Myron took a couple of steps towards me. "Look," he said. "You got to understand-"
I looped a fist at his face. He was too surprised to even try to block it. It landed just below his nose and mashed his upper lip into his teeth. Blood flowed into his mouth.
"You got him killed" I shouted. "Did you get a good look at it? Did you get a good look at what you did?"
I started to pummel him, throwing wild rights and lefts, not punching the way I had been taught in my college boxing classes but only hitting out. He stepped back, shaking some of them off, taking others with a numbness that seemed like a kind of resignation or penance. That made me angrier. I bloodied his nose. I raised a mouse under one of his eyes that was going to black just beautifully. I clipped him a hard one on the chin. After that one, his eyes went cloudy and semi-vacant.
"Look," he kept saying, "look, look," and then I punched him low in the stomach and the air went out of him and he didn't say "look, look" anymore. I don't know how long I would have gone on punching him, but someone grabbed my arms. I jerked free and turned around. I was hoping it was Jim. I wanted to punch Jim out, too.
But it wasn't Jim. It was Ollie, his round face dead pale, except for the dark circles around his eyes-eyes that were still shiny from his tears. "Don't, David," he said. "Don't hit him anymore. It doesn't solve anything."
Jim was standing off to one side, his face a bewildered blank. I kicked a carton of something at him. It struck one of his Dingo boots and bounced away.
"You and your buddy are a couple of stupid ass**les," I said.
"Come on, David," Ollie said unhappily. "Quit it."
"You two ass**les got that kid killed."
Jim looked down at his Dingo boots. Myron sat on the floor and held his beer belly. I was breathing hard. The blood was roaring in my ears and I was trembling all over. I sat down on a couple of cartons and put my head down between my knees and gripped my legs hard just above the ankles. I sat that way for a while with my hair in my face, waiting to see if I was going to black out or puke or what.
After a bit the feeling began to pass and I looked up at Ollie. His pinky ring flashed subdued fire in the glow of the emergency lights.
"Okay," I said dully. "I'm done."
"Good," Ollie said. "We've got to think what to do next."
The storage area was beginning to stink of exhaust again. "Shut the generator down. That's the first thing."
"'Yeah, let's get out of here," Myron said. His eyes appealed to me. "I'm sorry about the kid. But you got to understand-"
"I don't got to understand anything. You and your buddy go back into the market, but you wait right there by the beer cooler. And don't say a word to anybody. Not yet."
They went willingly enough, huddling together as they passed through the swinging doors. Ollie killed the generator, and just as the lights started to fail, I saw a quilted rug-the sort of thing movers use to pad breakable things-flopped over a stack of returnable soda bottles. I reached up and grabbed it for Billy.
There was the shuffling, blundering sound of Ollie coming out of the generator compartment. Like a great many overweight men, his breathing had a slightly heavy wheezing sound.
"David?" His voice wavered a little. "You still here?"
"Right here, Ollie. You want to watch out for all those bleach cartons."
"Yeah."
I guided him with my voice and in thirty seconds or so he reached out of the dark and gripped my shoulder. He gave a long, trembling sigh.
"Christ, let's get out of here." I could smell the Rolaids he always chewed on his breath. "This dark is ... is bad."
"It is," I said. "But hang tight a minute, Ollie. I wanted to talk to you and I didn't want those other two f**kheads listening."
"Dave ... they didn't twist Norm's arm. You ought to remember that."
"Norm was a kid, and they weren't. But never mind, that's over. We've got to tell them, Ollie. The people in the market."
"If they panic-" Ollie's voice was doubtful.
"Maybe they will and maybe they won't. But it will make them think twice about going out, which is what most of them want to do. Why shouldn't they? Most of them will have people they left at home. I do myself. We have to make them understand what they're risking if they go out there."
His hand was gripping my arm hard. "All right," he said. "Yes, I just keep asking myself ... all those tentacles ... like a squid or something ... David, what were they hooked to? What were those tentacles hooked to?"
"I don't know. But I don't want those two telling people on their own, That would start a panic. Let's go."