They drove for five miles until they reached Bingham, passing a large gaudy red-and-yellow sign anointing it, as Milk had claimed, THE FRIENDLIEST LITTLE TOWN IN PUGET SOUND. They passed some teens wearing hooded parkas, the best defense against the persistent Northwest drizzle. The teens were walking practically down the middle of the road, smoking and throwing rocks and dancing to the tunes of their iPods. When Milk drove by a convenience store, they saw a few more hoodied teens come out, stuffing their faces with junk food.
Milk kept driving. They passed the town library, which had two of the smallest marble lions Will had ever seen flanking the four steps leading to the double doors. No one was going in or coming out of the library. Will guessed it was a slow day for books. They drove some more and passed the local high school, with a sign proclaiming it HOME OF THE BINGHAM BEARS, which sat on a rise with a parking lot on one side and a grove of oak trees on the other. Some genius had spray painted the words HOT RAIN on the side of the gymnasium. There were cars in the parking lot and a few students milling about outside the school, smoking fearlessly, defiantly. Near the front entrance was a big plastic statue of the school mascot, a bear, but someone had sawed the head off. Nice creepy touch, thought Will.
As they pulled into the town proper, Will tapped on the truck’s dashboard and said, “Here’s good.” Milk braked to a stop in front of the local greasy spoon, a place called Dixie’s Diner. Will and the others got out.
“I’ll take poor Arliss to the sheriff’s office, and then the morgue, I guess,” said Milk.
“Where’s the sheriff’s office?” asked Will.
Milk blinked. “Uh, end of Main Street, take a right, two blocks down. Can’t miss it,” he said. Then he smiled at them all, friendly face back in place. “It was a pleasure meeting you guys, I mean . . . under the circumstances . . .”
Milk drove away as Will and the others walked toward the diner, and Will noticed that when Milk got to the end of Main Street, he didn’t go right, but left. Will watched as Milk drove up another winding road toward a hill that rose above the coastline. Where was he going? Clearly not in the direction of the sheriff’s office. So he’d lied. Will figured it was just the first of many they’d be hearing that day.
Will looked down at the marina. A large sign identified one of the out buildings as the headquarters for the White Island Diving Club. Most of the berths in the marina were empty, even though it was a blustery day and Puget Sound was inhospitable. Rudy saw Will’s eyes narrowing.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I’m not sure yet. But we’ll find out. Eventually. Let’s get something to eat.”
They all went into the diner—the cute bell above the door ringing as they entered—and found a booth. It looked like the tables in the diner hadn’t been bussed in days. A mountain of filthy dishes and burger baskets threatened to topple the dirty dish cart. There was a smattering of teens at various tables; some working on their laptops, some listening to their mp3 players or texting on their phones. There were no adults to be seen.
Seeing Will and the others come in and sit down at the only available booth, the other teens whispered among themselves and then departed, one by one. They didn’t even bother trying to exit discreetly, and no one stopped to pay on their way out. Will didn’t see any money on the tables, either. What was this? Free Food Day? There was definitely something majorly odd about the island’s inhabitants. Milk definitely hadn’t been normal either, though he hadn’t done anything to confirm whether or not he was actually infected.
A tall blonde waitress, Misty Scott, was surreptitiously checking them out in an angled mirror that hung over the counter. When Will caught her eye, she turned around with a sweet smile pasted on her face. She was a big-boned girl who looked like she hadn’t missed a meal lately. She approached them and passed around plastic-covered menus.
“Hi, welcome to Dixie’s Diner. What can I get you guys?”
“Double cheeseburgers, fries, and cokes all around,” said Will.
“Skip the coke for me,” said Loreli, slanting Will a look. “I’ll have a vanilla shake.”
“Well, that was easy!” chirped Misty. She turned and was about to beeline to the cook’s window when Will stopped her.
“Excuse me.”
Misty turned and her smile was even brighter. “Yes?”
“Do you have any idea why the ferry’s not running?”
