Dex talked to Bob Hoskins, who sent him to one of the PTA parents, Terry Shoemaker, who introduced him in turn to a skinny ex–charter pilot named Calvin Shepperd.
They met in Tucker’s Restaurant, in the small back room that had served as a pantry in the days when there was enough food to store. Dex shook the older man’s hand and introduced himself.
“I know who you are,” Shepperd said. “My brother’s girl Cleo was in your history class couple years back.” He seemed to hesitate. “Bob Hoskins vouched for you, but frankly I was reluctant to have you involved.”
“May I ask why?”
“Oh, the obvious. For one thing, you’re seeing that woman from outside.”
“Her name doesn’t matter. The point is, I don’t know what she says to you or you to her. And that raises a question. Plus, didn’t you used to go out with Evelyn Woodward at the bed-and-breakfast? Who’s been on the arm of the chief Proctor lately.”
“Small town,” Dex observed.
“Is, was, and will be. I’m not opposed to gossip, Mr. Graham, especially nowadays.”
“As gossip, it’s honest enough,” Dex said. “All those things are true. Maybe they’re liabilities, but they gave me access to some information you need.”
“Meaning?”
“Bob Hoskins tells me you’re trying to set up an escape route to ferry out some of the local families.”
“Bob Hoskins must have a fair amount of confidence in you.” Shepperd sighed and folded his arms. “Go on.”
Evelyn had come to his apartment three times with fresh information, much of it gleaned from documents Demarch had left unattended on his desk. Dex described the firebreak, the bomb—the apocalypse bearing down on Two Rivers like a runaway train.
Shepperd leaned against a shelf that harbored a single gallon can of pinto beans and listened with a fixed expression. When Dex finished, he cleared his throat. “So what are we talking about—a week, two weeks?”
“I can’t pin it down, but that sounds like the right range. We might not have much warning.”
“They’ll have to evacuate the soldiers.”
“I don’t think they’re planning to.”
“What, you mean leave ’em here? Let ’em burn?”
“Jesus,” Shepperd said. “Cold-hearted bastards.” He shook his head. “Bet any money the Proctors move out, though. So there’s some warning there . . . if any of what you’re telling me is true.”
Dex said nothing.
Shepperd put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I suppose I should thank you.”
Dex shrugged.
“Incidentally, Hoskins said he was surprised when you came to him with this. He figured you were mainly talk, not much action. So what changed your mind?”
“Twelve kids hanging from the City Hall lampposts.”
“Yeah, well—that’ll do it.”
Twelve kids hanging from the lampposts, Dex thought as he walked the snowy streets.
Twelve kids, some of whom he had known personally; three of them his students.
Twelve kids: any one of whom might have been his son.
Might have been David.
If David had lived.
“He didn’t believe you?” Linneth asked.
She sat at Dex’s kitchen table warming her hands over a pot of ration tea. The sky beyond the window was blue; a cold wind rattled the loose pane.
“He believed me,” Dex said. “He didn’t want me to know it, but he believed me.”
“Maybe thirty, forty adults plus their families. According to Bob Hoskins, they’ve scared up some hunting rifles and even a couple of automatic weapons. Amazing what some people keep in their basements.”
“They hope to escape?”
“So I gather.”
“It isn’t very many people, considering the size of the town.”
“There are other groups like Shepperd’s, but they don’t talk much to each other—and it may be better that way.”
“Still, no matter what, too many people will die.”
He nodded.
She said, “Even the scholars from outside. I don’t think they mean to let us leave. We’ve seen too much and we’re too likely to talk about it.”
Dex said, “We’ll get out. A few lives saved is probably the best we can hope for.” He shrugged into his jacket.
She said, “Where are you going now?”
“Unfinished business. I’m going to look for Howard Poole.”
“Let me come with you.”
He thought about it. “There’s another jacket in the closet. Leave yours here. And keep a scarf around your head. I don’t want us to be recognized.”
She walked beside him in the street, head down, her arm in his. She was small and perfect, Dex thought, and probably doomed, like everybody else in these quiet winter houses.