Cell. Part 14

In the hours before dawn, walking on Route 102 east of Manchester, they began to hear music, very faint.

'Christ,' Tom said, coming to a stop. 'That's Baby Elephant Walk.' '

'It's what?' what?' Alice asked. She sounded amused. Alice asked. She sounded amused.

'A big-band instrumental from the age of quarter gas. Les Brown and His Band of Renown, someone like that. My mother had the record.'

Two men pulled even with them and stopped for a blow. They were elderly, but both looked fit. Like a couple of recently retired postmen hiking the Cotswolds, Like a couple of recently retired postmen hiking the Cotswolds, Clay thought. Clay thought. Wherever Wherever they they are. are. One wore a pack-no p.u.s.s.y day-pack, either, but the waist-length kind on a frame-and the other had a rucksack hanging from his right shoulder. Hung over the left was what looked like a.30-.30. One wore a pack-no p.u.s.s.y day-pack, either, but the waist-length kind on a frame-and the other had a rucksack hanging from his right shoulder. Hung over the left was what looked like a.30-.30.

Packsack wiped sweat from his seamed forehead with a forearm and said, 'Your mama might have had a version by Les Brown, son, but more likely it was Don Costa or Henry Mancini. Those were the popular ones. That one'-he inclined his head toward the ghostly strains-'that's Lawrence Welk, as I live and breathe.'

'Lawrence Welk,' Tom breathed, almost in awe.

'Who?' Alice asked. Alice asked.

'Listen to that elephant walk,' Clay said, and laughed. He was tired and feeling goofy. It occurred to him that Johnny would love love that music. that music.

Packsack gave him a glance of pa.s.sing contempt, then looked back at Tom. 'That's Lawrence Welk, all right,' he said. 'My eyes aren't half-right anymore, but my ears are fine. My wife and I used to watch his show every f.u.c.king Sat.u.r.day night.'

'Dodge had a good time, too,' Rucksack said. It was his only addition to the conversation, and Clay hadn't the slightest idea what it meant.

'Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Band,' Tom said. 'Think of it.'

'Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Music Makers,' Music Makers,' Packsack said. 'Jesus Packsack said. 'Jesus Christ.' Christ.'

'Don't forget the Lennon Sisters and the lovely Alice Lon,' Tom said.

In the distance, the ghostly music changed. 'That one's Calcutta,' ' Packsack said. He sighed. 'Well, we'll be getting along. Nice pa.s.sing the time of day with you.'

'Night,' Clay said.

'Nope,' Packsack said. 'These're our days now. Haven't you noticed? Have a good one, boys. You too, little ma'am.'

'Thank you,' the little ma'am standing between Clay and Tom said faintly.

Packsack started along again. Rucksack fell st.u.r.dily in beside him. Around them, a steady parade of bobbing flashlight beams led people deeper into New Hamps.h.i.+re. Then Packsack stopped and looked back for a final word.

'You don't want to be on the road more than another hour,' he said. 'Find a house or motel unit and get inside. You know about the shoes, right?'

'What about the shoes?' Tom asked.

Packsack looked at him patiently, the way he'd probably look at anyone who couldn't help being a fool. Far down the road, 'Calcutta'-if that's what it was-had given way to a polka. It sounded insane in the foggy, drizzly night. And now this old man with the big pack on his back was talking about shoes.

'When you go inside a place, you put your shoes out on the stoop,' Packsack said. 'The crazy ones won't take them, don't worry about that, and it tells other people the place is taken and to move along, find another. Saves'-his eyes dropped to the heavy automatic weapon Clay was carrying-'Saves accidents.'

'Have there been accidents?' Tom asked.

'Oh yes,' Packsack said, with chilling indifference. 'There's always accidents, people being what they are. But there's plenty of places, so there's no need for you for you to have one. Just put out your shoes.' to have one. Just put out your shoes.'

'How do you know that?' Alice asked.

He gave her a smile that improved his face out of all measure. But it was hard not to smile at Alice; she was young, and even at three in the morning, she was pretty. 'People talk; I listen. I talk, sometimes sometimes other folks listen. Did you listen?' other folks listen. Did you listen?'

