Then, muted almost to nothing, as if he were speaking to someone else, the Gravel Man said, He’s goddamn useless. Who else has a live asset near Site Two? Better get them in here.
Owen could make no sense of that. Then again, this whole thing had baffled him, starting a few minutes ago when the Gravel Man had spoken up out of the blue. Owen had been helping his grandfather swap out a radiator when it happened. It was the first time, in all these awful months, that the Gravel Man had troubled him while Grandpa was around. Owen had come to trust that it would never happen, that he would never be made to do anything crazy in front of his grandfather.
Owen, this is important, the Gravel Man had said. There was something in his voice Owen hadn’t heard there before. A kind of urgency. Maybe even fear. What did that mean? Get the machine gun from under your mattress, the voice said. Then get in the pickup and go to the old Lake Road south of town. Right now.
Grandpa had been staring at him by then, his head cocked. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Owen could only shake his head. He’d never even considered what he would say if a moment like this came along.
Owen, you motherfucker, go! GO!
“Gotta use the bathroom,” Owen muttered, and ran from the pole barn. He was in the truck half a minute later, with the gun beside him, rolling fast out of the dooryard. By then the Gravel Man was talking to him again.
Get on the Lake Road near the bottom end of town and head south on it. You’re going to find someone down at the radio tower, or maybe they’ll be coming north away from there. Whoever it is, stop them and kill them.
As it’d happened, he’d damn near done that in the moment he reached the road. He’d even swerved a bit there, thinking to hit the car once he saw it—a shitload of good that’d done him.
He looked at the MP-5 again. Right there within his reach. He got a fold of his shirt between his teeth, bit down hard against the pain, and made another move for the gun.
*
Dryden was thirty feet from the truck, about to call out again, when he saw movement in the dim interior. A second later a man’s foot eased out, followed by the other. The man was up on all fours and crawling out backward.
“You alright?” Dryden asked.
No answer.
“Can you hear me?”
When it happened, it happened fast—faster than he would have guessed it could. He supposed it was the strangeness of the situation that caught him off guard. The man eased fully out of the truck, his face still pointed inward at the crushed cab. His left collarbone looked broken, and he seemed to be cradling that arm in front of him with his right. All at once he heaved himself upward into a raised kneeling position, cried out in pain, and collapsed, spinning his body. And just like that he was sitting slumped with his back against the truck bed’s wall, with an MP-5 submachine gun pointed up at Dryden.
Dryden heard a gasp, far behind him. He turned to look—Rachel was standing at the open passenger door of the Honda.
“Rachel, stay there!” he shouted. “Get behind the car. Right now.”
For a moment she remained frozen, eyes huge and scared.
“Go!” he yelled.
She nodded and slipped around behind the trunk to the far side.
Dryden turned his attention back on the gunman. The weapon was shaking in his hand, but not enough that it would miss if the guy pulled the trigger.
Judging by the way his fingertip was flattened against it, the trigger was already under a few ounces of pressure.
There was simply no chance of drawing the SIG without the man opening fire.
“Who are you?” Dryden asked him.
The man said nothing. His eyes kept going back and forth from Dryden to the Honda. The guy was injured, but not so badly that he couldn’t get on his feet. If he killed Dryden, it would be a simple matter for him to get up and go after Rachel. She might be faster, but he had the gun, and there was nothing around but a mile of empty land.
“Take it easy,” Dryden said.
The guy’s expression hardened. His finger flattened a little more on the trigger.
*
Do it. Owen, do it!
Owen watched the man who was standing nearby, but he found his eyes kept wanting to go back to the car on the road. He had crawled out of the wreck all set to do his job, to quiet the Gravel Man for better or worse, but then—
The little girl. Lord in heaven, what could she be, ten or twelve?
The Gravel Man had sent him to kill a pretty little thing like that?
I will hurt you. I will make it hurt like you’ve never imagined. I won’t stop no matter how hard you beg.
“Please,” Owen whispered.
You know what to do. So do it.
Owen took a deep breath and let it ease back out. He felt the familiar—awful, but familiar—calm sink over him. What was the big word for that? Acceptance, he thought.
*
Dryden thought about going for the SIG anyway. He would be shot if he did it, no doubt about that, but he would probably have time, even after taking his hits, to bring the pistol around and get in at least a torso shot of his own. Enough to leave the guy right there, bleeding out where he sat, instead of chasing Rachel. It would probably work.