Characters in The Institute

To take . . .” More coughing. “Hush, now,” Sheriff John said. “To take the lottery tickets,” Absimil Dobira said. “The ones you scratch off. We must have them back. Until bought, they are the property of . . .” He coughed weakly. “Of the state of South Carolina.”

“Now to the right. Don’t move your head.” She cut her eyes that way and saw the widow Goolsby and Mr. Bilson, father of the Bilson twins. Addie Goolsby was in her robe and slippers. Richard Bilson was wearing madras shorts and a red Crimson Tide tee-shirt.

These are your tests, your secondary experiments, and they don’t seem to be panning out.” He set his jaw stubbornly. “Agnes Jordan. William Gortsen. Veena Patel. Two or three others whose names now escape me. Donna something. We had positive results with all of them.”

“Fuck your protest,” said Alice Green, also of Opal. This was greeted by the kind of laughter—brittle, eager, a little crazy—that only came before an op where there was apt to be shooting. “That’s enough,” Mrs. Sigsby said. “Doctor Evans, it’s possible that we can take the boy alive.

It was just how he was built. He supposed that made him a bit on the creepy side (he had certainly caught Alicia Destin looking at him in a way which suggested that from time to time), but right now he blessed Mr. Destin’s excited lectures.

… house in New Jersey, where she lived with Andrea, who believed her partner worked in a top-secret military project. Top-secret it was; military it was not. The low-level telepathy would fade during her time in the village, and by the time she got back to Andrea, it would be gone.

Ionidis had shown initiative and guile of which Jerry Symonds and Andy Fellowes, their IT techs, would have been incapable. First using Google Earth and then a phone locater app, Zeke had gotten in touch with Alvorson’s next-door neighbor in the little Vermont town where Alvorson still maintained a residence.

She also had a little tent in a field behind the rail depot, and when it rained, she slept there. “Annie Ledoux is her real name,” Bill Wicklow said when Tim asked. Bill was the oldest of the DuPray deputies, a part-timer who seemed to know everyone in town.

… 14 Avery Dixon, dressed in a Batman tee-shirt and dirty shorts that displayed his scabby knees, stood in front of Mrs. Sigsby’s desk, looking at her with frightened eyes. Small to begin with and now flanked by Winona and Tony, he didn’t look ten; he looked barely old …

It had been the final stop for a fugitive African warlord named Badu Bokassa, who had been stabbed in the throat by one of his mistresses. Except he’d really been killed by a bunch of kids thousands of miles away.

The man calling himself Bill Smith—a name as anonymous as his sedan—squinted up into the early sunshine, smiling slightly, as if he were debating several possible answers to this …

She also had a little tent in a field behind the rail depot, and when it rained, she slept there. “Annie Ledoux is her real name,” Bill Wicklow said when Tim asked. Bill was the oldest of the DuPray deputies, a part-timer who seemed to know everyone in town.

“Well, I didn’t see any kid.” “The guy said his brother-in-law would pay a reward.” “It could be a million dollars, Billy, and I still couldn’t see any kid unless a kid was there to see.” If my belly rumbles again, I’m finished, Luke thought. Deep-fried. Nuked.

“So was Billy Flint. That’s my point.” Greer leaned forward. “Understand me now. Luke absorbed two semesters’ worth of extremely difficult postgraduate work in a single week, and drew many of the conclusions Flint had intended to make once the proper historical groundwork …

And there was one kid here, can’t remember his name, who was even better than George.” “Bobby Washington,” Kalisha said. “Little black kid, maybe nine. He could push your plate right off the table. Been gone . . . what, Nicky? Two weeks?” “A little less,” Nicky said.

Good for you. Look straight ahead, please.” Luke looked at the wall. The sensation of having forgotten how to breathe was gone. Brandon pulled down a white screen, then dimmed the lights. “Keep looking straight ahead,” Dr. Evans said. “If you look away once, Brandon is going to slap you.

