionsaveanexpressionofbloodlustthatseemedchieflytobeintheeyes.“Fivepolice,fivewives,nineteenchildren.Itcomestojustaboutseventeendollarsandtwenty-fivecentsforeachofthedead,thebereaved,theheartbroken.Ohyes,youworkcheap,BenRichards.EvenJudasgotthirtypieces

ofsilver,butyoudon’tevendemandthat.Somewhere,evennow,amotheristellingherlittleboythatdaddywon’tbehomeeveragainbecauseadesperate,greedymanwithagun—”

“Killer!”Awomanwassobbing.“Vile,dirtymurderer!Godwillstrikeyoudead!”

“Strikehimdead!”The

audienceoverthechant:“Beholdtheman!Hehasbeenpaidhisbloodmoney—butthemanwholivesbyviolenceshalldiebyit.Andleteveryman’shandberaisedagainstBenjaminRichards!”

Hateandfearineveryvoice,risinginasteady,throbbingroar.No,theywouldn’tturnhimin.Theywouldriphimtoshredson

sight.

Bradleyturnedoffthescreenandfacedhim.“Thasswhatyou’redealingwith,man.Howaboutit.”

“MaybeI’llkillthem,”Richardssaidinathoughtfulvoice.“Maybe,beforeI’mdone,I’llgetuptotheninetiethfloorofthatplaceandjusthuntupthemaggotswhowrotethat.MaybeI’ll

justkillthemall.”

“Don’ttalknomore!”Staceyburstoutwildly.“Don’ttalknomoreaboutit!”

Intheotherroom,Cassiesleptherdrugged,dyingsleep.

…Minus061andCOUNTING…

Bradleyhadnotdareddrillanyholesinthefloorofthetrunk,soRichardscurledinamiserableballwithhismouthandnosepressedtowardthetinynotchoflightwhichwasthetrunk’skeyhole.Bradley

hadalsopulledoutsomeoftheinnertrunkinsulationaroundthelid,andthatletinasmalldraft.

Thecarliftedwithajerk,andheknockedhisheadagainsttheupperdeck.Bradleyhadtoldhimtheridewouldbeatleastanhourandahalf,withtwostopsforroadblocks,perhapsmore.Beforeheclosedthetrunk,hegaveRichardsalarge

revolver.

“Everytenthortwelfthcar,theygiveitaheavylookingover,”hesaid.“Theyopenthetrunktopokearound.Thosearegoododds,eleventoone.Ifitdon’tcomeup,plugyousomepork.”

Thecarlurchedandheavedoverthepotholed,cracked-crazedstreetsoftheinnercity.Onceakidjeeredand

therewasthethumpofathrownpieceofpaving.Thenthesoundsofincreasingtrafficallaroundthemandmorefrequentstopsforlights.

Richardslaypassively,holdingthepistollightlyinhisrighthand,thinkinghowdifferentBradleyhadlookedinthegangsuit.ItwasasoberDillonStreetdouble-breasted,asgrayasbankwalls.Itwasroundedoffwith

amaroontieandasmallgoldN.A.A.C.Ppin.Bradleyhadmadetheleapfromscruffygang-member(pregnantladiesstayaway;someofus’nseatfetuses)toasoberblackbusinessfellowwhowouldknowexactlywhotoTom.

“Youlookgood,”Richardssaidadmiringly.“Infact,it’sdamnincredible.”

“PraiseGawd,”Masaid.

“Ithoughtyou’denjoythetransformation,mygoodman,”Bradleysaidwithquietdignity.“I’mthedistrictmanagerforRaygonChemicals,youknow.Wedoathrivingbusinessinthisarea.Finecity,Boston.Immenselyconvivial.”

Staceyburstintogiggles.

“Youbestshutup,nigger,”Bradleysaid.“ElseImakeyoushitinyobootaneatit.”

“YouTomsogood,Bradley,”Staceygiggled,notintimidatedintheleast.“Youreallyfuckinfunky.”

Nowthecarswungright,ontoasmoothersurface,anddescendedinaspiralingarc.Theywereonanentranceramp.Goingonto495ora

feederexpressway.Copperwiresoftensionwerestuffedintohislegs.

Oneineleven.That’snotbadodds.

Thecarpickedupspeedandheight,kickedintodrive,thenslowedabruptlyandkickedout.Avoice,terrifyinglyclose,yellingwithmonotonousregularity:“Pullover…haveyourlicenseand

registrationready…pullover…haveyour—”

Already.Startingalready.

Yousohot,man.

Hotenoughtocheckthetrunkononecarineight?Orsix?Ormaybeeveryone?

Thecarcametoafullstop.Richards’seyesmovedliketrappedrabbitsintheir

sockets.Hegrippedtherevolver.

…Minus060andCOUNTING…

“Stepoutyourvehicle,sir,”thebored,authoritativevoicewassaying.“Licenseandregistration,please.”

Adooropenedandclosed.Theenginethrummedsoftly,

holdingthecaraninchoffthepaving.

“—districtmanagerforRaygonChemicals—”

Bradleygoingintohissonganddance.DearGod,whatifhedidn’thavethepaperstobackitup?WhatiftherewasnoRaygonChemicals?

Thebackdooropened,andsomeonebeganrummagingin

thebackseat.Itsoundedasifthecop(orwasittheGovernmentGuardthatdidthis,Richardswonderedhalfcoherently)wasabouttocrawlrightintothetrunkwithhim.

Thedoorslammed.Feetwalkedaroundtothebackofthecar.Richardslickedhislipsandheldtheguntighter.Visionsofdeadpolicemengibberedbeforehim,angelic

facesontwisted,porcinebodies.Hewonderedifthecopwouldhosehimwithmachine-gunbulletswhenheopenedthetrunkandsawRichardslyingherelikeacurled-upsalamander.HewonderedifBradleywouldtakeoff,trytorun.Hewasgoingtopisshimself.Hehadn’tdonethatsincehewasakidandhisbrotherwouldticklehimuntilhisbladderletgo.Yes,allthosemuscles

downtherewereloosening.Hewouldputthebulletrightatthejunctureofthecop’snoseandforehead,splatteringbrainsandsplinteredskull-fragmentsinstartledstreamerstothesky.Makeafewmoreorphans.Yes.Good.Jesuslovesme,thisIknow,formybladdertellsmeso.ChristJesus,what’shedoing,rippingtheseatout?Sheila,Iloveyousomuchandhowfarwillsixgrand

takeyou?Ayear,maybe,iftheydon’tkillyouforit.Thenonthestreetagain,upanddown,crossonthecorner,swingingthehips,flirtingwiththeemptypocketbook.Heymister,Igodown,thisiscleankitty,kid,teachyouhow—

Ahandwhackedthetopofthetrunkcasuallyinpassing.Richardsbitbackascream.Dustinhisnostrils,throat,

tickling.Highschoolbiology,sittinginthebackrow,scratchinghisinitialsandSheila’sontheancientdesk-top:Thesneezeisafunctionoftheinvoluntarymuscles.I’mgoingtosneezemygoddamheadoffbutit’spointblankandIcanstillputthatbulletrightthroughhissquashand—

“What’sinthetrunk,mister?”

Bradley’svoice,jocular,alittlebored:“Asparecylinderthatdoesn’tworkhalfright.Igotthekeyonmyring.Wait,I’llgetit.”

“IfIwantedit,I’dask.”

Otherbackdooropened;closed.

“Driveon.”

“Hangtight,fella.Hopeyou

gethim.”

“Driveon,mister.Moveyourass.”

Thecylinderscrankedup.Thecarliftedandaccelerated.Itslowedonceandmusthavebeenwavedon.Richardsjoltedalittleasthecarrose,sailedalittle,andkickedintodrive.Hisbreathcameintiredlittlemoans.Hedidn’thavetosneezeanymore.

…Minus059andCOUNTING…

Therideseemedmuchlongerthananhourandahalf,andtheywerestoppedtwicemore.Oneofthemseemedtobearoutinelicensecheck.Atthenextoneadrawlingcopwithadull-wittedvoice

talkedtoBradleyforsometimeabouthowthegoddamcommiebikerswerehelpingthatguyRichardsandprobablytheotherone,too.Laughlinhadnotkilledanyone,butitwasrumoredthathehadrapedawomaninTopeka.

Afterthattherewasnothingbutthemonotonouswhineofthewindandthescreamofhisowncrampedandfrozen

muscles.Richardsdidnotsleep,buthispunishedminddidfinallypushhimintoadazedsemiconsciousness.Therewasnocarbonmonoxidewiththeaircars,thankGodforthat.

Centuriesafterthelastroadblock,thecarkickedintoalowergearandbankedupaspiralingexitramp.Richardsblinkedsluggishlyandwonderedifhewasgoingto

throwup.Forthefirsttimeinhislifehefeltcarsick.

TheywentthroughasickeningseriesofloopsanddivesthatRichardssupposedwasatrafficinterchange.Anotherfiveminutesandcitysoundstookoveragain.Richardstriedrepeatedlytoshifthisbodyintoanewposition,butitwasimpossible.Hefinallysubsided,waitingnumblyfor

ittobeover.Hisrightarm,whichwascurledunderhim,hadgonetosleepanhourago.Nowitfeltlikeablockofwood.Hecouldtouchitwiththetipofhisnoseandfeelonlythepressureonhisnose.

Theytookaright,wentstraightforalittle,thenturnedagain.ThebottomdroppedoutofRichards’sstomachasthecardipped

downasharpincline.Theechoingofthecylinderstoldhimthattheywereinside.Theyhadgottentothegarage.

Alittlehelplesssoundofreliefescapedhim.

“Gotyourcheck,buddy?”Avoiceasked.

“Righthere,pal.”

“Rampway5.”

“Thanks.”

Theyboreright.Thecarwentup,paused,turnedrightagain,thenleft.Theysettledintoidle,thenthecardroppedwithasoftbumpastheenginedied.Journey’send.

Therewasapause,thenthehollowsoundofBradley’sdooropeningandclosing.His

footstepsclickedtowardthetrunk,thenthechinkoflightinfrontofRichards’seyesdisappearedasthekeyslidhome.

“Youthere,Bennie?”

“No,”hecroaked.“Youleftmebackatthestateline.Openthisgoddamthing.”

“Justasecond.Placeisemptyrightnow.Yourcar’s

parkednexttous.Ontheright.Canyougetoutquick?”

“Idon’tknow.”

“Tryhard.Herewego.”

Thetrunklidpoppedup,lettingindimgaragelight.Richardsgotupononearm,gotonelegovertheedge,andcouldgonofarther.Hiscrampedbodyscreamed.

Bradleytookonearmandhauledhimout.Hislegswantedtobuckle.Bradleyhookedhimunderthearmpitandhalfled,halfpushedhimtothebatteredgreenWintontheright.Heproppedopenthedriver’ssidedoor,shovedRichardsin,andslammeditshut.AmomentlaterBradleyalsoslidin.

“Jesus,”hesaidsoftly.“Wegothere,man.Wegothere.”

“Yeah,”Richardssaid.“BacktoGo.Collecttwohundreddollars.”

Theysmokedintheshadows,theircigarettesgleaminglikeeyes.Foralittlewhile,neitherofthemsaidanything.

…Minus058andCOUNTING…

“Wealmostgotitatthatfirstroadblock,”BradleywassayingasRichardstriedtomassagefeelingbackintohisarm.Itfeltasifphantomnailshadbeenpushedintoit.“Thatcopalmostopenedit.

Almost.”Heblewoutsmokeinahugehuff.Richardssaidnothing.

“Howdoyoufeel?”Bradleyaskedpresently.

“It’sgettingbetter.Takemywalletoutforme.Ican’tmakemyarmworkjustrightyet.”

Bradleyshooedthewordsawaywithonehand.“Later.I

wanttotellyouhowRichandIsetitup.”

Richardslitanothercigarettefromthestubofthefirst.Adozencharleyhorseswerelooseningslowly.

“There’sahotelroomreservedforyouonWinthropStreet.TheWinthropHouseisthenameoftheplace.Soundsfancy.Itain’t.ThenameisOgdenGrassner.Can

yourememberthat?”

“Yes.I’llberecognizedimmediately.”

Bradleyreachedintothebackseat,gotaboxanddroppeditinRichard’slap.Itwaslong,brown,tiedwithstring.ToRichardsitlookedlikethekindofboxthatrentedgraduationgownscomein.HelookedatBradleyquestioningly.

“Openit.”

Hedid.Therewasapairofthick,blue-tintedglasseslyingontopofadriftofblackcloth.Richardsputtheglassesonthedashboardandtookoutthegarment.Itwasapriest’srobe.Beneathit,lyingonthebottomofthebox,wasarosary,aBible,andapurplestole.

“Apriest?”Richardsasked.

“Right.Youchangerighthere.I’llhelpyou.There’sacaneinthebackseat.Youractain’tblind,butit’sprettyclose.Bumpintothings.You’reinManchestertoattendaCouncilofChurchesmeetingondrugabuse.Gotit?”

“Yes,”Richardsaid.Hehesitated,fingersonthebottomsofhisshirt.“DoIwearmypantsunderthis

rig?”

Bradleyburstoutlaughing.

…Minus057andCOUNTING…

BradleytalkedrapidlyashedroveRichardsacrosstown.

“There’saboxofgummedmailinglabelsinyoursuitcase,”hesaid.“That’sinthetrunk.Thestickerssay:

AfterfivedaysreturntoBrickhillManufacturingCompany,Manchester,N.H.Richandanotherguyranemoff.TheygotapressattheStabbers’headquartersonBoylstonStreet.Everydayyousendyourtwotapestomeinaboxwithoneofthosestickers.I’llmailemtoGamesfromBoston.SendmethestuffSpeedDelivery.That’sonethey’llneverfigureout.”

ThecarcozieduptothecurbinfrontoftheWinthropHouse.“ThiscarwillbebackintheU-Park-It.Don’ttrytodriveoutofManchesterunlessyouchangeyourdisguise.Yougottobeachameleon,man.”

“Howlongdoyouthinkitwillbesafehere?”Richardsasked.Hethought:I’veputmyselfinhishands.Itdidn’tseemthathecouldthink

rationallyforhimselfanymore.Hecouldsmellmentalexhaustiononhimselflikebodyodor.

“Yourreservation’sfornextweek.Thatmightbeokay.Itmightnot.Playitbyear.There’sanameandanaddressinthesuitcase.FellainPortland,Maine.They’llhideyouforadayortwo.It’llcost,butthey’resafe.Igottago,man.Thisisafive-

minutezone.Moneytime.”

“Howmuch?”Richardsasked.

“Sixhundred.”

“Bullshit.Thatdoesn’tevencoverexpenses.”

“Yesitdoes.Withafewbucksleftoverforthefamily.”

“Takeathousand.”

“Youneedyourdough,pal.Uh-uh.”

Richardslookedathimhelplessly.“Christ,Bradley—”

“Sendusmoreifyoumakeit.Sendusamillion.Putusoneasystreet.”

“DoyouthinkIwill?”

Bradleysmiledasoft,sadsmileandsaidnothing.

“Thenwhy?”Richardsaskedflatly.“Whyareyoudoingsomuch?Icanunderstandyouhidingmeout.I’ddothat.Butyoumusthavebustedyourclub’sarm.”

“Theydidn’tmind.Theyknowthescore.”

“Whatscore?”

“Oughttonaught.Thatscore.Ifwedoanstickoutournecksforourown,theygotus.Noneedtowaitfortheair.Wecouldjustaswellrunapipefromthestovetothelivinroom,turnontheFree-Veeandwait.”

“Someone’llkillyou,”Richardssaid.“Someonewillstoolonyouandyou’llenduponabasementfloorwithyourgutsbeatout.OrStacey.

OrMa.”

Bradley’seyesflasheddimly.“Abaddayiscomin,though.Abaddayforthemaggotswiththeirgutsfullofroastbeef.Iseebloodonthemoonforthem.Gunsandtorches.Amojothatwalksandtalks.”

“Peoplehavebeenseeingthosethingsfortwothousandyears.”

Thefive-minutebuzzerwentoffandRichardsfumbledforthedoorhandle.“Thankyou,”hesaid.“Idon’tknowhowtosayitanyotherway—”

“Goon,”Bradleysaid,“beforeIgetaticket.”Astrongbrownhandclutchedtherobe.“Anwhentheygetyou,takeafewalong.”

Richardsopenedtherear

doorandpoppedthetrunktogettheblacksatchelinside.Bradleyhandedhimacordovan-coloredcanewordlessly.

Thecarpulledoutintotrafficsmoothly.Richardsstoodonthecurbforamoment,watchinghimgo—watchinghimmyopically,hehoped.Thetaillightsflashedonceatthecorner,thenthecarswungoutofsight,back

totheparkinglotwhereBradleywouldleaveitandpickuptheothertogobacktoBoston.

RichardshadaweirdsensationofreliefandrealizedthathewasfeelingempathyforBradley—howgladhemustbetohavemeoffhisback,finally!

Richardsmadehimselfmissthefirststepuptothe

WinthropHouse’sentrance,andthedoormanassistedhim.

…Minus056andCOUNTING…

Twodayspassed.

Richardsplayedhispartwell—thatistosay,asifhislifedependedonit.Hetookdinneratthehotelbothnightsinhisroom.Heroseatseven,

readhisBibleinthelobby,andthenwentouttohis“meeting.”Thehotelstafftreatedhimwitheasy,contemptuouscordiality—thekindreservedforhalf-blind,fumblingclerics(whopaidtheirbills)inthisdayoflimitedlegalizedmurder,germwarfareinEgyptandSouthAmerica,andthenotorioushave-one-kill-oneNevadaabortionlaw.ThePopewasamutteringold

manofninety-sixwhosedrivelingedictsconcerningsuchcurrenteventswerereportedastheclosinghumorousitemsontheseveno’clocknewsies.

Richardsheldhisone-man“meetings”inarentedlibrarycubiclewhere,withthedoorlocked,hewasreadingaboutpollution.Therewasverylittleinformationlaterthan2002,andwhattherewas

seemedtojellverybadlywithwhathadbeenwrittenbefore.Thegovernment,asusual,wasdoingatardybutefficientjobofdoublethinking.

Atnoonhemadehiswaydowntoaluncheonetteonthecornerofastreetnotfarfromthehotel,bumpingintopeopleandexcusinghimselfashewent.Somepeopletoldhimitwasquiteallright,

Father.Mostsimplycursedinanuninterestedwayandpushedhimaside.

HespenttheafternoonsinhisroomandatedinnerwatchingTheRunningMan.Hehadmailedfourfilmclipswhileenroutetothelibraryduringthemornings.TheforwardingfromBostonseemedtobegoingsmoothly.

Theproducersofthe

programhadadoptedanewtacticforkillingRichards’spollutionmessage(hepersistedwithitinakindofgrinningfrenzy—hehadtobegettingthroughtothelip-readersanyway):nowthecrowddrownedoutthevoicewitharisingstormofjeers,screams,obscenities,andvituperation.Theirsoundgrewincreasinglymorefrenzied;uglytothepointofdementia.

Inhislongafternoons,Richardsreflectedthatanunwillingchangehadcomeoverhimduringhisfivedaysontherun.Bradleyhaddoneit—Bradleyandthelittlegirl.Therewasnolongerjusthimself,alonemanfightingforhisfamily,boundtobecutdown.Nowtherewereallofthemoutthere,stranglingontheirownrespiration—hisfamilyincluded.

Hehadneverbeenasocialman.Hehadshunnedcauseswithcontemptanddisgust.Theywereforpig-simplesuckersandpeoplewithtoomuchtimeandmoneyontheirhands,likethosehalf-assedcollegekidswiththeircutebuttonsandtheirneo-rockgroups.

Richards’sfatherhadslunkintothenightwhenRichardswasfive.Richardshadbeen

tooyoungtorememberhiminanythingbutflashes.Hehadneverhatedhimforit.Heunderstoodwellenoughhowamanwithachoicebetweenprideandresponsibilitywillalmostalwayschoosepride—ifresponsibilityrobshimofhismanhood.Amancan’tstickaroundandwatchhiswifeearningsupperonherback.Ifamancan’tdoanymorethanpimpforthewomanhemarried,Richards

judged,hemightaswellwalkoutofahighwindow.

Hehadspenttheyearsbetweenfiveandsixteenhustling,heandhisbrotherTodd.HismotherhaddiedofsyphiliswhenhewastenandToddwasseven.ToddhadbeenkilledfiveyearslaterwhenanewsieairtruckhadlostitsemergencybrakeonahillwhileToddwasloadingit.Thecityhadfedboth

motherandsonintotheMunicipalCrematorium.ThekidsonthestreetcallediteithertheAshFactoryortheCreamery;theywerebitterbuthelpless,knowingthattheythemselveswouldmostlikelyendupbeingbelchedoutofthestacksandintothecity’sair.AtsixteenRichardswasalone,workingafulleight-hourshiftasanenginewiperafterschool.Andinspiteofhisback-breaking

schedule,hehadfeltaconstantpanicthatcamefromknowinghewasaloneandunknown,driftingfree.Heawokesometimesatthreeinthemorningtotherotted-cabbagesmelloftheone-roomtenementflatwithterrorlodgedinthedeepestchamberofhissoul.Hewashisownman.

Andsohehadmarried,andSheilahadspentthefirstyear

inproudsilencewhiletheirfriends(andRichards’senemies;hehadmademanybyhisrefusaltogoalongonmass-vandalizingexpeditionsandjoinalocalgang)waitedfortheUterusExpresstoarrive.Whenitdidn’t,interestflagged.TheywereleftinthatparticularlimbothatwasreservedfornewlywedsinCo-OpCity.Fewfriendsandacircleofacquaintancesthatreached

onlyasfarasthestoopoftheirownbuilding.Richardsdidnotmindthis;itsuitedhim.Hethrewhimselfintohisworkwholly,withgrinningintensity,gettingovertimewhenhecould.Thewageswerebad,therewasnochanceofadvancement,andinflationwasrunningwild—buttheywereinlove.Theyremainedinlove,andwhynot?Richardswasthatkindofsolitarymanwhocan

affordtoexpendgiganticchargesoflove,affection,and,perhaps,psychicdominationonthewomanofhischoice.Upuntilthatpointhisemotionshadbeenalmostentirelyuntouched.Intheelevenyearsoftheirmarriage,theyhadneverarguedsignificantly.

Hequithisjobin2018becausethechancesofeverhavingchildrendecreased

witheveryshifthespentbehindtheleakyG-Aold-styleleadshields.Hemighthavebeenallrightifheansweredtheforeman’saggrieved“Whyareyouquitting?”withalie.ButRichardshadtoldhim,simplyandclearly,whathethoughtofGeneralAtomics,concludingwithaninvitationtotheforemantotakeallhisgammashieldsandperformareversebowelmovementwith

them.Itendedinashort,savagescuffle.Theforemanwasbrawnyandlookedtough,butRichardsmadehimscreamlikeawoman.

Theblackballbegantoroll.He’sdangerous.Steerclear.Ifyouneedamanbad,puthimonforaweekandthengetridofhim.InG-Aparlance,RichardshadShownRed.

Duringthenextfiveyearshehadspentalotoftimerollingandloadingnewsies,buttheworkthinnedtoatrickleandthendied.TheFree-Veekilledtheprintedwordveryeffectively.Richardspoundedthepavement.Richardswasmovedalong.Richardsworkedintermittentlyforday-laboroutfits.

Thegreatmovementsofthe

decadepassedbyhimignored,likeghoststoanunbeliever.HeknewnothingoftheHousewifeMassacrein’24untilhiswifetoldhimaboutitthreeweekslater—twohundredpolicearmedwithtommygunsandhigh-poweredmove-alongshadturnedbackanarmyofwomenmarchingontheSouthwestFoodDepository.Sixtyhadbeenkilled.Hewasvaguelyawarethatnervegas

wasbeingusedintheMideast.Butnoneofitaffectedhim.Protestdidnotwork.Violencedidnotwork.Theworldwaswhatitwas,andBenRichardsmovedthroughitlikeathinscythe,askingfornothing,lookingforwork.Heferretedoutahundredmiserabledayandhalf-dayjobs.Heworkedcleaningjellylikeslimefromunderpiersandinsumpditcheswhenothersonthe

street,whohonestlybelievedtheywerelookingforwork,didnothing.

Movealong,maggot.Getlost.Nojob.Getout.Putonyourboogieshoes.I’llblowyoureffingheadoff,daddy.Move.

Thenthejobsdriedup.Impossibletofindanything.Arichmaninasilksinglet,drunk,accostedhimonthe

streetoneeveningasRichardsshambledhomeafterafruitlessday,andtoldhimhewouldgiveRichardstenNewDollarsifRichardswouldpulldownhispantssohecouldseeifthestreetfreaksreallydidhavepeckersafootlong.Richardsknockedhimdownandran.

Itwasthen,afternineyearsoftrying,thatSheilaconceived.Hewasawiper,

thepeopleinthebuildingsaid.Canyoubelievehewasawiperforsixyearsandknockedherup?It’llbeamonster,thepeopleinthebuildingsaid.It’llhavetwoheadsandnoeyes.Radiation,radiation,yourchildrenwillbemonsters—

Butinstead,itwasCathy.Round,perfect,squalling.Deliveredbyamidwifefromdowntheblockwhotook

fiftycentsandfourcansofbeans.

Andnow,forthefirsttimesincehisbrotherhaddied,hewasdriftingagain.Everypressure(even,temporarily,thepressureofthechase)hadbeenremoved.

HismindandhisangerturnedtowardtheGamesFederation,withtheirhugeandpotentcommunications

linktothewholeworld.Fatpeoplewithnosefilters,spendingtheireveningswithdolliesinsilkunderpants.Lettheguillotinefall.Andfall.Andfall.Yettherewasnowaytogetthem.Theytoweredaboveallofthemdimly,liketheGamesBuildingitself.

Yet,becausehewaswhohewas,andbecausehewasaloneandchanging,he

thoughtaboutit.Hewasunaware,aloneinhisroom,thatwhilehethoughtaboutithegrinnedahugewhite-wolfgrinthatinitselfseemedpowerfulenoughtobucklestreetsandmeltbuildings.Thesamegrinhehadwornonthatalmost-forgottendaywhenhehadknockedarichmandownandthenfledwithhispocketsemptyandhismindburning.

…Minus055andCOUNTING…

MondaywasexactlythesameasSunday—theworkingworldtooknooneparticulardayoffanymore—untilsix-thirty.

FatherOgdenGrassnerhad

MeatloafSupremesentup(thehotel’scuisine,whichwouldhaveseemedexecrabletoamanwhohadbeenweanedonanythingbetterthanfast-foodhamburgersandconcentratepills,tastedgreattoRichards)withabottleofThunderbirdwineandsettleddowntowatchTheRunningMan.Thefirstsegment,dealingwithRichardshimself,wentmuchasithadonthetwonights

previous.Theaudioonhisclipswasdrownedoutbythestudioaudience.BobbyThompsonwasurbaneandvirulent.Ahouse-to-housesearchwastakingplaceinBoston.Anyonefoundharboringthefugitivewouldbeputtodeath.RichardssmiledwithouthumorastheyfadedtoaNetworkpromo.Itwasn’tsobad;itwasevenfunny,inalimitedway.Hecouldstandanythingifthey

didn’tbroadcastthecopsagain.

Thesecondhalfoftheprogramwasmarkedlydifferent.Thompsonwassmilingbroadly.“AfterthelatesttapessenttousbythemonsterthatgoesunderthenameofBenRichards,I’mpleasedtogiveyousomegoodnews—”

TheyhadgottenLaughlin.

HehadbeenspottedinTopekaonFriday,butanintensivesearchofthecityonSaturdayandSundayhadnotturnedhimup.RichardshadassumedthatLaughlinhadslippedthroughthecordonashehadhimself.Butthisafternoon,Laughlinhadbeenobservedbytwokids.HehadbeencoweringinaHighwayDepartmentroadshed.Hehadbrokenhisrightwristatsomepoint.

Thekids,BobbyandMaryCowles,wereshowngrinningbroadlyintothecamera.BobbyCowleshadatoothmissing.Iwonderifthetoothfairybroughthimaquarter,Richardsthoughtsickly.

ThompsonannouncedproudlythatBobbyandMary,“Topeka’snumberonecitizens,”wouldbeonTheRunningMantomorrownighttobepresentedCertificatesof

Merit,alife-timesupplyofFunTwinkscereal,andchecksforathousandNewDollarseach,byHizzonertheGovernorofKansas.Thisbroughtwildcheersfromtheaudience.

FollowingweretapesofLaughlin’sriddled,saggingbodybeingcarriedoutoftheshed,whichhadbeenreducedtomatchwoodbyconcentratedfire.Therewere

mingledcheers,boos,andhissesfromthestudioaudience.

Richardsturnedawaysickly,nauseated.Thin,invisiblefingersseemedtopressagainsthistemples.

Fromadistance,thewordsrolledon.ThebodywasbeingdisplayedintherotundaoftheKansasstatehouse.Alreadylonglines

ofcitizenswerefilingpastthebody.AninterviewedpolicemanwhohadbeeninatthekillsaidLaughlinhadn’tputupmuchofafight.

