down below.
He called down the steps. 'Beeks!'
Beeks couldn't hear a thing under his earmuffs.
POP! POP! POP! Three rounds through the bulls-eye.
' Beeks! ' Needles shouted.
No response.
' Damn it! '
He started down the ladder, then stopped short when he heard a loud metallic, groaning sound. Then a tremendous bang made him shiver, and he climbed quickly down the ladder.
POP! POP! Two more rounds through the bull's-eye.
Needles ran over and yanked the earmuffs off Beeks's head.
Beeks nearly shot him in the face. 'What the fuck? ' he said.
'We have to get the hell out of here, Beeks!' Needles said. 'The boiler's about to explode!'
' What? '
'Come on!'
Beeks mumbled something under his breath then dropped everything and followed Needles up the ladder. Needles climbed up out of the hatch, then turned back to assist Beeks.
Beeks missed a step and banged his shin hard. 'Motherfucker!' he exclaimed, biting his lower lip in pain.
' Come on, Beeks! Move your fat ass!'
The groaning sounds became an intense rumble that moved through the earth beneath them like a demon locomotive on a trip through hell. Needles held out his hand to help his oversized friend, then went cold when he heard a long, metallic, ear-grinding scrape, like a ship running aground on a rocky point. He looked over his shoulder toward the boiler house, then back down the hatch at Beeks. Beeks could see their fate reflected in his eyes.
Another low, shuddering rumble shook the building… then
BOOM!
– The force of the blast smashed through the cannery like a great wrecking ball. Splintered brick and shards of steel shot through the structure like the shrapnel from a thousand mortar shells, ripping Needles to pieces as he was flailed to the floor. Beeks flew backward down the ladder and hit the ground on his neck, snapping his spine. The massive, steel boiler tank rocketed into the desiccated water tower, which then smashed its full weight through the cannery's sheet-metal roof, causing a chain-reaction collapse of the floors and interior walls. Burning embers ignited by the furnace sprayed out over the wood-framed structure, starting ancillary fires fed by shattered lanterns and sheared-off natural-gas lines. A tornado-like firestorm, hot enough to melt iron, burned the Alton Brothers Fish Cannery, along with the two trapped men, to a smoldering shell.
Chapter 49
The rains had come again, and by the time Aaron and Willy reached the downtown area, they were pedaling through a downpour.
As they rode past the Community Plaza Bank building, Aaron checked the big clock. 6:25 p.m. They had to hurry.
Suddenly, from the distant waterfront, a huge flash, like a great nuclear flashbulb, lit up the surrounding buildings. There was a powerful, yet muffled boom — like that of distant thunder — but the boys knew that this was no thunderstorm. They skidded to a stop in the middle of the street, looked back and watched, horrified, as an irregular pattern of smaller flashes followed the first… then the corresponding booms… the ground beneath their feet shuddering with each concussion.
Finally the explosions subsided, and though there was much to say, the frightened boys were unable to utter even a single word.
They rode on, their ghostly shadows, cast by the hellish-red glow of the sky behind them, leading the way.
In the distance, sirens…
Chapter 50
The green canvas awning hanging over Sally's Diner flapped violently in the wind like a grossly overweight bird attempting to take flight. The neon OPEN sign, protected from the heavy rain by the diner's plate-glass front window, blinked a sad welcome.
Inside, out of the weather, occupying his usual spot at the counter, was Michael St. John. One of only two customers that night, he had stopped off at Sally's on the way home after scouring the city in search of Aaron.
To Michael's left, an angular old man in a gray wool suit read a coffee-stained copy of yesterday's Times through tired eyes enlarged by thick lenses. Long white hair flew wildly about his head, suggestive of Albert Einstein. A glazed donut on a saucer before him bled cherry jelly.
Michael's swivel perch afforded him a panoramic view of the kitchen.
The cook, his face shiny and swollen from the heat of the grill, concentrated on the job at hand. Beads of sweat balanced on his bald head as he worked his spatula, flipping burgers in a shimmering pool of grease that splattered the front of his distended T-shirt with every turn. Bits of decaying lettuce clung to his shoes as he walked over and gave the empty order wheel a spin. He refilled Michael's coffee then returned to the grill as several roaches scurried to safety.
With one hand Michael held a novel; with the other he pulled sugar packets from a ceramic bowl and stacked them into a precarious tower.
If only I'd called the police that first night, he thought, maybe I could have helped him. But in his heart he knew it may have made things worse.
He added another sugar packet to his tower then returned to the top of the same page he had reread several times before.
– Ashley's rumpled Nova slowed and parked out front behind Michael's Aston.
She checked her watch. 6:25 p.m.
Through the downpour the diner door was a ghostly apparition. It called to her — as if it wished to devour her.
She drew in a tight breath of air, then picked up the gun lying on the passenger seat, pausing to consider her options. But she was incapable of putting a rational thought together, so she placed the gun in the glove box and stepped out into the rain.
– The diner's front door swung open, ringing a small bell and rattling the blinds. Michael's sugar tower fell.
He turned and saw a slender, attractive young woman walk through the door. She removed her damp, faux- suede jacket to reveal a simple, short sundress, hemmed a hand's width above the knee, that hung lightly over the curves of her breasts and hips. Inexpensive and a bit inappropriate for the current weather, he observed, but clean and very flattering. She wore simple eyeglasses that made her large eyes even larger. Michael's beloved wife, Jennie, had worn glasses, and he had always thought they added an innocence that he found enchanting.
Visibly anxious, the woman smoothed her dress with hands both delicate and strong. She removed her glasses, and as she leaned down to dry them using the hem of her dress, Michael couldn't help noticing the little price tag hanging from the zipper down her back. She wore a simple wedding band, but on her right hand.