“Take a look at this.” She seated herself at the ATM video replay. Brian Stearns sat down beside her. The unit’s camera slept between transactions, and in the small northern Maine town of Millinocket, that usually meant it slept all night, waking up for its first customers around six o’clock.

He still had on the clothes he’d been wearing when Zeke and Carlos had hauled his small unconscious body out of the immersion tank, and he was soaked. His teeth began to chatter. Still, he held onto what he had learned. It was important. Everything was important now.

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.”

Or a tech like Tony and Evan. Or I could even learn to cook and be a chef like Chef Doug.” Stackhouse looked over the girl’s shoulder to see if Mrs. Sigsby was as amazed by this as he was. She appeared to be.

Thank God, she gets it. She started to speak, but closed her mouth again as the caretaker—his name was Clint—passed them by, bawling, “Cigarettes! Who wants one before the show?” When he was gone, she said, “If we can’t escape, we have to take the place over.”

Even so, it seemed that no orders had come down for Fred and his fellow janitors—Mort, Connie, Jawed—to clean them, and that meant whoever was supposed to monitor the hallways didn’t give much of a shit if the view had grown murky.

Corbett Denton was another denizen of DuPray’s night side. He was the town barber, and known locally as Drummer, for some teenage exploit no one seemed exactly clear on, only that it had resulted in a month’s suspension from the regional high school.

… 22 Corinne Rawson was standing in front of the screening room, shooting the shit with Jake “the Snake” Howland and Phil “the Pill” Chaffitz. Abused as a child by both her father and two of her four older brothers, Corinne had never had a problem with her work in Back …

… still dazed but walking on his own, through Craig Jackson’s office. The owner of DuPray Storage & Warehousing lived in the nearby town of Dunning, but had been divorced for five years, and the spacious, air-conditioned room behind the office served him as auxiliary living quarters. Jackson wasn’t there now, …

The hum deepened and strengthened. They felt it in Front Half, Kalisha was sure of that—Joe and Hadad, Chad and Dave, Priscilla and that mean one, Zeke. The rest of them, too. Were they frightened by it? Maybe a little, but— But they believe we’re trapped, she thought.

Besides, he needed them. Del Beeman got the big truck with the stake sides backed up to the door of the Carolina Produce boxcar by twelve-thirty, and they began loading in crates of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and summer squash.

The requested van was in place at the airport, Church said. Denise Allgood, an off-duty tech (although they were all supposedly on duty now), had driven behind Church in an Institute sedan. The idea was that, after leaving the vehicle on the tarmac, Ron would ride back here with Denise.

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.

Mrs. Sigsby looked pleased. “All five today? I must be living correctly.” Hendricks (aka Donkey Kong) thought, You couldn’t bear to say living right, could you? You might split a seam somewhere. “Only two today,” Rosalind said. “Tonight, actually. From Emerald team. Three tomorrow, from Opal. Four are TK.

Iris might be too far gone. The same with Jimmy Cullum and Donna Gibson, whom Kalisha had known in Front Half—thanks to her chicken pox, she had been around much longer than the usual residents there. The Ward A kids made her sad, but Iris was worse.

“A better one? Because one of the school’s alumni is Douglas Finkel. He happens to own American Paper Products, and that’s close to your sweet spot. Your hot zone. Where the rubber meets the r—” “Finkel’s name actually came up,” Herb said. “Just in a speculative way.”

The doc had found a bottle of ginger ale in the little fridge, and the boy was making short work of it. “Sit there easy, young man,” Roper said. He snapped his bag shut and walked over to Tim, who was standing just inside the door to the outer office.

Deep-fried. Nuked. From outside, someone shouted: “Billy! Duane! Twenty minutes, boys, finish up!” Billy and Duane loaded a few more Kohler crates into the boxcar, then rolled their ramp back into the truck and drove away.