Ah,howniceforyou,Richardsthought,rememberingLaughlin,hissourvoice,thestraight-ahead,jeeringlookinhiseyes.

Afriendofminefromthecarpool.

Nowtherewasonlyonebigshow.ThebigshowwasBenRichards.Hedidn’twantanymoreofhisMeatloafSupreme.

…Minus054andCOUNTING…

Hehadaverybaddreamthatnight,whichwasunusual.TheoldBenRichardshadneverdreamed.

Whatwasevenmorepeculiarwasthefactthathe

didnotexistasacharacterinthedream.Heonlywatched,invisible.

Theroomwasvague,dimmingofftoblacknessattheedgesofvision.Itseemedthatwaterwasdrippingdankly.Richardshadanimpressionofbeingdeepunderground.

Inthecenteroftheroom,Bradleywassittingina

straightwoodenchairwithleatherstrapsoverhisarmsandlegs.Hisheadhadbeenshavedlikethatofapenitent.Surroundinghimwerefiguresinblackhoods.TheHunters,Richardsthoughtwithbuddingdread.OhdearGod,thesearetheHunters.

“Iain’ttheman,”Bradleysaid.

“Yesyouare,littlebrother,”

oneofthehoodedfiguressaidgently,andpushedapinthroughBradley’scheek.Bradleyscreamed.

“Areyoutheman?”

“Suckit.”

ApinslideasilyintoBradley’seyeballandwaswithdrawndribblingcolorlessfluid.Bradley’seyetookonapunched,flattenedlook.

“Areyoutheman?”

“Pokeitupyourass.”

Anelectricmove-alongtouchedBradley’sneck.Hescreamedagain,andhishairstoodonend.Helookedlikeacomicalcaricatureblack,afuturisticStepinfetchit.

“Areyoutheman,littlebrother?”

“Nosefiltersgiveyoucancer,”Bradleysaid.“You’reallrottedinside,honkies.”

Hisothereyeballwaspierced.“Areyoutheman?”

Bradley,blind,laughedatthem.

Oneofthehoodedfiguresgestured,andfromtheshadowsBobbyandMary

Cowlescametrippinggaily.TheybegantoskiparoundBradley,singing:“‘Who’safraidofthebigbadwolf,thebigbadwolf,thebigbadwolf?’”

Bradleybegantoscreamandtwistinthechair.Heseemedtobetryingtoholdhishandsupinawarding-offgesture.Thesonggrewlouderandlouder,moreechoing.Thechildrenwere

changing.Theirheadswereelongating,growingdarkwithblood.Theirmouthswereopenandinthecaveswithin,fangstwinkledlikerazor-blades.

“I’lltell!”Bradleyscreamed.“I’lltell!I’lltell!Iain’ttheman!BenRichardsistheman!I’lltell!God…oh…G-G-God…”

“Whereistheman,little

brother?”

“I’lltell!I’lltell!He’sin—”

Butthewordsweredrownedbythesingingvoices.TheywerelungingtowardBradley’sstraining,cordedneckwhenRichardswokeup,sweating.

…Minus053andCOUNTING…

ItwasnogoodinManchesteranymore.

Hedidn’tknowifitwasthenewsofLaughlin’sbrutalmidwesternend,orthedream,oronlyapremonition.

ButonTuesdaymorninghestayedin,notgoingtothelibrary.Itseemedtohimthateveryminutehestayedinthisplacewasaninvitationtoquickdoom.Lookingoutthewindow,hesawaHunterwithablackhoodinsideeveryoldbeanerandslumpedtaxidriver.Fantasiesofgunmencreepingsoundlesslyupthehalltowardhisdoortormentedhim.Hefeltahugeclockwastickinginhishead.

Hepassedthepointofindecisionshortlyaftereleveno’clockonTuesdaymorning.Itwasimpossibletostay.Heknewtheyknew.

Hegothiscaneandtappedclumsilytotheelevatorsandwentdowntothelobby.

“Goingout,FatherGrassner?”thedayclerkaskedwithhisusualpleasant,contemptuoussmile.

“Dayoff,”Richardssaid,speakingatthedayclerk’sshoulder.“Isthereapictureshowinthistown?”

Heknewtherewereatleastten,eightofthemshowing3-Dpervertoshows.

“Well,”theclerksaidcautiously,“there’stheCenter.IthinktheyshowDisneys—”

“Thatwillbefine,”Richardssaidbriskly,andbumpedintoapottedplantonhiswayout.

Twoblocksfromthehotelhewentintoadrugstoreandboughtahugerollofbandageandapairofcheapaluminumcrutches.Theclerkputhispurchasesinalongfiber-boardbox,andRichardscaughtataxionthenextcorner.

Thecarwasexactlywhereithadbeen,andiftherewasastakeoutattheU-Park-It,Richardscouldnotspotit.Hegotinandstartedup.Hehadabadmomentwhenherealizedhelackedadriver’slicenseinanynamethatwasn’thot,andthendismissedit.Hedidn’tthinkhisnewdisguisewouldgethimpastclosescrutinyanyway.Iftherewereroadblocks,hewouldtryto

crashthem.Itwouldgethimkilled,buthewasgoingtogetkilledanywayiftheytabbedhim.

HetossedtheOgdenGrassnerglassesinthegloveboxanddroveout,wavingnoncommittallyattheboyondutyatthegate.Theboybarelylookedupfromtheskinmagazinehewasreading.

Hestoppedforafullcompressed-airchargeonthehigh-speedurbansprawlonthenorthernoutskirtsofthecity.Theairjockeywasinthemidstofavolcaniceruptionofacne,andseemedpatheticallyanxioustoavoidlookingatRichards.Sofar,sogood.

Heswitchedfrom91toRoute17,andfromtheretoablacktoproadwithnoname

ornumber.Threemilesfartheralonghepulledontoarutteddirtturnaroundandkilledtheengine.

Tiltingtherearviewmirrortotherightangle,hewrappedthebandagearoundhisskullasquicklyashecould,holdingtheendandclippingit.Abirdtwittedrestlesslyinatired-lookingelm.

Nottoobad.Ifhegot

breathingtimeinPortland,hecouldaddaneckbrace.

Heputthecrutchesbesidehimontheseatandstartedthecar.FortyminuteslaterhewasenteringthetrafficcircleatPortsmouth.HeadedupRoute95,hereachedintohispocketandpulledoutthecrumpledpieceofruledpaperthatBradleyhadlefthim.Hehadwrittenonitinthecarefulscriptoftheself-

educated,usingasoftleadpencil:

94StateStreet,Portland

THEBLUEDOOR,GUESTS

EltonParrakis(&VirginiaParrakis)

Richardsfrownedatitamoment,thenglancedup.Ablack-and-yellowpoliceunit

wascruisingslowlyabovethetrafficontheturnpike,intandemwithaheavyground-unitbelow.Theybracketedhimforamomentandthenweregone,zig-zaggingacrossthesixlanesinagracefulballet.Routinetrafficpatrol.

Asthemilespassed,aqueasy,almostreluctantsenseofreliefformedinhischest.Itmadehimfeellike

laughingandthrowingupatthesametime.

…Minus052andCOUNTING…

ThedrivetoPortlandwaswithoutincident.

Butbythetimehereachedtheedgeofthecity,drivingthroughthebuilt-upsuburbsofScarborough(richhomes,

richstreets,richprivateschoolssurroundedbyelectrifiedfences),thesenseofreliefhadbeguntofadeagain.Theycouldbeanywhere.Theycouldbeallaroundhim.Ortheycouldbenowhere.

StateStreetwasanareaofblasted,ancientbrownstonesnotfarfromanovergrown,junglelikepark—ahangout,Richardsthought,forthis

smallcity’smuggers,lovers,hypes,andthieves.NoonewouldventureoutonStateStreetafterdarkwithoutapolicedogonaleash,orascoreoffellowgang-members.

Number94wasacrumbling,soot-encrustedbuildingwithancientgreenshadespulleddownoveritswindows.ToRichardsthehouselookedlikeaveryold

manwhohaddiedwithcataractsonhiseyes.

Hepulledtothecurbandgotout.Thestreetwasdottedwithabandonedaircars,someofthemrusteddowntoalmostformlesshulks.Ontheedgeofthepark,aStudebakerlayonitssidelikeadeaddog.Thiswasnotpolicecountry,obviously.Ifyouleftyourcarunattended,itwouldgainaclotof

leaning,spitting,slate-eyedboysinfifteenminutes.Inhalfanhoursomeoftheleaningboyswouldhaveproducedcrow-barsandwrenchesandscrewdrivers.Theywouldtapthem,comparethem,twirlthem,havemockswordfightswiththem.Theywouldholdthemupintotheairthoughtfully,asiftestingtheweatherorreceivingmysteriousradiotransmissionthroughthem.In

anhourthecarwouldbeastrippedcarcass,fromaircapsandcylinderstothesteeringwheelitself.

AsmallboyranuptoRichardsashewassettinghiscrutchesunderhimself.Puckered,shinyburnscarshadturnedonesideoftheboy’sfaceintoahairlessFrankensteinhorror.

“Scag,mister?Goodstuff.

Putyouonthemoon.”Hegiggledsecretly,thelumpedandknobbedfleshofhisburntfacebobbingandwrithinggrotesquely.

“Fuckoff,”Richardssaidbriefly.

Theboytriedtokickoneofhiscrutchesoutfromunderhim,andRichardsswungoneoftheminalowarc,swattingtheboy’sbottom.Heranoff,

cursing.

Hemadehiswayupthepittedstonestepsslowlyandlookedatthedoor.Ithadoncebeenblue,butnowthepainthadfadedandpeeledtoatireddesertskycolor.Therehadoncebeenadoorbell,butsomevandalhadtakencareofthatwithacoldchisel.

Richardsknockedandwaited.Nothing.Heknocked

again.

Itwaslateafternoonnow,andcoldwascreepingslowlyupthestreet.Faintly,fromtheparkbeyondtheendoftheblock,camethebitterclackingofOctoberbrancheslosingtheirleaves.

Therewasnoonehere.Itwastimetogo.

Yetheknockedagain,

curiouslyconvincedthattherewassomeoneinthere.

Andthistimehewasrewardedwiththeslowshufflingofhouseslippers.Apauseatthedoor.Then:“Who’soutthere?Idon’tbuynothin.Goaway.”

“Iwastoldtovisityou,”Richardssaid.

Apeepholeswungopen

withaminutesqueakandabrowneyepeekedthrough.Thenthepeepholeclosedwithasnap.

“Idon’tknowyou.”Flatdismissal.

“IwastoldtoaskforEltonParrakis.”

Grudgingly:“Oh.You’reoneofthose—”

Behindthedoorlocksbegantoturn,boltsbegantobeunbolted,onebyone.Chainsdropped.TherewastheclockofrevolvingtumblersinoneYalelockandthenanother.Thechunk-slapoftheheavy-dutyTrapBoltbeingwithdrawn.

ThedoorswungopenandRichardslookedatascrawnywomanwithnobreastsandhuge,knottedhands.Herface

wasunlined,almostcherubic,butitlookedasifithadtakenhundredsofinvisiblehooksandjabsanduppercutsinano-holds-barredbrawlwithtimeitself.Perhapstimewaswinning,butshewasnotaneasybleeder.Shewasalmostsixfeettall,eveninherflat,splayedslippers,andherkneeswereswollenintotreestumpswitharthritis.Herhairwaswrappedinabathturban.Herbrowneyes,

staringathimfromunderadeepledgeofbrow(theeyebrowsthemselvesclungtotheprecipicelikedesperatemountainbushes,strugglingagainstthearidityandthealtitude),wereintelligentandwildwithwhatmighthavebeenfearorfury.Laterheunderstoodshewassimplymuddled,afraid,totteringontheedgeofinsanity.

“I’mVirginiaParrakis,”she

saidflatly.“I’mElton’smother.Comein.”

…Minus051andCOUNTING…

Shedidnotrecognizehimuntilshehadledhimintothekitchentobrewtea.

Thehousewasoldandcrumblinganddark,furnishedinadecorhe

recognizedimmediatelyfromhisownenvironment:Modernjunkshop.

“Eltonisn’therenow,”shesaid,broodingoverthebatteredaluminumteapotonthegasring.Thelightwasstrongerhere,revealingthebrownwaterstainsthatblotchedthewallpaper,thedeadflies,souvenirsofsummerpast,onthewindow-sills,theoldlinoleumcreased

withblacklines,thepileofwetwrappingpaperundertheleakingdrainpipe.TherewasanodorofdisinfectantthatmadeRichardsthinkoflastnightsinsickrooms.

Shecrossedtheroom,andherswollenfingersmadeapainfulsearchthroughtheheapedjunkonthecountertopuntiltheyfoundtwoteabags,oneofthempreviouslyused.Richardsgot

theusedone.Hewasnotsurprised.

“Heworks,”shesaid,faintlyaccentuatingthefirstwordandmakingthestatementanaccusation.“You’refromthatfellowinBoston,theoneEltiewritestoaboutpollution,aintcha?”

“Yes,Mrs.Parrakis.”

“TheymetinBoston.My

Eltonservicesautomaticvendingmachines.”Shepreenedforamomentandthenbeganherslowtrekbackacrossthedunesoflinoleumtothestove.“ItoldEltiethatwhatthatBradleywasdoingwasagainstthelaw.Itoldhimitwouldmeanprisonorevenworse.Hedoesn’tlistentome.Nottohisoldmom,hedoesn’t.”Shesmiledwithdarksweetnessatthiscalumny.“Eltonwasalways

buildingthings,youknow….Hebuiltatreehousewithfourroomsoutbackwhenhewasaboy.Thatwasbeforetheycuttheelmdown,youknow.Butitwasthatdarky’sideathatheshouldbuildapollutionstationinPortland.”

ShepoppedthebagsintocupsandstoodwithherbacktoRichards,slowlywarmingherhandsoverthegasring.“Theywriteeachother.Itold

himthemailsaren’tsafe.You’llgotoprisonorevenworse,Isaid.HesaidbutMom,wedoitincode.Heasksforadozenapples,Itellhimmyuncleisalittleworse.Isaid:Eltie,doyouthinktheycan’tfigurethatSecretSpystuffout?Hedoesn’tlisten.Oh,heusedto.Iusedtobehisbestfriend.Butthingshavechanged.Sincehegottopooberty,thingshavechanged.Dirtymagazines

underhisbedandallthatbusiness.Nowthisdarky.Isupposetheycaughtyoutestingsmogsorcarcinogensorsomethingandnowyou’reontherun.”

“I—”

“Itdon’tmatter!”shesaidfiercelyatthewindow.Itlookedoutonabackyardfilledwithrustingpiecesofjunkandtirerimsandsome

littleboy’ssandboxthatnow,manyyearslater,wasfilledwithscruffyOctoberwoods.

“Itdon’tmatter!”sherepeated.“It’sthedarkies.”SheturnedtoRichardsandhereyeswerehoodedandfuriousandbewildered.“I’msixty-five,butIwasonlyafreshyounggirlofnineteenwhenitbegantohappen.Itwasnineteenseventy-nineandthedarkieswere

everywhere!Everywhere!Yestheywere!”shenearlyscreamed,asifRichardshadtakenissuewithher.“Everywhere!Theysentthosedarkiestoschoolwiththewhites.Theysetemhighinthegovernment.Radicals,rabble-rousing,andrebellion.Iain’tso—”

Shebrokeoffasifthewordshadbeensplinteredfromhermouth.Shestaredat

Richards,seeinghimforthefirsttime.

“OhGodhavemercy,”shewhispered.

“Mrs.Parrakis—”

“Nope!”shesaidinafear-hoarsenedvoice.“Nope!Nope!Oh,nope!”Shebeganadvancingonhim,pausingatthecountertopickupalong,gleamingbutcherknifeoutof

thegeneralclutter.“Out!Out!Out!”Hegotupandbegantobackawayslowly,firstthroughtheshorthallbetweenthekitchenandshadowylivingroom,thenthroughthelivingroomitself.

Henoticedthatanancientpaytelephonehungonthewallfromthedayswhenthishadbeenabonafideinn.TheBlueDoor,Guests.Whenwasthat?Richardswondered.

Twentyyearsago?Forty?Beforethedarkieshadgottenoutofhand,orafter?

Hewasjustbeginningtobackdownthehallbetweenthelivingroomandthefrontdoorwhenakeyrattledinthelock.Theybothfrozeasifsomecelestialhandhadstoppedthefilmwhiledecidingwhattodonext.

Thedooropened,andElton

Parrakiswalkedin.Hewasimmenselyfat,andhislacklusterblondhairwascombedbackinpreposterouswavesfromhisforeheadtoshowaroundbabyfacethatheldanelementofperpetualpuzzlement.HewaswearingtheblueandgolduniformoftheVendo-SpendoCompany.HelookedthoughtfullyatVirginiaParrakis.

“Putthatknifedown,

Mom.”

“Nope!”shecried,butalreadythecrumblingofdefeathadbeguntoputtyherface.

Parrakisclosedthedoorandbeganwalkingtowardher.Hejiggled.

Sheshrankaway.“Youhavetomakehimgo,son.He’sthatbadman.That

Richards.It’llmeanprisonorworse.Idon’twantyoutogo!”Shebegantowail,droppedtheknife,andcollapsedintohisarms.

Heenfoldedherandbegantorockhergentlyasshewept.“I’mnotgoingtojail,”hesaid.“Comeon,Mom,don’tcry.Pleasedon’tcry.”HesmiledatRichardsoveroneofherhunchedandshakingshoulders,an

embarrassedawfully-sorry-about-thissmile.Richardswaited.

“Now,”Parrakissaid,whenthesobshaddiedtosniffles.“Mr.RichardsisBradleyThrockmorton’sgoodfriend,andheisgoingtobewithusforacoupleofdays,Mom.”

Shebegantoshriek,andheclappedahandoverhermouth,wincingashedidso.

“Yes,Mom.Yesheis.I’mgoingtodrivehiscarintotheparkandwireit.Andyou’llgoouttomorrowmorningwithapackagetomailtoCleveland.”

“Boston,”Richardssaidautomatically.“ThetapesgotoBoston.”

“TheygotoClevelandnow,”EltonParrakissaid,withapatientsmile.

“Bradley’sontherun.”

“Oh,Jesus.”

“You’llbeontherun,too!”Mrs.Parrakishowledatherson.“Andthey’llcatchyou,too!You’retoofat!”

“I’mgoingtotakeMr.Richardsupstairsandshowhimhisroom,Mom.”

“Mr.Richards?Mr.

Richards?Whydon’tyoucallhimbyhisrightname?Poison!”

Hedisengagedherwithgreatgentleness,andRichardsfollowedhimobedientlyuptheshadowystaircase.“Thereareagreatmanyroomsuphere,”hesaid,pantingslightlyashishugebuttocksflexedandclenched.“Thisusedtobearoominghousemanyyears

ago—whenIwasababy.You’llbeabletowatchthestreet.”

“MaybeIbettergo,”Richardssaid.“IfBradley’sblown,yourmothermayberight.”

“Thisisyourroom,”hesaid,andthrewopenadooronadustydamproomthatheldtheweightofyears.Hedidnotseemtohaveheard

Richards’scomment.“It’snotmuchofanaccommodation,I’mafraid,but—”HeturnedtofaceRichardswithhispatientI-want-to-pleasesmile.“Youmaystayaslongasyouwant.BradleyThrockmortonisthebestfriendI’veeverhad.”Thesmilefalteredabit.“TheonlyfriendI’veeverhad.I’llwatchaftermyMom.Don’tworry.”

Richardsonlyrepeated:“Ibettergo.”

“Youcan’t,youknow.Thatheadbandagedidn’tevenfoolMomforlong.I’mgoingtodriveyourcartoasafeplace,Mr.Richards.We’lltalklater.”

Heleftquickly,lumberingly.Richardsnotedthattheseatofhisuniformpantswasshiny.Heseemed

toleaveafaintodorofapologiaintheroom.

Pullingtheancientgreenshadeasidealittle,Richardssawhimemergeonthecrackedfrontwalkbelowandgetintothecar.Thenhegotoutagain.Hehurriedbacktowardthehouse,andRichardsfeltastaboffear.

Ponderouslyclimbingtreadonthestairs.Thedoor

opened,andEltonsmiledatRichards.“Mom’sright,”hesaid.“Idon’tmakeaverygoodsecretagent.Iforgotthekeys.”

Richardsgavethemtohimandthenessayedajoke:“Halfasecretagentisbetterthannone.”

Itstruckasourchordornochordatall;EltonParrakiscarriedhistormentswithhim

tooclearly,andRichardscouldalmosthearthephantom,jeeringvoicesofthechildrenthatwouldfollowhimforever,likesmalltugsbehindabigliner.

“Thankyou,”Richardssaidsoftly.

Parrakisleft,andthelittlecarthatRichardshadcomefromNewHampshireinwasdrivenawaytowardthepark.

Richardspulledthedustcoverfromthebedandlaydownslowly,breathingshallowlyandlookingatnothingbuttheceiling.Thebedseemedtoclutchhiminaperverselydampembrace,eventhroughthecoverletandhisclothes.Anodorofmildewdriftedthroughthechannelsofhisnoselikeasenselessrhyme.

Downstairs,Elton’smother

wasweeping.

…Minus050andCOUNTING…

Hedozedalittlebutcouldnotsleep.DarknesswasalmostfullwhenheheardElton’sheavytreadonthestairsagain,andRichardsswunghisfeetontothefloorwithrelief.

Whenheknockedandsteppedin,RichardssawthatParrakishadchangedintoatentlikesportsshirtandapairofjeans.

“Ididit,”hesaid.“It’sinthepark.”

“Willitbestripped?”

“No,”Eltonsaid.“Ihaveagadget.Abatteryandtwoalligatorclips.Ifanyoneputs

hishandoracrowbaronit,they’llgetashockandashortblastonasiren.Worksgood.Ibuiltitmyself.”Heseatedhimselfwithaheavysigh.

“What’sthisaboutCleveland?”Richardsdemanded(itwaseasy,hefound,todemandofElton).

Parrakisshrugged.“Oh,he’safellowlikeme.ImethimonceinBoston,atthe

librarywithBradley.Ourlittlepollutionclub.IsupposeMomsaidsomethingaboutthat.”Herubbedhishandstogetherandsmiledunhappily.

“Shesaidsomething,”Richardsagreed.

“She’s….alittledim,”Parrakissaid.“Shedoesn’tunderstandmuchofwhat’sbeenhappeningforthelast

twentyyearsorso.She’sfrightenedallthetime.I’mallshehas.”

“WilltheycatchBradley?”

“Idon’tknow.He’sgotquitea…uh,intelligencenetwork.”ButhiseyesslippedawayfromRichards’s.

“You—”

ThedooropenedandMrs.Parrakisstoodthere.Herarmswerecrossedandshewassmiling,buthereyeswerehaunted.“I’vecalledthepolice,”shesaid.“Nowyou’llhavetogo.”

Elton’sfacedrainedtoapearlyyellowish-white.“You’relying.”

Richardslurchedtohisfeetandthenpaused,hishead

cockedinalisteninggesture.

Faintly,rising,thesoundofsirens.

“She’snotlying,”hesaid.Asickeningsenseoffutilityswepthim.Backtosquareone.“Takemetomycar.”

“She’slying,”Eltoninsisted.Herose,almosttouchedRichards’sarm,thenwithdrewhishandasifthe

othermanmightbehottothetouch.“They’refiretrucks.”

“Takemetomycar.Quick.”

Thesirenswerebecominglouder,risingandfalling,wailing.ThesoundfilledRichardswithadreamlikehorror,lockedinherewiththesetwocrazieswhile—

“Mother—”Hisfacewas

twisted,beseeching.

“Icalledthem!”sheblatted,andseizedoneofherson’sbloatedarmsasiftoshakehim.“Ihadto!Foryou!Thatdarkyhasgotyouallmixedup!We’llsayhebrokeinandwe’llgettherewardmoney—”

“Comeon,”EltongruntedtoRichards,andtriedtoshakefreeofher.

Butsheclungstubbornly,likeasmalldogbedevilingaPercheron.“Ihadto.You’vegottostopthisradicalbusiness,Eltie!You’vegotto—”

“Eltie!”hescreamed.“Eltie!”Andheflungheraway.Sheskiddedacrosstheroomandfellacrossthebed.

“Quick,”Eltonsaid,hisfacefullofterrorandmisery.“Oh,

comequick.”

Theycrashedandblundereddownthestairsandoutthefrontdoor,Eltonbreakingintoagigantic,quiveringtrot.Hewasbeginningtopantagain.

Andupstairs,filteringboththroughtheclosedwindowandtheopendoordownstairs,Mrs.Parrakis’sscreamrosetoashriekwhichmetand

mixedandblendedwiththeapproachingsirens:“IDIDITFORYOOOOOOOOOOO—”

…Minus049andCOUNTING…

Theirshadowschasedthemdownthehilltowardthepark,waxingandwaningastheyapproachedandpassedeachofthemesh-enclosedG.A.streetlamps.EltonParrakisbreathedlikealocomotive,in

hugeandwindygulpsandhisses.

Theycrossedthestreetandsuddenlyheadlightspickedthemoutonthefarsidewalkinhardrelief.Blueflashinglightsblazedonasthepolicecarcametoascreeching,jamminghaltahundredyardsaway.

“RICHARDS!BENRICHARDS!”

Gigantic,megaphone-boomingvoice.

“Yourcar…upahead…see?”Eltonpanted.

Richardscouldjustmakethecarout.Eltonhadparkeditwell,underacopseofrun-to-seedbirchtreesnearthepond.

Thecruisersuddenlyscreamedintolifeagain,rear

tiresbondinghotrubbertothepavementinlinesofacceleration,itsgasoline-poweredenginewailinginclimbingrevolutions.Itslammedupoverthecurb,headlightsskyrocketing,andcamedownpointingdirectlyatthem.

Richardsturnedtowardit,suddenlyfeelingverycool,feelingalmostnumb.HedraggedBradley’spistolout

ofhispocket,stillbackingup.Therestofthecopsweren’tinsight.Justthisone.ThecarscreamedatthemacrosstheOctober-baregroundofthepark,self-sealingreartiresdiggingoutgreatclodsofrippedblackearth.

Hesqueezedofftwoshotsatthewindshield.Itstarredbutdidnotshatter.Heleapedasideatthelastsecondandrolled.Drygrassagainsthis

face.Uponhisknees,hefiredtwicemoreatthebackofthecarandthenitwascomingaroundinahard,slewingpowerturn,bluelightsturningthenightintoacrazy,shadow-leapingnightmare.Thecruiserwasbetweenhimandthecar,butEltonhadleapedtheotherway,andwasnowworkingfranticallytoremovehiselectricaldevicefromthecardoor.

Someonewashalfwayoutofthepassengersideofthepolicecar,whichwasonitswayagain.Athickstutteringsoundfilledthedark.Stengun.Bulletsdugthroughtheturfaroundhiminasenselesspattern.Dirtstruckhischeeks,patteredagainsthisforehead.

Hekneltasifpraying,andfiredagainintothewindshield.Thistime,the

bulletpunchedaholethroughtheglass.

Thecarwasontopofhim—

Hesprangtotheleftandthereinforcedsteelbumperstruckhisleftfoot,snappinghisankleandsendinghimsprawlingonhisface.

Thecruiser’senginerosetoasuperchargedscream,diggingthroughanother

powerturn.Nowtheheadlightswereonhimagain,turningeverythingstarkmonochrome.Richardstriedtogetup,buthisbrokenanklewouldn’tsupporthim.

Sobbingingreatgulpsofair,hewatchedthepolicecarloomagain.Everythingbecameheightened,surreal.Hewaslivinginanadrenalinedeliriumandeverythingseemedslow,

deliberate,orchestrated.Theapproachingpolicecarwaslikeahuge,blindbuffalo.

TheStengunrattledagain,andthistimeabulletpunchedthroughhisleftarm,knockinghimsideways.Theheavycartriedtoveerandgethim,andforamomenthehadaclearshotatthefigurebehindthewheel.Hefiredonceandthewindowblewinward.Thecarscreamed

intoaslow,digging,sidewardsroll,thenwentupandover,crashingdownontheroofandthenontoitsside.Themotorstalled,andinsudden,shockingsilence,thepoliceradiocrackledclearly.

Richardsstillcouldnotgettohisfeetandsohebegantocrawltowardthecar.Parrakiswasinitnow,tryingtostartit,butinhisblindpaniche

musthaveforgottentoleverthesafetyventsopen;eachtimeheturnedthekeytherewasonlyahollow,coughingboomofairinthechambers.

Thenightbegantofillupwithconvergingsirens.

HewasstillfiftyyardsfromthecarwhenEltonrealizedwhatwaswrongandyankeddowntheventlever.Thenexttimeheturnedthekeythe

enginechoppederraticallyintolifeandtheaircarswepttowardRichards.

Hegottoahalf-standingpositionandtorethepassengerdooropenandfellinside.ParrakisbankedleftontoRoute77whichintersectedStateStreetabovethepark,thelowerdeckofthecarnomorethananinchfromthepaving,almostlowenoughtodragandspill

them.

