MY MIND IS working through a hundred scenarios at once while my body is operating on autopilot. Driving my dad’s patrol car, navigating it in the direction of the west-side strip mall. I can hardly process everything I saw back in the Triangle, everything that happened. It’s like a series of Charlie’s photographs lined up inside my brain, all of them blurry and out of focus, all of them terrifying.
I grip the steering wheel as tight as I can until it hurts. I lean forward and scream, banging my open palm against the wheel over and over.
“Gabe,” Sonya says. She puts her hand on my shoulder. When I don’t stop, she says my name again. Then again, louder.
“Holy shit, Gabe, stop!” Charlie hollers from the back seat.
I pull myself together just in time to hear the dull boom of something exploding somewhere behind us, in the direction of the Triangle. Sonya gasps, her hand clamping down on my shoulder.
“What was that?” she asks.
“I think … maybe … the propane tanks at the diner?” Charlie says. I can’t tell if he doesn’t really know or if he just doesn’t want to be right.
More gunfire accompanies the explosion, and as we drive, I see more people out on their porches, on their lawns. They watch us go by, heads pivoting in unison.
I keep driving, ignoring the blank, haunted faces of everyone lining the streets.
“Where are we going?” Charlie asks.
“The Banshee Palace,” Sonya says.
At the same time, I say, “Ricky’s video store.”
We look at each other, both of us confused.
“Gabe, we have to get Kimberly,” she says.
“Sone, we have no idea if she’s even alive,” I reply. “As much as I want her to be, I think getting to Ricky’s store and dismantling the antenna is the only way we’re going to survive this. That has to be the thing that’s making everyone … well, you know.”
I turn onto Raspberry Street, trying to focus on where we’re headed, what we’re supposed to do, hoping that it will put a stop to the literal madness that’s infected Windale. But I’m only confronted by more madness: Ahead of us, the Windale Medical Center is in full view, and the entire building is on fire. Dark smoke blots out the stars, and every window is snapping with dragon tongues of flame.
“What the hell?” I breathe. “Where is everyone?” I ask. “Where’s the fire department?” We’re pulling in front of the WMC now, so close we can hear the flames crackling.
“I don’t know,” Sonya replies. “But I don’t think they’re coming.”
“Shouldn’t we stop?” Charlie asks.
“And do what?” I say. “Stand and watch? Unless your crutch comes with a fire hose, there’s not a whole lot we can do, Chuck.”
I only ever call him that when I’m being a dick, which is often. But tonight, he doesn’t even try to hit me on the arm. Couldn’t if he wanted to—there’s a metal barrier separating us.
We leave the flickering orange glow behind and continue in the direction of Sunrise Hill and the strip mall.
“Take me over to the Widow’s Lodge and drop me off,” Sonya says suddenly. “Then you guys can double back to the video store.” She’s switched into Computation Sonya mode. This incredible ability she has to pancake her emotions beneath the weight of all the mental equipment it takes to solve a complex problem. She’s basically a robot when she’s like this, but I’m not sure how well she’s going to be able to hold it together if she really does find Kimberly in that hotel room.
“No way,” Charlie says from the back seat. “There’s not a chance we’re splitting up. Not tonight. Not with everything like this.”
“Sone, I don’t know…” I start.
“Oh, get real, Gabe,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “You’re not going to pull some macho bullshit and hold me hostage just for my protection. You can drag me to the video store all you want, but I’ll just get out and walk to the Banshee Palace by myself.”
It sounds like a normal argument we might have had over the course of any other summer. All I can do is sigh, though. I don’t have a snappy comeback. Part of me feels like it’s not even worth arguing—we’re going to die anyway. Windale is about to be blown to pieces, and even if we stop the anomaly—or, and this would be an even stranger scenario, if we help the Bug Man stop the anomaly—we won’t be able to stop that.
“Fine,” I say. I turn the car onto Baker Street. The strip mall is in sight, and from here I can see the metal structure on top of the video store. It’s pieced together with strips of metal, coils of wiring, what looks like a stop sign. There’s nothing fancy or overly intricate about it. From this vantage point, it looks like a sixth-grade science project. Or an art installation.
I hit the brake, hesitating. Suddenly, I don’t want any part of this.
Sonya’s hand curls around my forearm. “It’s okay,” she says. “Let me out here. I can walk up the street. Look.” She points to the place a few blocks north, where the shadowy hulk of the abandoned motel sits. “I did it before. When Mrs. Rapaport showed me the way. I’ll be okay. Leave the car here. Leave it running.”
“No,” I say. The words that I really want to say—Let’s just forget this and go home—are at the back of my throat. Instead, I say, “You take the car. Kimberly’s going to be weak. You might have to carry her. Charlie and I can run if we have to.”
“Uh, you mean you can run,” Charlie corrects me, knocking on the metal divider. “You might have to carry me if it comes down to that.”
“Which is no different than when you stand on the sled for me during football practice,” I counter. “Except this time, I’ll be running for our lives. Piece of cake.”
“Sure,” Charlie says, flopping back against the seat. “No sweat.”
“Are you sure?” Sonya asks me.
“Of course not,” I reply immediately. “But … yeah. I’m sure.” I give her my best smile, even though I already feel clammy and shaky.
“It’s up to us,” she says. “It started with us; it has to end with us.”
“A song sung four,” Charlie mutters from the back seat.
“I know she’s there,” Sonya says quietly. “I have to go get her, Gabe. I have to.”
“I know,” I say, and I put my hand over hers. “Just promise us you’ll be careful.”
She nods, but she doesn’t actually promise anything.
A minute later, we’re standing beside the cruiser. From the east, there are a few lone pops of gunfire, mixed with a shrill sound that might be someone screaming. Nobody’s on Baker Street tonight. It’s after seven on a Sunday. The strip mall is dark. The few houses along this road are silent. Twin pillars of smoke rise up out of town—one nearby, underlit by the orange glow of the burning medical center, the other farther off, coiling up from the Triangle.
“See you soon,” Sonya says, and gives Charlie and me a quick hug. She doesn’t pause to consider what’s about to happen. If she does that, she might back out. I feel the same way right about now. So I just turn away, feeling a wet heat in my eyes and a knot in my throat. The cruiser’s engine revs, then fades as it pulls away. I steal a glance over my shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sonya before she disappears. But all I see is the word CHIEF emblazoned across the side of the car.
Already, gnats are starting to swarm. It’s a hot night, and the roof of the strip mall seems very high.
“Okay,” I say to Charlie. “Here goes nothing.”