'Yes,' Alice said. 'Listening's one of my best things.'

'Then pa.s.s it on. Bad enough to have them them to contend with.' He didn't have to be more specific. 'Too bad to have accidents among ourselves on top of that.' to contend with.' He didn't have to be more specific. 'Too bad to have accidents among ourselves on top of that.'

Clay thought of Natalie pointing the.22. He said, 'You're right. Thank you.'

Tom said, 'That one's The Beer Barrel Polka,' isn't it?'

'That's right, son,' Packsack said. 'Myron Floren on the squeezebox. G.o.d rest his soul. You might want to stop in Gaiten. It's a nice little village two miles or so up the road.'

'Is that where you're going to stay?' Alice asked.

'Oh, me and Rolfe might push on a dight farther,' he said.

'Why?'

'Because we can, little ma'am, that's all. You have a good day.'

This time they didn't contradict him, and although the two men had to be pus.h.i.+ng seventy, they were soon out of sight, following the beam of a single flashlight, which Rucksack-Rolfe-held.

'Lawrence Welk and his Champagne Music Makers,' Tom marveled.

' Baby Elephant Walk,' ' Clay said, and laughed.

'Why did Dodge have a good time, too?' Alice wanted to know.

'Because it could, I guess,' Tom said, and burst out laughing at her perplexed expression.

11.

The music was coming from Gaiten, the nice little village Packsack had recommended as a place to stop. It was not nearly as loud as the AC/DC concert Clay had gone to in Boston as a teenager-that had left his ears ringing for days-but it was loud enough to make him think of summer band concerts he'd attended in South Berwick with his parents. In fact he had it in his mind that they would discover the source of the music on the Gaiten town common-likely some elderly person, not a phone-crazy but disaster-addled, who had taken it into his head to serenade the ongoing exodus with easy-listening oldies played through a set of battery-powered loudspeakers.

There was was a Gaiten town common, but it was deserted save for a few people eating either a late supper or an early breakfast by the glow of flashlights and Coleman lanterns. The source of the music was a little farther to the north. By then Lawrence Welk had given way to someone blowing a horn so mellow it was soporific. a Gaiten town common, but it was deserted save for a few people eating either a late supper or an early breakfast by the glow of flashlights and Coleman lanterns. The source of the music was a little farther to the north. By then Lawrence Welk had given way to someone blowing a horn so mellow it was soporific.

'That's Wynton Marsalis, isn't it?' Clay asked. He was ready to call it quits for the night and thought Alice looked done almost to death.

'Him or Kenny G,' Tom said. 'You know what Kenny G said when he got off the elevator, don't you?'

'No,' Clay said, 'but I'm sure you'll tell me.'

' Man! This place rocks!' '

Clay said, 'That's so funny I think my sense of humor just imploded.'

'I don't get it,' Alice said.

'It's not worth explaining,' Tom said. 'Listen, guys, we've got to call it a night. I'm about kilt.'

'Me too,' Alice said. 'I thought I was in shape from soccer, but I'm really tired.'

'Yeah,' Clay agreed. 'Baby makes three.'

They had already pa.s.sed through Gaiten's shopping district, and according to the signs, Main Street-which was also Route 102-had now become Academy Avenue. This was no surprise to Clay, because the sign on the outskirts of town had proclaimed Gaiten home to Historic Gaiten Academy, an inst.i.tution of which Clay had heard vague rumors. He thought it was one of those New England prep schools for kids who can't quite make it into Exeter or Milton. He supposed the three of them would be back in the land of Burger Kings, m.u.f.fler-repair shops, and chain motels soon enough, but this part of New Hamps.h.i.+re 102 was lined with very nice-looking homes. The problem was, there were shoes-sometimes as many as four pairs-in front of most of the doors.

The foot-traffic had thinned considerably as other travelers found shelter for the coming day, but as they pa.s.sed Academy Grove Citgo and approached the fieldstone pillars flanking Gaiten Academy's entrance drive, they began to catch up to a trio just ahead: two men and a woman, all well into middle age. As these three walked slowly up the sidewalk, they inspected each house for one without shoes placed at the front door. The woman was limping badly, and one of the men had his arm around her waist.