Eltongulpedinhugeswatchesofairandletthemoutwithforceenoughtoflaphislipslikewindowblinds.

Twomorepolicecarsscreamedaroundthecornerbehindthem,thebluelightsflashedon,andtheygavechase.

“We’renotfastenough!”

Eltonscreamed.“We’renotfast—”

“They’reonwheels!”Richardsyelledback.“Cutthroughthatvacantlot!”

Theaircarbankedleftandtheywereslammedupwardviolentlyastheycrossedthecurb.Thebatteringairpressureshovedthemintodrive.

Thepolicecarsswelledbehindthem,andthentheywereshooting.Richardsheardsteelfingerspunchingholesinthebodyoftheircar.Therearwindowblewinwithatremendouscrash,andtheyweresprinkledwithfragmentsofsafetyglass.

Screaming,Eltonwhippedtheaircarleftandright.

Oneofthepolicecars,

doingsixty-plus,lostitcomingupoverthecurb.Thecarveeredwildly,revolvingbluedome-lightssplittingthedarknesswithlunaticboltsoflight,andthenitcrashedoveronitsside,diggingahotgroovethroughthelitteredmoraineoftheemptylot,untilasparkstruckitspeeled-backgastank.Itexplodedwhitely,likearoadflare.

Thesecondcarwas

followingtheroadagain,butEltonbeatthem.Theyhadcutthecruiseroff,butitwouldgainbackthelostdistanceveryshortly.Thegas-drivengroundcarswerenearlythreetimesfasterthanairdrive.Andifanaircartriedtogotoofarofftheroad,theunevensurfacebeneaththethrusterswouldflipthecarover,asParrakishadnearlyflippedthemcrossingthecurb.

“Turnright!”Richardscried.

Parrakispulledthemaroundinanothergrinding,stomach-lurchingturn.TheywereonRoute1;ahead,RichardscouldseethattheywouldsoonbeforceduptheentrancewaytotheCoastTurnpike.Noevasiveactionwouldbepossiblethere;onlydeathwouldbepossiblethere.

“Turnoff!Turnoff,goddammit!Thatalley!”Foramoment,thepolicecarwasoneturnbehindthem,lostfromview.

“NO!No!”Parrakiswasgibberingnow.“We’llbelikeratsinatrap!”

Richardsleanedoverandhauledthewheelaround,knockingElton’shandfromthethrottlewiththesame

gesture.Theaircarskiddedaroundinanearlyninety-degreeturn.Theybouncedofftheconcreteofthebuildingontheleftofthealley’smouth,sendingtheminatacrookedangle.Thebluntnoseofthecarstruckapileofheapedtrash,garbagecans,andsplinteredcrates.Behindthese,solidbrick.

Richardswaspitchedviolentlyintothedashboard

astheycrashed,andhisnosebrokewithasuddensnap,gushingbloodwithviolentforce.

Theaircarlayaskewinthealley,onecylinderstillcoughingalittle.Parrakiswasasilentlumplollingoverthesteeringwheel.Therewasnotimeforhimyet.

Richardsslammedhisshoulderagainstthecrimped

passengerdoor.Itpoppedopen,andhehoppedononelegtothemouthofthealley.HereloadedhisgunfromthecrumpledboxofshellsBradleyhadsuppliedhimwith.Theyweregreasy-cooltothetouch.Hedroppedsomeofthemaroundhisfeet.Hisarmhadbeguntothroblikeanulceratedtooth,makinghimfeelsickandnauseatedwithpain.

Headlightsturnedthedesertedcityexpresswayfromnighttosunlessday.Thecruiserskiddedaroundtheturn,reartiresfightingfortraction,sendingupthefragrantsmellofsearedrubber.Loopingblackmarksscoredtheexpansion-jointmacadaminparabolas.Thenitwasforwardagain.Richardsheldtheguninbothhands,leaningagainstthebuildingtohisleft.Ina

momenttheywouldrealizetheycouldseenotaillightsahead.Thecopridingshotgunwouldseethealley,know—

Snufflingbloodthroughhisbrokennose,hebegantofire.Therangewasnearlypointblank,andatthisdistance,thehighpoweredslugssmashedthroughthebulletproofglassasifithadbeenpaper.Eachrecoilofthe

heavypistolpulsedthroughhiswoundedarm,makinghimscream.

Thecarroaredupoverthecurb,flewashort,winglessdistance,andcrashedintotheblankbrickwallacrossthestreet.ECHOFREE-VEEREPAIR,afadedsignonthiswallread.BECAUSEYOUWATCHIT,WEWON’TBOTCHIT.

Thepolicecar,stillafootabovetheground,metthebrickwallathighspeedandexploded.

Butotherswerecoming;alwaysothers.

Panting,Richardsmadehiswaybacktotheaircar.Hisgoodlegwasverytired.

“I’mhurt,”Parrakiswasgroaninghollowly.“I’mhurt

sobad.Where’sMom?Where’smyMomma?”

Richardsfellonhisknees,wriggledundertheaircaronhisback,andbegantopulltrashanddebrisfromtheairchamberslikeamadman.Bloodrandownhischeeksfromhisrupturednoseandpooledbesidehisears.

…Minus048andCOUNTING…

Thecarwouldonlyrunonfiveofitssixcylinders,anditwouldgonofasterthanforty,leaningdrunkenlytooneside.

Parrakisdirectedhimfromthepassengerseat,where

Richardshadmanhandledhim.Thesteeringcolumnhadgoneintohisabdomenlikearailspike,andRichardsthoughthewasdying.ThebloodonthedentedsteeringwheelwaswarmandstickyonRichards’spalms.

“I’mverysorry,”Parrakissaid.“Turnlefthere…It’sreallymyfault.Ishouldhaveknownbetter.She…shedoesn’tthinkstraight.She

doesn’t…”Hecoughedupaglutofblackbloodandspatitlistlesslyintohislap.Thesirensfilledthenight,buttheywerefarbehindandofftothewest.TheyhadgoneoutMarginalWay,andfromthereParrakishaddirectedhimontobackroads.NowtheywereonRoute9goingnorth,andthePortlandsuburbswerepeteringoutintoOctober-barrenscrubcountryside.Thestrip

lumberershadbeenthroughlikelocusts,andtheendresultwasabewilderingtangleofsecondgrowthandmarsh.

“Doyouknowwhereyou’retellingmetogo?”Richardsasked.Hewasahugebrandofpainfromoneendtotheother.Hewasquitesurehisanklewasbroken;therewasnodoubtatallabouthisnose.Hisbreathcamethroughitin

flattenedgasps.

“ToaplaceIknow,”EltonParrakissaid,andcoughedupmoreblood.“Sheusedtotellmeaboy’sbestfriendishisMom.Canyoubelievethat?Iusedtobelieveit.Willtheyhurther?Takehertojail?”

“No,”Richardssaidshortly,notknowingiftheywouldornot.Itwastwentyminutesofeight.HeandEltonhadleft

theBlueDoorattenminutespastseven.Itseemedasifdecadeshadpassed.

Afardistanceoff,moresirenswerejoininginthegeneralchorus.Theunspeakableinpursuitoftheinedible,Richardsthoughtdisjointedly.Ifyoucan’tstandtheheat,getoutofthekitchen.Hehaddispatchedtwopolicecarssinglehanded.AnotherbonusforSheila.

Bloodmoney.AndCathy.WouldCathysickenanddieonmilkpaidforwithbountycash?Howareyou,mydarlings?Iloveyou.Hereonthistwisting,crazybackroadfitonlyfordeerjackersandcoupleslookingforagoodmake-outspot,Iloveyouandwishthatyourdreamsbesweet.Iwish—

“Turnleft,”Eltoncroaked.

Richardsswungleftupasmoothtarredroadthatcutthroughatangleofdenudedsumacandelm,pineandspruce,scrubbynightmaresecondgrowth.Ariver,ripeandsulphurouswithindustrialwaste,smotehisnose.Low-hangingbranchesscrapedtheroofofthecarwithskeletonscreeches.Theypassedasignwhichread:SUPERPINETREEMALL—UNDER

CONSTRUCTION—KEEPOUT!—TRESPASSERSWILLBEPROSECUTED!!

TheytoppedafinalriseandtherewastheSuperPineTreeMall.Workmusthavestoppedatleasttwoyearsago,Richardsthought,andthingshadn’tbeentooadvancedwhenitdid.Theplacewasamaze,aratwarrenofhalf-builtstoresandshops,discardedlengths

ofpipe,pilesofcinderblockandboards,shacksandrustedQuonsethuts,allovergrownwithscrubbyjunipersandlaurelsandwitchgrassandbluespruce,blackberryandblackthorn,devil’spaintbrushanddenudedgoldenrod.Anditstretchedonformiles.GapingoblongfoundationholeslikegravesdugforRomangods.Rustedskeletonsteel.Cementwallswithsteelcore-rodsprotrudinglike

shadowycryptograms.Bulldozedoblongsthatweretobeparkinglotsnowgrassedover.

Somewhereoverhead,anowlflewonstiffandnoiselesswings,hunting.

“Helpme…intothedriver’sseat.”

“You’reinnoconditiontodrive,”Richardssaid,pushing

hardonhisdoortoopenit.

“It’stheleastIcando,”EltonParrakissaidwithgraveandbloodyabsurdity.“I’llplayhare…driveaslongasIcan.”

“No,”Richardssaid.

“Letmego!”HescreamedatRichards,hisfatbabyfaceterribleandgrotesque.“I’mdyingandyoujustbetterlet

meguh—guh—guh—”Hetrailedoffintohideoussilentcoughsthatbroughtupfreshgoutsofblood.Itsmelledverymoistinthecar;likeaslaughterhouse.“Helpme,”hewhispered.“I’mtoofattodoitbymyself.OhGodpleasehelpmedothis.”

Richardshelpedhim.HepushedandheavedandhishandsslippedandsquelchedinElton’sblood.Thefront

seatwasanabbatoir.AndElton(whowouldhavethoughtanyonecouldhavesomuchbloodinhim?)continuedtobleed.

Thenhewaswedgedbehindthewheelandtheaircarwasrisingjaggedly,turning.Thebrakelightsblinkedonandoff,onandoff,andthecarbuntedattreeslightlybeforeEltonfoundtheroadout.

Richardsthoughthewouldhearthecrash,buttherewasnone.Theerraticthumpa-thumpa-thumpaoftheaircylindersgrewfainter,beatinginthedeadlyone-cylinder-flatrhythmthatwouldburnouttheothersinanhourorso.Thesoundfaded.Thentherewasnosoundatallbutthefarawaybuzzofaplane.Richardsrealizedbelatedlythathehadleftthecrutcheshehad

purchasedfordisguisepurposesinthebackofthecar.

Theconstellationswhirledindifferentlyoverhead.

Hecouldseehisbreathinsmall,frozenpuffs;itwascoldertonight.

Heturnedfromtheroadandplungedintothejungleoftheconstructionsite.

…Minus047andCOUNTING…

Hespiedapileofcast-offinsulationlyinginthebottomofacellarholeandclimbeddown,usingtheprotrudingcorerodsforhandholds.Hefoundastickandpoundedtheinsulationtoscareoutthe

rats.Hewasrewardedwithnothingbutathick,fibrousdustthatmadehimsneezeandyelpwiththepain-burstinhisbadlyusednose.Norats.Alltheratswereinthecity.Heutteredaharshbrayoflaughterthatsoundedjaggedandsplinteredinthebigdark.

Hewrappedhimselfinstripsoftheinsulationuntilhelookedlikeahumanigloo

—butitwaswarm.Heleanedbackagainstthewallandfellintoahalf-doze.

Whenherousedfully,alatemoon,nomorethanacoldscrapoflight,hungovertheeasternhorizon.Hewasstillalone.Therewerenosirens.Itmighthavebeenthreeo’clock.

Hisarmthrobbeduneasily,buttheflowofbloodhad

stoppedonitsown;hesawthisafterpullingthearmoutoftheinsulationandbrushingthefibersgentlyawayfromtheclot.TheStengunbullethadapparentlyrippedafairlylargetriangularhunkofmeatfromthesideofhisarmjustabovetheelbow.Hesupposedhewasluckythatthebullethadn’tsmashedthebone.Buthisanklethrobbedwithasteady,deepache.Thefootitselffeltstrangeand

ethereal,barelyattached.Hesupposedthebreakshouldbesplinted.

Supposing,hedozedagain.

Whenhewoke,hisheadwasclearer.Themoonhadrisenhalfwayupinthesky,buttherewasstillnosignofdawn,trueorfalse.Hewasforgettingsomething—

Itcametohiminanasty,

joltingrealization.

Hehadtomailtwotapeclipsbeforenoon,iftheyweretogettotheGamesBuildingbythesix-thirtyairtime.Thatmeanttravelingordefaultingthemoney.

ButBradleywasontherun,orcaptured.

AndEltonParrakishadnevergivenhimthe

Clevelandname.

Andhisanklewasbroken.

Somethinglarge(adeer?weren’ttheyextinctintheeast?)suddenlycrashedthroughtheunderbrushofftohisright,makinghimjump.Insulationslidoffhimlikesnakes,andhepulleditbackaroundhimselfmiserably,snufflingthroughhisbrokennose.

Hewasacity-dwellersittinginadesertedDevelopmentgonebacktothewildinthemiddleofnowhere.Thenightsuddenlyseemedaliveandmalevolent,frighteningofitsownself,fullofcrazedbumpsandcreaks.

Richardsbreathedthroughhismouth,consideringhisoptionsandtheirconsequences.

1.Donothing.Justsithereandwaitforthingstocooloff.Consequence:Themoneyhewaspilingup,ahundreddollarsanhour,wouldbecutoffatsixtonight.Hewouldberunningforfree,butthehuntwouldn’tstop,notevenifhemanagedtoavoidthemforthewholethirtydays.Thehuntwouldcontinueuntilhewascarriedoffonaboard.

2.MailtheclipstoBoston.

Itcouldn’thurtBradleyorthefamily,becausetheircoverwasalreadyblown.Consequences:(1)ThetapeswouldundoubtedlybesenttoHardingbytheHunterswatchingBradley’smail,but(2)theywouldstillbeabletotracehimdirectlytowhereverhemailedthetapesfrom,withnointerveningBostonpostmark.

3.Mailthetapesdirectlyto

theGamesBuildinginHarding.Consequences:Thehuntwouldgoon,buthewouldprobablyberecognizedinanytownbigenoughtocommandamailbox.

Theywerealllousychoices.

Thankyou,Mrs.Parrakis.Thankyou.

Hegotup,brushingthe

insulationaway,andtossedtheuselessheadbandageontopofit.Asanafterthought,heburieditintheinsulation.

Hebeganhuntingaroundforsomethingtouseasacrutch(theironyofleavingtherealcrutchesinthecarstruckhimagain),andwhenhefoundaboardthatreachedapproximatelytoarmpitheight,hethrewitoverthelipofthecellarfoundationand

begantoclimblaboriouslybackupthecorerods.

Whenhegottothetop,sweatingandshiveringsimultaneously,herealizedthathecouldseehishands.Thefirstfaintgraylightofdawnhadbeguntoprobethedarkness.HelookedlonginglyatthedesertedDevelopment,thinking:Itwouldhavemadesuchafinehidingplace—

Nogood.Hewasn’tsupposedtobeahidingman;hewasarunningman.Wasn’tthatwhatkepttheratingsup?

Acloudy,cataractlikegroundmistwascreepingslowlythroughthedenudedtrees.RichardspausedtogethisdirectionsandthenstruckofftowardthewoodsthatborderedtheabandonedSuperMallonthenorth.

Hepausedonlyoncetowraphiscoataroundthetopofhiscrutchandthencontinued.

…Minus046andCOUNTING…

IthadbeenfulldaylightfortwohoursandRichardshadalmostconvincedhimselfhewasgoingaroundinlargecircleswhenheheard,throughtherankbramblesandgroundbushesupahead,

thewhineofaircars.

Hepushedoncautiouslyandthenpeeredoutonatwo-lanemacadamhighway.Carsrushedtoandfrowithfairregularity.Aboutahalfamileup,Richardscouldmakeoutaclusterofhousesandwhatwaseitheranairstationoranoldgeneralstorewithpumpsinfront.

Hepushedon,paralleling

thehighway,fallingoveroccasionally.Hisfaceandhandswereaneedlepointofbloodfrombriarsandbrambles,andhisclotheswerestuddedwithbrownsticker-balls.Hehadgivenuptryingtobrushthemaway.Burstmilkweedpodsfloatedlightlyfrombothshoulders,makinghimlookasifhehadbeeninapillowfight.Hewaswetfromtoptotoe;hehadmadeitthroughthefirsttwo

brooks,butinthethirdhis“crutch”hadslippedonthetreacherousbottomandhehadfallenheadlong.Thecameraofcoursewasundamaged.Itwaswaterproofandshockproof.Ofcourse.

Thebushesandtreeswerethinning.Richardsgotdownonhishandsandkneesandcrawled.Whenhehadgoneasfarashethoughthesafely

could,hestudiedthesituation.

Hewasonaslightriseofland,apeninsulaofthescrubbysecond-growthweedshehadbeenwalkingthrough.Belowhimwasthehighway,anumberofranch-typehouses,andastorewithairpumps.Acarwasintherenow,beingattendedtowhilethedriver,amaninasuedewindbreaker,chattedwiththe

airjockey.Besidethestore,alongwiththreeorfourgumballmachinesandaMaryjanevendor,stoodablueandredmailbox.Itwasonlytwohundredyardsaway.Lookingatit,Richardsrealizedbitterlythatifhehadarrivedbeforefirstlighthecouldhaveprobablydonehisbusinessunseen.

Well,spiltmilkandallthat.Thebestlaidplansofmice

andmen.

Hewithdrewuntilhecouldsetuphiscameraanddohistapingwithoutbeingseen.

“Hello,allyouwonderfulpeopleoutthereinFree-Veeland,”hebegan.“ThisisjovialBenRichards,takingyouonmyannualnaturehike.Ifyoulookcloselyyoumayseethefearlessscarlettanageroragreatspeckled

cowbird.Perhapsevenayellow-belliedpigbirdortwo.”Hepaused.“Theymayletthatpartthrough,butnottherest.Ifyou’redeafandreadlips,rememberwhatI’msaying.Tellaneighbororafriend.Spreadtheword.TheNetworkispoisoningtheairyoubreatheanddenyingyoucheapprotectionbecause—”

Herecordedbothtapesandputtheminhispantspocket.

Okay.Whatnext?Theonlypossiblewaytodoitwastogodownwiththegundrawn,depositthetapes,andrun.Hecouldstealacar.Itwasn’tasiftheyweren’tgoingtoknowwherehewasanyway.

Randomly,hewonderedhowfarParrakishadgottenbeforetheycuthimdown.Hehadthegunoutandinhisfistwhenheheardthevoice,startlinglyclose,seeminglyin

hisleftear:“Comeon,Rolf!”

TherewasasuddenvolleyofbarksthatmadeRichardsjumpviolentlyandhehadjusttimetothink:Policedogs,Christ,they’vegotpolicedogs,whensomethinghugeandblackbrokecoverandarrowedathim.

ThegunwasknockedintothebrushandRichardswasonhisback.Thedogwason

topofhim,abigGermanshepherdwithagenerousstreakofmongrel,lappinghisfaceanddroolingonhisshirt.Histailflaggedbackandforthinvigoroussemaphoresofjoy.

“Rolf!HeyRolf!Rol—ohGawd!”Richardscaughtanobscuredglimpseofrunninglegsinbluejeans,andthenasmallboywasdraggingthedogaway.“Jeez,I’msorry,

mister.Jeez,hedon’tbite,he’stoodumbtobite,he’sjustfriendly,heain’t…Gawd,ain’tyouamess!Yougetlost?”

TheboywasholdingRolfbythecollarandstaringatRichardswithfrankinterest.Hewasagood-lookingboy,wellmade,perhapseleven,andtherewasnoneofthepaleandpatchedinnercitylookonhisface.Therewas

somethingsuspiciousandalieninhisfeatures,yetfamiliaralso.AfteramomentRichardsplacedit.Itwasinnocence.

“Yes,”hesaiddryly.“Igotlost.”

“Gee,yousuremusthavefallenaroundsome.”

“ThatIdid,pal.Youwanttotakeacloselookatmy

faceandseeifit’sscratchedupverybadly?Ican’tseeit,youknow.”

TheboyleanedforwardobedientlyandscannedRichards’sface.Nosignofrecognitionflickeredthere.Richardswassatisfied.

“It’sallburr-caught,”theboysaid(therewasadelicateNewEnglandtwanginhisvoice;notexactlyDownEast,

butlightlyspringy,sardonic),“butyou’lllive.”Hisbrowfurrowed.“YouescapedfromThomaston?Iknowyouain’tfromPinelandcauseyoudon’tlooklikearetard.”

“I’mnotescapedfromanywhere,”Richardssaid,wonderingifthatwasalieorthetruth.“Iwashitchhiking.Badhabit,pal.Youneverdoit,doyou?”

“Noway,”theboysaidearnestly.“There’scrazydudesrunningtheroadsthesedays.That’swhatmydadsays.”

“He’sright,”Richardssaid.“ButIjusthadtogetto…uh…”Hesnappedhisfingersinapantomimeofit-just-slipped-my-mind.“Youknow,jetport.”

“YoumustmeanVoigt

Field.”

“That’sit.”

“Jeez,that’soverahundredmilesfromhere,mister.InDerry.”

“Iknow,”Richardssaidruefully,andranahandoverRolf’sfur.Thedogrolledoverobliginglyandplayeddead.Richardsfoughtanurgetoutteramorbidchuckle.“I

pickeduparideattheNewHampshireborderwiththesethreemaggots.Realtoughguys.Theybeatmeup,stolemywalletanddumpedmeatsomedesertedshoppingcenter—”

“Yeah,Iknowthatplace.Cripes,youwannacomedowntothehouseandhavesomebreakfast?”

“I’dliketo,bucko,but

time’swasting.Ihavetogettothatjetportbytonight.”

“Yougoingtohitchanotherlift?”Theboy’seyeswereround.

“Gotto.”Richardsstartedtogetup,thensettledbackasifagreatideahadstruckhim.“Listen,domeafavor?”

“Iguessso,”theboysaidcautiously.

Richardstookoutthetwoexposedtape-clips.“Thesearechargeplatecashvouchers,”hesaidglibly.“Ifyoudroptheminamailboxforme,mycompanywillhavealumpofcashwaitingformeinDerry.ThenI’llbeonmymerryway.”

“Evenwithoutanaddress?”

“Thesegodirect,”Richardssaid.

“Sure.Okay.There’samailboxdownatJarrold’sStore.”Hegotup,hisinexperiencedfaceunabletodisguisethefactthathethoughtRichardswaslyinginhisteeth.“Comeon,Rolf.”

Helettheboygetfifteenfeetandthensaid:“No.Comehereagain.”

Theboyturnedandcamebackwithhisfeetdragging.

Therewasdreadonhisface.Ofcourse,therewereenoughholesinRichards’sstorytodriveatruckthrough.

“I’vegottotellyoueverything,Iguess,”Richardssaid.“Iwastellingyouthetruthaboutmostofit,pal.ButIdidn’twanttoriskthechancethatyoumightblab.”

ThemorningOctobersunwaswonderfullywarmonhis

backandneckandhewishedhecouldstayonthehillallday,andsleepsweetlyinfall’sfugitivewarmth.Hepulledthegunfromwhereithadfallenandletitlielooselyonthegrass.Theboy’seyeswentwide.

“Government,”Richardssaidquietly.

“Jee-zus!”Theboywhispered.Rolfsatbeside

him,hispinktonguelollingrakishlyfromthesideofhismouth.

“I’maftersomeprettyhardguys,kid.Youcanseethattheyworkedmeoverprettywell.Thoseclipsyougottherehavegottogetthrough.”

“I’llmailem,”theboysaidbreathlessly.“Jeez,wait’llItell—”

“Nobody,”Richardssaid.“Tellnobodyfortwenty-fourhours.Theremightbereprisals,”headdedominously.“Sountiltomorrowthistime,youneversawme.Understand?”

“Yeah!Sure!”

“Thengetonit.Andthanks,pal.”Heheldouthishandandtheboyshookitawefully.

Richardswatchedthemtrotdownthehill,aboyinaredplaidshirtwithhisdogcrashingjoyfullythroughthegoldenrodbesidehim.Whycan’tmyCathyhavesomethinglikethat?

Hisfacetwistedintoaterrifyingandwhollyunconsciousgrimaceofrageandhate,andhemighthavecursedGodHimselfifabettertargethadnot

interposeditselfonthedarkscreenofhismind:theGamesFederation.Andbehindthat,liketheshadowofadarkergod,theNetwork.

Hewatcheduntilhesawtheboy,madetinywithdistance,dropthetapesintothemailbox.

Thenhegotupstiffly,proppinghiscrutchunderhim,andcrashedbackinto

thebrush,anglingtowardtheroad.

Thejetport,then.Andmaybesomeoneelsewouldpaysomeduesbeforeitwasallover.

…Minus045andCOUNTING…

HehadseenanintersectionamilebackandRichardsleftthewoodsthere,makinghiswayawkwardlydownthegravelbankbetweenthewoodsandtheroad.

Hesattherelikeamanwhohasgivenuptryingtohookarideandhasdecidedtoenjoythewarmautumnsuninstead.Heletthefirsttwocarsgoby;bothofthemheldtwomen,andhefiguredtheoddsweretoohigh.

Butwhenthethirdoneapproachedthestopsign,hegotup.Theclosing-infeelingwasback.Thiswholeareahadtobehot,nomatterhow

farParrakishadgotten.Thenextcarcouldbepolice,andthatwouldbetheballgame.

Itwasawomaninthecar,andshewasalone.Shewouldnotlookathim;hitchhikersweredistastefulandthustobeignored.Herippedthepassengerdooropenandwasinevenasthecarwasacceleratingagain.Hewaspickedupandthrownsideways,onehandholding

desperatelyontothedoorjamb,hisgoodfootdragging.

Thethumpinghissofbrakes;theaircarswervedwildly.“What—who—youcan’t—”

Richardspointedthegunather,knowinghemustlookgrotesquecloseup,likeamanwhohadbeenrunthroughameatgrinder.The

fierceimagewouldworkforhim.Hedraggedhisfootinandslammedthedoor,gunneverswerving.Shewasdressedfortown,andworebluewraparoundsunglasses.Goodlookingfromwhathecouldsee.

“Wheelit,”Richardssaid.

Shedidthepredictable;slammedbothfeetonthebrakeandscreamed.Richards

wasthrownforward,hisbadanklescrapingexcruciatingly.Theaircarjudderedtoastopontheshoulder,fiftyfeetbeyondtheintersection.

“You’rethat…you’re…R-R-R—”

“BenRichards.Takeyourhandsoffthewheel.Puttheminyourlap.”

Shedidit,shuddering

convulsively.Shewouldnotlookathim.Afraid,Richardssupposed,thatshewouldbeturnedtostone.

“What’syourname,ma’am?”

“A-AmeliaWilliams.Don’tshootme.Don’tkillme,I…I…youcanhavemymoneyonlyforGod’ssakedon’tkillmeeeeeeee—”

“Shhhhh,”Richardssaidsoothingly.“Shhhhh,shhhhhh.”Whenshehadquietedalittlehesaid:“Iwon’ttrytochangeyourmindaboutme,Mrs.Williams.IsitMrs.?”

“Yes,”shesaidautomatically.

“ButIhavenointentionofharmingyou.Doyouunderstandthat?”

“Yes,”shesaid,suddenlyeager.“Youwantthecar.Theygotyourfriendandnowyouneedacar.Youcantakeit—it’sinsured—Iwon’teventell.IswearIwon’t.I’llsaysomeonestoleitintheparkinglot—”

“We’lltalkaboutit,”Richardssaid.“Begintodrive.GoupRoute1andwe’lltalkaboutit.Arethereroadblocks?”

“N—yes.Hundredsofthem.They’llcatchyou.”

“Don’tlie,Mrs.Williams.Okay?”

Shebegantodrive,erraticallyatfirst,thenmoresmoothly.Themotionseemedtosootheher.Richardsrepeatedhisquestionaboutroadblocks.

“AroundLewiston,”she

saidwithfrightenedunhappiness.“That’swheretheygotthatothermag—fellow.”

“Howfaristhat?”

“Thirtymilesormore.”

ParrakishadgottenfartherthanRichardswouldhavedreamed.

“Willyourapeme?”Amelia

WilliamsaskedsosuddenlythatRichardsalmostbarkedwithlaughter.

“No,”hesaid;then,matter-of-factly:“I’mmarried.”

“Isawher,”shesaidwithakindofsmirkingdoubtfulnessthatmadeRichardswanttosmashher.Eatgarbage,bitch.Killaratthatwashidinginthebreadbox,killitwithawhiskbroomandthen

seehowyoutalkaboutmywife.

“CanIgetoffhere?”sheaskedpleadingly,andhefeltatriflesorryforheragain.

