“Only if that’s not it, she might be running some kind of game. Gimme the map.”
Jimmy Numbers had all of New Hampshire on his laptop. Crow held it up in front of Barry.
“Here’s where she is,” Barry said, tapping the screen. “On her way to this Cloud Glen place with her dad.”
“Gap,” Crow said. “Cloud Gap.”
“Whatever the fuck.” Barry moved his finger northeast. “And this is where the ghost-blip came from.”
Crow took the laptop and looked through the bead of no doubt infected sweat Barry had left on the screen. “Anniston? That’s her hometown, Bar. She’s probably left psychic traces of herself all over it. Like dead skin.”
“Sure. Memories. Daydreams. All kinds of crazy shit. What I said.”
“And it’s gone now.”
“Yeah, but . . .” Barry grasped Crow’s wrist. “If she’s as strong as Rose says, it’s just possible that she really is gaming us. Throwing her voice, like.”
“Have you ever run across a steamhead that could do that?”
“No, but there’s a first time for everything. I’m almost positive she’s with her father, but you’re the one who has to decide if almost positive is good enough for . . .”
That was when Barry began cycling again, and all meaningful communication ceased. Crow was left with a difficult decision. It was his mission, and he was confident he could handle it, but it was Rose’s plan and—more important—Rose’s obsession. If he screwed up, there would be hell to pay.
Crow glanced at his watch. Three p.m. here in New Hampshire, one o’clock in Sidewinder. At the Bluebell Campground, lunch would just be finishing up, and Rose would be available. That decided him. He made the call. He almost expected her to laugh and call him an old woman, but she didn’t.
“You know we can’t entirely trust Barry anymore,” she said, “but I trust you. What’s your gut feeling?”
His gut felt nothing one way or the other; that was why he had made the call. He told her so, and waited.
“I leave it with you,” she said. “Just don’t screw up.”
Thanks for nothing, Rosie darlin. He thought this . . . then hoped she hadn’t caught it.
He sat with the closed cell phone still in his hand, swaying from side to side with the motion of the RV, inhaling the smell of Barry’s sickness, wondering how long it would be before the first spots started showing up on his own arms and legs and chest. At last he went forward and put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.
“When you get to Anniston, stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m getting off.”
2
Crow Daddy watched them pull away from the Gas ’n Go on Anniston’s lower Main Street, resisting an urge to send a short-range thought (all the ESP of which he was capable) to Snake before they got out of range: Come back and pick me up, this is a mistake.
Only what if it wasn’t?
When they were gone, he looked briefly and longingly at the sad little line of used cars for sale at the car wash adjacent to the gas station. No matter what transpired in Anniston, he was going to need transpo out of town. He had more than enough cash in his wallet to buy something that would carry him to their agreed-on rendezvous point near Albany on I-87; the problem was time. It would take at least half an hour to transact a car deal, and that might be too long. Until he was sure this was a false alarm, he would just have to improvise and rely on his powers of persuasion. They had never let him down yet.
Crow did take time enough to step into the Gas ’n Go, where he bought a Red Sox hat. When in Bosox country, dress as the Bosox fans do. He debated adding a pair of sunglasses and decided against them. Thanks to TV, a fit middle-aged man in sunglasses always looked like a hit man to a certain part of the population. The hat would have to do.
He walked up Main Street to the library where Abra and Dan had once held a council of war. He had to go no farther than the lobby to find what he was looking for. There, under the heading of TAKE A LOOK AT OUR TOWN, was a map of Anniston with every street and lane carefully marked. He refreshed himself on the location of the girl’s street.
“Great game last night, wasn’t it?” a man asked. He was carrying an armload of books.