Ed Whitlock. He got ALS, that Lou Gehrig’s thing. Nice man. Tough break. But he’s got people down there to take care of him.” “It’s always the nice ones who get hit with the shit,” Tag Faraday said. “Give him a form, Ronnie.”

“Yes.” “Okay. This boy’s parents, Herbert and Eileen Ellis, were murdered in their home about seven weeks ago. Shot to death in their bedroom.” Luke felt as if he were having an out-of-body experience. The dots didn’t come back, but this was the way he felt when they did.

Or a tech like Tony and Evan. Or I could even learn to cook and be a chef like Chef Doug.”

Farther down the corridor, between the cafeteria on one side and Ward A on the other, stood Dr. Everett Hallas, with his mouth hanging open. Now fists began to hammer on Gorky Park’s locked double doors.

“What? Who am I talking to?” It was Dr. Felicia Richardson, who had spelled Zeke in the comm room. She had been eager to do it. Her ass was also on the line, a fact she fully grasped. “I’ve got one of our stringers on hold. Guy named Jean Levesque.

Got to warn you, Tim, if you take the place, you can’t play music loud late at night. Mom don’t like music. She didn’t even like Floyd’s banjo, which he could play like a house on fire. They used to argue about it something awful.”

It was Frank Potter, one of the deputies with whom he sometimes ate dinner at Bev’s, who told him that Mrs. G. had lost her husband the year before. Wendell Goolsby’s big rig had slid off the side of a Wisconsin highway during a blizzard.

I could look at the heating plans, if you—” “That won’t be necessary,” Stackhouse said. “But perhaps you and Fred Clark from janitorial could get the . . . uh . . . proper ingredients ready. Just as a contingency, you understand.” “Yes, sir, absolutely.” Gladys looked raring to go.

Yet in that quiet, running secretly behind it, was a nervous elation so strong that it made Frieda Brown feel slightly drunk. There had been an escape. All of the kids were glad and none of them wanted to show it. Was she glad? Frieda wasn’t so sure.

Like how Joe and two other caretakers, Chad and Gary, sometimes used the tokens they didn’t give away to get wine nips and those little bottles of hard lemonade from the canteen vending machine in the East Lounge.

Thanks to one of the part-time deputies, Tim found a decent place to stay. George Burkett told him that his mother had a small furnished apartment over her garage and she’d rent it to him cheap if he was interested. “Only two rooms, but pretty nice.

He wondered if George Iles would be able to, because George had been a strong TK-pos to begin with. Avery guessed he could, with a little help. He thought again about what his father had said: We’ll do it together. One step at a time.

The little girls, Greta and Gerda Wilcox, ate nothing until Gladys appeared, sunny smile and all, and coaxed a few bites into them. The twins seemed to cheer up at her attentions, even laughed a little.

… 39 Gladys Hickson stood in front of Stackhouse at parade rest, her feet apart and her hands behind her back. The fake smile that every child in the Institute came to know (and hate) was nowhere in evidence. “You understand the current situation, Gladys?” “Yes, sir. The …

The little girls, Greta and Gerda Wilcox, ate nothing until Gladys appeared, sunny smile and all, and coaxed a few bites into them. The twins seemed to cheer up at her attentions, even laughed a little.

Two handsome Somali brothers, Absimil and Gutaale Dobira, alternated on the night shift from midnight to eight. On a dog-hot night in mid-July, as Tim was chalking and knocking his way up the west end of Main, he heard a bang from the vicinity of Zoney’s.

The Institute was quiet. The kids currently in Front Half were asleep, aided by sedatives Joe and Hadad had handed out. In the access tunnel, the five who had started the mutiny were also sleeping, but probably not deeply; Stackhouse hoped their headaches would be fucking them up most awesomely.

Katie Givens and Hal Leonard had been with them for awhile, but now they had joined the Ward A kids, walking with them when they walked, joining hands when they decided to make one of those rings.