“No,”hesaid.“You’remyprotection,Mrs.Williams.IhavetogettoVoigtField,inaplacecalledDerry.You’regoingtoseethatIgetthere.”

“That’sahundredandfifty

miles!”shewailed.

“Someoneelsetoldmeahundred.”

“Theywerewrong.You’llnevergetthroughtothere.”

“Imight,”Richardssaid,andthenlookedather.“Andsomightyou,ifyouplayitright.”

Shebegantotrembleagain

butsaidnothing.Herattitudewasthatofawomanwaitingtowakeup.

…Minus044andCOUNTING…

Theytravelednorththroughautumnburninglikeatorch.

Thetreeswerenotdeadthisfarnorth,murderedbythebig,poisonoussmokesofPortland,Manchester,and

Boston;theywereallhuesofyellow,red,brilliantstarburstpurple.TheyawokeinRichardsanachingfeelingofmelancholy.Itwasafeelingheneverwouldhavesuspectedhisemotionscouldhaveharboredonlytwoweeksbefore.Inanothermonththesnowwouldflyandcoverallofit.

Thingsendedinfall.

Sheseemedtosensehismoodandsaidnothing.Thedrivingfilledthesilencebetweenthem,lulledthem.TheypassedoverthewateratYarmouth,thentherewereonlywoodsandtrailersandmiserablepovertyshackswithouthousestackedonthesides(yetonecouldalwaysspottheFree-Veecableattachment,boltedonbelowasagging,paintlesswindowsillorbesideahinge-smashed

door,winkingandheliographinginthesun)untiltheyenteredFreeport.

Therewerethreepolicecruisersparkedjustoutsideoftown,thecopsmeetinginakindofroadsideconference.Thewomanstiffenedlikeawire,herfacedesperatelypale,butRichardsfeltcalm.

Theypassedthepolicewithoutnotice,andshe

slumped.

“Iftheyhadbeenmonitoringtraffic,theywouldhavebeenonuslikeashot,”Richardssaidcasually.“YoumightaswellpaintBENRICHARDSISINTHISCARonyourforeheadinDay-Glo.”

“Whycan’tyouletmego?”sheburstout,andinthesamebreath:“Haveyougotajay?”

RichfolksblowDokes.Thethoughtbroughtabubbleofironiclaughterandheshookhishead.

“You’relaughingatme?”sheasked,stung.“You’vegotsomenerve,don’tyou,youcowardlylittlemurderer!Scaringmehalfoutofmylife,probablyplanningtokillmethewayyoukilledthosepoorboysinBoston—”

“Therewasafullgrossofthosepoorboys,”Richardssaid.“Readytokillme.That’stheirjob.”

“Killingforpay.Readytodoanythingformoney.Wantingtooverturnthecountry.Whydon’tyoufinddecentwork?Becauseyou’retoolazy!Yourkindspitinthefaceofanythingdecent.”

“Areyoudecent?”Richards

asked.

“Yes!”Shestormed.“Isn’tthatwhyyoupickedonme?BecauseIwasdefenselessand…anddecent?Soyoucoulduseme,dragmedowntoyourlevelandthenlaughaboutit?”

“Ifyou’resodecent,howcomeyouhavesixthousandNewDollarstobuythisfancycarwhilemylittlegirldiesof

theflu?”

“What—”Shelookedstartled.Hermouthstartedtoopenandshecloseditwithasnap.“You’reanenemyoftheNetwork,”shesaid.“ItsayssoontheFree-Vee.Isawsomeofthosedisgustingthingsyoudid.”

“Youknowwhat’sdisgusting?”Richardsasked,lightingacigarettefromthe

packonthedashboard.“I’lltellyou.It’sdisgustingtogetblackballedbecauseyoudon’twanttoworkinaGeneralAtomicsjobthat’sgoingtomakeyousterile.It’sdisgustingtosithomeandwatchyourwifeearningthegrocerymoneyonherback.It’sdisgustingtoknowtheNetworkiskillingmillionsofpeopleeachyearwithairpollutantswhentheycouldbemanufacturingnosefiltersfor

sixbucksathrow.”

“Youlie,”shesaid.Herknuckleshadgonewhiteonthewheel.

“Whenthisisover,”Richardssaid,“youcangobacktoyournicesplit-levelduplexandlightupaDokeandgetstonedandlovethewayyournewsilverwaresparklesinthehighboy.Noonefightingratswith

broomhandlesinyourneighborhoodorshittingbythebackstoopbecausethetoiletdoesn’twork.Imetalittlegirlfiveyearsoldwithlungcancer.How’sthatfordisgusting?Whatdo—”

“Stop!”shescreamedathim.“Youtalkdirty!”

“That’sright,”hesaid,watchingasthecountrysideflowedby.Hopelessness

filledhimlikecoldwater.Therewasnobaseofcommunicationwiththesebeautifulchosenones.Theyexistedupwheretheairwasrare.Hehadasuddenragingurgetomakethiswomanpullover:knockhersunglassesontothegravel,dragherthroughthedirt,makehereatastone,rapeher,jumponher,knockherteethintotheairlikestartleddigits,striphernudeandaskherifshe

wasbeginningtoseethebigpicture,theonethatrunstwenty-fourhoursadayonchannelone,wherethenationalanthemneverplaysbeforethesign-off.

“That’sright,”hemuttered.“Dirty-talkingoldme.”

…Minus043andCOUNTING…

Theygotfartherthantheyhadanyrightto,Richardsfigured.TheygotallthewaytoaprettytownbytheseacalledCamdenoverahundredmilesfromwherehehadhitchedaridewith

AmeliaWilliams.

“Listen,”hesaidastheywereenteringAugusta,thestatecapital.“There’sagoodchancethey’llsniffushere.Ihavenointerestinkillingyou.Digit?”

“Yes,”shesaid.Then,withbrighthate:“Youneedahostage.”

“Right.Soifacoppullsout

behindus,youpullover.Immediately.Youopenyourdoorandleanout.Justlean.Yourfannyisnottoleavethatseat.Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Youholler:BenjaminRichardsisholdingmehostage.Ifyoudon’tgivehimfreepassagehe’llkillme.”

“Andyouthinkthatwillwork?”

“Itbetter,”hesaidwithtensemockery.“It’syourass.”

Shebitherlipandsaidnothing.

“It’llwork.Ithink.Therewillbeadozenfree-lancecameramenaroundinnotime,hopingtogetsome

GamesmoneyoreventheZapruderAwarditself.Withthatkindofpublicity,they’llhavetoplayitstraight.Sorryyouwon’tgettoseeusgooutinahailofbulletssotheycantalkaboutyousanctimoniouslyasBenRichards’slastvictim.”

“Whydoyousaythesethings?”sheburstout.

Hedidn’treply;onlyslid

downinhisseatuntiljustthetopofhisheadshowedandwaitedforthebluelightsintherear-viewmirror.

ButtherewerenobluelightsinAugusta.Theycontinuedonforanotherhourandahalf,skirtingtheoceanasthesunbegantowester,catchinglittleglintsandpeaksofthewater,acrossfieldsandbeyondbridgesandthroughheavyfirs.

Itwaspasttwoo’clockwhentheyroundedabendnotfarfromtheCamdentownlineandsawaroadblock;twopolicecarsparkedoneithersideoftheroad.Twocopswerecheckingafarmerinanoldpick-upandwavingitthrough.

“Goanothertwohundredfeetandthenstop,”Richardssaid.“DoitjustthewayItoldyou.”

Shewaspallidbutseeminglyincontrol.Resigned,maybe.Sheappliedthebrakesevenlyandtheaircarcametoaneatstopinthemiddleoftheroadfiftyfeetfromthecheckpoint.

Thetrooperholdingtheclipboardwavedherforwardimperiously.Whenshedidn’tcome,heglancedinquiringlyathiscompanion.Athirdcop,whohadbeensitting

insideoneofthecruiserswithhisfeetup,suddenlygrabbedthehandmikeunderthedashandbegantospeakrapidly.

Herewego,Richardsthought.OhGod,herewego.

…Minus042andCOUNTING…

Thedaywasverybright(theconstantrainofHardingseemedlight-yearsaway)andeverythingwasverysharpandclearlydefined.Thetroopers’shadowsmighthavebeendrawnwithblack

Crayolas.Theywereunhookingthenarrowstrapsthatcrossedtheirgunbutts.

Mrs.Williamsswungopenthedoorandleanedout.“Don’tshoot,please,”shesaid,andforthefirsttimeRichardsrealizedhowculturedhervoicewas,howrich.Shemighthavebeeninadrawingroomexceptforthepallidknucklesandthefluttering,birdlikepulsein

herthroat.Withthedooropenhecouldsmellthefresh,invigoratingodorofpineandtimothygrass.

“Comeoutofthecarwithyourhandsoveryourhead,”thecopwiththeclipboardsaid.Hesoundedlikeawell-programmedmachine.GeneralAtomicsModel6925–A9,Richardsthought.TheHicksvilleTrooper.16-psmIridiumBatteries

included.ComesinWhiteOnly.“Youandyourpassenger,ma’am.Weseehim.”

“MynameisAmeliaWilliams,”shesaidveryclearly.“Ican’tgetoutasyouask.BenjaminRichardsisholdingmehostage.Ifyoudon’tgivehimfreepassage,hesayshe’llkillme.”

Thetwocopslookedateach

other,andsomethingbarelyperceptiblepassedbetweenthem.Richards,withhisnervesstrunguptoapointwhereheseemedtobeoperatingwithaseventhsense,caughtit.

“Drive!”hescreamed.

Shestaredaroundathim,bewildered.“Buttheywon’t—”

Theclipboardclatteredtotheroad.Thetwocopsfellintothekneelingposturealmostsimultaneously,gunsout,grippedinrighthands,lefthandsholdingrightwrists.Oneoneachsideofthesolidwhiteline.

Thesheetsofflimsyontheclipboardflutterederrantly.

RichardstrompedhisbadfootonAmeliaWilliams’s

rightshoe,hislipsdrawingbackintoatragedymaskofpainasthebrokenanklegrated.Theaircarrippedforward.

Thenextmomenttwohollowpunchingnoisesstruckthecar,makingitvibrate.Amomentlaterthewindshieldblewin,splatteringthembothwithbitsofsafetyglass.Shethrewbothhandsuptoprotecther

faceandRichardsleanedsavagelyagainsther,swingingthewheel.

Theyshotthroughthegapbetweentheveedcarswithscarcelyaflirtofthereardeck.Hecaughtacrazyglimpseofthetrooperswhirlingtofireagainandthenhiswholeattentionwasontheroad.

Theymountedarise,and

thentherewasonemorehollowthunnn!asabulletsmashedaholeinthetrunk.ThecarbegantofishtailandRichardshungon,whippingthewheelindiminishingarcs.HerealizeddimlythatWilliamswasscreaming.

“Steer!”heshoutedather.“Steer,goddammit!Steer!Steer!”

Herhandsgroped

reflexivelyforthewheelandfoundit.Heletgoandbattedthedarkglassesawayfromhereyeswithanopenhandedblow.Theyhungononeearforamomentandthendroppedoff.

“Pullover!”

“Theyshotatus.”Hervoicebegantorise.“Theyshotatus.Theyshotat—”

“Pullover!”

Thescreamofsirensrosebehindthem.

Shepulledoverclumsily,sendingthecararoundinashudderinghalf-turnthatspumedgravelintotheair.

“Itoldthemandtheytriedtokillus,”shesaidwonderingly.“Theytriedtokillus.”

Buthewasoutalready,outandhoppingclumsilybackthewaytheyhadcome,gunout.Helosthisbalanceandfellheavily,scrapingbothknees.

Whenthefirstcruisercameovertherisehewasinasittingpositionontheshoulderoftheroad,thepistolheldfirmlyatshoulderlevel.Thecarwasdoingeightyeasily,andstill

accelerating;somebackroadcowboyatthewheelwithtoomuchengineupfrontandvisionsofgloryinhiseyes.Theyperhapssawhim,perhapstriedtostop.Itdidn’tmatter.Therewerenobulletprooftiresonthese.TheoneclosesttoRichardsexplodedasiftherehadbeendynamiteinside.Thecruisertookofflikeabig-assbird,gunningacrosstheshoulderinhowling,uncontrolled

flight.Itcrashedintotheholeofahugeelm.Thedriver’ssidedoorflewoff.Thedriverrammedthroughthewindshieldlikeatorpedoandflewthirtyyardsbeforecrashingintothepuckerbrush.

Thesecondcarcamealmostasfast,andittookRichardsfourshotstofindatire.Twoslugssplatteredsandnexttohisspot.Thisoneslidaround

inasmokinghalf-turnandrolledthreetimes,sprayingglassandmetal.

Richardsstruggledtohisfeet,lookeddownandsawhisshirtdarkeningslowlyjustabovethebelt.Hehoppedbacktowardtheaircar,andthendroppedonhisfaceasthesecondcruiserexploded,spewingshrapnelaboveandaroundhim.

Hegotup,pantingandmakingstrangewhimperingnoisesinhismouth.Hissidehadbeguntothrobinslow,achingcycles.

Shecouldhavegottenaway,perhaps,butshehadmadenoeffort.Shewasstaring,transfixed,attheburningpolicecarintheroad.WhenRichardsgotin,sheshrankfromhim.

“Youkilledthem.Youkilledthosemen.”

“Theytriedtokillme.Youtoo.Drive.Fast.”

“THEYDIDNOTTRYTOKILLME!”

“Drive!”

Shedrove.

Themaskofthewell-to-do

younghausfrauonherwaybackfromthemarketnowhungintattersandshreds.Beneathitwassomethingfromthecave,somethingwithtwitchinglipsandrollingeyes.Perhapsithadbeenthereallalong.

Theydroveaboutfivemilesandcametoaroadsidestoreandairstation.

“Pullin,”Richardssaid.

…Minus041andCOUNTING…

“Getout.”

“No.”

Hejammedthegunagainstherrightbreastandshewhimpered.“Don’t.Please.”

“I’msorry.Butthere’snomoretimeforyoutoplayprimadonna.Getout.”

Shegotoutandheslidafterher.

“Letmeleanonyou.”

Heslunganarmaroundhershouldersandpointedwiththegunatthetelephoneboothbesidetheicedispenser.Theybeganshufflingtowardit,a

grotesquetwo-manvaudevilleteam.Richardshoppedonhisgoodfoot.Hefelttired.Inhismindhesawthecarscrashing,thebodyflyinglikeatorpedo,theleapingexplosion.Thesescenesplayedoverandoveragain,likeacontinuousloopoftape.

Thestore’sproprietor,anoldpalwithwhitehairandscrawnylegshiddenbya

dirtybutcher’sapron,cameoutandstaredatthemwithworriedeyes.

“Hey,”hesaidmildly.“Idon’twantyouhere.Igotafam’ly.Godowntheroad.PleaseIdon’twantnotrouble.”

“Goinside,pop,”Richardssaid.Themanwent.

Richardsslidlooselyinto

thebooth,breathingthroughhismouth,andfumbledfiftycentsintothecoinhorn.Holdingthegunandreceiverinonehand,hepunchedO.

“Whatexchangeisthis,operator?”

“Rockland,sir.”

“Putmethroughtothelocalnewsiehookup,please.”

“Youmaydialthat,sir.Thenumberis—”

“Youdialit.”

“Doyouwish—”

“Justdialit!”

“Yes,sir,”shesaid,unruffled.TherewereclicksandpopsinRichards’sear.Bloodhaddarkenedhisshirttoadirtypurplecolor.He

lookedawayfromit.Itmadehimfeelill.

“RocklandNewsie,”avoicesaidinRichards’sear.“Free-VeeTabloidNumber6943.”

“ThisisBenRichards.”

Therewasalongsilence.Then:“Look,maggot,Ilikeajokeaswellasthenextguy,butthishasbeenalong,hardd—”

“Shutup.You’regoingtogetconfirmationofthisintenminutesattheoutside.Youcangetitnowifyou’vegotapolicebandradio.”

“I…justasecond.”Therewastheclunkofadroppingphoneontheotherend,andafaintwailingsound.Whenthephonewaspickedup,thevoicewashardandbusinesslike,withanundercurrentofexcitement.

“Whereareyou,fella?HalfthecopsineasternMainejustwentthroughRockland…ataboutahundredandten.”

Richardscranedhisneckatthesignoverthestore.“AplacecalledGilly’sTownLineStore&AirstoponU.S.1.Youknowit?”

“Yeah.Just—”

“Listentome,maggot.I

didn’tcalltogiveyoumylifestory.Getsomephotogsouthere.Quick.Andgetthisontheair.RedNewsbreakTop.I’vegotahostage.HernameisAmeliaWilliams.From—”Helookedather.

“Falmouth,”shesaidmiserably.

“FromFalmouth.SafeconductorI’llkillher.”

“Jesus,IsmellthePulitzerPrize!”

“No,youjustshityourpants,that’sall,”Richardssaid.Hefeltlightheaded.“Yougetthewordout.IwanttheStatePigstofindouteveryoneknowsI’mnotalone.Threeofthemataroadblocktriedtoblowusup.”

“Whathappenedtothe

cops!”

“Ikilledthem.”

“Allthree?Hotdamn!”Thevoice,pulledawayfromthephone,yelleddistantly:“Dicky,openthenationalcable!”

“I’mgoingtokillheriftheyshoot,”Richardssaid,simultaneouslytryingtoinjectsincerityintohisvoice

andtorememberalltheoldgangstermovieshehadseenontee-veeasakid.“Iftheywanttosavethegirl,theybetterletmethrough.”

“When—”

Richardshungupandhoppedclumsilyoutofthebooth.“Helpme.”

Sheputanarmaroundhim,grimacingattheblood.“See

whatyou’regettingyourselfinto?”

“Yes.”

“Thisismadness.You’regoingtobekilled.”

“Drivenorth,”hemumbled.“Justdrivenorth.”

Heslidintothecar,breathinghard.Theworldinsistedongoinginandout.

High,atonalmusicjangledinhisears.Shepulledoutandontotheroad.Hisbloodhadsmearedonhersmartgreenandblack-stripedblouse.Theoldman,Gilly,crackedthescreendooropenandpokedoutaveryoldPolaroidcamera.Heclickedtheshutter,pulledthetape,andwaited.Hisfacewaspaintedwithhorrorandexcitementanddelight.

Inthedistance,risingandconverging,sirens.

…Minus040andCOUNTING…

Theytraveledfivemilesbeforepeoplebeganrunningoutontotheirlawnstowatchthempass.ManyhadcamerasandRichardsrelaxed.

“Theywereshootingatthe

aircapsatthatroadblock,”shesaidquietly.“Itwasamistake.That’swhatitwas.Amistake.”

“Ifthatmaggotwasaimingforanaircapwhenheputoutthewindshield,theremusthavebeenasightonthatpistolthreefeethigh.”

“Itwasamistake!”

Theywereenteringthe

residentialdistrictofwhatRichardsassumedwasRockland.Summerhomes.Dirtroadsleadingdowntobeachfrontcottages.BreezeInn.PrivateRoad.JustMe’nPatty.KeepOut.Elizabeth’sRest.TrespassersWillBeShot.Cloud-Hi.5000Volts.Set-A-Spell.GuardDogsonPatrol.

Unhealthyeyesandavidfacespeeringatthemfrom

behindtrees,likeCheshirecats.Theblareofbattery-poweredFree-Veescamethroughtheshatteredwindshield.

Acrazy,weirdairofcarnivalabouteverything.

“Thesepeople,”Richardssaid,“onlywanttoseesomeonebleed.Themorethebetter.Theywouldjustassoonitwasbothofus.Can

youbelievethat?”

“No.”

“ThenIsaluteyou.”

Anoldermanwithsilverybarbershophair,wearingmadrasshortsthatcamedownoverhisknees,ranouttotheedgeoftheroad.Hewascarryingahugecamerawithacobraliketelephotolens.Hebegansnapping

pictureswildly,bendinganddipping.Hislegswerefish-bellywhite.RichardsburstintoasuddenbrayoflaughterthatmadeAmeliajump.

“What—”

“He’sstillgotthelenscoveron,”Richardssaid.“He’sstillgot—”Butlaughterovercamehim.

Carscrowdedtheshoulders

astheytoppedalong,slowlyrisinghillandbegantodescendtowardtheclusteredtownofRocklanditself.Perhapsithadoncebeenapicturesqueseacoastfishingvillage,fullofWinslowHomermeninyellowrain-slickerswhowentoutinsmallboatstotrapthewilylobster.Ifso,itwaslonggone.Therewasahugeshoppingcenteroneithersideoftheroad.Amainstreet

stripofhonky-tonks,bars,andAutoSlotemporiums.Therewereneatmiddle-classhomesoverlookingthemaindragfromtheheights,andagrowingslumlookingupfromtherancidedgeofthewater.Theseaatthehorizonwasyetunchanged.Itglitteredblueandageless,fullofdancingpointsandnetsoflightinthelateafternoonsun.

Theybeganthedescent,and

thereweretwopolicecarsparkedacrosstheroad.Thebluelightsflick-flick-flickedjaggedly,crazyandoutofsyncwitheachother.Parkedatanangleontheleftembankmentwasanarmoredcarwithashort,stubbycannonbarreltrackingthem.

“You’redone,”shesaidsoftly,almostregretfully.“DoIhavetodie,too?”

“Stopfiftyyardsfromtheroadblockanddoyourstuff,”Richardssaid.Hesliddownintheseat.Anervousticstitchedhisface.

Shestoppedandopenedthecardoor,butdidnotleanout.Theairwasdeadsilent.Ahushfallsoverthecrowd,Richardsthoughtironically.

“I’mscared,”shesaid.“Please.I’msoscared.”

“Theywon’tshootyou,”hesaid.“Therearetoomanypeople.Youcan’tkillhostagesunlessnooneiswatching.Thosearetherulesofthegame.”

Shelookedathimforamoment,andhesuddenlywishedtheycouldhaveacupofcoffeetogether.Hewouldlistencarefullytoherconversationandstirrealcreamintohishotdrink—her

treat,ofcourse.Thentheycoulddiscussthepossibilitiesofsocialinequity,thewayyoursocksalwaysfalldownwhenyou’rewearingrubberboots,andtheimportanceofbeingearnest.

“Goon,Mrs.Williams,”hesaidwithsoft,tensemockery.“Theeyesoftheworldareuponyou.”

Sheleanedout.

Sixpolicecarsandanotherarmoredvanhadpulledupthirtyfeetbehindthem,blockingtheirretreat.

Hethought:Nowtheonlywayoutisstraightuptoheaven.

…Minus039andCOUNTING…

“MynameisAmeliaWilliams.BenjaminRichardsisholdingmehostage.Ifyoudon’tgiveussafeconduct,hesayshe’llkillme.”

Silenceforamomentso

completethatRichardscouldhearthefarawayhonkofsomedistantyacht’sairhorn.

Then,asexual,blaring,amplified:“WEWANTTOTALKTOBENRICHARDS.”

“No,”Richardssaidswiftly.

“Hesayshewon’t.”

“COMEOUTOFTHE

CAR,MADAM.”

“He’llkillme!”shecriedwildly.“Don’tyoulisten?Somemenalmostkilledusbackthere!Hesaysyoudon’tcarewhoyoukill.MyGod,isheright?”

Ahoarsevoiceinthecrowdyelled“Letherthrough!”

“COMEOUTOFTHECARORWE’LLSHOOT.”

“Letherthrough!Letherthrough!”Thecrowdhadtakenupthechantlikeeagerfansatakillballmatch.

“COMEOUT—”

Thecrowddrowneditout.Fromsomewhere,arockflew.Apolicecarwindshieldstaredintoamatrixofcracks.

Therewassuddenlyarevofmotors,andthetwocruisers

begantopullapart,openinganarrowslotofpavement.Thecrowdcheeredhappilyandthenfellsilent,waitingforthenextact.

“ALLCIVILIANSLEAVETHEAREA,”thebullhornchanted.“THEREMAYBESHOOTING.ALLCIVILIANSLEAVETHEAREAORYOUMAYBECHARGEDWITHOBSTRUCTIONAND

UNLAWFULASSEMBLY.THEPENALTYFOROBSTRUCTIONANDUNLAWFULASSEMBLYISTENYEARSINTHESTATEPENITENTIARYORAFINEOFTENTHOUSANDDOLLARSORBOTH.CLEARTHEAREA.CLEARTHEAREA.”

“Yeah,sonoone’llseeyoushootthegirl!”ahystericalvoiceyelled.“Screwall

pigs!”

Thecrowddidn’tmove.Ayellowandblacknewsie-mobilehadpulledupwithaflashyscreech.Twomenjumpedoutandbegansettingupacamera.

Twocopsrushedoverandtherewasashort,savagescuffleforthepossessionofthecamera.Thenoneofthecopsyankeditfree,pickedit

upbythetripod,andsmasheditontheroad.Oneofthenewsmentriedtoreachthecopthathaddoneitandwasclubbed.

Asmallboydartedoutofthecrowdandfiredarockatthebackofacop’shead.Bloodsplatteredtheroadasthecopfellover.Ahalf-dozenmoredescendedontheboy,bearinghimoff.Incredibly,smallandsavage

fistfightshadbegunonthesidelinesbetweenthewell-dressedtownfolkandtherattierslum-dwellers.Awomaninarippedandfadedhousedresssuddenlydescendedonaplumpmatronandbegantopullherhair.Theyfellheavilytotheroadandbegantorollonthemacadam,kickingandscreaming.

“MyGod,”Ameliasaid

sickly.

“What’shappening?”Richardsasked.Hedaredlooknohigherthantheclockonthedashboard.

“Fights.Policehittingpeople.Someonebrokeanewsie’scamera.”

“GIVEUP,RICHARDS.COMEOUT.”

“Driveon,”Richardssaidsoftly.

Theaircarjerkedforwarderratically.“They’llshootfortheaircaps,”shesaid.“Thenwaituntilyouhavetocomeout.”

“Theywon’t,”Richardssaid.

“Why?”

“They’retoodumb.”

Theydidn’t.

Theyproceededslowlypasttherankedpolicecarsandthebug-eyedspectators.Theyhadsplitthemselvesintotwogroupsinunconscioussegregation.Ononesideoftheroadwerethemiddle-andupper-classcitizens,theladieswhohadtheirhairdoneatthebeautyparlor,themen

whoworeArrowshirtsandloafers.Fellowswearingcoverallswithcompanynamesonthebackandtheirownnamesstitchedingoldthreadoverthebreastpockets.WomenlikeAmeliaWilliamsherself,dressedforthemarketandtheshops.Theirfacesweredifferentinallwaysbutsimilarinone:Theylookedoddlyincomplete,likepictureswithholesforeyesorajigsaw

puzzlewithaminorpiecemissing.Itwasalackofdesperation.Richardsthought.Nowolveshowledinthesebellies.Thesemindswerenotfilledwithrotted,crazeddreamsormadhopes.

Thesepeoplewereontherightsideoftheroad,thesidethatfacedthecombinationmarinaandcountryclubtheywerejustpassing.

Ontheotherside,theleft,werethepoorpeople.Rednoseswithburstveins.Flattened,saggingbreasts.Stringyhair.Whitesocks.Coldsores.Pimples.Theblankandhangingmouthsofidiocy.

Thepoliceweredeployedmoreheavilyhere,andmorewerecomingallthetime.Richardswasnotsurprisedattheswiftnessandthe

heavinessoftheircrunch,despitethesuddennessofhisappearance.Evenhere,inBoondocks,U.S.A.,theclubandthegunwerekeptneartohand.Thedogswerekepthungryinthekennel.Thepoorbreakintosummercottagesclosedforautumnandwinter.Thepoorcrashsupermartsinsubteengangs.Thepoorhavebeenknowntosoapbadlyspelledobscenitiesonshopwindows.Thepoor

alwayshaveitchyassholesandthesightofNaugahydeandchromeandtwo-hundred-dollarsuitsandfatbellieshavebeenknowntomakethemouthsofthepoorfillwithangryspit.AndthepoormusthavetheirJackJohnson,theirMuhammadAli,theirClydeBarrow.Theystoodandwatched.

Hereontheright,folks,wehavethesummerpeople,

Richardsthought.Fatandsloppybutheavywitharmor.Ontheleft,weighinginatonlyahundredandthirty—butascrappycontenderwithameanandrollingeyeball—wehavetheHungryHonkies.Theirsarethepoliticsofstarvation;they’drollChristHimselfforapoundofsalami.PolarizationcomestoWestSticksville.Watchoutforthesetwocontenders,though.Theydon’tstayinthe

ring;theyhaveatendencytofightintheten-dollarseats.Canwefindagoattohangupforbothofthem?

Slowly,rollingatthirty,BenRichardspassedbetweenthem.

…Minus038andCOUNTING…

Anhourpassed.Itwasfouro’clock.Shadowscrawledacrosstheroad.