“Gosh, no, except its some kind of health thing. I don’t think it’ll last long. I’ll bet it will be up and running soon, and then you guys can go on back.”
Missy took their order to the window and clipped it onto the order wheel. “Order up,” she said.
A tall, stoop-shouldered kid with acne studied the order and then set to work building the burgers. Misty gave the counter a couple of cursory wipes, then slipped her cell phone out of her jeans and sent a quick text.
“Is it just me, or did she seem a little nervous?” asked Natalie.
“Definitely nervous,” said Emily.
“One thing’s for sure. Our arrival has not gone unnoticed,” said Will. “It won’t be long before somebody shows up and starts asking questions.
A few minutes later Misty served the burgers. Will took the lettuce and tomatoes off of his, just in case they were island-grown, and the others followed suit. Then they all dug in. For a few moments it was as if they were just some normal teens chowing down at the neighborhood diner after school without a care in the world. Except for the fact that this was hands down the messiest diner any of them had ever been in. Will was sitting across from Natalie and nudged her foot with his, trying to get her to look at him. She just drew her foot away, still not looking him in the eye. He could feel her continuing to distance herself from him, and it was eating away at his heart.
Emily was watching Rudy nibbling. Usually he was such a pig that he disgusted her, but today he’d changed his style and was eating slowly. He still savored every bite, though, moaning with pleasure and flicking little glances her way. She rolled her eyes at his not-so-subtle flirting, but when he wanted to play footsie under the table, she was game.
The old-fashioned diner had those quaint tabletop jukeboxes, little glass domes with song selections that you could flip through and feed quarters into. Rudy picked out an oldie, “Here Comes the Sun.” But the sun was hidden today; the skies were a dull gray, the clouds full-to-bursting with precipitation, though at the moment it wasn’t really raining so much as misting. Still, Rudy was eternally optimistic, humming along with Lennon and McCartney as he ate.
Will was seated so he could see part of the marina. He watched as a group of power boats, Chris Crafts and See-Doos, Sea Rays and Skaters, blasted into the harbor and docked.
Ten minutes later, two pickup trucks pulled up in front of the diner, their Thrush Glasspack exhausts rumbling. Will watched carefully as a half-dozen teenage boys unfolded from the trucks. They were big guys, townies wearing ball caps and down vests. One of the trucks had a big, mean-looking dog in its pickup bed, howling and barking and snarling, straining against his choke collar. Rudy was relieved to note that the dog was tethered to the floor of the truck bed by a strong chain. The dog, a huge bullmastiff, looked less like a pet than a weapon of destruction with his teeth bared, his jaws snapping like he couldn’t wait to tear someone apart.
The largest of the hulking boys, Boone Winter, quieted his dog, Killer, and then led the others toward the diner. They entered, loudly banging open the door. Boone grabbed the cute little bell over the door to stop it from ringing. He looked like he might tear it off, but he let it be. Flanking Boone were two other big guys, Andy Grass-man and Colin Ritter. The other three guys hung back and waited as Boone clomped over to the table and glared down at Will and the others.
“Friendliest little town in Puget Sound,” said Will.
Boone clenched his teeth and balled his fists.
Rudy was thankful he was on the last bite of his cheeseburger, which he popped in his mouth and chewed quickly as he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation. With the muscle he had left over from his time as a demon, he was pretty sure he had a chance against every one of the guys except the biggest one, Boone. The guy had to be six foot six and over three hundred pounds. He didn’t look like a teenager; he looked like a poster boy for the WWF.
“You’re in our booth,” Boone growled.
Rudy picked up his camcorder and turned it on. A couple of the townies exchanged worried glances. Will stopped eating and regarded the Incredible Hulk.
“This is your booth?” asked Will. He sniffed the air. “Come to think of it, I thought I smelled something bad.”
Will knew he should have just let it go, but he simply didn’t have it in him to back down. For the better part of his demon hunting days, he’d gotten things done by refusing to back down, instead pushing creeps who didn’t want to be pushed. Boone Winter wasn’t any different than the others.
