Stuart burst from the theater and jumped the barricade, bolting past the deputies shouting at him and alongside the crawling floats, unstoppable. Yards behind the last wagon Candace staggered, her eyes showing as much alarm as her body did fatigue.
With the passing of the parade’s last float, people condensed toward the marquee and the Outlines, leaving an empty street.
Stuart covered this span with all he had, running till he reached Candace. He took her arm, checking her scraped knees and hands as he walked with her to a bench well away from the parade route, and draped his suit jacket over her shoulders.
“What happened?”
Candace buried her face in his shoulder and cried. Stuart waited till she raised her head. “They’re all dead.”
“Dead? Who?”
“Mama. Daddy. The neighbors. The whole street…” She surveyed the crowd with wild eyes. “Soon…everyone.”
Stuart rechecked her to see how badly she was hurt, wondering what the symptoms of shock were.
DeShaun arrived with a bottle of water. “Everybody okay?”
“Not by a long shot.” Stuart had taken on Candace’s panic. “I think you better go get your dad.”
* * * *
“Alejar a!” Enrique forced his way through the crowd and was jostled back for his rudeness. “Move away! I must talk to policia!”
He raced across the street, shoving through a swath of medal-covered war veterans, all dressed as hobos for the parade.
Shavers spotted Enrique. Assuming his erratic behavior was due to tequila or two, and eager to impress the bar wench, he puffed up his chest. “Hey!” He grabbed Enrique and dragged him away from the marchers. “What’s wrong with you, son?”
“Un loco mató, eh, cutted a Guillermo!” Enrique couldn’t bring himself to mimic a stabbing or slashing motion.
“What?”
“He, he corto el cuello!” Enrique shouted. “Cutted him!”
“Boy, I do not have time for this!” Shavers pulled Enrique toward him by the collar—but found the “prankster” yanking back. The terror on his face made Shavers go cold.
“Es insane, this mother!” screamed Enrique.
“Watch your language!” The sergeant struggled with Enrique’s grip, stunned when the skinny Hispanic grabbed his radio and screamed into it. “Guns! Get all God damned armas! One for both hand, mother!”
Shavers wrested the radio away.
The barmaid watched this unfold, sucking the strange, delicious candy she’d been given by the rag doll. She saw a tiny black tentacle emerge from Enrique’s neck, which the deputy somehow could not see.
Shavers shouted, “You want to go to jail, boy?” Enrique jostled Shavers like a madman. “Si! Take me in jail! Lock me up!”
Shavers keyed his radio. “Hey, Hudson, you there?”
But Hudson, watching the moshing, roiling crowd, could not hear his radio over the music and crowd noise.
* * * *
Kerwin wheeled into the overflow lot, stopping to speak to the reflective-vested attendant. She sat stiffly in her chair, a crinkled paper beauty queen mask on her face.
“Hey there!”
Next to him, Cordelia leaned into Kerwin’s space to take in the sight. “My word! You people really do get knee deep in this Halloween business, hm?”
“Uh, yeah,” Kerwin responded, annoyed with the attendant’s lack of response. “Any good spaces?” he asked.
No answer.
Cordelia’s face showed a bored kind of delight. Kerwin sensed that something was wrong but was too afraid of blowing the big deal to delve any deeper. “Well, sleep tight then!”
He smiled at Cordelia for the one thousandth time, as he drove into the field.
* * * *
Candace worked to control her breathing as Stuart brushed dirt from her clothes and hair. “What about your brother?”
“Everett.” The hard wisdom in Candace’s eyes was too much like that of someone very old. “He killed them. He killed them all, Stuart,” she said with a grim conviction that raised his goose flesh. “And he’s not going to stop. He’s never going to stop.”
Tears filled her eyes. “He’s here, Stuart. I know he’s come.”
Stuart took her hand and stood, feeling very vulnerable. “We have to tell my brother. We have to warn everybody.”