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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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“Hiss! Boo!” Susan said, and there was some companionable laughter.
Al smiled. “But, I was going to add, I think service on such a tribunal would be a lot more palatable to those who were called upon to serve. The tribunal would consist of three adults—eighteen and over—who would serve for six months. Their names would be picked out of a big drum containing the names of every adult in ...
Larry’s hand waved. “Could they be excused for cause?”
Frowning a trifle at this interruption, Al said: “I was just getting to that. There would have to be—”
Fran shifted uneasily and Sue Stern winked at her. Fran didn’t wink back. She was frightened—and frightened of her own baseless fear, if such a thing were possible. Where had this stifling, claustrophobic feeling come from? She knew that what you were supposed to do with baseless feelings was to ignore them… at least i...
Get out of here, the voice inside suddenly cried. Get them all out!
But it was so crazy. She shifted again and decided to say nothing.
“—a brief deposition from the person wanting to be excused, but I don’t think—”
“Someone’s coming,” Fran said suddenly, getting to her feet.
There was a pause. They could all hear motorcycle engines revving toward them up Baseline, coming fast. Horns were beeping. And suddenly, for Frannie, the panic overflowed.
“Listen,” she said, “all of you!”
Faces turning toward her, surprised, concerned.
“Frannie, are you—” Stu started toward her.
She swallowed. It felt as if there was a heavy weight on her chest, stifling her. “We have to get out of here. Right… now.”
It was eight twenty-five. The last of the light had gone out of the sky. It was time. Harold sat up a little straighter and held the walkie-talkie to his mouth. His thumb rested lightly on the SEND button. He would depress it and blow them all to hell by saying—
“What’s that?”
Nadine’s hand on his arm, distracting him, pointing. Far below, snaking up Baseline, there was a daisy-chain of lights. In the great silence they could hear the faint roar of a great many motorcycle engines. Harold felt a thin thread of disquiet and threw it off.
“Leave me be,” he said. “This is it.”
Her hand fell from his shoulder. Her face was a white blur in the darkness. Harold pressed the SEND button.
She never knew if it was the motorcycles or her own words that got them moving. But they didn’t move fast enough. That would always be on her heart; they didn’t move fast enough.
Stu was first out the door, the snarl and echo of the motorcycles enormous. They came across the bridge that spanned the small dry wash below Ralph’s house, headlights blazing. Instinctively, Stu’s hand dropped to the butt of his gun.
The screen door opened and he turned, thinking it would be Frannie. It wasn’t; it was Larry.
“What’s up, Stu?”
“Don’t know. But we better get them out.”
Then the cycles were winding their way into the driveway and Stu relaxed a little. He could see Dick Vollman, the Gehringer kid, Teddy Weizak, others he recognized. Now he could allow himself to recognize what his chief fear had been: that behind the blazing headlights and snarling motorcycle engines had been the spear...
“Dick,” Stu said. “What the hell?”
“Mother Abagail! ” Dick roared over the motors. More and more cycles filled the yard as the members of the committee crowded out of the house. It was a carnival of swinging headlights and merry-go-round shadows.
“What? ” Larry screamed. Behind him and Stu, Glen, Ralph, and Chad Norris crowded out, forcing Larry and Stu to the foot of the steps.
“She’s come back! ” Dick had to bellow to make himself heard over the cycles. “Oh, she’s in terrible shape! We need a doctor… Christ, we need a miracle! ”
George Richardson pushed through them. “The old woman? Where?”
“Get on, Doc!” Dick shouted at him. “Don’t ask questions! Just for Christ’s sake be quick!”
Richardson mounted the cycle behind Dick Vollman. Dick turned in a tight circle and began to weave his way back through the cluster of motorcycles.
Stu’s eyes met Larry’s. Larry looked as bewildered as Stu felt… but there was a gathering cloud in Stu’s head, and suddenly a terrible feeling of impending doom engulfed him.
“Nick, come on! Come on! ” Fran cried, seizing his shoulder. Nick was standing in the middle of the living room, his face still, immobile.
He couldn’t talk, but suddenly he knew. He knew. It came from nowhere, from everywhere.
There was something in the closet.
He gave Frannie a tremendous push.
“Nick !”
GO!! he waved at her.
She went. He turned to the closet, pulled open the door, and began to rip madly at the tangle of things inside, praying God that he wasn’t too late.
Suddenly Frannie was next to Stu, her face pallid, her eyes huge. She clutched at him. “Stu… Nick’s still in there… something… something…”
“Frannie, what are you talking about?”
“Death! ” she screamed at him. “I’m talking about death and NICK IS STILL IN THERE! ”
He pulled aside a handful of scarves and mittens and felt something. A shoebox. He grabbed it, and as he did, like malign necromancy, Harold Lauder’s voice spoke from inside it.
“What about Nick? ” Stu shouted, grabbing her shoulders.
“We have to get him out—Stu—something’s going to happen, something awful—”
Al Bundell shouted: “What the hell is going on, Stuart?”
“I don’t know,” Stu said.
“Stu, please, we have to get Nick out of there! ” Fran screamed.
That was when the house blew up behind them.