Richards,slumpeddownbeloweyelevelinhisseat,floatedinandoutof

consciousnesseffortlessly.Hehadclumsilypulledhisshirtoutofhispantstolookatthenewwound.Thebullethaddugadeepanduglycanalinhissidethathadbledagreatdeal.Thebloodhadclotted,butgrudgingly.Whenhehadtomovequicklyagain,thewoundwouldripopenandbleedagreatdealmore.Didn’tmatter.Theyweregoingtoblowhimup.Inthefaceofthismassivearmory,

hisplanwasajoke.Hewouldgoaheadwithit,fillintheblanksuntiltherewasan“accident”andtheaircarwasblownintobentboltsandshardsofmetal(“…terribleaccident…thetrooperhasbeensuspendedpendingafullinvestigation…regretthelossofinnocentlife…”—allthisburiedinthelastnewsieoftheday,betweenthestock-marketreportandthePope’slatestpronouncement),butit

wasonlyreflex.HehadbecomeincreasinglyworriedaboutAmeliaWilliams,whosebigmistakehadbeenpickingWednesdaymorningtodohermarketing.

“Therearetanksoutthere,”shesaidsuddenly.Hervoicewaslight,chatty,hysterical.“Canyouimagineit?Canyou—”Shebegantocry.

Richardswaited.Finally,he

said:“Whattownarewein?”

“W-W-Winterport,thesigns-said.Oh,Ican’t!Ican’twaitforthemtodoit!Ican’t!”

“Okay,”hesaid.

Sheblinkedslowly,givinganinfinitesimalshakeofherheadasiftoclearit.“What?”

“Stop.Getout.”

“Butthey’llkilly—”

“Yes.Buttherewon’tbeanyblood.Youwon’tseeanyblood.They’vegotenoughfirepowerouttheretovaporizemeandthecar,too.”

“You’relying.You’llkillme.”

Thegunhadbeendanglingbetweenhisknees.Hedroppeditonthefloor.It

clunkedharmlesslyontherubberfloor-mat.

“Iwantsomepot,”shesaidmindlessly.“OhGod,Iwanttobehigh.Whydidn’tyouwaitforthenextcar?Jesus!Jesus!”

Richardsbegantolaugh.Helaughedinwheezy,shallow-chestedheavesthatstillhurthisside.Heclosedhiseyesandlaugheduntiltearsoozed

outfromunderthelids.

“It’scoldinherewiththatbrokenwindshield,”shesaidirrelevantly.“Turnontheheater.”

Herfacewasapaleblotchintheshadowsoflateafternoon.

…Minus037andCOUNTING…

“We’reinDerry,”shesaid.

Thestreetswereblackwithpeople.Theyhungoverroofledgesandsatonbalconiesandverandahsfromwhichthesummerfurniturehad

beenremoved.Theyatesandwichesandfriedchickenfromgreasybuckets.

“Aretherejetportsigns?”

“Yes.I’mfollowingthem.They’lljustclosethegates.”

“I’lljustthreatentokillyouagainiftheydo.”

“Areyougoingtoskyjackaplane?”

“I’mgoingtotry.”

“Youcan’t.”

“I’msureyou’reright.”

Theymadearight,thenaleft.Bullhornsexhortedthecrowdmonotonouslytomoveback,todisperse.

“Isshereallyyourwife?Thatwomaninthepictures?”

“Yes.HernameisSheila.Ourbaby,Cathy,isayearandahalfold.Shehadtheflu.Maybeshe’sbetternow.That’showIgotintothis.”

Ahelicopterbuzzedthem,leavingahugearachnidshadowontheroadahead.AgrosslyamplifiedvoiceexhortedRichardstoletthewomango.Whenitwasgoneandtheycouldspeakagain,shesaid:

“Yourwifelookslikealittletramp.Shecouldtakebettercareofherself.”

“Thepicturewasdoctored,”Richardssaidtonelessly.

“Theywoulddothat?”

“Theywoulddothat.”

“Thejetport.We’recominguptoit.”

“Arethegatesshut?”

“Ican’tsee…wait…openbutblocked.Atank.It’spointingitsshooteratus.”

“Drivetowithinthirtyfeetofitandstop.”

Thecarcrawledslowlydownthefour-laneaccessroadbetweentheparkedpolicecars,betweentheceaselessscreamandbabble

ofthecrowd.Asignloomedoverthem:VOIGTAIRFIELD.Thewomancouldseeanelectrifiedcyclonefencewhichcrossedamarshy,worthlesssortoffieldonbothsidesoftheroad.Straightaheadwasacombinationinformationboothandcheck-inpointonatrafficisland.Beyondthatwasthemaingate,blockedbyanA-62tankcapableoffiringone-quarter-megaton

shellsfromitscannon.Fartheron,aconfusionofroadsandparkinglots,alltendingtowardthecomplexjetlineterminalsthatblockedtherunwaysfromview.AhugecontroltowerbulkedovereverythinglikeanH.G.WellsMartian,thewesteringsunglaringoffitspolarizedbankofwindowsandturningthemtofire.Employeesandpassengersalikehadcrowdeddowntothenearestparking

lotwheretheywerebeingheldbackbymorepolice.Therewasapulsing,heavywhineintheirears,andAmeliasawasteel-grayLockheed/G-ASuperbirdrisingintoaflat,powerfulclimbfromoneoftherunwaysbehindthemainbuildings.

“RICHARDS!”

Shejumpedandlookedat

him,frightened.Hewavedhishandathernonchalantly.It’sallright,Ma.I’monlydying.

“YOU’RENOTALLOWEDINSIDE,”thehugeamplifiedvoiceadmonishedhim.“LETTHEWOMANGO.STEPOUT.”

“Whatnow?”sheasked.“It’sastand-off.They’lljustwaituntil—”

“Let’spushthemalittlefarther,”Richardssaid.“They’llbluffalongalittlemore.Leanout.TellthemI’mhurtandhalf-crazy.TellthemIwanttogiveuptotheAirlinePolice.”

“Youwanttodowhat?”

“TheAirlinePoliceareneitherstateenforcementnorfederal.They’vebeeninternationaleversincethe

UNtreatyof1995.Thereusedtobeastorythatifyougaveuptothem,you’dgetamnesty.SortoflikelandingonFreeParkinginMonopoly.Fullofshit,ofcourse.TheyturnyouovertotheHuntersandtheHuntersdragyououtinbackofthebarn.”

Shewinced.

“Butmaybethey’llthinkIbelieveit.OrthatI’vefooled

myselfintobelievingit.Goaheadandtellthem.”

SheleanedoutandRichardstensed.Iftherewasgoingtobean“unfortunateaccident”whichwouldremoveAmeliafromthepicture,itwouldprobablyhappennow.Herheadandupperbodywereclearlyandcleanlyexposedtoathousandguns.Onesqueezeononetriggerandtheentirefarcewouldcome

toaquickend.

“BenRichardswantstogiveuptotheAirlinePolice!”shecried.“He’sshotintwoplaces!”Shethrewaterrifiedglanceoverhershoulderandhervoicebroke,highandclearinthesuddensilencethediminishingjethadleft.“He’sbeenoutofhismindhalfthetimeandGodI’msofrightened…please…please…PLEASE!”

Thecameraswererecordingitall,sendingitonalivefeedthatwouldbebroadcastalloverNorthAmericaandhalftheworldinamatterofminutes.Thatwasgood.Thatwasfine.Richardsfelttensionstiffenhislimbsagainandknewhewasbeginningtohope.

Silenceforamoment;therewasaconferencegoingonbehindthecheck-pointbooth.

“Verygood,”Richardssaidsoftly.

Shelookedathim.“Doyouthinkit’shardtosoundfrightened?We’renotinthistogether,whateveryouthink.Ionlywantyoutogoaway.”

Richardsnoticedforthefirsttimehowperfectherbreastswerebeneaththebloodstainedblackandgreenblouse.Howperfectandhow

precious.

Therewasasudden,grindingroarandshescreamedaloud.

“It’sthetank,”hesaid.“It’sokay.Justthetank.”

“It’smoving,”shesaid.“They’regoingtoletusin.”

“RICHARDS!YOUWILLPROCEEDTOLOT16.

AIRLINEPOLICEWILLBEWAITINGTHERETOTAKEYOUINTOCUSTODY!”

“Allright,”hesaidthinly.“Driveon.Whenyougetahalfamileinsidethegate,stop.”

“You’regoingtogetmekilled,”shesaidhopelessly.“AllIneedtodoisusethebathroomandyou’regoingto

getmekilled.”

Theaircarliftedfourinchesandhummedsmoothlyforward.Richardscrouchedgoingthroughthegate,anticipatingapossibleambush,buttherewasnone.Thesmoothblacktopcurvedsedatelytowardthemainbuildings.AsignwithapointingarrowinformedthemthatthiswasthewaytoLots16–20.

Herethepolicewerestandingandkneelingbehindyellowbarricades.

Richardsknewthatattheslightestsuspiciousmove,theywouldteartheaircarapart.

“Nowstop,”hesaid,andshedid.

Thereactionwasinstantaneous.“RICHARDS!

MOVEIMMEDIATELYTOLOT16!”

“TellthemthatIwantabullhorn,”Richardssaidsoftlytoher.“Theyaretoleaveoneintheroadtwentyyardsup.Iwanttotalktothem.”

Shecriedhismessage,andthentheywaited.Amomentlater,amaninablueuniformtrottedoutintotheroadand

laidanelectricbullhorndown.Hestoodthereforamoment,perhapssavoringtherealizationthathewasbeingseenbyfivehundredmillionpeople,andthenwithdrewtobarricadedanonymityagain.

“Goahead,”hetoldher.

Theycreptuptothebullhorn,andwhenthedriver’ssidedoorwasevenwithit,sheopenedthedoor

andpulleditin.Itwasredandwhite.ThelettersGandA,embossedoverathunderbolt,wereontheside.

“Okay,”hesaid.“Howfararewefromthemainbuilding?”

Shesquinted.“Aquarterofamile,Iguess.”

“HowfararewefromLot16?”

“Halfthat.”

“Good.That’sgood.Yeah.”Herealizedhewascompulsivelybitinghislipsandtriedtomakehimselfstop.Hisheadhurt;hisentirebodyachedfromadrenaline.“Keepdriving.GouptotheentranceofLot16andthenstop.”

“Thenwhat?”

Hesmiledtightlyandunhappily.“That,”hesaid,“isgoingtobethesiteofRichards’sLastStand.”

…Minus036andCOUNTING…

Whenshestoppedthecarattheentranceoftheparkinglot,thereactionwasquickandimmediate.“KEEPMOVING,”thebullhornprodded.“THEAIRPORTPOLICEAREINSIDE.AS

SPECIFIED.”

Richardsraisedhisownbullhornforthefirsttime.“TENMINUTES,”hesaid.“IHAVETOTHINK.”

Silenceagain.

“Don’tyourealizeyou’repushingthemtodoit?”sheaskedhiminastrange,controlledvoice.

Heutteredaweird,squeezedgigglethatsoundedlikesteamunderhighpressureescapingfromateapot.“TheyknowI’mgettingsettoscrewthem.Theydon’tknowhow.”

“Youcan’t,”shesaid.“Don’tyouseethatyet?”

“MaybeIcan,”hesaid.

…Minus035andCOUNTING…

“Listen:

“WhentheGamesfirststarted,peoplesaidtheyweretheworld’sgreatestentertainmentbecausetherehadneverbeenanythinglike

them.Butnothing’sthatoriginal.TherewerethegladiatorsinRomewhodidthesamething.Andthere’sanothergame,too.Poker.Inpokerthehighesthandisaroyalstraight-flushinspades.Andthetoughestkindofpokerisfive-cardstud.Fourcardsuponthetableandoneinthehole.Fornickelsanddimesanyonecanstayinthegame.Itcostsyoumaybehalfabucktoseetheotherguy’s

holecard.Butwhenyoupushthestakesup,theholecardstartstolookbiggerandbigger.Afteradozenroundsofbetting,withyourlife’ssavingsandcarandhouseontheline,thatholecardstandstallerthanMountEverest.TheRunningManislikethat.OnlyI’mnotsupposedtohaveanymoneytobetwith.They’vegotthemen,thefirepower,andthetime.We’replayingwiththeir

cardsandtheirchipsintheircasino.WhenI’mcaught,I’msupposedtofold.ButmaybeIstackedthedeckabit.IcalledthenewsielineinRockland.Thenewsies,that’smytenofspades.Theyhadtogivemesafeconduct,becauseeveryonewaswatching.Therewerenomorechancesforneatdisposalafterthatfirstroadblock.It’sfunny,too,becauseit’stheFree-VeethatgivestheNetworkthe

cloutthatithas.IfyouseeitontheFree-Vee,itmustbetrue.Soifthewholecountrysawthepolicemurdermyhostage—awell-to-do,middle-classfemalehostage—theywouldhavetobelieveit.Theycan’triskit;thesystemislaboringundertoomuchsuspensionofbeliefnow.Funny,huh?Mypeoplearehere.There’sbeentroubleontheroadalready.IfthetroopersandtheHuntersturn

alltheirgunsonus,somethingnastymighthappen.Amantoldmetostaynearmyownpeople.Hewasmorerightthanheknew.Oneofthereasonsthey’vebeenhandlingmewiththekidglovesonisbecausemypeoplearehere.

“Mypeople,they’rethejackofspades.

“Thequeen,theladyinthe

affair,isyou.

“I’mtheking;theblackmanwiththesword.

“Thesearemyupcards.Themedia,thepossibilityofrealtrouble,you,me.Togetherthey’renothing.Apairwilltakethem.Withouttheaceofspadesit’sjunk.Withtheace,it’sun-beatable.”

Hesuddenlypickedupher

handbag,animitationalligator-skinclutchpursewithasmallsilverchain.Hestuffeditintohiscoatpocketwhereitbulgedprominently.

“Ihaven’tgottheace,”hesaidsoftly.“Withalittlemoreforethought,Icouldhavehadit.ButIdohaveaholecard—onetheycan’tsee.SoI’mgoingtorunabluff.”

“Youdon’thaveachance,”shesaidhollowly.“Whatcanyoudowithmybag?Shootthemwithalipstick?”

“Ithinkthatthey’vebeenplayingacrookedgamesolongthatthey’llfold.Ithinktheyareyellowstraightthroughfromthebacktobelly.”

“RICHARDS!TENMINUTESAREUP!”

Richardsputthebullhorntohislips.

…Minus034andCOUNTING…

“LISTENTOMECAREFULLY!”Hisvoiceboomedandrolledacrosstheflatjetportacres.Policewaitedtensely.Thecrowdshuffled.“IAMCARRYINGTWELVEPOUNDSOF

DYNACOREHI-IMPACTPLASTICEXPLOSIVEINMYCOATPOCKET—THEVARIETYTHEYCALLBLACKIRISH.TWELVEPOUNDSISENOUGHTOTAKEOUTEVERYTHINGANDEVERYONEWITHINATHIRDOFAMILEANDPROBABLYENOUGHTOEXPLODETHEJETPORTFUELSTORAGETANKS.IFYOUDON’TFOLLOWMYINSTRUCTIONSTO

THELETTER,I’LLBLOWYOUALLTOHELL.AGENERALATOMICSIMPLODERRINGISSETINTOTHEEXPLOSIVE.IHAVEITPULLEDOUTTOHALF-COCK.ONEJIGGLEANDYOUCANALLPUTYOURHEADSBETWEENYOURLEGSANDKISSYOURASSESGOODBYE.”

Therewerescreamsfromthecrowdfollowedby

suddentidelikemovement.Thepoliceatthebarricadessuddenlyfoundtheyhadnoonetoholdback.Menandwomenweretearingacrossroadsandfields,streamingoutthegatesandscalingthecyclonefencearoundthejetport.Theirfaceswereblankandavidwithpanic.

Thepoliceshuffleduneasily.OnnofacedidAmeliaWilliamssee

disbelief.

“RICHARDS?”Thehugevoiceboomed.“THAT’SALIE.COMEOUT.”

“IAMCOMINGOUT,”heboomedback.“BUTBEFOREIDO,LETMEGIVEYOUYOURMARCHINGORDERS.IWANTAJETFULLYFUELEDANDREADYTOFLYWITHASKELETON

CREW.THISJETWILLBEALOCKHEED/GAORADELTASUPERSONIC.THERANGEMUSTBEATLEASTTWOTHOUSANDMILES.THISWILLBEREADYINNINETYMINUTES.”

Camerasreelingandcrankingaway.Flashbulbspopping.Thepresslookeduneasytoo.But,ofcourse,therewasthepsychic

pressureofthosefivehundredmillionwatcherstobeconsidered.Theywerereal.Thejobwasreal.AndRichards’stwelvepoundsofBlackIrishmightbejustafigmentofhisadmirablecriminalmentality.

“RICHARDS?”Amandressedonlyindarkslacksandawhiteshirtrolleduptotheelbowsinspiteofthefallchillstrolledoutfrombehind

agaggleofunmarkedcarsfiftyyardsbeyondLot16.HewascarryingabullhornlargerthanRichards’s.Fromthisdistance,Ameliacouldseeonlythathewaswearingsmallspectacles;theyflashedinthedyingsunlight.

“IAMEVANMcCONE.”

Heknewthename,ofcourse.Itwassupposedtostrikefearintohisheart.He

wasnotsurprisedtofindthatitdidstrikefearintohisheart.EvanMcConewastheChiefHunter.AdirectdescendantofJ.EdgarHooverandHeinrichHimmler,hethought.ThepersonificationofthesteelinsidetheNetwork’scathodeglove.Aboogeyman.Anametofrightenbadchildrenwith.Ifyoudon’tstopplayingwithmatches,Johnny,I’llletEvanMcConeoutofyourcloset.

Fleetingly,intheeyeofmemory,herecalledadreamvoice.Areyoutheman,littlebrother?

“YOU’RELYING,RICHARDS.WEKNOWIT.AMANWITHOUTAG-ARATINGHASNOWAYOFGETTINGDYNACORE.LETTHEWOMANGOANDCOMEOUT.WEDON’TWANTTOHAVETOKILLHER,TOO.”

Ameliamadeaweak,wretchedhissingnoise.

Richardsboomed:“THATMAYGOOVERINSHAKERHEIGHTS,LITTLEMAN.INTHESTREETSYOUCANBUYDYNACOREEVERYTWOBLOCKSIFYOU’VEGOTCASHONTHELINE.ANDIDID.GAMESFEDERATIONMONEY.YOUHAVEEIGHTY-SIX

MINUTES.”

“NODEAL.”

“McCONE?”

“YES.”

“I’MSENDINGTHEWOMANOUTNOW.SHE’SSEENTHEIRISH.”Ameliawaslookingathimwithstunnedhorror.“MEANWHILE,YOU

BETTERGETITINGEAR.EIGHTY-FIVEMINUTES.I’MNOTBLUFFING,ASSHOLE.ONEBULLETANDWE’REALLGOINGTOTHEMOON.”

“No,”shewhispered.Herfacewasanunbelievingrictus.“Youcan’tbelieveI’mgoingtolieforyou.”

“Ifyoudon’t,I’mdead.I’mshotandbrokenandhardly

consciousenoughtoknowwhatI’msaying,butIknowthisisthebestway,onewayortheother.Nowlisten?Dynacoreiswhiteandsolid,slightlygreasytothetouch.It—”

“No,no!No!”Sheclappedherhandsoverherears.

“ItlookslikeabarofIvorysoap.Verydense,though.NowI’mgoingtodescribe

theimploderring.Itlooks—”

Shebegantoweep.“Ican’t,don’tyouknowthat?Ihavemydutyasacitizen.Myconscience.Ihavemy—”

“Yeah,andtheymightfindoutyoulied,”headdeddryly.“Excepttheywon’t.Becauseifyoubackme,they’llcavein.I’llbeofflikeabigassbird.”

“Ican’t!”

“RICHARDS!SENDTHEWOMANOUT!”

“Theimploderringisgold,”hecontinued.“Abouttwoinchesindiameter.Itlookslikeakeyringwithnokeysinit.AttachedtoitisaslimrodlikeamechanicalpencilwithaG-Atriggerdeviceattachedtoit.Thetriggerdevicelooksliketheeraseronthepencil.”

Shewasrockingbackandforth,moaningalittle.Shehadacheekineitherhandandwastwistingherfleshasifitweredough.

“ItoldthemIhadpulledouttohalf-cock.ThatmeansyouwouldbeabletoseeasinglesmallnotchjustabovethesurfaceoftheIrish.Gotit?”

Noanswer;sheweptandmoanedandrocked.

“Sureyoudo,”hesaidsoftly.“You’reabrightgirl,aren’tyou?”

“I’mnotgoingtolie,”shesaid.

“Iftheyaskyouanythingelse,youdon’tknowfromRooty-Toot.Youdidn’tsee.Youweretooscared.Exceptforonething:I’vebeenholdingtheringeversincethatfirstroadblock.You

didn’tknowwhatitwas,butIhaditinmyhand.”

“Betterkillmenow.”

“Goon,”hesaid.“Getout.”

Shestaredathimconvulsively,hermouthworking,hereyesdarkholes.Thepretty,self-assuredwomanwiththewraparoundshadeswasallgone.Richardswonderedifthatwoman

wouldeverreappear.Hedidnotthinkso.Notwholly.

“Go,”hesaid.“Go.Go.”

“I—I—Ah,God—”

Shelungedagainstthedoorandhalfsprang,halffellout.Shewasonherfeetinstantlyandrunning.Herhairstreamedoutbehindherandsheseemedverybeautiful,almostgoddesslike,andshe

ranintothelukewarmstarburstofamillionflashbulbs.

Carbinesflashedup,ready,andwereloweredasthecrowdateher.Richardsriskedcockinganeyebrowoverthedriver’ssidewindowbutcouldseenothing.

Heslouchedbackdown,glancedathiswatch,andwaitedfordissolution.

…Minus033andCOUNTING…

Theredsecondhandonhiswatchmadetwocircles.Anothertwo.Anothertwo.

“RICHARDS!”

Heraisedthebullhorntohis

lips.“SEVENTY-NINEMINUTES,McCONE.”

Playitrightuptotheend.Theonlywaytoplayit.RightuptothemomentMcConegavetheordertofireatwill.Itwouldbequick.Anditdidn’treallyseemtomatterawholehellofalot.

Afteralonggrudging,eternalpause:“WENEEDMORETIME.ATLEAST

THREEHOURS.THEREISN’TANL/G-AORADELTAONTHISFIELD.ONEWILLHAVETOBEFLOWNIN.”

Shehaddoneit.O,amazinggrace.Thewomanhadlookedintotheabyssandthenwalkedoutacrossit.Nonet.Nowayback.Amazing.

Ofcoursetheydidn’tbelieveher.Itwastheir

businessnottobelieveanyoneaboutanything.Rightnowtheywouldbehustlinghertoaprivateroominoneoftheterminals,halfadozenofMcCone’spickedinterrogatorswaiting.Andwhentheygotherthere,thelitanywouldbegin.Ofcourseyou’reupset,Mrs.Williams,butjustfortherecord…wouldyoumindgoingthroughthisoncemore…we’repuzzledbyonesmall

thinghere…areyousurethatwasn’ttheotherwayaround…howdoyouknow…why…thenwhatdidhesay…

Sothecorrectmovewastobuytime.FobRichardsoffwithoneexcuseandthenanother.There’safuelingproblem,weneedmoretime.Nocrewisonthejetportgrounds,weneedmoretime.There’saflyingsauceroverRunwayZero-Seven,weneed

moretime.Andwehaven’tbrokenheryet.Haven’tquitegottenhertoadmitthatyourhighexplosiveconsistsofanalligatorhandbagstuffedwithassortedKleenexandchangeandcosmeticsandcreditcards.Weneedmoretime.

Wecan’ttakeachanceonkillingyouyet.Weneedmoretime.

“RICHARDS?”

“LISTENTOME,”hemegaphonedback.“YOUHAVESEVENTY-FIVEMINUTES.THENITALLGOESUP.”

Noreply.

SpectatorshadbeguntocreepbackinspiteofArmageddon’sshadow.Theireyeswerewideandwetandsexual.Anumberofportablespotlightshadbeen

requisitionedandfocusedonthelittlecar,bathingitinadepthlessglowandemphasizingtheshatteredwindshield.

Richardstriedtoimaginethelittleroomwheretheywouldbeholdingher,probingherforthetruth,andcouldnot.Thepresswouldbeexcluded,ofcourse.McCone’smenwouldbetryingtoscarethetitsoffher

andundoubtedlywouldbesucceeding.Buthowfarwouldtheydaregowithawomanwhodidnotbelongtotheghettosocietyofthepoorwherepeoplehadnofaces?Drugs.Thereweredrugs,Richardsknew,drugsthatMcConecouldcommandimmediately,drugsthatcouldmakeaYaquiIndianbabbleouthisentirelifestorylikeababeinarms.Drugsthatwouldmakeapriestrattleoff

penitents’confessionslikeastenographer’srecordingmachine.

Alittleviolence?Themodifiedelectricmove-alongsthathadworkedsowellintheSeattleriotsof2005?Oronlythesteadybatteringoftheirquestions?

Thethoughtsservednopurpose,buthecouldnotshutthemoutorturnthemoff.

BeyondtheterminalstherewastheunmistakablewhineofaLockheedcarrierbeingwarmedup.Hisbird.Thesoundofitcameinrisingandfallingcycles.Whenitcutoffsuddenly,heknewthefuelinghadbegun.Twentyminutesiftheywerehurrying.Richardsdidnotthinktheywouldbehurrying.

Well,well,well.Hereweare.Allthecardsonthetable

butone.

McCone?McCone,areyoupeekingyet?Haveyouslicedintohermindyet?

Shadowslengthenedacrossthefieldandeverybodywaited.

…Minus032andCOUNTING…

Richardsdiscoveredthattheoldclichéwasalie.Timedidnotstandstill.Insomewaysitwouldhavebeenbetterifithad.Thenthereatleastwouldhavebeenanendtohope.

TwicetheamplifiedvoiceinformedRichardsthathewaslying.Hetoldthemifitwasso,theyhadbetteropenup.FiveminuteslateranewamplifiedvoicetoldhimthattheLockheed’sflapswerefrozenandthatfuelingwouldhavetobeginwithanotherplane.Richardstoldthemthatwasfine.Aslongastheplanewasreadytogobytheoriginaldeadline.

Theminutescreptby.Twenty-sixleft,twenty-five,twenty-two,twenty(shehasn’tbrokenyet,myGod,maybe—),eighteen,fifteen(theplane’senginesagain,risingtoastridenthowlasthegroundcrewswentthroughfuel-systemandpreflightchecks),tenminutes,theneight.

“RICHARDS?”

“HERE.”

“WEHAVESIMPLYGOTTOHAVEMORETIME.THEBIRD’SFLAPSAREFROZENSOLID.WE’REGOINGTOIRRIGATETHEVANESWITHLIQUIDHYDROGENBUTWESIMPLYHAVETOHAVETIME.”

“YOUHAVEIT.SEVENMINUTES.THENIAM

GOINGTOPROCEEDTOTHEAIRFIELDUSINGTHESERVICERAMP.IWILLBEDRIVINGWITHONEHANDONTHEWHEELANDONEHANDONTHEIMPLODERRING.ALLGATESWILLBEOPENED.ANDREMEMBERTHATI’LLBEGETTINGCLOSERTOTHOSEFUELTANKSALLTHETIME.”

“YOUDON’TSEEMTOREALIZETHATWE—”

“I’MTHROUGHTALKING,FELLOWS.SIXMINUTES.”

Thesecondhandmadeitsorderly,regularturns.Threeminutesleft,two,one.Theywouldbegoingforbrokeinthelittleroomhecouldnotimagine.HetriedtocallAmelia’simageupinhis

mindandfailed.Itwasalreadyblurringintootherfaces.OnecompositefacecomposedofStaceyandBradleyandEltonandVirginiaParrakisandtheboywiththedog.AllhecouldrememberwasthatshewassoftandprettyintheuninspiredwaythatsomanywomencanbethankstoMaxFactorandRevlonandtheplasticsurgeonswhotuckandtieandsmoothoutand

unbend.Soft.Soft.Buthardinsomedeepplace.Wheredidyougohard,WASPwoman?Areyouhardenough?Orareyoublowingthegamerightnow?

Hefeltsomethingwarmrunningdownhischinanddiscoveredhehadbittenhislipsthrough,notoncebutseveraltimes.

Hewipedhismouth

absently,leavingatear-drop-shapedsmearofbloodonhissleeve,anddroppedthecarintogear.Itroseobediently,liftersgrumbling.

“RICHARDS!IFYOUMOVETHATCAR,WE’LLSHOOT!THEGIRLTALKED!WEKNOW!”

Noonefiredashot.

Inaway,itwasalmost

anticlimactic.

…Minus031andCOUNTING…

Theservicerampdescribedarisingarcaroundtheglassine,futuristicNorthernStatesTerminal.ThewaywaslinedwithpoliceholdingeverythingfromMace-Bandteargastoheavyarmor-

piercingweaponry.Theirfaceswereflat,dull,uniform.Richardsdroveslowly,sittingupstraightnow,andtheylookedathimwithvacant,bovineawe.Inmuchthesameway,Richardsthought,thatcowsmustlookatafarmerwhohadgonemadandlieskickingandsun-fishingandscreamingonthebarnfloor.

