grasped Stackhouse’s wrist, her fingernails biting into his skin. He didn’t seem to notice. He was still staring at the partially uprooted bush as if hypnotized. This was as bad for him as for her. Not worse, there was no worse, but just as bad. “Trevor, they are all here. I checked.”
“I think you better check again. Don’t you?”
She had her walkie this time (thoughts of locking the barn door after the livestock was stolen flashed through her mind), and she keyed it. “Zeke. This is Mrs. Sigsby for Zeke.” You better be there, Ionidis. You just better.
He was. “This is Zeke, Mrs. Sigsby. I’ve been checking up on Alvorson, Mr. Stackhouse told me to since Jerry’s off and Andy’s not here, and I reached her next-door neigh—”
“Never mind that now. Look at the locater blips again for me.”
“Okay.” He sounded suddenly cautious. Must have heard the strain in my voice, she thought. “Hold on, everything’s running slow this morning . . . couple more seconds . . .”
She felt as if she would scream. Stackhouse was still peering through the fence, as if expecting a magic fucking hobbit to appear and explain the whole thing.
“Okay,” Zeke said. “Forty-one residents, still perfect attendance.”
Relief cooled her face like a breeze. “All right, that’s good. That’s very—”
Stackhouse took the walkie from her. “Where are they currently?”
“Uh . . . still twenty-eight in Back Half, now four in the East Wing lounge . . . three in the caff . . . two in their rooms . . . three in the hall . . .”
Those three would be Dixon, Whipple, and the artist-girl, Mrs. Sigsby thought.
“Plus one in the playground,” Zeke finished. “Forty-one. Like I said.”
“Wait one, Zeke.” Stackhouse looked at Mrs. Sigsby. “Do you see a kid in the playground?”
She didn’t answer him. She didn’t need to.
Stackhouse raised the walkie again. “Zeke?”
“Go, Mr. Stackhouse. Right here.”
“Can you pinpoint the exact location of the kid in the playground?”
“Uh . . . let me zoom . . . there’s a button for that . . .”
“Don’t bother,” Mrs. Sigsby said. She had spotted an object glittering in the early afternoon sun. She walked onto the basketball court, stooped at the foul line, and picked it up. She returned to her security chief and held out her hand. In her palm was most of an earlobe with the tracker button still embedded in it.
12
The Front Half residents were told to return to their rooms and stay there. If any were caught in the hall, they would be severely punished. The Institute’s security force totaled just four, counting Stackhouse himself. Two of these men were in the Institute village and came quickly, using the golf-cart track Maureen had expected Luke to find, and which he had missed by less than a hundred feet. The third member of Stackhouse’s team was in Dennison River Bend. Stackhouse had no intention of waiting for her to turn up. Denny Williams and Robin Lecks of the Ruby Red team were on-site, though, waiting for their next assignment, and perfectly willing to be drafted. They were joined by two widebodies—Joe Brinks and Chad Greenlee.
“The Minnesota boy,” Denny said, once this makeshift search party was assembled and the tale was told. “The one we brought in last month.”
“That’s right,” Stackhouse agreed, “the Minnesota boy.”
“And you say he ripped the tracker right out of his ear?” Robin asked.
“The cut’s a little smoother than that. Used a knife, I think.”
“Took balls, either way,” Denny said.
“I’ll have his balls when we catch up to him,” Joe said. “He doesn’t fight like Wilholm did, but he’s got a fuck-you look in his eyes.”
“He’ll be wandering around in the woods, so lost he’ll probably hug us when we find him,” Chad said. He paused. “If we find him. Lot of trees out there.”
“He was bleeding from his ear and probably all down his back from going under the fence,” Stackhouse said. “Must have got it on his hands, too. We’ll follow the blood as far as we can.”
“It’d be good if we had a dog,” Denny Williams said. “A bloodhound or a good old bluetick.”
“It would be good if he’d never gotten out in the first place,” Robin said. “Under the fence, huh?” She almost laughed, then saw Stackhouse’s drawn face and furious eyes and reconsidered.
Rafe Pullman and John Walsh, the two security guys from the village, arrived just then.
Stackhouse said, “We are not going to kill him, understand that, but we are going to zap