Cell

'Then why the smile?' Denise asked.

'Because I know something he doesn't,' Clay said. 'Something they don't.' He turned to Jordan. 'Can you drive?'

Jordan looked startled. 'Hey, I'm twelve. I mean, hello?'

'You've never driven a go-kart? An ATV? A snowmobile?'

'Well, sure . . . there's a dirt go-kart track at this pitch-n-putt place outside Nashua, and once or twice . . .'

'That'll work. We're not talking about very far. Assuming, that is, they left the bus at the Parachute Drop. And I bet they did. I don't think they know how to drive any more than they know how to think.'

Tom said, 'Clay, have you lost your mind?'

'No,' he said. 'They may hold their mass flock-killer executions in that virtual stadium of theirs tomorrow, but we're not going to be part of it. We're getting out of here.'

9

The little windows were thick, but dan's crowbar was a match for the glass. He, Tom, and Clay took turns with it, working until all the shards were knocked out. Then Denise took the sweater she'd been wearing and laid it over the bottom of the frame.

'You okay with this, Jordan?' Tom asked.

Jordan nodded. He was frightened—there was no color in his lips at all—but seemed composed. Outside, the phoners' lullaby music had cycled around to Pachelbel's Canon again—what Denise had called the sound of memories.

'I'm okay,' Jordan said. 'I will be, anyway. I think. Once I get going.'

Clay said, 'Tom might be able to squeeze through—'

Behind Jordan's shoulder, Tom looked at the small window, no more than eighteen inches wide, and shook his head.

'I'll be okay,' Jordan said.

'All right. Tell it to me again.'

'Go around and look in the back of the bus. Make sure there's explosives, but don't touch any of it. Look for the other cell phone.'

'Right. Make sure it's on. And if it's not on—'

'I know, turn it on.' Jordan gave Clay an I'm-no-dummy look. 'Then start the motor—'

'No, don't get ahead of yourself—'

'Pull the driving seat forward so I can reach the pedals, then start the motor.'

'Right.'

'Drive between the Parachute Drop and the funhouse. Go super slow. I'll run over some pieces of the funhouse and they may break—snap under the tires—but don't let that stop me.'

'Right on.'

'Get as close to them as I can.'

'Yes, that's right. Then come around back again, to this window. So the hall is between you and the explosion.'

'What we hope will be an explosion,' Dan said.

Clay could have done without this, but let it pass. He stooped and kissed Jordan on the cheek. 'I love you, you know,' he said.

Jordan hugged him briefly, fiercely. Then Tom. Then Denise.

Dan put out his hand, then said, 'Oh, what the hell,' and enfolded Jordan in a bearhug. Clay, who had never warmed very much to Dan Hartwick, liked him better for that.

10

Clay made a step with his hands and boosted jordan up. 'Remember,' he said, 'it's going to be like a dive, only into hay instead of water. Hands up and out.'

Jordan put his hands over his head, extending them through the broken window and into the night. His face underneath his thick fall of hair was paler than ever; the first red blemishes of adolescence stood out there like tiny burns. He was scared, and Clay didn't blame him. He was in for a ten-foot drop, and even with the hay, the landing was apt to be hard. Clay hoped Jordan would remember to keep his hands out and his head tucked; he'd do none of them any good lying beside Kashwakamak Hall with a broken neck.

'You want me to count three, Jordan?' he asked.

'Fuck, no! Just do it before I pee myself!'

'Then keep your hands out, go!' Clay cried, and thrust his locked hands upward. Jordan shot through the window and disappeared. Clay didn't hear him land; the music was too loud.

The others crowded up to the window, which was just above their heads. 'Jordan?' Tom called. 'Jordan, you there?'

For a moment there was nothing, and Clay was sure Jordan really had broken his neck. Then he said shakily, 'I'm here. Jeez, that hurts. I croggled my elbow. The left one. That arm's all weird. Wait a minute . . .'

They waited. Denise took Clay's hand and squeezed it hard.

'It moves,' Jordan said. 'It's okay, I guess, but maybe I ought to see the school nurse.'

They all laughed too hard.

Tom had tied the bus's ignition key to a double line of thread from his shirt, and the thread to the buckle of his belt. Now Clay laced his fingers together again and Tom stepped up. 'I'm going to lower the key to you, Jordan. Ready?'

'Yeah.'

Tom gripped the edge of the window, looked down, and then lowered his belt. 'Okay, you got it,' he said. 'Now listen to me. All we ask is do it if you can. If you can't, no penalty minutes. Got that?'

'Yes.'

'Go on, then. Scat.' He watched a moment, then said, 'He's on his way. God help him, he's a brave kid. Put me down.'

11

Jordan had gone out on the side of the building away from the roosting flock. Clay, Tom, Denise, and Dan crossed the room to the midway side. The three men tipped the already vandalized snack machine over on its side and shoved it against the wall. Clay and Dan could easily see out the high windows by standing on it, Tom by standing on tiptoes. Clay added a crate so Denise could also see, praying she wouldn't topple off it and go into labor.

They saw Jordan cross to the edge of the sleeping multitude, stand there a minute as if debating, and then move off to his left. Clay thought he continued seeing movement long after his rational mind told him that Jordan must be gone, skirting the edge of the massive flock.

'How long will it take him to get back, do you think?' Tom asked.

Clay shook his head. He didn't know. It depended on so many variables—the size of the flock was only one of them.

'What if they looked in the back of the bus?' Denise asked.

'What ifJordy looks in the back of the bus and there's nothing there?' Dan asked, and Clay had to restrain himself from telling the man to keep his negative vibe to himself.

Time passed, giving itself up by inches. The little red light on the tip of the Parachute Drop blinked. Pachelbel once more gave way to Faurй and Faurй to Vivaldi. Clay found himself remembering the sleeping boy who had come spilling out of the shopping cart, how the man with him—probably not his father—had sat down with him at the side of the road and said Gregory kiss it, make it all better. He remembered the man with the rucksack listening to 'Baby Elephant Walk' and saying Dodge had a good time,