He had expected to be afraid, he had been afraid ever since waking up in a room that looked like his room but wasn’t, and then Harry Cross had knocked him down and he had been more afraid than ever. But he wasn’t afraid now. He was exhilarated.

Tim thought of asking how Mr. Smith had found him, but why bother? It couldn’t have been hard. Catawba Farm belonged to Harry and Rita Gullickson, now living in Florida. Their daughter had been keeping an eye on the old home place for the last three years.

Hector took off his cap and ran a hand through his thick black hair. “I hate these milk-runs. Unloading went slow in Wilmington, too. A goddam Lexus got stuck on one of the carriers. Well, let’s see what we can do.” Tim followed Hector to the door, then turned back.

Helen Simms was sitting next to Sha, hands lying limply on either side of her bowl. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Her hair, so razzily colored when she showed up in Front Half, was now dull and dank, hanging around her face—her much thinner face—in clumps.

Good luck with that, Avery thought. “I’ll have Henry take you to your room. We have nice caretakers here. Can you walk on your own?” “Yes.” Dr. Jeckle did some more laughing, head back and throat working. Avery got out of the wheelchair, and gave Gladys a long, measuring look.

“That won’t be necessary,” Tim said. “I don’t think you’re going to tell me anything Luke doesn’t already know.” “You sure?” Tim glanced at Wendy, who nodded, then at Luke, who shrugged. “Yes.” “Okay. This boy’s parents, Herbert and Eileen Ellis, were murdered in their home about seven weeks ago.

Horace Keller, a red caretaker with whom she was friendly, called Heckle and Jeckle high-functioning crazies. He said that eventually one or both of them would freak out, and then the topsiders would have to find fresh medical talent. That was nothing to Corinne.

Kalisha didn’t want to admit it, but told him he was probably right. Avery: One step at a time. Iris said, “I can’t hear what you guys are thinking. I know you’re thinking something, but my head still hurts bad.” Avery: Let’s see what we can do for her.

Irwin Mollison, an unemployed millworker, was one of the Institute’s many Dennison River Bend stringers. Stackhouse could have ordered Ron Church to stay, but knew from experience that issuing an order to a man who might choose to disobey it was a bad idea.

Flip, and here was the blue-carpeted main corridor, with at least three caretakers down. No, make it four. Jake Howland was sitting on the floor outside the screening room, cradling his hand against his smock top, which was drenched with blood. Flip, and here was the cafeteria, empty.

Dr. James Evans, who had not been assigned a position, assigned his own. He walked past Mrs. Sigsby and approached Drummer and Orphan Annie with his hands raised and a placating smile on his face. “Get back here, you fool!” Mrs. Sigsby snapped. He ignored her.

Sometimes it looks like suicide. Sometimes like murder. But it’s always the kids. That politician, Mark Berkowitz? That was the kids. Jangi Gafoor, that man who supposedly blew himself up by accident in his bomb-making factory in Kunduz Province two years ago? That was the kids.

Even so, it seemed that no orders had come down for Fred and his fellow janitors—Mort, Connie, Jawed—to clean them, and that meant whoever was supposed to monitor the hallways didn’t give much of a shit if the view had grown murky.

She had been raised that way in the Georgia canebrakes by a father who told her, “You don’t back down, girl, not for nothin.” Jean Ledoux had been a crack shot whether drunk or sober, and he had taught her well.

“I’ve got one of our stringers on hold. Guy named Jean Levesque. He says he found the boat Ellis used. Want me to transfer him to you?” “Immediately!”

Ionidis had shown initiative and guile of which Jerry Symonds and Andy Fellowes, their IT techs, would have been incapable. First using Google Earth and then a phone locater app, Zeke had gotten in touch with Alvorson’s next-door neighbor in the little Vermont town where Alvorson still maintained a residence.

