Cell. Part 15

13.

'Holy f.u.c.king s.h.i.t,' Clay said. In his mind the words sounded like a full-throated bellow of surprise and horror-with maybe a soupcon of outrage-but what actually emerged was more of a whipped whimper. Part of it might have been that this close the music was was almost as loud as that long-ago AC/DC concert (although Debby Boone making her sweet schoolgirl way through 'You Light Up My Life' was quite a stretch from 'h.e.l.l's Bells,' even at full volume), but mostly it was pure shock. He thought that after the Pulse and their subsequent retreat from Boston he'd be prepared for anything, but he was wrong. almost as loud as that long-ago AC/DC concert (although Debby Boone making her sweet schoolgirl way through 'You Light Up My Life' was quite a stretch from 'h.e.l.l's Bells,' even at full volume), but mostly it was pure shock. He thought that after the Pulse and their subsequent retreat from Boston he'd be prepared for anything, but he was wrong.

He didn't think prep schools like this indulged in anything so plebeian (and so smashmouth) as football, but soccer had apparently been a big deal. The stands stacking up on either side of Tonney Field looked as if they could seat as many as a thousand, and they were decked with bunting that was only now beginning to look bedraggled by the showery weather of the last few days. There was an elaborate Scoreboard at the far end of the field with big letters marching along the top. Clay couldn't read the message in the dark and probably wouldn't have taken it in even if it had been daylight. There was enough light to see the field itself, and that was all that mattered.

Every inch of gra.s.s was covered with phone-crazies. They were lying on their backs like sardines in a can, leg to leg and hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. Their faces stared up into the black predawn sky.

'Oh my Lord Jesus,' Tom said. His voice was m.u.f.fled because one fist was pressed against his mouth.

'Catch the girl!' the Head rapped. 'She's going to faint!'

'No-I'm all right,' Alice said, but when Clay put his arm around her she slumped against him, breathing fast. Her eyes were open but they had a fixed, druggy look.

'They're under the bleachers, too,' Jordan said. He spoke with a studied, almost showy calm that Clay did not believe for a minute. It was the voice of a boy a.s.suring his pals that he's not grossed out by the maggots boiling in a dead cat's eyes* just before he leans over and blows his groceries. 'Me and the Head think that's where they put the hurt ones that aren't going to get better.'

'The Head and I I, Jordan.'

'Sorry, sir.'

Debby Boone achieved poetic catharsis and ceased. There was a pause and then Lawrence Welk's Champagne Music Makers once more began to play 'Baby Elephant Walk.' Dodge had a good time, too, Dodge had a good time, too, Clay thought. Clay thought.

'How many of those boomboxes have they got rigged together?' he asked Headmaster Ardai. 'And how did they do it? They're brainless, brainless, for Christ's sake, zombies!' A terrible idea occurred to him, illogical and persuasive at the same time. 'Did for Christ's sake, zombies!' A terrible idea occurred to him, illogical and persuasive at the same time. 'Did you you do it? To keep them quiet, or*I don't know*' do it? To keep them quiet, or*I don't know*'

'He didn't do it,' Alice said. She spoke quietly from her safe place within the circle of Clay's arm.

'No, and both of your premises are wrong,' the Head told him.

'Both? I don't-'

'They must be dedicated music-lovers,' Tom mused, 'because they don't like to go inside buildings. But that's where the CDs are, right?'

'Not to mention the boomboxes,' Clay said.

'There's no time to explain now. Already the sky has begun to lighten, and* tell them, Jordan.'

Jordan replied dutifully, with the air of one who recites a lesson he does not understand, 'All good vampires must be in before c.o.c.kcrow, sir.'

'That's right-before c.o.c.kcrow. For now, only look. That's all you need to do. You didn't know there were places like this, did you?'

'Alice knew,' Clay said.

They looked. And because the night had had begun to wane, Clay realized that the eyes in all those faces were open. He was pretty sure they weren't seeing; they were just* open. begun to wane, Clay realized that the eyes in all those faces were open. He was pretty sure they weren't seeing; they were just* open.

Something bad's going on here, he thought. he thought. The flocking was only the beginning of it. The flocking was only the beginning of it.

Looking at the packed bodies and empty faces (mostly white; this was New England, after all) was awful, but the blank eyes turned up to the night sky filled him with unreasoning horror. Somewhere, not too distant, the morning's first bird began to sing. It wasn't a crow, but the Head still jerked, then tottered. This time it was Tom who steadied him.

'Come on,' the Head told them. 'It's only a short walk to Cheatham Lodge, but we ought to start. The damp has made me stiffer than ever. Take my elbow, Jordan.'

Alice broke free of Clay and went to the old man's other side. He gave her a rather forbidding smile and a shake of his head. 'Jordan can take care of me. We take care of each other now-ay, Jordan?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Jordan?' Tom asked. They were nearing a large (and rather pretentious) Tudor-style dwelling that Clay presumed was Cheatham Lodge.

'Sir?'