Thegatetotheservicearea

(CAUTION—EMPLOYEESONLY—NOSMOKING—UNAUTHORIZEDPERSONSKEEPOUT)hadbeenswungopen,andRichardsdrovesedatelythrough,passingranksofhigh-octanetankertrucksandsmallprivateplanespulledupontheirchocks.Beyondthemwasataxiway,wideoil-blackenedcementwithexpansionjoints.Herehisbirdwaswaiting,ahuge

whitejumbojetwithadozenturbineenginessoftlygrumbling.Beyond,runwaysstretchedstraightandcleanintothegatheringtwilight,seemingtoapproachameetingpointonthehorizon.Thebird’sroll-upstairwaywasjustbeingputintoplacebyfourmenwearingcoveralls.ToRichards,itlookedlikethestairsleadingtoascaffold.

And,asiftocompletetheimage,theexecutionersteppedneatlyoutoftheshadowsthattheplane’shugebellythrew.EvanMcCone.

Richardslookedathimwiththecuriosityofamanseeingacelebrityforthefirsttime—nomatterhowmanytimesyouseehispictureinthemovie3-D’syoucan’tbelievehisrealityuntilheappearsintheflesh—and

thentherealitytakesonacurioustoneofhallucination,asifentityhadnorighttoexistseparatefromimage.

Hewasasmallmanwearingrimlessglasses,withafaintsuggestionofapotbellybeneathhiswell-tailoredsuit.ItwasrumoredthatMcConeworeelevatorshoes,butifso,theywereunobtrusive.Therewasasmallsilverflag-pininhis

lapel.Allinall,hedidnotlooklikeamonsteratall,theinheritorofsuchfearsomealphabet-soupbureausastheF.B.I.andtheC.I.A.Notlikeamanwhohadmasteredthetechniqueoftheblackcarinthenight,therubberclub,theslyquestionaboutrelativesbackhome.Notlikeamanwhohadmasteredtheentirespectrumoffear.

“BenRichards?”Heusedno

bullhorn,andwithoutithisvoicewassoftandculturedwithoutbeingeffeminateintheslightest.

“Yes.”

“IhaveaswornbillfromtheGamesFederation,anaccreditedarmoftheNetworkCommunicationsCommission,foryourapprehensionandexecution.Willyouhonorit?”

“Doesahenneedaflag?”

“Ah.”McConesoundedpleased.“Theformalitiesaretakencareof.Ibelieveinformalities,don’tyou?No,ofcourseyoudon’t.You’vebeenaveryinformalcontestant.That’swhyyou’restillalive.DidyouknowyousurpassedthestandingRunningManrecordofeightdaysandfivehourssometwohoursago?Ofcourseyou

don’t.Butyouhave.Yes.AndyourescapefromtheY.M.C.A.inBoston.Sterling.IunderstandtheNielsenratingontheprogramjumpedtwelvepoints.”

“Wonderful.”

“Ofcourse,wealmosthadyouduringthatPortlandinterlude.Badluck.Parrakissworewithhisdyingbreaththatyouhadjumpedshipin

Auburn.Webelievedhim;hewassoobviouslyafrightenedlittleman.”

“Obviously,”Richardsechoedsoftly.

“Butthislastplayhasbeensimplybrilliant.Isaluteyou.Inaway,I’malmostsorrythegamehastoend.IsuspectIshallneverrunupagainstamoreinventiveopponent.”

“Toobad,”Richardssaid.

“It’sover,youknow,”McConesaid.“Thewomanbroke.WeusedSodiumPentothalonher.Old,butreliable.”Hepulledasmallautomatic.“Stepout,Mr.Richards.Iwillpayyoutheultimatecompliment.I’mgoingtodoitrighthere,wherenoonecanfilmit.Yourdeathwillbeoneofrelativeprivacy.”

“Getready,then.”Richardsgrinned.

Heopenedthedoorandsteppedout.Thetwomenfacedeachotheracrosstheblankserviceareacement.

…Minus030andCOUNTING…

ItwasMcConewhobrokethedeadlockfirst.Hethrewbackhisheadandlaughed.

Itwasaveryculturedlaugh,softandvelvet.“Oh,youaresogood,Mr.Richards.Par

excellence.Raise,call,andraiseagain.Isaluteyouwithhonesty:Thewomanhasnotbroken.ShemaintainsstubbornlythatthebulgeIseeinyourpocketthereisBlackIrish.Wecan’tS.A.P.herbecauseitleavesadefinabletrace.AsingleE.E.G.onthewomanandoursecretwouldbeout.WeareintheprocessofliftinginthreeampoulesofCanogynfromNewYork.Leavesnotrace.Weexpectit

infortyminutes.Notintimetostopyou,alas.

“Sheislying.It’sobvious.Ifyouwillpardonatouchofwhatyourfellowsliketocallelitism,Iwilloffermyobservationthatthemiddleclasslieswellonlyaboutsex.MayIofferanotherobservation?OfcourseImay.Iam.”McConesmiled.“Isuspectit’sherhandbag.Wenoticedshehadnone,

althoughshehadbeenshopping.We’requiteobservant.Whathappenedtoherpurseifitisn’tinyourpocket,Richards?”

Hewouldnotpickupthegambit.“Shootmeifyou’resosure.”

McConespreadhishandssorrowfully.“HowwellI’dloveto!Butonedoesnottakechanceswithhumanlife,not

evenwhentheoddsarefiftytooneinyourfavor.ToomuchlikeRussianroulette.Humanlifehasacertainsacredquality.Thegovernment—ourgovernment—realizesthis.Wearehumane.”

“Yes,yes,”Richardssaid,andsmiledferally.McConeblinked.

“Soyousee—”

Richardsstarted.Themanwashypnotizinghim.Theminuteswereflying,ahelicopterwascomingupfromBostonloadedwiththreeampoulesofjack-me-up-and-turn-me-over(andifMcConesaidfortyminuteshemeanttwenty),andherehestood,listeningtothisman’stinklinglittleanthem.God,hewasamonster.

“Listentome,”Richards

saidharshly,interrupting.“Thespeechisshort,littleman.Whenyouinjecther,she’sgoingtosingthesametune.Fortherecord,it’sallhere.Dig?”

HelockedhisgazewithMcCone’sandbegantowalkforward.

“I’llseeyou,shiteater.”

McConesteppedaside.

Richardsdidn’tevenbothertolookathimashepassed.Theircoatsleevesbrushed.

“Fortherecord,Iwastoldthepullonhalf-cockwasaboutthreepounds.I’vegotabouttwoandahalfonnow.Giveortake.”

Hehadthesatisfactionofhearingtheman’sbreathwhistlealittlefaster.

“Richards?”

HelookedbackfromthestairsandMcConewaslookingupathim,thegoldedgesofhisglassesgleamingandflashing.“Whenyougetintheair,we’regoingtoshootyoudownwithaground-to-airmissile.ThestoryforthepublicwillbethatRichardsgotalittleitchyonthetrigger.R.I.P.”

“Youwon’t,though.”

“No?”

Richardsbegantosmileandgavehalfareason.“We’regoingtobeverylowandoverheavilypopulatedareas.AddtwelvefuelpodstotwelvepoundsofIrishandyougotaverybigbangpotential.Toobig.You’ddoitifyoucouldgetawaywithit,butyoucan’t.”Hepaused.“You’reso

bright.Didyouanticipatemeontheparachute?”

“Oh,yes,”McConesaidcalmly.“It’sintheforwardpassengercompartment.Sucholdhat,Mr.Richards.Ordoyouhaveanothertrickinyourbag?”

“Youhaven’tbeenstupidenoughtotamperwiththechute,either,I’llbet.”

“Ohno.Tooobvious.Andyouwouldpullthatnonexistentimploderringjustbeforeyoustruck,Iimagine.Quiteaneffectiveairburst.”

“Goodbye,littleman.”

“Goodbye,Mr.Richards.Andbonvoyage.”Hechuckled.“Yes,youdoratehonesty.SoIwillshowyouonemorecard.Justone.Wearegoingtowaitforthe

Canogynbeforetakingaction.Youareabsolutelyrightaboutthemissile.Fornow,justabluff.Callandraiseagain,eh?ButIcanaffordtowait.Yousee,Iamneverwrong.Never.AndIknowyouarebluffing.Sowecanaffordtowait.ButI’mkeepingyou.’Voir,Mr.Richards.”Hewaved.

“Soon,”Richardssaid,butnotloudenoughforMcCone

tohear.Andhegrinned.

…Minus029andCOUNTING…

Thefirst-classcompartmentwaslongandthreeaisleswide,paneledwithrealagedsequoia.Awine-coloredrugwhichfeltyardsdeepcoveredthefloor.A3-Dmoviescreenwascrankedupandoutofthe

wayonthefarwallbetweenthefirstclassandthegalley.Inseat100,thebulkyparachutepacksat.Richardspatteditbrieflyandwentthroughthegalley.Someonehadevenputcoffeeon.

Hesteppedthroughanotherdoorandstoodinashortthroatwhichledtothepilots’compartment.Totherighttheradiooperator,amanofperhapsthirtywithacare-

linedface,lookedatRichardsbitterlyandthenbackathisinstruments.Afewstepsupandtotheleft,thenavigatorsatathisboardsandgridsandplastic-encasedcharts.

“Thefellowwho’sgoingtogetusallkillediscomingupfellas,”hesaidintohisthroatmike.HegazedcoollyatRichards.

Richardssaidnothing.The

man,afterall,wasalmostcertainlyright.Helimpedintothenoseoftheplane.

Thepilotwasfiftyorbetter,anoldwar-horsewiththerednoseofasteadydrinker,andtheclear,perceptiveeyesofamanwhowasnotevenclosetothealcoholicedge.Hisco-pilotwastenyearsyounger,withaluxuriantgrowthofredhairspillingoutfromunderhiscap.

“Hello,Mr.Richards,”thepilotsaid.HeglancedatthebulgeinRichards’spocketbeforehelookedathisface.“PardonmeifIdon’tshakehands.I’mFlightCaptainDonHolloway.Thisismyco-pilotWayneDuninger.”

“Underthecircumstances,notverypleasedtomeetyou,”Duningersaid.

Richards’smouthquirked.

“Inthesamespirit,letmeaddthatI’msorrytobehere.CaptainHolloway,you’repatchedintocommunicationswithMcCone,aren’tyou?”

“Wesureare.ThroughKippyFriedman,ourcommunicationsman.”

“Givemesomethingtotalkinto.”

Hollowayhandedhima

microphonewithinfinitecarefulness.

“Getgoingonyourpreflight,”Richardssaid.“Fiveminutes.”

“Willyouwanttheexplosiveboltsontherearloadingdoorarmed?”Duningersaidwithgreateagerness.

“Tendyourknitting,”

Richardssaidcoldly.Itwastimetofinishitoff,makethefinalbet.Hisbrainfelthot,overheated,onthevergeofblowingabearing.Callandraise,thatwasthegame.

I’mgoingtosky’sthelimitrightnow,McCone.

“Mr.Friedman?”

“Yes.”

“ThisisRichards.IwanttotalktoMcCone.”

Deadairforhalfaminute.HollowayandDuningerweren’twatchinghimanymore;theyweregoingthroughpreflight,readinggaugesandpressures,checkingflaps,doors,switches.TherisingandfallingofthehugeG-Aturbinesbeganagain,butnowmuchlouder,strident.When

McCone’svoicefinallycame,itwassmallagainstthebrutenoise.

“McConehere.”

“Comeon,maggot.Youandthewomanaregoingforaride.ShowupattheloadingdoorinthreeminutesorIpullthering.”

Duningerstiffenedinhisbucketseatasifhehadbeen

shot.Whenhewentbacktohisnumbershisvoicewasshakenandterrified.

Ifhe’sgotguts,thisiswherehecalls.Askingforthewomangivesitaway.Ifhe’sgotguts.

Richardswaited.

Aclockwastickinginhishead.

…Minus028andCOUNTING…

WhenMcCone’svoicecame,itcontainedaforeign,blusterynote.Fear?Possibly.Richards’sheartlurchedinhischest.Maybeitwasallgoingtofalltogether.Maybe.

“You’renuts,Richards.I’mnot—”

“Youlisten,”Richardssaid,punchingthroughMcCone’svoice.“Andwhileyouare,rememberthatthisconversationisbeingparty-linedbyeveryhamoperatorwithinsixtymiles.Thewordisgoingtogetaround.You’renotworkinginthedark,littleman.You’rerightoutonthebigstage.You’recoming

becauseyou’retoochicken-shittopulladoublecrosswhenyouknowitwillgetyoudead.Thewoman’scomingbecauseItoldherwhereIwasgoing.”

Weak.Punchhimharder.Don’tlethimthink.

“EvenifyoushouldlivewhenIpullthering,youwon’tbeabletogetajobsellingapples.”Hewas

clutchingthehandbaginhispocketwithfrantic,maniacaltightness.“Sothat’sit.Threeminutes.Signingoff.”

“Richards,wait—”

Hesignedoff,chokingMcCone’svoice.HehandedthemikebacktoHolloway,andHollowaytookitwithfingersthattrembledonlyslightly.

“You’vegotguts,”Hollowaysaidslowly.“I’llsaythat.Idon’tthinkIeversawsomuchguts.”

“Therewillbemoregutsthananyoneeversawifhepullsthatring,”Duningersaid.

“Continuewithyourpreflight,please,”Richardssaid.“Iamgoingbacktowelcomeourguests.Wego

infiveminutes.”

Hewentbackandpushedthechuteovertothewindowseat,thensatdownwatchingthedoorbetweenfirstclassandsecondclass.Hewouldknowverysoon.Hewouldknowverysoon.

Hishandworkedwithsteady,helplessrestlessnessonAmeliaWilliams’shandbag.

Outsideitwasalmostfulldark.

…Minus027andCOUNTING…

Theycameupthestairswithafullforty-fivesecondstospare.Ameliawaspantingandfrightened,herhairblownintoahaphazardbeehivebythesteadywindthatrolledthismanmade

flatland.McCone’sappearancewasoutwardlyunchanged;heremainedneatandunaffected,unruffledyoumightsay,buthiseyesweredarkwithahatethatwasnearlypsychotic.

“Youhaven’twonathing,maggot,”hesaidquietly.“Wehaven’tevenstartedtoplayourtrumpcardsyet.”

“It’snicetoseeyouagain,

Mrs.Williams,”Richardssaidmildly.

Asifhehadgivenherasignal,pulledaninvisiblestring,shebegantoweep.Itwasnotahystericalweeping;itwasanentirelyhopelesssoundthatcamefromherbellylikehunksofslag.Theforceofitmadeherstagger,thencrumpletotheplushcarpetofthisplushfirst-classsectionwithherfacecupped

inherhands,asiftoholditon.Richards’sbloodhaddriedtoatackymaroonsmearonherblouse.Herfullskirt,spreadaroundherandhidingherlegs,madeherlooklikeawiltedflower.

Richardsfeltsorryforher.Itwasashallowemotion,feelingsorry,butthebesthecouldmanage.

“Mr.Richards?”Itwas

Holloway’svoiceoverthecabinintercom.

“Yes.”

“Dowe…arewegreen?”

“Yes.”

“ThenI’mgivingtheservicecrewtheordertoremovethestairsandsealusup.Don’tgetnervouswiththatthing.”

“Allright,Captain.Thankyou.”

“Yougaveyourselfawaywhenyouaskedforthewoman.Youknowthat,don’tyou?”McConeseemedtobesmilingandscowlingatthesametime;theoveralleffectwasfrighteninglyparanoid.Hishandswereclenchingandunclenching.

“Ah,so?”Richardssaid

mildly.“Andsinceyou’reneverwrong,you’llundoubtedlyjumpmebeforewetakeoff.Thatwayyou’llbeoutofjeopardyandcomeupsmellinglikearose,right?”

McCone’slipspartedinatinysnarl,andthenpressedtogetheruntiltheywentwhite.Hemadenomove.Theplanebegantopickupatinyvibrationastheengines

cycledhigherandhigher.

Thenoisewassuddenlymutedastheboardingdoorinsecondclasswasslammedshut.Leaningoverslightlytopeeroutoneofthecircularwindowsontheportside,Richardscouldseethecrewtrundlingawaythestairs.

Nowwe’reallonthescaffold,hethought.

…Minus026andCOUNTING…

TheFASTENSEATBELTS/NOSMOKINGsigntotherightofthetrundled-upmoviescreenflashedon.Theairplanebeganaslow,ponderousturnbeneaththem.Richardshadgainedallhis

knowledgeofjetsfromtheFree-Veeandfromreading,muchofitluridadventurefiction,butthiswasonlythesecondtimehehadeverbeenonone;anditmadetheshuttlefromHardingtoNewYorklooklikeabathtubtoy.Hefoundthehugemotionbeneathhisfeetdisturbing.

“Amelia?”

Shelookedupslowly,her

faceravagedandtearstreaked.“Uh?”Hervoicewasrusty,dazed,mucusclogged.Asifshehadforgottenwhereshewas.

“Comeforward.We’retakingoff.”HelookedatMcCone.“Yougowhereveryouplease,littleman.Youhavetherunoftheship.Justdon’tbotherthecrew.”

McConesaidnothingand

satdownnearthecurtaineddividerbetweenfirstandsecondclass.Then,apparentlythinkingbetterofit,hepushedthroughintothenextsectionandwasgone.

Richardswalkedtothewoman,usingthehighbacksoftheseatsforsupport.“I’dlikethewindowseat,”hesaid.“I’veonlyflownoncebefore.”Hetriedtosmilebutsheonlylookedathim

dumbly.

Heslidin,andshesatnexttohim.Shebuckledhisbeltforhimsohishanddidnothavetocomeoutofhispocket.

“You’relikeabaddream,”shesaid.“Onethatneverends.”

“I’msorry.”

“Ididn’t—”shebegan,andheclampedahandoverhermouthandshookhishead.HemouthedthewordNo!athereyes.

Theplaneswungaroundwithslow,infinitecare,turbinesscreaming,andbegantotrundletowardtherunwayslikeanungainlyduckabouttoenterthewater.ItwassobigthatRichardsfeltasiftheplanewere

standingstillandtheearthitselfwasmoving.

Maybeit’sallillusion,hethoughtwildly.Maybethey’verigged3-Dprojectorsoutsideallthewindowsand—

Hecutthethoughtoff.

Nowtheyhadreachedtheendofthetaxiwayandtheplanemadeacumbersomerightturn.Theyranatright

anglestotherunways,passingThreeandTwo.AtOnetheyturnedleftandpausedforasecond.

OvertheintercomHollowaysaidexpressionlessly:“Takingoff,Mr.Richards.”

Theplanebegantomoveslowlyatfirst,atnomorethanair-carspeed,andthentherewasasuddenterrifyingburstofaccelerationthat

madeRichardswanttoscreamaloudinterror.

Hewasdrivenbackintothesoftpileofhisseat,andthelandinglightsoutsidesuddenlybegantoleapbywithdizzyingspeed.Thescrubbushesandexhaust-stuntedtreesonthedesolate,sunset-rivenhorizonroaredtowardthem.Theengineswoundupandupandup.Thefloorbegantovibrateagain.

HesuddenlyrealizedthatAmeliaWilliamswasholdingontohisshoulderwithbothhands,herfacetwistedintoamiserablegrimaceoffear.

DearGod,she’sneverflowneither!

“We’regoing,”hesaid.Hefoundhimselfrepeatingitoverandoverandover,unabletostop.“We’regoing.We’regoing.”

“Where?”shewhispered.

Hedidn’tanswer.Hewasjustbeginningtoknow.

…Minus025andCOUNTING…

Thetwotroopersonroadblockdutyattheeasternentranceofthejetportwatchedthehugelinerflingitselfdowntherunway,gainingspeed.Itslightsblinkedorangeandgreenin

thegrowingdark,andthehowlofitsenginesbuffetedtheirears.

“He’sgoing.Christ,he’sgoing.”

“Where?”saidtheother.

Theywatchedthedarkshapeasitseparatedfromtheground.Itsenginestookonacuriouslyflatsound,likeartillerypracticeonacold

morning.Itroseatasteepangle,asrealandastangibleandasprosaicasacubeofbutteronaplate,yetimprobablewithflight.

“Youthinkhe’sgotit?”

“Hell,Idon’tknow.”

Theroarofthejetwasnowcomingtotheminfallingcycles.

“I’lltellyouonething,though.”Thefirstturnedfromthediminishinglightsandturneduphiscollar.“I’mgladhe’sgotthatbastardwithhim.ThatMcCone.”

“CanIaskyouapersonalquestion?”

“AslongasIdon’thavetoanswerit.”

“Wouldyouliketoseehim

pullitoff?”

Thetroopersaidnothingforalongtime.Thesoundofthejetfaded,faded,faded,untilitdisappearedintotheundergroundhumofnervesatwork.

“Yes.”

“Doyouthinkhewill?”

Acrescentsmileinthe

darkness.“Myfriend,Ithinkthere’sgonnabeabigboom.”

…Minus024andCOUNTING…

Theearthhaddroppedawaybelowthem.

Richardsstaredoutwonderingly,unabletodrinkhisfill;hehadsleptthroughtheotherflightasifinwait

forthisone.Theskyhaddeepenedtoashadethathungontheborderlinebetweenroyalvelvetandblack.Starspokedthroughwithhesitantbrilliance.Onthewesternhorizon,theonlyremnantofthesunwasabitterorangelinethatilluminatedthedarkearthbelownotatall.TherewasanestleoflightsbelowhetooktobeDerry.

“Mr.Richards?”

“Yes.”Hejumpedinhisseatasifhehadbeenpoked.

“Weareinaholdingpatternrightnow.ThatmeanswearedescribingalargecircleabovetheVoigtJetport.Instructions?”

Richardsthoughtcarefully.Itwouldn’tdotogivetoomuchaway.

“What’stheabsolutelowest

youcanflythisthing?”

Therewasalongpauseforconsultation.“Wecouldgetawaywithtwothousandfeet,”Hollowaysaidcautiously.“It’sagainstN.S.A.regs,but—”

“Nevermindthat,”Richardssaid.“Ihavetoputmyselfinyourhandstoacertainextent,Mr.Holloway.IknowverylittleofflyingandI’msure

you’vebeenbriefedonthat.Butpleaserememberthatthepeoplewhoarefullofbrightideasabouthowtobamboozlemeareallonthegroundandoutofdanger.IfyoulietomeaboutanythingandIfindout—”

“Nobodyuphereisgoingtodoanylying,”Hollowaysaid.“We’reonlyinterestedingettingthisthingbackdownthewayitwentup.”

“Okay.Good.”Hegavehimselftimetothink.AmeliaWilliamssatrigidlybesidehim,herhandsfoldedinherlap.

“Goduewest,”hesaidabruptly.“Twothousandfeet.Pointoutthesightsaswegoalong,please.”

“Thesights?”

“Whatwe’regoingover,”

Richardssaid.“I’veonlyflownoncebefore.”

“Oh.”Hollowaysoundedrelieved.

Theplanebankedbeneaththeirfeetandthedarksunsetlineoutsidethewindowtiltedonitsear.Richardswatched,fascinated.Nowitgleamedaslantthethickwindow,makingodd,fugitivesungleamsjustbeyondthe

glass.We’rechasingthesun,hethought.Isn’tthatamazing?

Itwasthirty-fiveminutesaftersix.

…Minus023andCOUNTING…

ThebackoftheseatinfrontofRichardswasarevelationinitself.Therewasapocketwithasafetyhandbookinit.Incaseofairturbulence,fastenyourbelt.Ifthecabinlosespressure,pulldownthe

airmaskdirectlyoveryourhead.Incaseofenginetrouble,thestewardesswillgiveyoufurtherinstructions.Incaseofsuddenexplosivedeath,hopeyouhaveenoughdentalfillingstoinsureidentification.

TherewasasmallFree-Veesetintotheseatpanelateyelevel.Ametalcardbelowitremindedtheviewerthatchannelswouldcomeandgo

withafairdegreeofspeed.Atouch-controlchannelselectorwasprovidedforthehungryviewer.

BelowandtotherightoftheFree-VeewasapadofairlinestationeryandaG-Astylusonachain.Richardspulledoutasheetandwroteclumsilyonhisknee:

“Oddsare99outof100thatyou’rebugged,shoemikeor

hairmike,maybemeshtransmitteronyoursleeve.McConelisteningandwaitingforyoutodroptheothershoe,Ibet.Inaminutehaveahystericaloutburstandbegmenottopullthering.It’llmakeourchancesbetter.Yougame?”

ShenoddedandRichardshesitated,thenwroteagain:

“Whydidyoulieaboutit?”

Shepluckedthestylusoutofhishandandhelditoverthepaperonhiskneeforamomentandthenwrote:“Don’tknow.Youmademefeellikeamurderer.Wife.Andyouseemedso”—thestyluspaused,waveredandthenscrawled—“pitiful.”

Richardsraisedhiseyebrowsandgrinnedalittle—ithurt.Heofferedherthestylusbutsheshookherhead

mutely.Hewrote:“Gointoyouractinabout5minutes.”

ShenoddedandRichardscrumpledthepaperandstuffeditintotheashtrayembeddedinthearmrest.Helitthepaper.Itpuffedintoflameandblazedbrightlyforamoment,kindlingatinyreflectiveglowinthewindow.ThenitcollapsedintoasheswhichRichardspokedthoughtfully.

AboutfiveminuteslaterAmeliaWilliamsbegantomoan.ItsoundedsorealthatforamomentRichardswasstartled.Thenitflashedacrosshismindthatitprobablywasreal.

“Pleasedon’t,”shesaid.“Pleasedon’tmakethatman…havetotryyou.Ineverdidanythingtoyou.Iwanttogohometomyhusband.Wehaveadaughter,too.She’s

six.She’llwonderwherehermommyis.”

Richardsfelthiseyebrowriseandfalltwiceinaninvoluntarytic.Hedidn’twanthertobethatgood.Notthatgood.

“He’sdumb,”hetoldher,tryingnottospeakforanunseenaudience,“butIdon’tthinkhe’sthatdumb.Itwillbeallright,Mrs.Williams.”

“That’seasyforyoutosay.You’vegotnothingtolose.”

Hedidn’tanswerher.Shewassopatentlyright.Nothing,anyway,thathehadn’tlostalready.

“Showittohim,”shepleaded.“ForGod’ssake,whydon’tyoushowittohim?Thenhe’dhavetobelieveyou…calloffthepeopleontheground.

They’retrackinguswithmissiles.Iheardhimsayso.”

“Ican’tshowhim,”Richardssaid.“Totakeitoutofmypocketwouldmeanputtingtheringonsafetyortakingthefullriskofblowingusupaccidentally.Besides,”headded,injectingmockeryintohisvoice,“Idon’tthinkI’dshowhimifIcould.He’sthemaggotwithsomethingtolose.Lethimsweatit.”

“Idon’tthinkIcanstandit,”shesaiddully.“IalmostthinkI’dratherjoggleyouandhaveitover.That’sthewayit’sgoingtoendanyway,isn’tit?”

“Youhaven’t—”hebegan,andthenthedoorbetweenfirstandsecondwassnappedopenandMcConehalfstrode,halflungedthrough.Hisfacewascalm,butbeneaththecalmwasanoddsheenylook

whichRichardsrecognizedimmediately.Thesheenoffear,whiteandwaxyandglowing.

“Mrs.Williams,”hesaidbriskly.“Coffee,ifyouplease.Forseven.You’llhavetoplaystewardessonthisflight,I’mafraid.”

Shegotupwithoutlookingateitherofthem.“Where?”

“Forward,”McConesaidsmoothly.“Justfollowyournose.”Hewasamild,blinkingsortofman—andreadytolungeatAmeliaWilliamsthemomentsheshowedasignofgoingforRichards.

Shemadeherwayuptheaislewithoutlookingback.

McConestaredatRichardsandsaid:“Wouldyougive

thisupifIcouldpromiseyouamnesty,pal?”

“Pal.Thatwordsoundsreallygreasyinyourmouth,”Richardsmarveled.Heflexedhisfreehand,lookedatit.Thehandwascakedwithsmallrunnelsofdriedblood,dottedwithtinyscrapesandscratchesfromhisbroken-anklehikethroughthesouthernMainewoods.“Reallygreasy.Youmakeit

soundliketwopoundsoffattyhamburgercookinginthepan.TheonlykindyoucangetattheWelfareStoresinCo-OpCity.”HelookedatMcCone’swell-concealedpot.“That,now.Thatlooksmorelikeasteakgut.Primecut.Nofatonprimecutexceptthatcrinklylittleringaroundtheoutsideright?”

“Amnesty,”McConerepeated.“Howdoesthat

wordsound?”

“Likealie,”Richardssaid,smiling.“Likeafatfuckinglie.Don’tyouthinkIknowyou’renothingbutthehiredhelp?”

McConeflushed.Itwasnotasoftflushatall;itwashardandredandbricklike.“It’sgoingtobegoodtohaveyouonmyhomecourt,”hesaid.“We’vegothi-impactslugs

thatwillmakeyourheadlooklikeapumpkindroppedonasidewalkfromthetopfloorofaskyscraper.Gasfilled.Theyexplodeoncontact.Agutshot,ontheotherhand—”

Richardsscreamed:“Hereitgoes!I’mpullingthering!”