Boone grabbed the table and tore it right out of the wall. The food baskets and Rudy’s camcorder went flying. Rudy caught the camera in midair.
Misty shook her head angrily. “Dammit, Boone, you’re gonna have to pay for that, whenever—”
“Shut up, Misty!” roared Boone.
There was a tense moment where everyone wondered which way this was going to go. Will knew, and he braced himself, smirking like a punk at Boone, pushing the big dumb ape, daring him. Go ahead, Will’s eyes said. Throw a punch.
Boone did. Will ducked, and Boone’s club-like fist smashed into the wall, punching a hole in the drywall. Before he could even yank it out, Will hit him with a right uppercut. The punch would have knocked a normal kid out, but Boone was far from normal. He just flinched.
“That your best shot?”
“Not even close,” said Will.
For Will, during a fight or any other kind of physical confrontation, time seemed to slow down, even stand still, as punches were thrown, knives thrust, guns fired. The timeframe in which violence occurs is both terrifyingly rapid and agonizingly slow. Will, who was able to bend time, had time to think about things even as he was springing into action. His old friend, rage, surged up within him. He could feel it pumping through his veins. He knew he should fight it, but the red curtain that dropped over his vision was familiar and welcome. It made things so simple.
He aimed a hard kick to Andy’s kneecap. When Andy reflexively reached for his knee, Will brought a fist up to meet his chin, lifting him off his feet and sending him crashing onto the table behind him, utensils and ketchup bottle flying.
Boone was watching Will with a mixture of awe and curiosity. He threw two punches, both of which landed in Will’s mid-section. Well felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach by a racehorse, but he recovered quickly and dropped to the floor, body straight like he was going to do a pushup. Then he used his hands to flip himself over and back up, swinging his elbow and chopping Boone twice in his windpipe. The big guy grabbed at his throat and started wheezing.
Loreli jumped up and feinted left toward Colin Ritter. But he was an expert boxer, and he anticipated her move and then nailed her a good one, the punch catching the bone in her right cheek. Rudy thought he heard a cracking sound, and he picked up the heavy glass sugar dispenser from the floor and threw it as hard as he could. It smacked Colin square in the nose. Blood spurted. Colin’s eyes bugged out. He stared hard at Rudy.
A chair came flying through the air. Natalie, Emily, and Rudy ducked as it smashed into the wall. Will glanced over, wondering who had thrown it, but there was no one there.
The other three boys rushed forward with fists flying, but they froze when they heard the front door burst open.
Jasper Sholes shouted out, “That’s enough!”
Boone, Andy, Colin, and the other three boys reacted like automatons, like robots that’d just been switched off. Their fists unclenched, their arms dropped to their sides.
Loreli took the opportunity to kick Colin as hard as she could one more time, in the groin. He brayed like a calf being branded and crumpled to the floor. Will shot a look at Loreli. She held up her hands up as if to say, hey, he had it coming.
Jasper was the epitome of calm, striding confidently across the room—putting away his cell phone, which he’d obviously just been on. He had his hand extended, a politician garnering votes, smiling like a snake. His long blond hair was damp, probably from the drizzle.
“I’m Jasper Sholes,” he said to Will, proffering his hand.
Will stared at him for a good five seconds before mustering a neutral smile of his own and grasping Jasper’s hand.
“Hello.”
A rapid truce was being negotiated, but Will knew it was all a façade. He took his time shaking Jasper’s hand, as he often did with those he suspected to be demons. As far as Will could tell, Jasper had neither teeth, eyes, or tentacles housed within his palm. He was carefully eyeing the camcorder in Rudy’s hands.
Will said, “I’m Will Hunter.”
Jasper nodded. “Great to meet you. You’ll have to forgive the Testosterone Troupe here,” he said. “We’ve all been a little on edge ever since this quarantine thing came down.”
“Why is White Island under quarantine?” asked Will pointedly.
