“Keep it down,” says Grady. “Yeah, five of ’em.”
“Is Walter . . .?” My heart is beating fast. No sooner do I get his name out than Grady’s eyes flicker and I have my answer.
“Oh Jesus,” I say, turning my head. I blink back tears and swallow. It takes me a moment to compose myself. “What happened?”
Grady sets his burger on his plate. There are a full five seconds of silence before he answers, and when he does, it’s quietly, without inflection. “They got tossed over the trestle, all of them. Camel’s head hit the rocks. He died right away. Walter’s legs were smashed up bad. They had to leave him.” He swallows and adds, “They don’t reckon he lasted the night.”
I stare into the distance. A fly lands on my hand. I flick it away. “What about the others?”
“They survived. A couple moped off, and the rest caught up.” His eyes sweep from side to side. “Bill’s one of them.”
“What are they going to do?” I ask.
“He didn’t say,” says Grady. “But one way or another, they’re taking Uncle Al down. I aim to help if I can.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“To give you a chance to steer clear. You were a pal to Camel, and we won’t forget that.” He leans forward so his chest is pressed against the table. “Besides,” he continues quietly, “it seems to me you’ve got a lot to lose right now.”
I look up sharply. He’s staring right into my eyes, one eyebrow cocked.
Oh God. He knows. And if he knows, everyone knows. We’ve got to leave now, this very minute.
Thunderous applause explodes from the big top, and the band slides seamlessly into the Gounod waltz. I turn toward the menagerie. It’s a reflex, because Marlena is either preparing to mount or else is already astride Rosie’s head.
“I’ve got to go,” I say.
“Sit,” says Grady. “Eat. If you’re thinking of clearing out, it may be a while before you see food again.”
He plants his elbows on the rough gray wood of the table and picks up his burger.
I stare at mine, wondering if I can choke it down.
I reach for it, but before I can pick it up the music crashes to a halt. There’s an ungodly collision of brass that finishes with a cymbal’s hollow clang. It wavers out of the big top and across the lot, leaving nothing in its wake.
Grady freezes, crouched over his burger.
I look from left to right. No one moves a muscle—all eyes point at the big top. A few wisps of hay swirl lazily across the hard dirt.
“What is it? What’s going on?” I ask.
“Shh,” Grady says sharply.
The band starts up again, this time playing “Stars and Stripes Forever.”
“Oh Christ. Oh shit,” Grady jumps up and backward, knocking over the bench.
“What? What is it?”
“The Disaster March!” he shouts, turning and bolting.
Everyone associated with the show is barreling toward the big top. I dismount the bench and stand behind it, stunned, not understanding. I jerk around to the fry cook, who struggles with his apron. “What the hell’s he talking about?” I shout.
“The Disaster March,” he says, wrestling the apron over his head. “It means something’s gone bad—real bad.”
Someone thumps my shoulder as he passes. It’s Diamond Joe. “Jacob—it’s the menagerie,” he screams over his shoulder. “The animals are loose. Go, go, go!”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. As I approach the menagerie, the ground rumbles beneath my feet and it scares the hell out of me because it’s not noise. It’s motion, the vibration of hooves and paws on hard dirt.
I throw myself through the flap and then immediately up against the sidewall as the yak thunders past, his crooked horn just inches from my chest. A hyena clings to his back, its eyes spinning in terror.
I’m facing a full-fledged stampede. The animal dens are all open, and the center of the menagerie is a blur; staring into it, I see bits of chimp, orangutan, llama, zebra, lion, giraffe, camel, hyena, and horse—in fact, I see dozens of horses, including Marlena’s, and every one of them is mad with terror. Creatures of every sort zigzag, bolt, scream, swing, gallop, grunt, and whinny; they are everywhere, swinging on ropes and slithering up poles, hiding under wagons, pressed against sidewalls, and skidding across the center.
I scan the tent for Marlena and instead see a panther slide through the connection into the big top. As its lithe, black body disappears, I brace myself. It takes several seconds to come, but come it does—one prolonged scream, followed by another, and then another, and then the whole place explodes with the thunderous sound of bodies shoving past other bodies and off the stands.