… Ellis were being ushered into the office of Jim Greer, one of three guidance counselors at the Broderick School for Exceptional Children. “Luke’s not in trouble, is he?” Eileen asked when they were seated. “If he is, he hasn’t said anything.” “Not at all,” Greer said. He was in his …

Jimmy Cullum zombie-walked his aching head to his room; Hal, Donna, and Len sat in the cafeteria, the two boys staring at their half-eaten desserts (chocolate …

This was where the real work was done, and Drs. Heckle and Jeckle (real name Joanne James) were heroes for doing it, but that didn’t make it any easier to be here. She could already feel the atmosphere of the place. It was like being in a low-level electrical field.

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.”

Maybe you know why.” Sheriff John Ashworth seemed to have forgotten about dinner. “Because your subject was pointing it at the kid he had on the floor. No sense pointing a fake gun at someone. Unless, I s’pose, the kid on the ground didn’t know that.”

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 the living shit out of the little son of a bitch when we find him.”

This woman—JOLENE, according to her nametag—was plump and in her twenties. “Where’s Maureen?” Luke asked, although he knew perfectly well. This was Maureen’s off week, and when she came back, it might not be to his part of the Institute, at least not for awhile.

“What’s a mercantile store?” This was Josh Gottfried, of Opal. “Like a department store,” Robin Lecks said. “More like an old-time five-and-dime.” That was Tony Fizzale.

Also a bad drug habit, in Judy’s case. “Ruby Red’s been debriefed?” “By me personally. And when the cops check the kid’s computer, they are going to find he’s been looking at some stories about kids who kill their parents. Not a lot, just two or three.”

The third struck Julia Sigsby in the leg. Her gun flew from her hand and she folded to the floor, a look of unbelief on her face. “You shot me. Why did you shoot me?” “Are you stupid? Why do you think?” Wendy said.

“That means that Nicholas Wilholm and Kalisha Benson are still here. And Luke Ellis, of course.” The smile reappeared, thinner now. “The author of all our misery.” “What do you want, Mr. Smith?” “Very little, actually. We’ll get to it. Meanwhile, let me compliment you.

Katie Givens was there. She didn’t look around at them, only at the currently blank TV. To Kalisha’s surprise, they were joined by Iris, who looked better than she had in days. Brighter.

The contents were a mishmash that made Luke think of his Aunt Lacey’s attic, although the stuff she had stored was old, and all of this was new. To the left there were lawnmowers, weed-whackers, leaf-blowers, chainsaws, and cartons containing automotive parts and outboard motors.

Not even a stub of a pencil. Maybe that was good. Notes were dangerous in here. “Leah Fink, in Burlington,” he murmured as he scooped ice. “Rudolph Davis, in Montpelier. Both have five stars on Legal Eagle. That’s a consumer website. Can you remember the names?” “Leah Fink, Rudolph Davis.

Jimmy Cullum zombie-walked his aching head to his room; Hal, Donna, and Len sat in the cafeteria, the two boys staring at their half-eaten desserts (chocolate pudding tonight), Donna regarding a smoldering cigarette she seemed to have forgotten how to smoke.

Denny Williams from Ruby Red and Louis Grant from Opal remained onboard, taking care of Gold team’s rather specialized baggage. Mrs. Sigsby stood on the tarmac in spite of the staggering heat and used her cell to call her office landline. Rosalind answered and handed her off to Stackhouse.

Lucas David Ellis, who had been planning to matriculate at MIT and Emerson, had been reduced to a blinking dot on a computer screen. Luke returned to his room (the room, he told himself, it’s the room, not my room), looked around, and realized a dismaying thing. No books.

“All right, then,” Sheriff John said, rocking back in his office chair. “I haven’t got long. Marcella hates it when I’m late for dinner. Unless there’s some sort of crisis, accourse.” “Understood.” “So let’s get right to the good part.

Tim did so. Her name was Marjorie Kellerman, and she ran the Brunswick library. She also belonged to something called the Southeastern Library Association. Which, she said, had no money because “Trump and his cronies took it all back. They understand culture no more than a donkey understands algebra.”