Jasper looked genuinely puzzled. “You know,” he said, “we’ve all been asking ourselves the same thing ever since the state guys came out with the order.”
Will turned and looked at the other boys. “‘State guys’ . . . Is that the State Health Department?”
Every time he made eye contact with the other boys, they dropped their gaze to the floor, unwilling to risk sending Will even the slightest visual clue.
“Yes, the Health Department. Exactly,” said Jasper.
Will nodded as though he understood, but the only thing he was beginning to understand was that Jasper Sholes had some kind of strong authoritarian hold over the other boys. He wasn’t about to let anyone slip up and blurt out any information.
“So you have no idea why the island is under quarantine?” asked Will.
“Not a clue,” said Jasper.
Will nodded to show how very much he totally believed what Jasper was saying. Of course they both knew he was lying, but there was a scenario to work through here, and Will was obediently playing his part.
“I have a couple of questions for you,” said Jasper. “How did you get out here? The ferry’s shut down, and the marina’s been closed off since Sunday. And more importantly, why are you here?”
“Did you ever hear of Earthtrekkers?” asked Rudy. He pasted an affable smile on his face and started jabbering with a friendly lilt in his voice, explaining how they were Internet journalists, bloggers backpacking from California to Alaska, exploring the coast and writing about it online. He was laying it on appropriately thick, playing the part of a geeky blogger, making it sound they were having a spectacular time trekking from one picturesque paradise to another.
The night before they’d left, Rudy and Emily had hastily built a blog and crammed it with dozens of entries and photos they’d snagged off the web, tampering with the posting dates to make it look like the blog had been active for months, but taking care to put “SITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION” tags throughout. Will figured Jasper and his drones would likely log on and check up on their story, so Rudy and Emily’s handiwork would buy them some time.
“We’re on a rippin’ quest to find the most beautiful, peaceful place on the West Coast,” said Rudy, wide-eyed. He pulled out his camcorder. “I get everything with this puppy. I’ve got it linked through my phone, and everything I shoot goes right to our server and onto our website with the push of a button.”
Will could see the muscles working in Jasper’s neck and jaw. Like it had Milk, the camcorder clearly made Jasper terribly uneasy, and Will wondered why.
But the moment of unease passed quickly—Jasper was a pro manipulator—and he nodded as though he were not only impressed, but also rather pleased. “Well,” he said, still trying to out-smile everyone, “you won’t find anyplace more beautiful or peaceful than White Island.” He seemed so sincere, it was as if he almost believed himself.
“It didn’t seem so peaceful for Arliss Armenaki,” said Will. “Guy named Milk gave us a ride into town and ran right into him. In fact, he killed him.”
Jasper briefly closed his eyes and nodded. “I heard about that. A terrible tragedy.”
“Any idea why Arliss was running around in his Jockeys covered with dirt?”
“As I’m sure Milk explained to you, Arliss was a very disturbed man.”
“Well, he’s not disturbed anymore,” said Will. “Actually, I was thinking maybe we could go and have a talk with the sheriff.”
Jasper kept his cool, like he had nothing to hide. But Will knew he was hiding something. He knew they all were.
“Sure! I’ll take you on over to the sheriff’s office myself,” said Jasper.
Will noticed a Jaeger-LeCoultre Master Compressor pro diving watch on Jasper’s wrist. It was an expensive little piece of work, with a built-in mechanical depth gauge.
“You do some diving?” said Will.
Jasper’s eyes flicked to his watch as though he’d forgotten he was wearing it. “Yeah. In Cabo, mostly.”
“Not around here?”
“In these waters? You gotta be kidding me. Freezing, dark, nothing to see. Naw, I’m not one of those macho Northwest dudes with something to prove. When I dive, it’s strictly tropical.” He cleared his throat. “So if you’re done eating, we can head over to see the sheriff now. Don’t worry about paying. Lunch is on me.”
As they left the diner, Jasper took Misty aside and spoke quietly to her. She nodded, then set about cleaning up the mess.