Gaiten Academy was on the left, and Clay realized this was where the music (currently a droning, string-laden version of 'Fly Me to the Moon') was coming from. He noticed two other things. One was that the road-litter here-torn bags, half-eaten vegetables, gnawed bones-was especially heavy, and that most of it turned in at the gravel Academy drive. The other was that two people were standing there. One was an old man hunched over a cane. The other was a boy with a battery-powered lantern parked between his shoes. He looked no more than twelve and was dozing against one of the pillars. He was wearing what looked like a school uniform: gray pants, gray sweater, a maroon jacket with a crest on it.

As the trio ahead of Clay and his friends drew abreast of the Academy drive, the old man-dressed in a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows-spoke to them in a piercing, I-will-be-heard-all-the-way-to-the-back-of-the-lecture-hall voice. 'Hi, there! Hi, I say! Won't you come in here? We can offer you shelter, but more importantly, we have to-'

'We don't have to anything, mister,' the woman said. 'I got four burst blisters, two on each foot, and I can hardly walk.'

'But there's plenty of room-' the old fellow began. The man supporting the woman gave him a look that must have been unpleasant, because the old fellow stopped. The trio went past the drive and the pillars and the sign on old-fas.h.i.+oned iron S-hooks reading GAITEN ACADEMY EST. 1846 GAITEN ACADEMY EST. 1846 'A Young Mind Is A Lamp In The Darkness.' 'A Young Mind Is A Lamp In The Darkness.'

The old fellow slumped over his cane again, then saw Clay, Tom, and Alice approaching and straightened up once more. He seemed about to hail them, then apparently decided his lecture-hall approach wasn't working. He poked his companion in the ribs with the tip of his cane instead. The boy straightened up with a wild look as behind them, where brick buildings loomed in the dark along the slope of a mild hill, 'Fly Me to the Moon' gave way to an equally sluggish rendition of something that might once have been 'I Get a Kick out of You.'

'Jordan!' he said. 'Your turn! Ask them in!'

The boy named Jordan started, blinked at the old man, then looked at the new trio of approaching strangers with gloomy mistrust. Clay thought of the March Hare and the Dormouse in Alice in Wonderland. Alice in Wonderland. Maybe that was wrong-probably it was-but he was very tired. 'Aw, Maybe that was wrong-probably it was-but he was very tired. 'Aw, they they won't be any different, sir,' he said. won't be any different, sir,' he said. 'They 'They won't come in. n.o.body will. We'll try again tomorrow night. I'm won't come in. n.o.body will. We'll try again tomorrow night. I'm sleepy.' sleepy.'

And Clay knew that, tired or not, they were going to find out what the old man wanted* unless Tom and Alice absolutely refused, that was. Partly because the old man's companion reminded him of Johnny, yes, but mostly because the kid had made up his mind that no one was going to help in this not-very-brave new world-he and the one he called sir sir were on their own because that was just how it went. Only if that were true, pretty soon there wouldn't be anything worth saving. were on their own because that was just how it went. Only if that were true, pretty soon there wouldn't be anything worth saving.

'Go on,' the old man encouraged him. He prodded Jordan with the tip of his cane again, but not hard. Not painfully. 'Tell them we can give them shelter, we have plenty of room, but they ought to see, first. Someone needs to see this. If they also say no, we will indeed give up for the night.'

'All right, sir.'

The old man smiled, exposing a mouthful of large horse-teeth. 'Thank you, Jordan.'

The boy walked toward them with absolutely no relish, his dusty shoes scuffing, his s.h.i.+rttail hanging below the hem of his sweater. He held his lantern in one hand, and it fizzed faintly. There were dark up-all-night circles under his eyes, and his hair badly needed was.h.i.+ng.

'Tom?' Clay asked.

'We'll see what he wants,' Tom said, 'because I can see it's what you you want, but-' want, but-'

'Sirs? Pardon me, sirs?'