Mark Berkowitz.” “Yes.” “Why not Bin Laden?” Wendy asked. “I would have thought he’d be a natural target for this . . . this mental assassination.” “I don’t know,” Luke said. He sounded exhausted. The bruise on his cheek seemed to be growing more colorful by the minute.

“I gotta visit the caboose shithouse. See a man about a dog.” “Come on, Mattie, squeeze it a little.” “Can’t,” the white guy said. “This one’s so big I’m gonna have to climb down off’n it.” The truck started up and drove away.

… 10 As Maureen Alvorson was starting her final slide, Stevie Whipple was eating mac and cheese in the Front Half cafeteria. Avery Dixon grabbed him by one meaty, freckled arm. “Come out to the playground with me.” “I ain’t done eating, Avery.” “I don’t care.” He lowered his voice. “It’s …

“Lukey, even if this could happen, wouldn’t you miss your friends?” His eyes clouded. “Yeah. Especially Rolf. Maya, too. Although we can’t officially ask girls to the spring dance, unofficially she’s my date. So yeah. But.” They waited. Their son, always verbal and often verbose, now seemed to struggle.

A Ford Windstar soccer-mom van was idling in front of the gate, with Robin Lecks behind the wheel. Michelle Robertson was sitting beside her. Both women wore jeans and black tee-shirts. “From here to Presque Isle,” Mrs. Sigsby said. “Ninety minutes. From Presque Isle to Erie, Pennsylvania, another seventy minutes.

Even so, it seemed that no orders had come down for Fred and his fellow janitors—Mort, Connie, Jawed—to clean them, and that meant whoever was supposed to monitor the hallways didn’t give much of a shit if the view had grown murky.

“You got off easy,” Kalisha told her. “A couple of kids . . . there was that one named Morty . . . can’t remember his last name . . .” “The nose-picker,” Iris said. “The one who used to hang with Bobby Washington.

She had packed the whole sheet from side to side, top to bottom, all of one side and part of the other. It made Luke think of something Mr. Sirois had said in English class, about Ernest Hemingway’s best short stories: They are miracles of compression.

And the rent couldn’t be beat: seventy a week. George had described his mother as something of a dragon, but Mrs. Burkett turned out to be a good old soul with a southern drawl so thick he could only understand half of what she said.

“That means that Nicholas Wilholm and Kalisha Benson are still here. And Luke Ellis, of course.” The smile reappeared, thinner now. “The author of all our misery.” “What do you want, Mr. Smith?” “Very little, actually. We’ll get to it. Meanwhile, let me compliment you.

It was like having a Dixie elf for a landlady. Norbert Hollister, the rat-faced motel owner, had been right about DuPray Storage & Warehousing; they were chronically short-staffed and always hiring.

… Hers said NORMA. “How are you, my chickens?” she asked. “Oh, we’re plucking right along,” George said brightly. “How about you?” “Doing fine,” Norma said. “Don’t have a Get Out of Jail Free card on you, by any chance?” Norma gave him a cruise-control smile and went back through the …

“This is Paul Westin, kids. His home is in Deerfield, Indiana. Paul Westin. Deerfield, Indiana. Paul Westin, Deerfield, Indiana. Say it with me, boys and girls.”

“Down you go,” Zeke said. “Thirty seconds, with a howdy-do between each number. I’ll be timing you, sport.” The third dip was forty-five seconds, the fourth a full minute. He was questioned after each one. They switched from animals to the names of various caretakers: Gladys, Norma, Pete, Priscilla.

“Littlejohn,” Luke murmured. “I think that’s his name. Pete Littlejohn.” No one heard him. They were staring at the screen as if hypnotized. Across from the gutter used for eliminatory purposes was a long trough on steel legs. Two girls and a boy were standing there.

