The Passage - By Justin Cronin Page 0,73

the pickup. “I don’t like the looks of this.”

Wolgast ignored him. A girl, spotting Wolgast’s face through the windshield, waved at him, the wind blowing her hair around her face. The lights of the fair were growing clearer now, as were the signs of civilization: a water tank on stilts, a darkened farm-implements store, a low-slung modern building that was probably a retirement community or health clinic, set back from the highway. The pickup pulled off into a Casey’s General Store, its lot bustling with cars and people; the kids were up and out of the bed before the vehicle had even stopped, rushing to meet their friends. Traffic on the roadway slowed as they entered the little town. In the backseat, Amy was sitting up, looking through the windows at the busy scene.

Doyle turned around. “Lie down, Amy.”

“It’s all right, let her look.” Wolgast raised his voice so Amy could hear. “Don’t listen to Phil. You look all you want, honey.”

Doyle leaned his head toward Wolgast’s. “What are you … doing?”

Wolgast kept his eyes ahead. “Relax.”

Honey. Where had that come from? The streets teemed with people, all walking in the same direction, carrying blankets and plastic coolers and lawn chairs. Many were holding small children by the hand or pushing strollers: farm people, ranch people, dressed in jeans and overalls, everyone in boots, some of the men wearing Stetson hats. Here and there Wolgast saw wide puddles of standing water, but the night sky was crisp and dry. The rain had pushed through; the fair was on.

Wolgast flowed with the traffic to the high school, where a marquee-style sign read, BRANCH COUNTY CONSOLIDATED HS: GO WILDCATS: SPRING FLING, MARCH 20–22. A man in a reflective orange vest waved them into the lot, where a second man directed them to extra parking in a muddy field. Wolgast shut off the engine and glanced at Amy through the rearview; her attention was directed out the window, toward the lights and sounds of the fair.

Doyle cleared his throat. “You’re kidding, right?”

Wolgast twisted in his seat. “Amy, Phil and I are going to step outside for a second to talk. Okay?”

The little girl nodded; suddenly, the two of them had an understanding, one Doyle wasn’t part of.

“We’ll be right back,” said Wolgast.

Outside, Doyle met him at the back of the Tahoe. “We’re not doing this,” he said.

“What’s the harm?”

Doyle lowered his voice. “We’re lucky we haven’t seen a local yet. Think about it. Two men in suits and a little girl—you think we won’t stand out?”

“We’ll separate. I’ll take Amy. We can change in the car. Go get yourself a beer, have some fun.”

“You’re not thinking clearly, boss. She’s a prisoner.”

“No, she’s not.”

Doyle sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I? She’s a kid, Phil. A little girl.”

They were standing very close; Wolgast could smell the staleness on Doyle, after hours in the Tahoe. A group of teenagers walked past, and for a moment they fell silent. The parking lot was filling up.

“Look, I’m not made of stone,” Doyle said quietly. “You think I don’t know how fucked up this is? It’s all I can do not to throw up out the window.”

“You seem pretty relaxed, actually. You slept like a baby the whole way from Little Rock.”

Doyle frowned defensively. “Fine, shoot me. I was tired. But we are not taking her on a bunch of kiddie rides. Kiddie rides are not part of the plan.”

“One hour,” Wolgast said. “You can’t leave her cooped up in a car all day without a break. Let her have a little fun, blow off some steam. Sykes doesn’t have to know a thing about it. Then we’ll get back on the road. She’ll probably sleep the rest of the way.”

“And what if she takes off?”

“She won’t.”

“I don’t know how you can be so sure.”

“You can shadow us. If anything happens, there’s two of us.”

Doyle frowned skeptically. “Look, you’re in charge. It’s your call. But I still don’t like it.”

“Sixty minutes,” Wolgast said. “Then we’re gone.”

In the front seat of the Tahoe, they wriggled into sport shirts and jeans while Amy waited. Then Wolgast explained to Amy what they were going to do.

“You have to stay close,” he said. “Don’t talk to anyone. Do you promise?”

“Why can’t I talk to anyone?”

“It’s just a rule. If you don’t promise, we can’t go.”

The girl thought a moment, then nodded. “I promise,” she said.

Doyle hung back as they made their way to the entrance of the fairgrounds. The air was sweet