McConescreeched.Hestaggeredbacktwosteps,hisrumphitthewell-paddedarmofseatnumber95acrossthe

way,heoverbalancedandfellintoitlikeamanintoasling,hisarmsflailingtheairaroundhisheadincrazedwarding-offgestures.

Hishandsfrozeabouthisheadlikepetrifiedbirds,splayfingered.Hisfacestaredthroughtheirgrotesqueframelikeaplasterdeath-maskonwhichsomeonehadhungapairofgold-rimmedspectaclesforajoke.

Richardsbegantolaugh.Thenoiseofitwascrackedatfirst,hesitant,foreigntohisownears.Howlonghaditbeensincehehadhadareallaugh,anhonestone,thekindthatcomesfreelyandhelplesslyfromthedeepestrootofthestomach?Itseemedtohimthathehadneverhadoneinhiswholegray,struggling,earnestlife.Buthewashavingonenow.

Youbastard.

McCone’svoicehadfailedhim;hecouldonlymouththewords.Hisfacewastwistedandscrunchedlikethefaceofabadlyusedteddybear.

Richardslaughed.Heheldontoonearmofhisseatwithhisfreehandandjustlaughedandlaughedandlaughed.

…Minus022andCOUNTING…

WhenHolloway’svoiceinformedRichardsthattheplanewascrossingtheborderbetweenCanadaandthestateofVermont(Richardssupposedheknewhisbusiness;hehimselfcould

seenothingbutdarknessbelowthem,interruptedbyoccasionalclustersoflight),hesethiscoffeedowncarefullyandsaid:

“CouldyousupplymewithamapofNorthAmerica,CaptainHolloway?”

“Physicalorpolitical?”Anewvoicecutin.Thenavigator’s,Richardssupposed.Nowhewas

supposedtoplayobliginglydumbandnotknowwhichmaphewanted.Whichhedidn’t.

“Both,”hesaidflatly.

“Areyougoingtosendthewomanupforthem?”

“What’syourname,pal?”

Thehesitantpauseofamanwhorealizeswithsudden

trepidationthathehasbeensingledout.“Donahue.”

“You’vegotlegs,Donahue.Supposeyoutrotthembackhereyourself.”

Donahuetrottedthemback.Hehadlonghaircombedbackgreaserfashionandpantstailoredtightenoughtoshowwhatlookedlikeabagofgolfballsatthecrotch.Themapswereencasedinlimp

plastic.Richardsdidn’tknowwhatDonahue’sballswereencasedin.

“Ididn’tmeantomouthoff,”hesaidunwillingly.Richardsthoughthecouldpeghim.Well-offyoungmenwithalotoffreetimeoftenspentmuchofitroamingtheshabbypleasureareasofthebigcities,roaminginwell-heeledpacks,sometimesonfoot,moreoftenonchoppers.

Theywerequeer-stompers.Queers,ofcourse,hadtobeeradicated.Saveourbathroomsfordemocracy.Theyrarelyventuredbeyondthetwilightpleasureareasintothefulldarknessoftheghettos.Whentheydid,theygottheshitkickedoutofthem.

DonahueshifteduneasilyunderRichards’slonggaze.“Anythingelse?”

“Youaqueer-stomper,pal?”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.Goonback.Helpthemflytheplane.”

Donahuewentbackatafastshuffle.

Richardsquicklydiscoveredthatthemapwiththetownsandcitiesandroadswasthepoliticalmap.Pressingone

fingerdownfromDerrytotheCanada-Vermontborderinawestern-reachingstraightedge,helocatedtheirapproximateposition.

“CaptainHolloway?”

“Yes.”

“Turnleft.”

“Huh?”Hollowaysoundedfranklystartled.

“South,Imean.Duesouth.Andremember—”

“I’mremembering,”Hollowaysaid.“Don’tworry.”

Theplanebanked.McConesathunchedintheseathehadfalleninto,staringatRichardswithhungry,wantingeyes.

…Minus021andCOUNTING…

Richardsfoundhimselfdriftinginandoutofadaze,anditfrightenedhim.Thesteadydroneoftheengineswereinsidious,hypnotic.McConewasawareofwhatwashappening,andhis

leaningposturebecamemoreandmorevulpine.Ameliawasalsoaware.Shecringedmiserablyinaforwardseatnearthegalley,watchingthemboth.

Richardsdranktwomorecupsofcoffee.Notmuchhelp.ItwasbecomingincreasinglydifficulttoconcentrateonthecoordinationofhismapandHolloway’stoneless

commentaryontheiroutlawflight.

Finallyhedrovehisfistintohissidewherethebullethadtakenhim.Thepainwasimmediateandintense,likeadashofcoldwaterintheface.Awhistlinghalf-whisperedscreechissuedfromeithersideofhisclenchedmouth,likestereo.Freshbloodwethisshirtandsievedthroughontohishand.

Ameliamoaned.

“We’llbepassingoverAlbanyinaboutsixminutes,”Hollowaysaid.“Ifyoulookout,you’llseeitcominguponyourleft.”

“Relax,”Richardssaidtonoone,tohimself.“Relax.Justrelax.”

God,willitbeoversoon?Yes.Quitesoon.

Itwasquartertoeight.

…Minus020andCOUNTING…

Itcouldhavebeenabaddream,anightmarethathadcrawledoutofthedarkandintotheunhealthylimelightofhishalf-awakemind—moreproperlyavisionorahallucination.Hisbrainwas

workingandconcentratingononelevel,dealingwiththeproblemofnavigationandtheconstantdangerofMcCone.Onanother,somethingblackwastakingplace.Thingsweremovinginthedark.

Trackon.Positive.

Huge,whiningservomechanismsturninginthedark,inthenight.Infraredeyesglowinginunknown

spectrums.Palegreenfoxfireofdialsandswingingradarscopes.

Lock.Wehavealock.

Trucksrumblingalongback-countryroads,andontriangulatedflatbedstwohundredmilesapart,microwavedishesswingatthenightsky.Endlessstreamsofelectronsflyoutoninvisiblebatwings.Bounce,

echo.Thestrongblipandthefadingafterimagelingeringuntilthereturningswingoflightilluminatesitinaslightlymoresoutherlyposition.

Solid?

Yeah.TwohundredmilessouthofNewark.ItcouldbeNewark.

Newark’sonRed,also

southernNewYork.

ExecutiveHoldstillineffect?

That’sright.

Wehadhimdead-bangoverAlbany.

Becool,pal.

Trucksthunderingthroughclosedtownswherepeople

lookoutofcardboard-patchedwindowswithterrified,hatingeyes.Roaringlikeprehistoricbeastsinthenight.

Opentheholes.

Huge,grindingmotorsslidehugeconcreteduncecapsaside,shuntingthemdowngleamingsteeltracks.CircularsilosliketheentrancestotheunderworldoftheMorlocks.Gaspsof

liquidhydrogenescapingintotheair.

Tracking.Wearetracking,Newark.

Roger,Springfield.Keepusin.

Drunkssleepinginalleyswakefoggilytothethunderofthepassingtrucksandstaremutelyattheslicesofskybetweenclose-leaning

buildings.Theireyesarefadedandyellow,theirmouthsaredrippinglines.Handspullwithsenilereflexfornewsiestoprotectagainsttheautumncold,butthenewsiesarenolongerthere,theFree-Veehaskilledthelastofthem.Free-Veeiskingoftheworld.Hallelujah.RichfolkssmokeDokes.Theyelloweyescatchanunknownglimpseofhigh,blinkinglightsinthesky.

Flash,flash.Redandgreen,redandgreen.Thethunderofthetruckshasfaded,rammingbackandforthinthestonecanyonslikethefistsofvandals.Thedrunkssleepagain.Bitchin’.

WegothimwestofSpringfield.

Go-no-goinfiveminutes.

FromHarding?

Yes.

He’sbracketedandbraced.

Allacrossthenighttheinvisiblebatwingsfly,drawingaglitteringnetacrossthenortheastcornerofAmerica.ServoscontrolledbyGeneralAtomicscomputersfunctionsmoothly.Themissilesturnandshiftsubtlyinathousandplacestofollowtheblinkingredand

greenlightsthatsketchthesky.Theyarelikesteelrattlesnakesfilledwithwaitingvenom.

Richardssawitall,andfunctionedevenashesawit.Thedualityofhisbrainwasoddlycomforting,inaway.Itinducedadetachmentthatwasmuchlikeinsanity.Hisbloodcrustedfingerfollowedtheirsouthwardprogresssmoothly.Nowsouthof

Springfield,nowwestofHartford,now—

Tracking.

…Minus019andCOUNTING…

“Mr.Richards?”

“Yes.”

“WeareoverNewark,NewJersey.”

“Yes,”Richardssaid.“I’ve

beenwatching.Holloway?”

Hollowaydidn’treply,butRichardsknewhewaslistening.

“They’vegotabeaddrawnonusalltheway,don’tthey?”

“Yes,”Hollowaysaid.

RichardslookedatMcCone.“Iimaginethey’retryingto

decideiftheycanaffordtodoawaywiththeirprofessionalbloodhoundhere.Imaginethey’lldecideintheaffirmative.Afterall,alltheyhavetodoistrainanewone.”

McConewassnarlingathim,butRichardsthoughtitwasacompletelyunconsciousgesture,onethatcouldprobablybetracedallthewaytoMcCone’s

ancestors,theNeanderthalswhohadcreptupbehindtheirenemieswithlargerocksratherthanbattlingtothedeathinthehonorablebutunintelligentmanner.

“Whendowegetoveropencountryagain,Captain?”

“Wewon’t.Notonaduesouthheading.WewillstrikeopenseaafterwecrosstheoffshoreNorthCarolina

drillingderricks,though.”

“EverythingsouthofhereisasuburbofNewYorkCity?”

“That’saboutthesizeofit,”Hollowaysaid.

“Thankyou.”

Newarkwassprawledandgroinedbelowthemlikeahandfulofdirtyjewelrythrowncarelesslyintosome

lady’sblack-velvetvanitybox.

“Captain?”

Wearily:“Yes.”

“Youwillnowproceedduewest.”

McConejumpedasifhehadbeengoosed.Ameliamadeasurprisedcoughingnoiseinherthroat.

“West?”Hollowayasked.Hesoundedunhappyandfrightenedforthefirsttime.“You’reaskingforit,goingthatway.Westtakesusoverprettyopencountry.PennsylvaniabetweenHarrisburgandPittsburghisallfarmcountry.Thereisn’tanotherbigcityeastofCleveland.”

“Areyouplanningmystrategyforme,Captain?”

“No,I—”

“Duewest,”Richardsrepeatedcurtly.

Newarkswungawaybeneaththem.

“You’recrazy,”McConesaid.“They’llblowusapart.”

“Withyouandfiveotherinnocentpeopleonboard?Thishonorablecountry?”

“Itwillbeamistake,”McConesaidharshly.“Amistakeonpurpose.”

“Don’tyouwatchTheNationalReport?”Richardsasked,stillsmiling.“Wedon’tmakemistakes.Wehaven’tmadeamistakesince1950.”

Newarkwasslidingawaybeneaththewing;darknesstookitsplace.

“You’renotlaughinganymore,”Richardssaid.

…Minus018andCOUNTING…

Ahalf-hourlaterHollowaycameonthevoice-commagain.Hesoundedexcited.

“Richards,we’vebeeninformedbyHardingRedthattheywanttobeamahigh-

intensitybroadcastatus.FromGamesFederation.IwastoldyouwouldfinditverymuchworthyourwhiletoturnontheFree-Vee.”

“Thankyou.”

HeregardedtheblankFree-Veescreenandalmostturnediton.Hewithdrewhishandasifthebackofthenextseatwithitsembeddedscreenwashot.Acurioussenseofdread

anddéjàvufilledhim.Itwastoomuchlikegoingbacktothebeginning,Sheilawithherthin,workedface,thesmellofMrs.Jenner’scabbagecookingdownthehall.Theblareofthegames.TreadmilltoBucks.SwimtheCrocodiles.Cathy’sscreams.Therecouldneverbeanotherchild,ofcourse,notevenifhecouldtakeallthisback,withdrawit,andgobacktothebeginning.Eventheone

hadbeenagainstfantasticallyhighodds.

“Turniton,”McConesaid.“Maybethey’regoingtoofferus—you—adeal.”

“Shutup,”Richardssaid.

Hewaited,lettingthedreadfillhimuplikeheavywater.Thecurioussenseofpresentiment.Hehurtverybadly.Hiswoundwasstill

bleeding,andhislegsfeltweakandfaraway.Hedidn’tknowifhecouldgetuptofinishthischaradewhenthetimecame.

Withagrunt,RichardsleanedforwardagainandpushedtheONbutton.TheFree-Veesprangtoincrediblyclear,amplified-signallife.Thefacethatfilledthescreen,patientlywaiting,wasveryblackandveryfamiliar.Dan

Killian.Hewassittingatakidney-shapedmahoganydeskwiththeGamessymbolonit.

“Hellothere,”Richardssaidsoftly.

HecouldhavefallenoutofhisseatwhenKillianstraightenedup,grinned,andsaid,“Hellothereyourself,Mr.Richards.”

…Minus017andCOUNTING…

“Ican’tseeyou,”Killiansaid,“butIcanhearyou.Thejet’svoice-commisbeingrelayedthroughtheradioequipmentinthecockpit.Theytellmeyou’reshotup.”

“It’snotasbadasitlooks,”Richardssaid.“Igotscratchedupinthewoods.”

“Ohyes,”Killiansaid.“ThefamousRunThroughtheWoods.BobbyThompsoncanonizeditontheairjusttonight—alongwithyourcurrentexploit,ofcourse.Tomorrowthosewoodswillbefullofpeoplelookingforascrapofyourshirt,ormaybeevenacartridgecase.”

“That’stoobad,”Richardssaid.“Isawarabbit.”

“You’vebeenthegreatestcontestantwe’veeverhad,Richards.Throughacombinationofluckandskill,you’vebeenpositivelythegreatest.Greatenoughforustoofferyouadeal.”

“Whatdeal?Nationallytelevisedfiringsquad?”

“Thisplanehijackhasbeenthemostspectacular,butit’salsobeenthedumbest.Doyouknowwhy?Becauseforthefirsttimeyou’renotnearyourownpeople.Youleftthembehindwhenyoulefttheground.Eventhewomanthat’sprotectingyou.Youmaythinkshe’syours.Shemayeventhinkit.Butshe’snot.There’snooneuptherebutus,Richards.You’readeadduck.Finally.”

“PeoplekeeptellingmethatandIkeepdrawingbreath.”

“You’vebeendrawingbreathforthelasttwohoursstrictlyonGamesFederationsay-so.Ididit.AndI’mtheonethatfinallyshovedthroughtheauthorizationforthedealI’mgoingtoofferyou.Therewasstrongoppositionfromtheoldguard—thiskindofthinghasneverbeendone—butI’mgoing

throughwithit.

“Youaskedmewhoyoucouldkillifyoucouldgoallthewaytothetopwithamachinegun.Oneofthemwouldhavebeenme,Richards.Doesthatsurpriseyou?”

“Isupposeitdoes.Ihadyoupeggedforthehousenigger.”

Killianthrewbackhishead

andlaughed,butthelaughtersoundedforced—thelaughterofamanplayingforhighstakesandlaboringunderagreattension.

“Here’sthedeal,Richards.FlyyourplanetoHarding.TherewillbeaGameslimowaitingattheairport.Anexecutionwillbeperformed—afake.Thenyoujoinourteam.”

TherewasastartledyelpofragefromMcCone.“Youblackbastard—”

AmeliaWilliamslookedstunned.

“Verygood,”Richardssaid.“Iknewyouweregood,butthisisreallygreat.Whatafineused-carsalesmanyouwouldhavemade,Killian.”

“DidMcConesoundlikeI

waslying?”

“McConeisafineactor.HedidalittlesonganddanceattheairportthatcouldhavewonanAcademyAward.”Still,hewastroubled.McCone’shustlingawayofAmeliaforcoffeewhenitappearedshemighttriptheIrish,McCone’ssteady,heavyantagonism—theydidn’tfit.Ordidthey?Hismindbegantopinwheel.

“Maybeyou’respringingthisonhimwithouthisknowledge.Countingonhisreactiontomakeitlookevenbetter.”

Killiansaid:“You’vedoneyoursonganddancewiththeplasticexplosive,Mr.Richards.Weknow—know—thatyouarebluffing.Butthereisabuttononthisdesk,asmallredbutton,whichisnotabluff.Twentyseconds

afterIpushit,thatplanewillbetornapartbysurface-to-airDiamondbackmissilescarryingcleannuclearwarheads.”

“TheIrishisn’tfake,either.”Buttherewasacurdledtasteinhismouth.Thebluffwassoured.

“Oh,itis.Youcouldn’tgetonaLockheedG-Aplanewithaplasticexplosive.Not

withouttrippingthealarms.Therearefourseparatedetectorsontheplane,installedtofoilhijackers.Afifthwasinstalledintheparachuteyouaskedfor.IcantellyouthatthealarmlightsintheVoigtFieldcontroltowerwerewatchedwithgreatinterestandtrepidationwhenyougoton.TheconsensuswasthatyouprobablyhadtheIrish.Youhaveprovedsoresourcefulall

thewayupthelinethatitseemedlikeafairassumptiontomake.Therewasmorethanalittlereliefwhennoneofthoselightswenton.Iassumeyouneverhadtheopportunitytopickanyup.Maybeyouneverthoughtofituntiltoolate.Well,doesn’tmatter.Itmakesyourpositionworse,but—”

McConewassuddenlystandingbesideRichards.

“Hereitgoes,”hesaid,grinning.“HereiswhereIblowyourfuckingheadoff,donkey.”HepointedhisgunatRichards’stemple.

…Minus016andCOUNTING…

“You’redeadifyoudo,”Killiansaid.

McConehesitated,fellbackastep,andstaredattheFree-Veeunbelievingly.Hisfacebegantotwistandcrumple

again.Hislipswrithedinasilentefforttogainspeech.Whenitfinallycame,itwasawhisperofthwartedrage.

“Icantakehim!Rightnow!Righthere!We’llallbesafe!We’ll—”

Wearily,Killiansaid:“You’resafenow,youGoddamnedfool.AndDonahuecouldhavetakenhim—ifwewantedhimtaken.”

“Thismanisacriminal!”McCone’svoicewasrising.“He’skilledpoliceofficers!Committedactsofanarchyandairpiracy!He’s…he’spubliclyhumiliatedmeandmydepartment!”

“Sitdown,”Killiansaid,andhisvoicewasascoldasthedeepspacebetweenplanets.“It’stimeyourememberedwhopaysyoursalary,Mr.ChiefHunter.”

“I’mgoingtotheCouncilPresidentwiththis!”McConewasravingnow.Spittleflewfromhislips.“You’regoingtobechoppingcottonwhenthisisover,nig!Yougoddamworthlessnight-fightingsonofabitch—”

“Pleasethrowyourgunonthefloor,”anewvoicesaid.Richardslookedaround,startled.ItwasDonahue,thenavigator,lookingcolderand

deadlierthanever.Hisgreasedhairgleamedinthecabin’sindirectlighting.Hewasholdingawire-stockMagnum/Springstunmachinepistol,anditwastrainedonMcCone.“RobertS.Donahue,old-timer.GamesCouncilControl.Throwitonthefloor.”

…Minus015andCOUNTING…

McConelookedathimforalongsecond,andthenthegunthumpedontheheavypileofthecarpet.“You—”

“Ithinkwe’veheardalltherhetoricweneed,”Donahue

said.“Gobackintosecondclassandsitdownlikeagoodboy.”

McConebackedupseveralpaces,snarlingfutilely.HelookedtoRichardslikeavampireinanoldhorrormoviethathadbeenthwartedbyacross.

Whenhewasgone,DonahuethrewRichardsasardoniclittlesalutewiththe

barrelofhisgunandsmiled.“Hewon’tbotheryouagain.”

“Youstilllooklikeaqueer-stomper,”Richardssaidevenly.

Thesmallsmilefaded.Donahuestaredathimwithsudden,emptydislikeforamoment,andthenwentforwardagain.

Richardsturnedbacktothe

Free-Veescreen.Hefoundthathispulseratehadremainedperfectlysteady.Hehadnoshortnessofbreath,norubberlegs.Deathhadbecomeanormality.

“Areyouthere,Mr.Richards?”Killianasked.

“YesIam.”

“Theproblemhasbeenhandled?”

“Yes.”

“Good.LetmegetbacktowhatIwassaying.”

“Goahead.”

Killiansighedathistone.“Iwassayingthatourknowledgeofyourbluffmakesyourpositionworse,butmakesourcredibilitybetter.Doyouseewhy?”

“Yes,”Richardssaiddetachedly.“Itmeansyoucouldhaveblownthisbirdoutoftheskyanytime.OryoucouldhavehadHollowaysettheplanedownatwill.McConewouldhavebumpedme.”

“Exactly.Doyoubelieveweknowyouarebluffing?”

“No.Butyou’rebetterthanMcCone.Usingyourplanted

houseboywasafinestroke.”

Killianlaughed.“Oh,Richards.Youaresuchapeach.Sucharare,iridescentbird.”Andyetagainitsoundedforced,tense,pressured.ItcametoRichardsthatKillianwasholdinginformationwhichhewantedbadlynottotell.

“Ifyoureallyhadit,youwouldhavepulledthestring

whenMcConeputtheguntoyourhead.Youknewhewasgoingtokillyou.Yetyousatthere.”

Richardsknewitwasover,knewthattheyknew.Asmilecrackedhisfeatures.Killianwouldappreciatethat.Hewasamanofasharpandsardonicturnofmind.Makethempaytoseetheholecard,then.

“I’mnotbuyinganyofthis.

Ifyoupushme,everythinggoesbang.”

“Andyouwouldn’tbethemanyouareifyoudidn’tspinitouttotheveryend.Mr.Donahue?”

“Yes,sir.”Donahue’scool,efficient,emotionlessvoicecameoverthevoice-commandoutoftheFree-Veealmostsimultaneously.

“PleasegobackandremoveMrs.Williams’spocketbookfromMr.Richards’spocket.You’renottoharmhiminanyway.”

“Yes,sir.”Richardswaseerilyremindedoftheplasti-punchthathadstenciledhisoriginalI.D.cardatGamesheadquarters.Clitter-clitter-clitter.

Donahuereappearedand

walkedtowardRichards.Hisfacewassmoothandcoldandempty.Programmed.ThewordleapedintoRichards’smind.

“Standrightthere,prettyboy,”Richardsremarked,shiftingthehandinhiscoatpocketslightly.“TheManthereissafeontheground.You’retheonethat’sgoingtothemoon.”

Hethoughtthesteadystridemighthavefalteredforjustasecondandtheeyesseemedtohavewincedthetiniestuncertainbit,andthenhecameonagain.HemighthavebeenpromenadingontheCôted’Azur…orapproachingagibberinghomosexualcoweringattheendofablindalley.

BrieflyRichardsconsideredgrabbingtheparachuteand

fleeing.Hopeless.Flee?Where?Themen’sbathroomatthefarendofthethirdclasswastheendoftheline.

“Seeyouinhell,”hesaidsoftly,andmadeapullinggestureinhispocket.Thistimethereactionwasalittlebetter.Donahuemadeagruntingnoiseandthrewhishandsuptoprotecthisfaceinaninstinctivegestureasoldasmanhimself.Helowered

them,stillinthelandoftheliving,lookingembarrassedandveryangry.

RichardstookAmeliaWilliams’spocketbookoutofhismuddy,torncoatpocketandthrewit.ItstruckDonahue’schestandploppedathisfeetlikeadeadbird.Richards’shandwasslimedwithsweat.Lyingonhiskneeagain,itlookedstrangeandwhiteandforeign.Donahue

pickedupthebag,lookedinitperfunctorily,andhandedittoAmelia.Richardsfeltastupidsortofsadnessatitspassage.Inaway,itwaslikelosinganoldfriend.

“Boom,”hesaidsoftly.

…Minus014andCOUNTING…

“Yourboyisverygood,”Richardssaidtiredly,whenDonahuehadretreatedagain.“Igothimtoflinch,butIwashopinghe’dpeehispants.”Hewasbeginningtonoticeanodddoublingofhisvision.

Itcameandwent.Hecheckedhissidegingerly.Itwasclottingreluctantlyforthesecondtime.“Whatnow?”heasked.“Doyousetupcamerasattheairportsoeveryonecanwatchthedesperadogetit?”

“Nowthedeal,”Killiansaidsoftly.Hisfacewasdark,unreadable.Whateverhehadbeenholdingbackwasnowjustbelowthesurface.

Richardsknewit.Andsuddenlyhewasfilledwithdreadagain.HewantedtoreachoutandturntheFree-Veeoff.Nothearitanymore.Hefelthisinsidesbeginaslowandterriblequaking—anactual,literalquaking.Buthecouldnotturnitoff.Ofcoursenot.Itwas,afterall,Free.

“Gettheebehindme,Satan,”hesaidthickly.

“What?”Killianlookedstartled.

“Nothing.Makeyourpoint.”

Killiandidnotspeak.Helookeddownathishands.Helookedupagain.Richardsfeltanunknownchamberofhismindgroanwithpsychicpresentiment.Itseemedtohimthattheghostsofthepoorandthenameless,ofthe

drunkssleepinginalleys,werecallinghisname.

“McConeisplayedout,”Killiansaidsoftly.“Youknowitbecauseyoudidit.Crackedhimlikeasoft-shelledegg.Wewantyoutotakehisplace.”

Richards,whothoughthehadpassedthepointofallshock,foundhismouthhangingopeninutter,dazed

incredulity.Itwasalie.Hadtobe.Yet—Ameliahadherpursebacknow.Therewasnoreasonforthemtolieorofferfalseillusions.Hewashurtandalone.BothMcConeandDonahuewerearmed.Onebulletadministeredjustabovetheleftearwouldputaneatendtohimwithnofuss,nomuss,orbother.

Conclusion:KillianwastellingGod’struth.

“You’renuts,”hemuttered.

“No.You’rethebestrunnerwe’veeverhad.Andthebestrunnerknowsthebestplacestolook.Openyoureyesalittleandyou’llseethatTheRunningManisdesignedforsomethingbesidespleasuringthemassesandgettingridofdangerouspeople.Richards,theNetworkisalwaysinthemarketforfreshnewtalent.Wehavetobe.”

Richardstriedtospeak,couldsaynothing.Thedreadwasstillinhim,widening,heightening,thickening.

“There’sneverbeenaChiefHunterwithafamily,”hefinallysaid.“Yououghttoknowwhy.Thepossibilitiesforextortion—”

“Ben,”Killiansaidwithinfinitegentleness,“yourwifeanddaughteraredead.

They’vebeendeadforovertendays.”

…Minus013andCOUNTING…

DanKillianwastalking,hadbeenperhapsforsometime,butRichardsheardhimonlydistantly,distortedbyanoddechoeffectinhismind.Itwaslikebeingtrappedinaverydeepwellandhearing

someonecalldown.Hismindhadgonemidnightdark,andthedarknessservedasthebackgroundforakindofscrapbookslideshow.AnoldKodakofSheilawigglinginthehallsofTradesHighwithaloose-leafbinderunderherarm.Microskirtshadjustcomebackintofashionthen.Afreeze-frameofthetwoofthemsittingattheendoftheBayPier(Admission:Free),backstothecamera,looking

outatthewater.Handslinked.Sepia-tonedphotoofayoungmaninanill-fittingsuitandayoungwomaninhermother’sbestdress—speciallytakenup—standingbeforeaJ.P.withalargewartonhisnose.Theyhadgiggledatthatwartontheirweddingnight.Starkblackandwhiteactionphotoofasweating,bare-chestedmanwearingaleadapronandworkingheavyenginegear-leversina

huge,vaultlikeundergroundchamberlitwitharclamps.Soft-tonedcolorphoto(softtoblurthestark,peelingsurroundings)ofawomanwithabigbellystandingatawindowandlookingout,raggedcurtainheldaside,watchingforhermantocomeupthestreet.Thelightisasoftcat’spawonhercheek.Lastpicture:anotherold-timeyKodakofathinfellowholdingatinyscrapofababy

highoverhisheadinacuriousmixtureoftriumphandlove,hisfacesplitbyahugewinninggrin.Thepicturesbegantoflashbyfasterandfaster,whirling,notbringinganysenseofgriefandloveandloss,notyet,no,bringingonlyacoolNovocainnumbness.

KillianassuringthattheNetworkhadnothingtodowiththeirdeaths,alla

horribleaccident.Richardssupposedhebelievedhim—notonlybecausethestorysoundedtoomuchlikealienottobethetruth,butbecauseKillianknewthatifRichardsagreedtothejoboffer,hisfirststopwouldbeCo-OpCity,whereasinglehouronthestreetswouldgethimthestraightofthematter.