… the DuPray Grocery . . . assuming that Phil Beeman got it there all right. It was less than a mile, but this morning Phil’s speech was slow and his eyes were as red as those of a small animal trying to stay ahead of a brushfire. It didn’t take …

“Welcome to another fun-filled evening,” Nicky said in a loud announcer’s voice. “This year’s feature, an Academy Award winner in the category of Shittiest Documentary—” Phil the Pill slapped him across the back of the head. “Shut up, asshole, and enjoy the show.” He retreated.

The hum deepened and strengthened. They felt it in Front Half, Kalisha was sure of that—Joe and Hadad, Chad and Dave, Priscilla and that mean one, Zeke. The rest of them, too. Were they frightened by it? Maybe a little, but— But they believe we’re trapped, she thought.

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 the living shit out of the little son of a bitch when we find him.”

My grandmother’s name is Rebecca, Luke thought. “Rebecca,” Kalisha said, and when she saw Luke’s expression of surprise, she burst into a fit of the giggles that made her look like the child she had been not so long ago. “You’ve got the white guys,” Nicky said.

Like Aunt Rhoda, this woman was skinny, with barely a hint of hips or breasts. Only there were smile lines around Aunt Rhoda’s mouth, and always warmth in her eyes. She was a hugger.

Addie Goolsby was in her robe and slippers. Richard Bilson was wearing madras shorts and a red Crimson Tide tee-shirt. Both had hunting rifles. The cluster in front of the sheriff’s station didn’t see them; their attention was on whatever business they’d come here to transact.

Then, for no reason, he thought of Richie Rocket in his silver space suit, dancing as enthusiastically as Nicky Wilholm had before dinner, and how the little kids danced with him, laughing …

Tim thought of asking how Mr. Smith had found him, but why bother? It couldn’t have been hard. Catawba Farm belonged to Harry and Rita Gullickson, now living in Florida. Their daughter had been keeping an eye on the old home place for the last three years.

“We got mostly Cs and din’t fail nothing,” Robert Bilson said, “and we got promoted. What’s so bad about that?” “It ain’t right,” Roland Bilson chimed in. “We’re going to be at the fair first thing in the morning and get jobs. We heard they always need roundabouts.”

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.

“We got mostly Cs and din’t fail nothing,” Robert Bilson said, “and we got promoted. What’s so bad about that?” “It ain’t right,” Roland Bilson chimed in. “We’re going to be at the fair first thing in the morning and get jobs. We heard they always need roundabouts.”

Luke’s once-upon-a-time best friend Rolf Destin would have said the guns are fully loaded. “Okay, outlaw. I seen you when I sat down on those boxes. You can come out now.”

The voice on the other end belonged to one of the off-duty caretakers, a man named Ron Church. The requested van was in place at the airport, Church said. Denise Allgood, an off-duty tech (although they were all supposedly on duty now), had driven behind Church in an Institute sedan.

“You’re not a resident of Fairlee County,” Ronnie Gibson said. “No,” Tim agreed. “Not at all. But I could be if I got the night knocker job.” “Doesn’t pay much,” Faraday said, “and in any case it’s not up to me. Sheriff Ashworth hires and fires.”

“Seventy-eight, sir.” She answered promptly enough, and while maintaining eye contact, but this was a lie. Rosalind Dawson was actually eighty-one.

“Leah Fink, in Burlington,” he murmured as he scooped ice. “Rudolph Davis, in Montpelier. Both have five stars on Legal Eagle. That’s a consumer website. Can you remember the names?” “Leah Fink, Rudolph Davis. Bless you, Luke.” Luke knew he should leave it at that, but he was curious.

… nine o’clock on that day, a teller named Sandra Robichaux summoned the bank manager from his office. “We have a problem,” she said. “Take a look at this.” She seated herself at the ATM video replay. Brian Stearns sat down beside her. The unit’s camera slept between transactions, and in …

“If you want to call that music,” Luke once overheard a caretaker named Sherry telling Fake Smile Gladys. This bar, known to the male techs and caretakers as The Cunt, was in a town called Dennison River Bend.