'The sign over the Scoreboard-I couldn't read it. What did it say?'

'welcome alumni to homecoming weekend.' Jordan almost smiled, then remembered there would be no Homecoming Weekend this year- the bunting on the stands had already begun to tatter-and the brightness left his face. If he hadn't been so tired, he might still have held his composure, but it was very late, almost dawn, and as they made their way up the walk to the Headmaster's residence, the last student at Gaiten Academy, still wearing his colors of maroon and gray, burst into tears.

14.

'That was incredible, sir,' Clay said. He had fallen into Jordan's mode of address very naturally. So had Tom and Alice. 'Thank you.'

'Yes,' Alice said. 'Thanks. I've never eaten two burgers in my life-at least not big ones like that.'

It was three o'clock the following afternoon. They were on the back porch of Cheatham Lodge. Charles Ardai-the Head, as Jordan called him-had grilled the hamburgers on a small gas grill. He said the meat was perfectly safe because the generator powering the cafeteria's freezer had run until noon yesterday (and indeed, the patties he took from the cooler Tom and Jordan had carried in from the pantry had still been white with frost and as hard as hockey pucks). He said that grilling grilling the meat would probably be safe until five o'clock, although prudence dictated an early meal. the meat would probably be safe until five o'clock, although prudence dictated an early meal.

'They'd smell the cooking?' Clay asked.

'Let's just say that we have no desire to find out,' the Head replied. 'Have we, Jordan?'

'No, sir,' Jordan said, and took a bite of his second burger. He was slowing down, but Clay thought he'd manage to do his duty. 'We want to be inside when they wake up, and inside when they come back from town. That's where they go, to town. They're picking it clean, like birds in a field of grain. That's what the Head says.'

'They were flocking back home earlier when we were in Malden,' Alice said. 'Not that we knew where home for them was.' She was eyeing a tray with pudding cups on it. 'Can I have one of those?'

'Yes, indeed.' The Head pushed the tray toward her. 'And another hamburger, if you'd like. What we don't eat soon will just spoil.'

Alice groaned and shook her head, but she took a pudding cup. So did Tom.

'They seem to leave at the same time each morning, but the home-flocking behavior has has been starting later,' Ardai said thoughtfully. 'Why would that be?' been starting later,' Ardai said thoughtfully. 'Why would that be?'

'Slimmer pickings?' Alice asked.

'Perhaps*' He took a final bite of his own hamburger, then covered the remains neatly with a paper napkin. 'There are many flocks, you know. Maybe as many as a dozen within a fifty-mile radius. We know from people going south that there are flocks in Sandown, Fremont, and Candia. They forage about almost aimlessly in the daytime, perhaps for music as well as food, then go back to where they came from.'

'You know this for sure,' Tom said. He finished one pudding cup and reached for another.

Ardai shook his head. 'Nothing is for sure, Mr. McCourt.' His hair, a long white tangle (an English professor's hair for sure, Clay thought), rippled a bit in the mild afternoon breeze. The clouds were gone. The back porch gave them a good view of the campus, and so far it was deserted. Jordan went around the house at regular intervals to scout the hill sloping down to Academy Avenue and reported all quiet there, as well. 'You've not seen any of the other roosting places?'

'Nope,' Tom said.

'But we're traveling in the dark,' Clay reminded him, 'and now the dark is really really dark.' dark.'

'Yes,' the Head agreed. He spoke almost dreamily. 'As in le moyen age. le moyen age. Translation, Jordan?' Translation, Jordan?'

'The middle age, sir.'

'Good.' He patted Jordan's shoulder.

'Even big flocks would be easy to miss,' Clay said. 'They wouldn't have to be hiding.'

'No, they're not hiding,' Headmaster Ardai agreed, steepling his fingers. 'Not yet, at any rate. They flock* they forage* and their group mind may break down a bit while while they forage* but perhaps less. Every day perhaps less.' they forage* but perhaps less. Every day perhaps less.'

'Manchester burned to the ground,' Jordan said suddenly. 'We could see the fire from here, couldn't we, sir?'

'Yes,' the Head agreed. 'It's been very sad and frightening.'

'Is it true that people trying to cross into Ma.s.sachusetts are being shot at the border?' Jordan asked. 'That's what people are saying. People are saying you have to go to Vermont, only that way is safe.'

'It's a crock,' Clay said. 'We heard the same thing about the New Hampshire border.'

Jordan goggled at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound was clear and beautiful in the still air. Then, in the distance, a gun went off. And closer, someone shouted in either rage or horror.

Jordan stopped laughing.

'Tell us about that weird state they were in last night,' Alice said quietly. 'And the music. Do all the other flocks listen to music at night?'

The Head looked at Jordan.

'Yes,' the boy said. 'It's all soft stuff, no rock, no country-'

'I should guess nothing cla.s.sical, either,' the Head put in. 'Not of a challenging nature, at any rate.'

'It's their lullabies,' Jordan said. 'That's what the Head and me think, isn't it, sir?'

'The Head and I I, Jordan.'

