The Web

'Bad man,' said Moreland. 'Bad, bad man. All gone, Sally. He'll never come back.'

Creedman gasped. His face was ballooning. I yanked him to his feet.

'Let's get out of here,' said Robin.

'There's still Jo to consider,' I said. 'Where is she, Tom?'

Creedman stared at me. More shock than defiance, and his eyes were glassy. Had I hit him that hard?

I repeated the question. He cried out in pain, held his head, started to go loose. When I saw his eyes roll back, I propped him up.

Moreland had managed to quiet the soft people and was guiding them back into the game room. Despite the wound he looked revitalized.

'Play some more music, kids. How do the daddies on the bus go?'

Silence.

'Come on, now: 'The daddies on the bus go…' '

'Ee ee ee.'

'Right! Read read read-you should read, too. It'll make you smart- go get some books down, Jimmy. Give everyone a book. I'll be right back.'

He smiled, closed the game room door, bolted it.

From inside, the music resumed.

'All right,' he said, eyes full of fear.

'Is there another way out besides the two ramps?' I said.

'I'm afraid not.'

'So either way, we could be walking into something.'

'But we're trapped down here, too,' said Robin. 'The longer we stay down, the more dangerous it gets, and you're still bleeding, Bill.'

'I'll be fine, dear.'

'Taking the rear ramp,' I said, 'will lead us into the forest and zero visibility, so I vote for the tunnel.'

Moreland didn't argue.

I shook Creedman back to consciousness. Holding him by the scruff, I pushed him past the smaller rooms and into the large entry cavern. His weight dragged. The hand I'd pummeled him with was beginning to throb.

'Stay behind me,' I told Robin and Moreland. 'If she's waiting for us at the hatch, Mr. Gourmet here will be her first course.'

***

The return trip seemed a lot quicker, Moreland maintaining a good pace despite his age and his injury. Silent, no attempts to convince us of anything.

The one time our eyes met, his begged.

To let go? Forget about the things he hadn't revealed?

Creedman was limp with dejection, but conscious. He tried to get me to do all the work, and I had to shove him every other step. The silence of the tunnel emptied my head, until I thought of Haygood, perforated.

Remembering what he'd done to AnneMarie and Betty helped… the shark, the molding of bleached white jaws nailed over the door.

Trophies. I didn't want one.

***

Fifty feet from the hatch, I ordered Creedman to stay silent. His face was so bloated that his eyes could barely open, and his nose leaked filmy, blood-streaked mucus.

We reached the AstroTurfed steps and the open hatch. The lab above was a square yellow sun.

Someone had turned the lights on.

No choice but to go on. Motioning Moreland and Robin back, I propelled Creedman up, one step at a time. His rain boots squeaked but he kept quiet. Then, as we approached the top, he began to struggle.

A sharp jab of the gun in his back stopped him.

Three more steps. We waited.

Quiet from above.

Two more steps. One.

No sign of Jo.

We were in.

The room was just as we'd left it. Except for the doorway to the front office.

A man sat there, bound to a chair, gagged.

Thin, scraggly gray beard, spiked hair.

Carl Sleet. The gardener whose voice had drawn Ben to the park.

His eyes zoomed to Creedman, pupils constricted. His fingers flexed below wrists secured to the chair legs with plastic ties. The kind policemen used. Had Haygood taken care of him first?

But no: Creedman looked as confused as I was.

I stood there trying to figure out what to do next.

Jo appeared in the doorway, hands up. No weapon.

'Don't shoot,' she said cheerfully. 'Now, how about I move my scumbag out of the way so you can get your scumbag through.'

***

Her gun sat atop the books on Moreland's desk, well out of reach.

She produced something out of nowhere and held it up.

White card in a black leatherette holder, next to a silver badge. Some sort of government seal on the card, but I was too far away to read the small print.

'Where're Robin and Dr. Moreland?' she said.

'Waiting for me to give them the okay.'

'I heard shots. Anyone actually hit?'

'Moreland was wounded.'

'I heard six shots. One, then five more.'

I said nothing. She laughed and waved the card. 'Don't worry, it's genuine. Except for the name.'

I stepped closer.

Department of Defense, a numbered division that meant nothing to me. JANE MARCIA BENDIG, SENIOR INVESTIGATOR.

I stood there, gripping Creedman. Wishing I had three more arms and a weapon for each.

'Look, I can understand your being wary,' she said. 'But if I wanted to shoot you, you'd be dead. I am a crack shot.'

I didn't respond.

'Okay,' she said. 'I can get in big trouble for this, but would giving you my gun make you feel better?'

'Maybe.'

'Suit yourself.' She stepped back and I managed to keep my gun on Creedman and pocket hers.

'Happy?' she said.

My laugh scared me. 'Ecstatic.'

'Okay, you're the guy in charge now. Why don't you give your friends the word.'

***

Moreland and Robin came up.