The Institute - Stephen King Page 0,208

so, but maybe that was only her imagination. So much wishful thinking. You got used to wishful thinking in the Institute. You lived on it.

“I have a gun, you know!”

“So do I, lady,” George said. He grabbed his crotch, then turned to Avery. What’s up, Boss Baby?

Avery looked at them, one after another, and Kalisha saw he was crying. That made her stomach feel heavy, as if she had eaten something bad and was going to be sick.

When it happens, you have to go fast.

Helen: When what happens, Avery?

When I talk on the big phone.

Nicky: Talk to who?

The other kids. The far-away kids.

Kalisha nodded to the door. That woman has a gun.

Avery: That’s the last thing you have to worry about. Just go. All of you.

“We,” Nicky said. “We, Avery. We all go.”

But Avery was shaking his head. Kalisha tried to get inside that head, tried to find out what was going on in there, what he knew, but all she got were three words, repeated over and over.

You’re my friends. You’re my friends. You’re my friends.

17

Luke said, “They’re his friends, but he can’t go with them.”

“Who can’t go with who?” Tim asked. “What are you talking about?”

“About Avery. He has to stay. He’s the one who has to call on the big phone.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Luke.”

“I want them, but I want him, too!” Luke cried. “I want all of them! It’s not fair!”

“He’s crazy,” Mrs. Sigsby said. “Surely you realize that n—”

“Shut up,” Tim said. “I’m telling you for the last time.”

She looked at him, read his face, did as he said.

Tim took the Suburban slowly over a rise and came to a stop. The road widened ahead. He could see lights through the trees, and the dark bulk of a building.

“I think we’re here,” he said. “Luke, I don’t know what’s going on with your friends, but that’s out of our hands right now. I need you to get hold of yourself. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. Okay.”

Tim got out, walked around to the passenger door, and opened it.

“What now?” Mrs. Sigsby asked. She sounded querulous and impatient, but even in the scant light, Tim could see she was afraid. And she was right to be.

“Get out. You’re driving the car the rest of the way. I’ll be in back with Luke, and if you try anything clever, like driving into a tree before we get to those lights, I’ll put a bullet through the seat and into your spine.”

“No. No!”

“Yes. If Luke is right about what you’ve been doing to those children, you’ve run up quite a bill. This is where it comes due. Get out, get behind the wheel, and drive. Slowly. Ten miles an hour.” He paused. “And turn your cap around backward.”

18

Andy Fellowes called from the computer/surveillance center. His voice was high and excited. “They’re here, Mr. Stackhouse! They’re stopped about a hundred yards from where the road turns into the driveway! Their lights are off, but there’s enough from the moon and the front of the building to see by. If you want me to put it up on your monitor so you can confirm, I—”

“That won’t be necessary.” Stackhouse tossed his box phone on the desk, gave the Zero Phone a final look—it had stayed silent, thank God for that—and headed for the door. His walkie was in his pocket, turned up to high gain and connected to the button in his ear. All of his people were on the same channel.

“Zeke?”

“I’m here, boss. With the lady doc.”

“Doug? Chad?”

“In place.” That was Doug, the chef. Who, in better days, had sometimes sat with the kids at dinner and showed them magic tricks that made the little ones laugh. “We also see their vehicle. Black nine-seater. Suburban or Tahoe, right?”

“Right. Gladys?”

“On the roof, Mr. Stackhouse. Stuff’s all ready. Only have to combine the ingredients.”

“Start it if there’s shooting.” But it was no longer a question of if, only of when, and when was now only three or four minutes away. Maybe less.

“Roger that.”

“Rosalind?”

“In position. The hum is very loud down here. I think they are conspiring.”

Stackhouse was sure they were, but wouldn’t be for long. They would be too busy choking. “Hold steady, Rosalind. You’ll be back at Fenway watching the Sox before you know it.”

“Will you come with me, sir?”

“Only if I can cheer for the Yankees.”

He went outside. The night air was pleasantly cool after a

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