The Passage - By Justin Cronin Page 0,189

just everywhere. I thought, That’s it, I’m meat for sure. I hid under the base of one of the towers and pretty much waited to die. But for some reason, they kept their distance. I couldn’t tell you how long I was under there, but when I looked out they were gone, not a smoke in sight. By then I knew the gate was closed, but I guess I just thought I could get inside somehow.”

Arlo turned to Theo. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would they leave him alone like that?”

“Because they were following him,” Alicia cut in. “We could see them from the roof. Using him as bait maybe, to draw us out? Since when do they do that?”

“They don’t.” Something hardened in Theo’s expression then; he stiffened in his chair. “Look, I’m glad Caleb’s safe, don’t get me wrong. But that was some stupid stunt, both of you. This station goes off-line, the lights go out, that’s it for everybody. I don’t know why I have to explain this, but apparently I do.”

Peter and Alicia were silent; there was nothing to say. It was true. If Peter’s rifle had gone just a few centimeters to the left or right, they’d probably all be dead now. It had been a lucky shot and he knew it.

“None of which explains how Zander got infected,” Theo went on. “Or what he was doing, leaving Caleb on the tower.”

“The hell with that,” Arlo said, and slapped his knees. “What I really want to know about are those guns. How many are there?”

“Twelve crates under the stairs,” Alicia answered. “Six more in the crawl space on the roof.”

“Which is exactly where they’re going to stay,” Theo said.

Alicia laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, yes, I can. Look what almost happened. Can you honestly tell me you would have gone outside there without those guns?”

“Maybe not. But Caleb’s alive because of them. And I don’t care what you say, I’m glad we went outside. These aren’t just guns, Theo. They’re like brand-new.”

“I know they are,” Theo said. “I’ve seen them. I know all about them.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “Of course I do.”

For a moment no one spoke. Alicia leaned forward over the table. “So whose guns are they?”

But it was Peter to whom Theo gave his answer. “Our father’s.” So, in the last hour of the night, Theo told the story. Caleb, unable to keep his eyes open another minute, had gone to the barracks to sleep, and Arlo had broken out the shine, as they sometimes did after a night on the Wall. He poured it into each of their cups, two fingers, and passed it around the table.

There was an old Marine Corps base east of there, Theo explained, about a two-day ride. A place called Twentynine Palms. Most of it was gone, he said, pretty much sanded up. You could hardly tell there was anything there unless you knew where to look. Their father had found the weapons in an underground bunker—all boxed up, tight and dry, and not just rifles. Pistols and mortars. Machine guns and grenades. A whole garage of vehicles, even a couple of tanks. They had no way to move the heavier weapons, and none of the vehicles would run, but their father and Uncle Willem had been moving the rifles back to the station a cartload at a time—three trips total before Willem had been killed.

“So why didn’t he tell anyone?” Peter asked.

“Well, he did. He told our mother, and a few others. He didn’t ride alone, you know. I’m guessing the Colonel knew. Probably Old Chou. Zander had to know, since he was stashing them here.”

“But not Sanjay,” Alicia cut in.

Theo shook his head, frowning. “Believe me, Sanjay was the last person my father would tell. Don’t get me wrong: Sanjay is fine at what he does. But he was always dead set against the rides, especially after Raj was killed.”

“That’s right,” Arlo said. “He was one of the three.”

Theo nodded. “I think it was always a sore spot with Sanjay, that his brother wanted to ride with our father. I never really understood it, but there was some bad blood between them from way back. After Raj was killed, it only got worse. Sanjay turned the Household against our father, voted him out as Head, put an end to the rides. That was when our father stepped down and began to ride alone.”

Peter held his cup of shine to his nose, felt its acrid fumes burning