Prowlers.Threeofthem.(Ortricks?Richards

wondered,suddenlyagonized.Shehadsoundedslightlyfurtiveonthetelephone,asifholdingsomethingback—)Theyhadbeenhoppedup,probably.PerhapstheyhadmadesomethreateningmovetowardCathyandSheilahadtriedtoprotectherdaughter.Theyhadbothdiedofpuncturewounds.

Thathadsnappedhimoutof

it.“Don’tfeedmethatshit!”hescreamedsuddenly.Ameliaflinchedbackwardandsuddenlyhidherface.“Whathappened?Tellmewhathappened!”

“There’snothingmoreIcansay.Yourwifewasstabbedoversixtytimes.”

“Cathy,”Richardssaidemptily,withoutthought,andKillianwinced.

“Ben,wouldyoulikesometimetothinkaboutallthis?”

“Yes.Yes,Iwould.”

“I’mdesperately,desperatelysorry,pal.Iswearonmymotherthatwehadnothingtodowithit.Ourwaywouldhavebeentosetthemupawayfromyou,withvisitingrightsifyouagreed.Amandoesn’twillinglyworkforthepeoplewhobutchered

hisfamily.Weknowthat.”

“Ineedtimetothink.”

“AsChiefHunter,”Killiansaidsoftly,“youcouldgetthosebastardsandputthemdownadeephole.Andalotofothersjustlikethem.”

“Iwanttothink.Goodbye.”

“I—”

RichardsreachedoutandthumbedtheFree-Veeintoblackness.Hesatstonelikeinhisseat.Hishandsdangledlooselybetweenhisknees.Theplanedronedonintodarkness.

So,hethought.It’sallcomeunraveled.Allofit.

…Minus012andCOUNTING…

Anhourpassed.

Thetimehascome,thewalrussaid,totalkofmanythings…ofsailingshipsandsealing-wax,Andwhetherpigshavewings.

Picturesflittedinandoutofhismind.Stacey.Bradley.EltonParrakiswithhisbabyface.Anightmareofrunning.LightingthenewspapersinthebasementoftheY.M.C.A.withthatlastmatch.Thegas-poweredcarswheelingandscreeching,theStengunspittingflame.Laughlin’ssourvoice.Thepicturesofthosetwokids,thejuniorGestapoagents.

Well,whynot?

Notiesnow,andcertainlynomorality.Howcouldmoralitybeanissuetoamancutlooseanddrifting?HowwiseKillianhadbeentoseethat,toshowRichardswithcalmandgentlebrutalityjusthowalonehewas.Bradleyandhisimpassionedair-pollutionpitchseemeddistant,unreal,unimportant.Nose-filters.Yes.Atonetime

theconceptofnose-filtershadseemedlarge,veryimportant.Nolongerso.

Thepooryouwillhavewithyoualways.

True.EvenRichards’sloinshadproducedaspecimenforthekillingmachine.Eventuallythepoorwouldadapt,mutate.Theirlungswouldproducetheirownfiltrationsysteminten

thousandyearsorinfiftythousand,andtheywouldriseup,ripouttheartificialfiltersandwatchtheirownersflopandkickanddrumtheirlivesaway,drowninginanatmospherewhereoxygenplayedonlyaminorpart,andwhatwasfuturitytoBenRichards?Itwasallonlybitchin.

Therewouldbeaperiodofgrief.Theywouldexpectthat,

provideforit.Therewouldevenberages,momentsofrevolt.Abortivetriestomaketheknowledgeofdeliberatepoisonintheairpublicagain?Maybe.Theywouldtakecareofit.Takecareofhim—anticipationofatimewhenhewouldtakecareofthem.Instinctivelyheknewhecoulddoit.Hesuspectedhemightevenhaveacertaingeniusforthejob.Theywouldhelphim,healhim.

Drugsanddoctors.Achangeofmind.

Then,peace.

Contentiousnessrootedoutlikebitterweed.

Heregardedthepeacelongingly,thewayamaninthedesertregardswater.

AmeliaWilliamscriedsteadilyinherseatlongafter

thetimewhenalltearsshouldhavegonedry.Hewonderedindifferentlywhatwouldbecomeofher.Shecouldn’tverywellbereturnedtoherhusbandandfamilyinherpresentstate;shesimplywasnotthesameladywhohadpulleduptoaroutinestopsignwithhermindallfullofmealsandmeetings,clubsandcooking.ShehadShownRed.Hesupposedtherewouldbedrugsandtherapy,a

patientshowingoff.ThePlaceWhereTwoRoadsDiverged,apinpointingofthereasonwhythewrongpathhadbeenchosen.Acarnivalindarkmentalbrowns.

Hewantedsuddenlytogotoher,comforther,tellherthatshewasnotbadlybroken,thatasinglecrisscrossingofpsychicBand-Aidsshouldfixher,makeherevenbetterthanshehadbeenbefore.

Sheila.Cathy.

Theirnamescameandrepeated,clanginginhismindlikebells,likewordsrepeateduntiltheyarereducedtononsense.Sayyournameovertwohundredtimesanddiscoveryouarenoone.Griefwasimpossible;hecouldfeelonlyafuzzysenseofembarrassment:theyhadtakenhim,runhimslack-lunged,andhehadturnedout

tobenothingbutahorse’sassafterall.HerememberedaboyfromhisgrammarschooldayswhohadstooduptogivethePledgeofAllegianceandhispantshadfallendown.

Theplanedronedonandon.Hesankintoathree-quarterdoze.Picturescameandwentlazily,wholeincidentswereseenwithoutanyemotionalcoloratall.

Then,afinalscrapbookpicture:aglossyeight-by-tentakenbyaboredpolicephotographerwhohadperhapsbeenchewinggum.ExhibitC,ladiesandgentlemenofthejury.Onerippedandslicedsmallbodyinablood-drenchedcrib.SplattersandrunnelsonthecheapstuccowallsandthebrokenMotherGoosemobileboughtforadime.Agreatstickyclotonthesecondhand

teddybearwithoneeye.

Hesnappedawake,fullawakeandboltupright,withhismouthproppedwideinablabberingscream.Theforceexpelledfromhislungswasgreatenoughtomakehistongueflaplikeasail.Everything,everythinginthefirst-classcompartmentwassuddenlyclearandplan-gentlyreal,overpowering,awful.Ithadthegrainy

realityofascaretabloidnewsieclip.LaughlinbeingdraggedoutofthatshedinTopeka,forinstance.Everything,everythingwasveryrealandinTechnicolor.

Ameliascreamedaffrightedlyinunison,cringingbackinherseatwitheyesashugeascrackedporcelaindoorknobs,tryingtocramawholefistinhermouth.

Donahuecamechargingthroughthegalley,hisgunout.Hiseyesweresmallenthusiasticblackbeads.“Whatisit?What’swrong?McCone?”

“No,”Richardssaid,feelinghisheartslowjustenoughtokeephiswordsfromsoundingsqueezedanddesperate.“Baddream.Mylittlegirl.”

“Oh.”Donahue’seyessoftenedincounterfeitsympathy.Hedidn’tknowhowtodoitverywell.Perhapshewouldbeagoonallhislife.Perhapshewouldlearn.Heturnedtogo.

“Donahue?”

Donahueturnedbackwarily.

“Hadyouprettyscared,

didn’tI?”

“No.”Donahueturnedawayonthatshortword.Hisneckwasbunched.Hisbuttocksinhistightblueuniformwereasprettyasagirl’s.

“Icanscareyouworse,”Richardsremarked.“Icouldthreatentotakeawayyournosefilter.”

ExeuntDonahue.

Richardsclosedhiseyestiredly.Theglossyeight-by-tencameback.Openedthem.Closedthem.Noglossyeight-by-ten.Hewaited,andwhenhewassureitwasnotgoingtocomeback(rightaway),heopenedhiseyesandthumbedontheFree-Vee.

ItpoppedonandtherewasKillian.

…Minus011andCOUNTING…

“Richards.”Killianleanedforward,makingnoefforttoconcealhistension.

“I’vedecidedtoaccept,”Richardssaid.

Killianleanedbackandnothingsmiledbuthiseyes.“I’mveryglad,”hesaid.

…Minus010andCOUNTING…

“Jesus,”Richardssaid.Hewasstandinginthedoorwaytothepilot’scountry.

Hollowayturnedaround.“Hi.”HehadbeenspeakingtosomethingcalledDetroit

VOR.Duningerwasdrinkingcoffee.

Thetwincontrolconsoleswereuntended.Yettheyswerved,tipped,andturnedasifinresponsetoghosthandsandfeet.Dialsswung.Lightsflashed.Thereseemedtobeahugeandconstantinputandoutputgoingon…tonooneatall.

“Who’sdrivingthebus?”

Richardsasked,fascinated.

“Otto,”Duningersaid.

“Otto?”

“Ottotheautomaticpilot.Getit?Shittypun.”Duningersuddenlysmiled.“Gladtohaveyouontheteam,fella.Youmaynotbelievethis,butsomeofusguyswererootingforyouprettyhard.”

Richardsnoddednoncommittally.

Hollowaysteppedintotheslightlyawkwardbreachbysaying:“Ottofreaksmeout,too.Evenaftertwentyyearsofthis.Buthe’sdeadsafe.Sophisticatedashell.Itwouldmakeoneoftheoldoneslooklike…well,likeanorangecratebesideaChippendalebureau.”

“Isthatright?”Richardswasstaringoutintothedarkness.

“Yes.YoulockonP.O.D.—pointofdestination—andOttotakesover,aidedbyVoice-Radaralltheway.Makesthepilotprettysuperfluous,exceptfortakeoffsandlandings.Andincaseoftrouble.”

“Istheremuchyoucandoif

there’strouble?”Richardsasked.

“Wecanpray,”Hollowaysaid.Perhapsitwasmeanttosoundjocular,butitcameoutwithastrangesinceritythathunginthecabin.

“Dothosewheelsactuallysteertheplane?”Richardsasked.

“Onlyupanddown,”

Duningersaid.“Thepedalscontrolsidesidemotion.”

“Soundslikeakid’ssoapboxracer.”

“Alittlemorecomplicated,”Hollowaysaid.“Let’sjustsaythereareafewmorebuttonstopush.”

“WhathappensifOttogoesoffhischump?”

“Neverhappens,”Duningersaidwithagrin.“Ifitdid,you’djustoverridehim.Butthecomputerisneverwrong,pal.”

Richardswantedtoleave,butthesightoftheturningwheels,theminute,mindlessadjustmentsofthepedalsandswitches,heldhim.HollowayandDuningerwentbacktotheirbusiness—obscurenumbersandcommunications

filledwithstatic.

Hollowaylookedbackonce,seemedsurprisedtoseehimstillthere.Hegrinnedandpointedintothedarkness.“You’llseeHardingcominguptheresoon.”

“Howlong?”

“You’llbeabletoseethehorizonglowinfivetosixminutes.”

WhenHollowayturnedaroundnext,Richardswasgone.HesaidtoDuninger.“I’llbegladwhenwesetthatguydown.He’saspook.”

Duningerlookeddownmorosely,hisfacebathedinthegreen,luminescentglowofthecontrols.“Hedidn’tlikeOtto.Youknowthat?”

“Iknowit,”Hollowaysaid.

…Minus009andCOUNTING…

Richardswalkedbackdownthenarrow,hip-widecorridor.Friedman,thecommunicationsman,didn’tlookup.NeitherdidDonahue.Richardssteppedthroughintothegalleyand

thenhalted.

Thesmellofcoffeewasstrongandgood.Hepouredhimselfacup,addedsomeinstantcreamer,andsatdowninoneofthestewardesses’soff-dutychairs.TheSilexbubbledandsteamed.

Therewasacompletestockofluxuryfrozendinnersinthesee-throughfreezers.Theliquorcabinetwasfully

stockedwithmidgetairlinebottles.

Amancouldhaveagooddrunk,hethought.

Hesippedhiscoffee.Itwasstrongandfine.TheSilexbubbled.

HereIam,hethought,andsipped.Yes,noquestionaboutit.Herehewas,justsipping.

Potsandpansallneatlyputaway.ThestainlesssteelsinkgleaminglikeachromiumjewelinaFormicasetting.And,ofcourse,thatSilexonthehotplate,bubblingandsteaming.SheilahadalwayswantedaSilex.ASilexlasts,washerclaim.

Hewasweeping.

Therewasatinytoiletwhereonlystewardess

bottomshadsquatted.Thedoorwashalfajarandhecouldseeit,yes,eventheblue,primlydisinfectedwaterinthebowl.Defecateintastefulsplendoratfiftythousandfeet.

HedrankhiscoffeeandwatchedtheSilexbubbleandsteam,andhewept.Theweepingwasverycalmandcompletelysilent.Itandhiscupofcoffeeendedatthe

sametime.

Hegotupandputhiscupinthestainlesssteelsink.HepickeduptheSilex,holdingitbyitsbrownplastichandle,andcarefullydumpedthecoffeedownthedrain.Tinybeadsofcondensationclungtothethickglass.

Hewipedhiseyeswiththesleeveofhisjacketandwentbackintothenarrowcorridor.

HesteppedintoDonahue’scompartment,carryingtheSilexinonehand.

“Wantsomecoffee?”Richardsasked.

“No,”Donahuesaidcurtly,withoutlookingup.

“Sureyoudo,”Richardssaid,andswungtheheavyglasspotdownonDonahue’sbentheadwithalltheforce

hecouldmanage.

…Minus008andCOUNTING…

Theeffortrippedopenthewoundinhissideforthethirdtime,butthepotdidn’tbreak.Richardswonderedifithadbeenfortifiedwithsomething(VitaminB-12,perhaps?)tokeepitfromshatteringincase

ofhighlevelturbulence.Itdidtakeahuge,amazingblotofDonahue’sblood.Hefellsilentlyontohismaptable.Arunnelofbloodranacrosstheplasticoatingofthetoponeandbegantodrip.

“Rogerfive-by,C-one-niner-eight-four,”aradiovoicesaidbrightly.

RichardswasstillholdingtheSilex.Itwasmattedwith

strandsofDonahue’shair.

Hedroppedit,buttherewasnoclunk.Carpetingevenhere.TheglassbubbleoftheSilexrolledupathim,awinking,bloodshoteyeball.Theglossyeight-by-tenofCathyinhercribappearedunbiddenandRichardsshuddered.

HeliftedDonahue’sdeadweightbythehairand

rummagedinsidehisblueflightjacket.Thegunwasthere.HewasabouttodropDonahue’sheadbacktothemaptable,butpaused,andyankeditupevenfurther.Donahue’smouthhungunhinged,anidiotleer.Blooddrippedintoit.

Richardswipedbloodfromonenostrilandstaredin.

Thereitwas—tiny,very

tiny.Aglitterofmesh.

“AcknowledgeE.T.A.C-one-niner-eight-four,”theradiosaid.

“Hey,that’syou!”Friedmancalledfromacrossthehall.“Donahue—”

Richardslimpedintothepassage.Hefeltveryweak.Friedmanlookedup.“WillyoutellDonahuetogetoff

hisbuttandacknowledge—”

Richardsshothimjustabovetheupperlip.Teethflewlikeabroken,savagenecklace.Hair,blood,andbrainssplashedaRorschachonthewallbehindthechair,wherea3-Dfoldoutgirlwasspreadingeternallegsoveravarnishedmahoganybedpost.

Therewasamuffledexclamationfromthepilot’s

compartment,andHollowaymadeadesperate,doomedlungetoshutthedoor.Richardsnoticedthathehadaverysmallscaronhisforehead,shapedlikeaquestionmark.Itwasthekindofscarasmall,adventurousboymightgetifhefellfromalowbranchwhileplayingpilot.

HeshotHollowayinthebellyandHollowaymadea

greatshockednoise:“Whoooo-OOO!Hisfeetflippedoutfromunderhimandhefellonhisface.

Duningerwasturnedaroundinhischair,hisfaceaslackmoon.“Don’tshootme,huh?”hesaid.Therewasnotenoughwindinhimtomakeitastatement.

“Here,”Richardssaidkindly,andpulledthetrigger.

SomethingpoppedandflaredwithbriefviolencebehindDuningerashefellover.

Silence.

“AcknowledgeE.T.A.,C-one-niner-eight-four,”theradiosaid.

Richardssuddenlywhoopedandthrewupagreatglutofcoffeeandbile.Themuscularcontractionrippedhiswound

openfurther,implantingagreat,throbbingpaininhisside.

Helimpedtothecontrols,stilldippingandslidinginendless,complextandem.Somanydialsandcontrols.

Wouldn’ttheyhaveacommunicationslinkconstantlyopenonsuchanimportantflight?Surely.

“Acknowledge,”Richardssaidconversationally.

“YougottheFree-Veeonupthere,C-one-niner-eight-four?We’vebeengettingsomegarbledtransmission.Everythingokay?”

“Five-by,”Richardssaid.

“TellDuningerheowesmeabeer,”thevoicesaidcryptically,andthenthere

wasonlybackgroundstatic.

Ottowasdrivingthebus.

Richardswentbacktofinishhisbusiness.

…Minus007andCOUNTING…

“OhdearGod,”AmeliaWilliamsmoaned.

Richardslookeddownathimselfcasually.Hisentirerightside,fromribcagetocalf,wasabrightand

sparklingred.

“Whowouldhavethoughttheoldmanhadsomuchbloodinhim?”Richardssaid.

McConesuddenlydashedthroughintofirstclass.HetookinRichardsataglance.McCone’sgunwasout.HeandRichardsfiredatthesametime.

McConedisappeared

throughthecanvasbetweenfirstandsecondclass.Richardssatdownhard.Hefeltverytired.Therewasalargeholeinhisbelly.Hecouldseehisintestines.

Ameliawasscreamingendlessly,herhandspullinghercheeksdownintoaplasticwitch-face.

McConecamestaggeringbackintofirstclass.Hewas

grinning.Halfofhisheadappearedtobeblownaway,buthewasgrinningallthesame.

Hefiredtwice.ThefirstbulletwentoverRichards’shead.Thesecondstruckhimjustbelowthecollarbone.

Richardsfiredagain.McConestaggeredaroundtwiceinanaimlesskindofdipsy-doodle.Thegunfell

fromhisfingers.McConeappearedtobeobservingtheheavywhitestyrofoamceilingofthefirstclasscompartment,perhapscomparingittohisowninsecondclass.Hefellover.Thesmellofburnedpowderandburnedfleshwasclearandcrisp,asdistinctiveasapplesinaciderpress.

Ameliacontinuedtoscream.Richardsthoughthow

remarkablyhealthyshesounded.

…Minus006andCOUNTING…

Richardsgotupveryslowly,holdinghisintestinesin.Itfeltasifsomeonewaslightingmatchesinhisstomach.

Hewentslowlyuptheaisle,

bentover,onehandtohismidriff,asifbowing.Hepickeduptheparachutewithonehandanddraggeditbehindhim.Aloopofgraysausageescapedhisfingersandhepusheditbackin.Ithurttopushitin.Itvaguelyfeltasifhemightbeshittinghimself.

“Guh,”AmeliaWilliamswasgroaning.“Guh-Guh-Guh-God.OhGod.Ohdear

God.”

“Putthison,”Richardssaid.

Shecontinuedtorockandmoan,nothearinghim.Hedroppedtheparachuteandslappedher.Hecouldgetnoforceintoit.Heballedhisfistandpunchedher.Sheshutup.Hereyesstaredathimdazedly.

“Putthison,”hesaidagain.

“Likeapacksack.Youseehow?”

Shenodded.“I.Can’t.Jump.Scared.”

“We’regoingdown.Youhavetojump.”

“Can’t.”

“Allright.Shootyouthen.”

Shepoppedoutofherseat,

knockinghimsideways,andbegantopullthepacksackonwithwild,eye-rollingvigor.Shebackedawayfromhimasshestruggledwiththestraps.

“No.Thatonegoesuh-under.”

Sherearrangedthestrapwithgreatspeed,retreatingtowardMcCone’sbodyasRichardsapproached.Bloodwasdrippingfromhismouth.

“Nowfastentheclipintheringbolt.Around.Yourbuh-belly.”

Shediditwithtremblingfingers,weepingwhenshemissedtheconnectionthefirsttime.Hereyesstaredmadlyintohisface.

SheskitteredmomentarilyinMcCone’sbloodandthensteppedoverhim.

Theybackedthroughsecondclassandintothirdclassinthesameway.Matchesinhisbellyhadbeenreplacedbyasteadilyflaminglighter.

Theemergencydoorwaslockedwithexplosiveboltsandapilot-controlledbar.

Richardshandedherthegun.“Shootit.I…can’ttaketherecoil.”

Closinghereyesandavertingherface,shepulledthetriggerofDonahue’sguntwice.Thenitwasempty.Thedoorstoodclosed,andRichardsfeltafaint,sickdespair.AmeliaWilliamswasholdingtheripcordringnervously,givingittinylittletwitches.

“Maybe—”shebegan,andthedoorsuddenlyblewawayintothenight,suckingher

alongwithit.

…Minus005andCOUNTING…

Benthaglike,amaninareversehurricane,Richardsmadehiswayfromtheblowndoor,holdingthebacksofseats.Iftheyhadbeenflyinghigher,withagreaterdifferenceinairpressure,he

wouldhavebeenpulledout,too.Asitwashewasbeingbadlybuffeted,hispooroldintestinesaccordioningoutandtrailingafterhimonthefloor.Thecoolnightair,thinandsharpattwothousandfeet,waslikeaslapofcoldwater.Thecigarettelighterhadbecomeatorch,andhisinsideswereburning.

Throughsecondclass.Better.Suctionnotsogreat.

NowoverMcCone’ssprawledbody(stepup,please)andthroughfirstclass.Bloodranlooselyfromhismouth.

Hepausedattheentrancetothegalleyandtriedtogatheruphisintestines.Heknewtheydidn’tlikeitontheOutside.Notabit.Theyweregettingalldirty.Hewantedtoweepforhispoor,fragileintestines,whohadaskedfor

noneofthis.

Hecouldn’tpackthembackinside.Itwasallwrong;theywerealljumbled.Frighteningimagesfromhighschoolbiologybooksjettedpasthiseyes.Herealizedwithdawning,stumblingtruth,thefactofhisownactualending,andcriedoutmiserablythroughamouthfulofblood.

Therewasnoanswerfrom

theaircraft.Everyonewasgone.EveryonebuthimselfandOtto.

Theworldseemedtobedrainingofcolorashisbodydrainedofitsownbrightfluid.Leaningcrookedlyagainstthegalleyentrance,likeadrunkleaningagainstalamppost,hesawthethingsaroundhimgothroughashifting,wraithlikegrayout.

Thisisit.I’mgoing.

Hescreamedagain,bringingtheworldbackintoexcruciatingfocus.Notyet.Mustn’t.

Helungedthroughthegalleywithhisgutshanginginropesaroundhim.Amazingthattherecouldbesomuchinthere.Soround,sofirm,sofullypacked.

Hesteppedonpartofhimself,andsomethinginsidepulled.Theflareofpainwasbeyondbelief,beyondtheworld,andheshrieked,splatteringbloodonthefarwall.Helosthisbalanceandwouldhavefallen,hadnotthewallstoppedhimatsixtydegrees.

Gutshot.I’mgutshot.

Insanely,hismind

responded:Clitter-clitter-clitter.

Onethingtodo.

Gutshotwassupposedtobeoneoftheworst.Theyhadhadadiscussiononceabouttheworstwaystogoontheirmidnightlunchbreak;thathadbeenwhenhewasawiper.Haleandheartyandfullofbloodandpissandsemen,allofthem,gobbling

sandwichesandcomparingtherelativemeritsofradiationpoisoning,freezing,falling,bludgeoning,drowning.Andsomeonehadmentionedbeinggutshot.Harris,maybe.Thefatonewhodrankillicitbeeronthejob.

Ithurtsinthebelly,Harrishadsaid.Ittakesalongtime.Andallofthemnoddingandagreeingsolemnly,withnoconceptionofPain.

Richardslurchedupthenarrowcorridor,holdingbothsidesforsupport.PastDonahue.PastFriedmanandhisradicaldentalsurgery.Numbnesscrawlinguphisarms,yetthepaininhisbelly(whathadbeenhisbelly)growingworse.Still,eventhroughallthishemoved,andhisrupturedbodytriedtocarryoutthecommandsoftheinsaneNapoleoncagedinsidehisskull.

MyGod,canthisbetheendofRico?

Hewouldnothavebelievedhehadsomanydeath-bedclichesinsidehim.Itseemedthathismindwasturninginward,eatingitselfinitslastfeveredseconds.

One.More.Thing.

HefelloverHolloway’ssprawledbodyandlaythere,

suddenlysleepy.Anap.Yes.Justtheticket.Toohardtogetup.Otto,humming.Singingthebirthdayboytosleep.Shhh,shhh,shhh.Thesheep’sinthemeadow,thecow’sinthecorn.

Heliftedhishead—tremendouseffort,hisheadwassteel,pigiron,lead—andstaredatthetwincontrolsgoingthroughtheirdance.Beyondhim,intheplexiglass

windows,Harding.

Toofar.

He’sunderthehaystack,fastasleep.

…Minus004andCOUNTING…

Theradiowassquawkingworriedly:“Comein,C-one-niner-eight-four.You’retoolow.Acknowledge.Acknowledge.ShallweassumeGuidancecontrol?Acknowledge.Acknowledge

Ack—”

“Eatit,”Richardswhispered.

Hebegantocrawltowardthedipping,swayingcontrols.Inandoutwentthepedals.Twitch-twitchwentthewheels.Hescreamedasnewagonyflared.AloopofhisintestineshadcaughtunderHolloway’schin.Hecrawledback.Freedthem.Startedto

crawlagain.

Hisarmswentslackandforamomenthefloated,weightless,withhisnoseinthesoft,deep-pilecarpet.Hepushedhimselfupandbegantocrawlagain.

GettingupandintoHolloway’sseatwasEverest.

…Minus003andCOUNTING…

Thereitwas.Huge,bulkingsquareandtallintothenight,silhouettedblackaboveeverythingelse.Moonlighthadturneditalabaster.

Hetweakedthewheeljusta

little.Thefloorfellawaytotheleft.HelurchedinHolloway’sseatandalmostfellout.Heturnedthewheelback,overcorrectedagain,andthefloorfellawaytotheright.Thehorizonwastiltingcrazily.

Nowthepedals.Yes.Better.

Hepushedthewheelingingerly.Adialinfrontofhiseyesmovedfrom2000to

1500inthewinkofaneye.Heeasedthewheelback.Hehadverylittlesightleft.Hisrighteyewasalmostcompletelygone.Strangethattheyshouldgooneatatime.

Hepushedthewheelinagain.Nowitseemedthattheplanewasfloating,weightless.Thedialslippedfrom1500to1200to900.Hepulleditbackout.

“C-one-niner-eight-four.”Thevoicewasveryalarmednow.“What’swrong?Acknowledge!”

“Speak,boy,”Richardscroaked.“Rowf!Rowf!”

…Minus002andCOUNTING…

ThebigplanecruisedthroughthenightlikeasliveroficeandnowCo-OpCitywasspreadoutbelowlikeagiantbrokencarton.

Hewascomingatit,coming

attheGamesBuilding.

…Minus001andCOUNTING…

Nowthejetcruisedacrossthecanal,seeminglyheldupbythehandofGod,giant,roaring.APushfreakinadoorwaystaredupandthoughthewasseeingahallucination,thelastdope

dream,cometotakehimaway,perhapstoGeneralAtomicsheavenwhereallthefoodwasfreeandallthepileswerecleanbreeders.

Thesoundofitsenginesdrovepeopleintodoorways,theirfacescraningupwardslikepaleflames.Glassshow-windowsjingledandfellinward.Gutterlitterwassuckeddownbowling-alleystreetsindervishes.Acop

droppedhismove-alongandwrappedhishandsaroundhisheadandscreamedandcouldnothearhimself.

Theplanewasstilldroppingandnowitmovedoverrooftopslikeacruisingsilverbat;thestarboardwingtipmissedthesideoftheGlamourColumnStorebyabaretwelvefeet.

AlloverHarding,Free-Vees

wentwhitewithinterferenceandpeoplestaredatthemwithstupid,fearfulincredulity.

Thethunderfilledtheworld.

Killianlookedupfromhisdeskandstaredintothewall-to-wallwindowthatformedoneentiresideoftheroom.

Thetwinklingvistaofthe

city,fromSouthCitytoCrescent,wasgone.Theentirewindowwasfilledwithanon-comingLockheedTriStarjet.Itsrunninglightsblinkedonandoff,andforjustamoment,aninsanemomentoftotalsurpriseandhorroranddisbelief,hecouldseeRichardsstaringoutathim.Hisfacesmearedwithblood,hisblackeyesburningliketheeyesofademon.

Richardswasgrinning.

Andgivinghimthefinger.

“—Jesus—”wasallKillianhadtimetogetout.

…Minus000andCOUNTING…

Heelingoverslightly,theLockheedstrucktheGamesBuildingdeadon,threequartersofthewayup.Itstankswerestillbetterthanaquarterfull.Itsspeedwasslightlyoverfivehundred

milesanhour.

Theexplosionwastremendous,lightingupthenightlikethewrathofGod,anditrainedfiretwentyblocksaway.

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