کتاب 03-03

3

“I’ve never heard the broadcast myself, but supposedly she’s transmitting from off the coast of Maine.” Renée struggled into a bulky orange parka.

It was later. Women milled around the bottom of the basement steps, picking coats and hats out of cardboard boxes, readying themselves for the three-hundred-foot march through the snow to the cafeteria and supper. Outside, the wind screamed.

“From a boat?”

“From an island. They’ve got a little town and their own research lab, backed by the federal government. What’s left of the federal government, anyway. They’re testing experimental treatments.”

Jamie Close grinned, showing snaggled teeth, two incisors missing from the lower part of her mouth. “They’ve got a serum they give to you in eighteen shots. Like for rabies. It suppresses the Dragonscale, but they need to give it to you every day. Bend over, drop your pants, and bite on this stick, because you’re getting it right in the ass. I say no thank you to that. If I wanted someone poking painful things in my ass every day, I’ve got an uncle I could look up.”

Harper had a scarf over her mouth, wound around and around the lower part of her face, and she felt this gave her permission not to reply. She squeezed into the crowd of women making their way up the steps, out into the darkness and the shrieking gale.

“It’s not as bad as that,” murmured Gail Neighbors. At least Harper thought it was Gail Neighbors. It would’ve been difficult to tell the twins apart under any circumstances, but with a hat pulled to the girl’s eyebrows and the puffy collar of her parka up around her ears, Harper could hardly see any of her face. “Apparently they’re doing great things with medical marijuana. Everyone gets an allowance, seven joints a week. Government-bred weed, so it’s really clean, really mellow.”

“Also, the legal drinking age there is sixteen,” said the one Harper thought was Gillian. They had both turned sixteen, Harper recalled, just after Thanksgiving.

The pressure of the crowd behind Harper ejected her out of the stairwell and into the night. A pair of planks ran alongside each other, across the snow, dwindling off into the darkness. The salty gale battered at Harper, caused her to stagger. She wasn’t as steady on her pins as she had been a couple months ago. Her center of gravity was shifting. She steadied herself against a boulder wearing a white cap of snow.

The Neighbors girls passed her, went on ahead. Emily Waterman skipped along behind them, and Harper heard her saying, “They have ice cream on Fridays! Homemade ice cream! Three flavors, strawberry, vanilla, and I think coffee. Coffee is my favorite.”

“Ice cream every day!” promised one of the Neighbors girls.

“Ice cream for breakfast!” said the other, and then they were gone into the night.

Allie took Harper’s elbow, helped her to stand straight.

“Think Nick went to the cafeteria?” Allie asked in a low, dispirited voice. He hadn’t returned to the dorm, hadn’t been seen since running out.

“I don’t know,” Harper said. “Probably.”

“Think Renée will ever talk to me again?”

“I think you’ll feel better as soon as you apologize.”

“Don Lewiston knows where it is.”

“Where what is?”

“The island. Martha Quinn’s island. At least he thinks he knows. He showed me on a map once. He says based on all the information, it’s probably Free Wolf Island, off Machias.”

“So he’s heard the broadcast?”

“No.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

“Has anyone heard Martha Quinn?”

“No,” said Carol Storey, before Allie could reply.

They had reached an intersection, beyond Monument Park, where the path from the chapel met a series of planks extending from the woods. Carol emerged from the snow, which was whipping almost sideways, her father behind her. She led him as if he were a child, holding his mittened hand.

“You ask everyone in camp,” Carol Storey said. “It’s always someone else who has heard it. And if it makes them feel better to have a perfect safe haven to daydream about, what’s wrong with that? I’ve caught myself going through the AM band sometimes, too. But I’ll tell you what. Even if she’s out there, Martha Quinn doesn’t have anything we need. We’ve already got everything we need right here.”

Harper stamped into the cafeteria, snow falling off her boots in wet white clumps. Father Storey flapped his coat and a small blizzard fell around his legs. She cast her gaze around for Nick and didn’t see him.

They collected trays and moved along the line to be served.

Father Storey said, “I always had a bit of a crush on Martha Quinn, in her bright vests and skinny ties. There’s something about a woman in a tie. You just want to grab it and pull her over for a squeeze.” He winked. Norma Heald dished him a scoop of ravioli. The sauce had the consistency of mud. “Norma, this looks delightful. Is it your own recipe?”

“It’s Chef Boyardee,” Norma said.

“Wonderful!” he cried, and shuffled along to get himself some Ritz crackers.

Norma rolled her eyes to watch him go, then looked back to Harper. She collected another scoop of ravioli, but instead of dumping it into Harper’s bowl, she waved the big serving spoon at her. “I remember when she was on TV. Martha Quinn. Teaching little girls to dress like tiny whores. Her and Madonna and the one with the hair like cotton candy, Cyndi Lauper. People like Martha Quinn are the reason this world is being scourged by fire. You ask yourself if God would let such a woman live, and make her His voice, calling His people to safety? Look in your heart. You know He wouldn’t. She is gone and Madonna is gone and every moneylender in Jew York City who got rich turning little girls into prostitutes is gone. You know it and I know it.” The ravioli fell from the spoon into Harper’s bowl with a thick wet schlopp.

“I doubt very much that God harbors anti-Semitic views toward New York City or anywhere else, Norma,” Harper told her. “Seeing as he called the Jews his own chosen people, that seems highly unlikely. Have you seen Nick? Did he come in for dinner?”

Norma Heald gave her a glazed, dull, unfriendly look. “Haven’t seen him. Why don’t you go outside and yell for him?”

“He’s deaf,” Harper said.

“Don’t let that stop you,” Norma said.