'Head and I, yes, sir.'

'But it is indeed what we think,' the Head agreed. 'Although I suspect there may be more to it than that. Yes, quite a bit more.'

Clay was flummoxed. He hardly knew how to go on. He looked at his friends and saw on their faces what he was feeling-not just puzzlement, but a dreadful reluctance to be enlightened.

Leaning forward, Headmaster Ardai said, 'May I be frank? I must must be frank; it is the habit of a lifetime. I want you to help us do a terrible thing here. The time to do it is short, I think, and while one such act alone may come to nothing, one never knows, does one? One never knows what sort of communication may flow between these* flocks. In any case, I will not stand idly by while these* be frank; it is the habit of a lifetime. I want you to help us do a terrible thing here. The time to do it is short, I think, and while one such act alone may come to nothing, one never knows, does one? One never knows what sort of communication may flow between these* flocks. In any case, I will not stand idly by while these* things.. things... steal away not only my school but the very daylight itself. I might have attempted it already, but I'm old and Jordan is very young. Too young. Whatever they are now, they were human not long ago. I won't let him be a part of this.'

'I can do my share, sir!' Jordan said. He spoke as stoutly, Clay thought, as any Muslim teenager who ever strapped on a suicide belt stuffed with explosives.

'I salute your courage, Jordan,' the Head told him, 'but I think not.' He looked at the boy kindly, but when he returned his gaze to the others, his eyes had hardened considerably. 'You have weapons-good ones-and I have nothing but an old single-shot.22 rifle that may not even work anymore, although the barrel's open-I've looked. Even if it does work, the cartridges I have for it may not fire. But we have a gasoline pump at our little motor-pool, and gasoline might serve to end their lives.'

He must have seen the horror in their faces, because he nodded. To Clay he no longer looked like kindly old Mr. Chips; he looked like a Puritan elder in an oil-painting. One who could have sentenced a man to the stocks without batting an eye. Or a woman to be burned at the stake as a witch.

He nodded at Clay in particular. Clay was sure of it. 'I know what I'm saying. I know how it sounds. But it wouldn't be murder, not really; it would be extermination. And I have no power to make you do anything. But in any case* whether you help me burn them or not, you must pa.s.s on a message.'

'To who?' Alice asked faintly.

'To everyone you meet, Miss Maxwell.' He leaned over the remains of their meal, those hanging-judge eyes sharp and small and burning hot. 'You must tell what's happening to them them-to the ones who heard the infernal message on their devil's intercoms. You must pa.s.s this on. Everyone who has had the daylight robbed away from them must hear, and before it's too late.' He pa.s.sed a hand over his lower face, and Clay saw the fingers were shaking a little. It would be easy to dismiss that as a sign of the man's age, but he hadn't seen any tremors before. 'We're afraid it soon will be. Aren't we, Jordan?'

'Yes, sir.' Jordan certainly thought he knew something; he looked terrified.

'What? What's happening to them?' Clay asked. 'It's got something to do with the music and those wired-together boomboxes, doesn't it?'

The Head sagged, suddenly looking tired. 'They're not not wired together,' he said. 'Don't you remember me telling you that both of your premises were wrong?' wired together,' he said. 'Don't you remember me telling you that both of your premises were wrong?'

'Yes, but I don't understand what you m-'

'There's one sound-system with a CD in it, about that you're certainly right. A single compilation disc, Jordan says, which is why the same songs play over and over.'

'Lucky us,' Tom muttered, but Clay barely heard him. He was trying to get the sense of what Ardai had just said-they're not wired together. How could that be? It couldn't. How could that be? It couldn't.

'The sound-systems-the boomboxes, if you like-are placed all around the field,' the Head went on, 'and they're all on. At night you can see their little red power lamps-'

'Yes,' Alice said. 'I did notice some red lights, I just didn't think anything of it.'

'-but there's nothing in them-no compact discs or ca.s.sette tapes- and no wires linking them. They're just slaves that pick up the master-disc audio and rebroadcast it.'

'If their mouths are open, the music comes from them, too,' Jordan said. 'It's just little* not hardly a whisper* but you can hear it.'

'No,' Clay said. 'That's your imagination, kiddo. Gotta be.'

'I haven't heard that myself,' Ardai said, 'but of course my ears aren't what they were back when I was a Gene Vincent and the Blue Caps fan. Back in the day,' Jordan and his friends would say.'

'You're very very old-school, sir,' Jordan said. He spoke with gentle solemnity and unmistakable affection. old-school, sir,' Jordan said. He spoke with gentle solemnity and unmistakable affection.

'Yes, Jordan, I am,' the Head agreed. He clapped the boy on the shoulder, then turned his attention to the others. 'If Jordan says he's heard it* I believe him.'

'It's not possible,' Clay said. 'Not without a transmitter.'

'They are transmitting,' the Head replied. 'It is a skill they seem to have picked up since the Pulse.' are transmitting,' the Head replied. 'It is a skill they seem to have picked up since the Pulse.'