'One second,' Tom said to the boy, then turned back to Clay. His face was grave. 'But it's going to start getting light in an hour. Maybe less. So that old guy better be right about there being a place for us to stay.'

'Oh, yes, sir,' Jordan said. He looked like he didn't want to hope and couldn't help it. 'Lots of places. Hundreds of dorm rooms, not to mention Cheatham Lodge. Tobias Wolff came last year and stayed there. He gave a lecture on his book, Old School.' Old School.'

'I read that,' Alice said, sounding bemused.

'The boys who didn't have cell phones have all run off. The ones who did have them*'

'We know about them,' Alice said.

'I'm a scholars.h.i.+p boy. I lived in Holloway. I didn't have a cell phone. I had to use the dorm mother's phone whenever I wanted to call home and the other boys would make fun of me.'

'Looks to me like you got the last laugh there, Jordan,' Tom said.

'Yes, sir,' he said dutifully, but in the light of his fizzing lantern Clay saw no laughter, only woe and weariness. 'Won't you please come and meet the Head?'

And although he had to be very tired himself, Tom responded with complete politeness, as if they had been standing on a sunny veranda-at a Parents' Tea, perhaps-instead of on the trash-littered verge of Academy Avenue at four-fifteen in the morning. 'That would be our pleasure, Jordan,' he said.

12.

'The devil's intercoms is what I used to call them,' said Charles Ardai, who had been chairman of Gaiten Academy's English Department for twenty-five years and acting Headmaster of the Academy entire at the time of the Pulse. Now he stumped with surprising rapidity up the hill on his cane, keeping to the sidewalk, avoiding the river of swill that carpeted Academy Drive. Jordan walked watchfully beside him, the other three behind him. Jordan was worried about the old man losing his balance. Clay was worried that the man might have a heart attack, trying to talk and climb a hill-even a relatively mild one like this-at the same time.

'I never really meant it, of course; it was a joke, a j.a.pe, a comic exaggeration, but in truth, I never liked the things, especially in an academic environment. I might have moved to keep them out of the school, but naturally I would have been overruled. Might as well try to legislate against the rising of the tide, eh?' He puffed rapidly several times. 'My brother gave me one for my sixty-fifth birthday. I ran the thing flat*' Puff, pant. 'And simply never recharged it. They emit radiation, are you aware of this? In minuscule amounts, it's true, but still* a source of radiation that close to one's head* one's brain*'

'Sir, you should wait until we get to Tonney,' Jordan said. He steadied Ardai as the Head's cane slid on a rotten piece of fruit and he listed momentarily (but at an alarming angle) to port.

'Probably a good idea,' Clay said.

'Yes,' the Head agreed. 'Only* I never trusted them, this is my point. I was never that way with my computer. Took to that like a duck to water.'

At the top of the hill, the campus's main road split in a Y The left fork wound its way to buildings that were almost surely dorms. The right one went toward lecture halls, a cl.u.s.ter of administration buildings, and an archway that glimmered white in the dark. The river of garbage and discarded wrappers flowed beneath it. Headmaster Ardai led them that way, skirting as much of the litter as he could, Jordan holding his elbow. The music-now Bette Midler, singing 'Wind Beneath My Wings'-was coming from beyond the arch, and Clay saw dozens of discarded compact discs among the bones and empty potato chip bags. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

'Uh, sir? Headmaster? Maybe we should just-'

'We'll be fine,' the Head replied. 'Did you ever play musical chairs as a child? Of course you did. Well, as long as the music doesn't stop, we have nothing to worry about. We'll have a quick peek, and then we'll go over to Cheatham Lodge. That's the Headmaster's residence. Not two hundred yards from Tonney Field. I promise you.'

Clay looked at Tom, who shrugged. Alice nodded.

Jordan happened to be looking back at them (rather anxiously), and he caught this collegial interplay. 'You ought to see it,' he told them. 'The Head's right about that. Until you see it, you don't know.'

'See what, Jordan?' Alice asked.

But Jordan only looked at her-big young eyes in the dark. 'Wait,' he said.