They were questions I would answer, but they would have to wait. It was eleven twenty-one, and the first set of lists was being printed out.
Sarah handed them to us. They were different sizes, and probably averaged about six hundred addresses on each one. We spread them out in front of us on large desks, looking over them, and discussed the best way to go about the cross-checking.
But for the time being we were unable to do anything with the lists.
That would wait for the next list, which would provide something to cross-check them against.
Then it would be showtime.
The situation was way out there beyond the Planet Surreal.
Bryan could see that, even through the haze of fear that was enveloping him.
He was sitting underground, running out of air to breathe, counting on TV programs to save him. On the same table as the remote control was a glass of water and two pills, which he would use to kill himself at the first sign of impending suffocation. And the last person he would probably ever hear speak was on television, trying to sell him a miracle kitchen gadget.
He had a million questions that he wanted to ask Lucas, most of them about Gallagher and the situation in Brayton. For a short while Lucas had been so upbeat about it, and then he stopped mentioning it.
Bryan wondered what had happened, why it had gotten to the point where this thing with the television became what seemed to be his last chance. Had Gallagher refused to intervene, and had Lucas now given up on that?
But Bryan did not want to send an e-mail asking those questions. The computer had long ago told him that it was on reserve power, and he wanted to conserve what little he had left.
He wished he could go online and learn how he would feel when the air started to run out. Would there be a period of time where he felt only short of breath, and slightly dizzy? Would it allow him time to take the pills, and alleviate the suffering? And how long would the pills take to work? All of these questions would go unanswered.
Bryan considered writing a final message to the world, on pencil and paper, a medium that didn’t slowly reduce its “percentage of power” remaining. He had thought about it frequently during the previous six days, but didn’t know that there was anything special he wanted to say. Or that anyone would ever find the note, or his body.
So all he planned to do was switch the dial at each fifteen-minute interval and wait to be rescued, or to die.
The second set of lists came right on time, six minutes after the time period ended.
Nobody said a word; we all just launched ourselves into the job of cross-checking it with the first lists. It was a tedious, time-consuming job, made even more daunting by the tremendous pressure we were feeling.
My approach was to take the first address on list one and try to find it on list two. If I did, I’d put a checkmark next to it on both lists. If I didn’t, I’d put an “x” by it on list one, but I didn’t cross it out, in case it was on list two and I had just missed it.
It was so slow that I had the sinking feeling that we were going to fail, even if the process worked. I wanted to speed up the work, but I was haunted by the fear that in doing so I’d miss something. If Bryan’s address was on there and we passed over it, just once, then all hope would be lost.
It took me an hour and five minutes to get through my list, and I found thirty-seven addresses common to both lists. I was the first one finished, Julie was second, and the others were all done within fifteen minutes of me. The strain everyone was under was evident in their faces.
While we were working, other lists were being generated, as other fifteen-minute segments concluded. Since we only had to cross-check them against those names that were common to the first two sets of lists, this would go much faster but still take some time.
It was two o’clock in the afternoon before we narrowed it down to a manageable number. At that point we had seventeen addresses in the target area, though I was suddenly flooded with the fear that maybe we weren’t looking in the right place at all.
We had only narrowed it down to northwest Jersey because of the weather outages. What if the information we had been given was wrong? What if there had been outages someplace else? Bryan could be in Connecticut, or New York. Or what if Bryan’s particular outage wasn’t weather related at all? What if it was a local glitch?
But we were where we were, and seventeen was a limited-enough list to get started. I called Barone, and told him to start sending officers to the locations.
I was torn, not sure whether to go out in the field myself or wait for another list that would narrow it down further. I decided to wait, at least for one more list. And then I’d be on the move.
But first I had to make sure that Bryan believed we would save him, so he wouldn’t take his own life. If I was wrong, and I knew that could very well be the case, it would be a last, terrible betrayal.
The rally was set for 6 PM, and it would be huge.
That became obvious when people started arriving before noon. They joined those already camping out there, and by two o’clock, with four hours still to go, the crowd had swelled to almost six thousand.
Edward Holland and Tony Brus agreed on a plan to clear the land of people. Holland would speak at the beginning of the rally, asking everyone to leave. Neither man had any real hope that his words would be effective, and Brus would have his officers on the scene, ready to move in if it became necessary.
Brus had instructed his officers on procedure. The goal was to get the people out of there and then quickly construct barricades to prevent them from coming back. There was no desire to arrest people; these were not criminals and should not be treated as such.
Brus had originally had the idea to fence off the area before people could arrive, but it was impractical, since so many protesters were already there and others arrived so early. This was going to be a first of its kind for Brayton, and Brus told his second command that it would “permanently change the way we’re viewed by the people who live here.”
But even a town as small as Brayton has procedures in place for situations like this, and they spent the late morning going over them, and talking about how they would react to various scenarios that could come up.
When they were finished and ready, Brus called Holland. “Mayor, we are as prepared as we will ever be.”
“Good. I’ll speak to them, and alert them as to what is going to happen. If they don’t listen to me, you move your men in.”
“You’re the boss,” Brus said, signaling his reluctant agreement to go along with the plan. He thought this was a serious overreaction, even after the Carlton murder. On the positive side, if it all went the way he expected, Holland wouldn’t ever get another vote in Brayton.
“Tony, I know you think I’m overreacting on this,” said Holland. “But the downside to doing it is that people will be pissed at us. The downside to not doing it as that people can die.”
“OK,” Brus said, “I can see that.” He knew that Holland did not want any citizens of Brayton to be killed. He also knew that Holland especially did not want them to die on his watch.
The reports coming in from the field were not good.
Barone called to say that officers had already checked out nine of the seventeen matches and come up with nothing. I took down the list of the ones that had been checked out, so that I could check them off our lists.
“What are they doing if the houses seem to be empty?” I asked.
“Hey, Lucas, you think I’d let them leave it at that? Our people are instructed to enter and search the homes, whether people are not home, or not cooperative. We’ll deal with the fallout later.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
“I’ll keep you posted as reports come in.”