Her palms were on the glass, and she was looking out at them. “Goddammit!” Sophie said. She removed Evans’s hand and squashed her cigarette out. She strode to the door and unlocked it and jerked it open and grabbed Peeping Thomasina by the neck. “What are you doing up?

“We agree, and that’s good. A good start. So where did he go?” “I don’t know, ma’am.” “I think you do. You and Steven Whipple were filling in the hole he escaped through. Which was stupid. You should have left it alone.” “We thought a woodchuck made it, ma’am.” “Nonsense.

… 5 The redheaded cop was Deputy Taggart Faraday. He escorted Tim inside, where the familiar smells of bleach and ammonia cakes wafted into the office from the four-cell holding area in the back. After introducing Tim to Veronica Gibson, the middle-aged deputy working dispatch this afternoon, Faraday …

… 1 Half an hour after Tim Jamieson’s Delta flight was scheduled to leave Tampa for the bright lights and tall buildings of New York, it was still parked at the gate. When a Delta agent and a blond woman with a security badge hanging around her neck entered the cabin, …

When Denny offered one to Evans, the doctor held up his hands and took a step back. Tom Jones of Opal bent to the portable armory and brought out one of two HK37 assault rifles. “How about this, Doc?

We’ll also have Tony Fizzale, who’s ex-Marines, Dr. Evans, and Winona Briggs. She’s ex-Army, and has some triage skills. Denny Williams will be in charge once the operation begins, but I intend to be there, and I intend to write my report from a ground-level perspective.” She paused.

… 27 Trevor Stackhouse was in his office down the hall from Mrs. Sigsby’s, pacing up and down because he was too wired to sit, and would remain that way until he heard from Julia. Her news might be good or bad, but any news would be better than this waiting.

He went to see the foreman, Val Jarrett, who was willing to put him on for three hours a day, starting at eight in the morning.

He set his jaw stubbornly. “Agnes Jordan. William Gortsen. Veena Patel. Two or three others whose names now escape me. Donna something. We had positive results with all of them.” She sighed and primped at her thinning hair.

Vic Destin, his friend Rolf’s father, said there had never been a mode of transportation as dirty and noisy as transportation by rail. He said it with satisfaction rather than disgust, which surprised neither of the boys. Mr. Destin was into trains bigtime.

Wendell Goolsby’s big rig had slid off the side of a Wisconsin highway during a blizzard. “She ain’t fifty yet, but Wen n Addie were married a long, long time, just the same,” Frank said.

… 9 Deputy Wendy Gullickson, one of the Sheriff’s Department part-timers, was ten years younger than Ronnie Gibson and a knockout, even with her blond hair pulled back in a bun so tight it seemed to scream. Tim made no attempt to charm her; it was clear her charm shield was …

These are your tests, your secondary experiments, and they don’t seem to be panning out.” He set his jaw stubbornly. “Agnes Jordan. William Gortsen. Veena Patel. Two or three others whose names now escape me. Donna something. We had positive results with all of them.”

We’ll also have Tony Fizzale, who’s ex-Marines, Dr. Evans, and Winona Briggs. She’s ex-Army, and has some triage skills. Denny Williams will be in charge once the operation begins, but I intend to be there, and I intend to write my report from a ground-level perspective.” She paused.

Now let’s get this test done, shall we? Then you can go upstairs and play with your friends.” Before calling Yolanda, another caretaker (last name: Freeman), to escort him back to A-Level, Evans gave Luke a dozen tokens and another hearty clap on the back. “Our little secret, right?”

He would place Doug the chef and Chad the caretaker in the trees beyond the admin building, where the Institute’s driveway began. Zeke Ionidis and Felicia Richardson would take up their stations on the admin building’s roof, behind a parapet that would hide them until the shooting began.