The Regulators - Stephen King [75]
'Did you say — ' Johnny began.
'You heard me.' Belinda held the stained dishtowel out without looking, and Brad took it. She took the napkin off her shoulder, unfolded it, and spread it over Kirsten's face. 'God have mercy on her soul.'
'I second that,' Johnny said. There was something hypnotic about the small red poppies blooming on the white linen napkin, three on one side of the draped shape that was Kirsten's nose, two on the other, maybe half a dozen above her brow. Johnny put his hand to his own brow and wiped away a palmful of sweat. 'Jesus, I'm so sorry.'
Belinda looked at him, then at her husband. 'We're all sorry, I guess. The question is, what's next?'
Before either man could answer, Cammie Reed came into the room from the kitchen. Her face was pale but composed. 'Mr Marinville?'
He turned to her. 'Johnny,' he said.
She had to mull it over — another classic case of shock-slowed thinking — before understanding that he wanted her to call him by his first name. Then she got it and nodded. 'Johnny, okay, sure. Did you find the pistol? And are there bullets to go with it?'
'Yes to both.'
'Can I have them? My boys want to go for help. I've thought it over and have decided to give them my permission. If you'll let them take David's gun, that is.'
'I don't have any objection to giving up the gun,' Johnny said, not knowing if he was telling the complete truth about that or not, 'but leaving shelter could be extremely dangerous, don't you think?'
She gave him a level look, no sign of impatience in her eyes or voice, but she fingered a spot of blood on her blouse as she spoke. A souvenir of Ellen Carver's nosebleed. 'I'm aware of the danger, and if it were a question of using the street, I'd say no. But the boys know a path which runs through the greenbelt behind the houses on this side. They can use it to go over to Anderson Avenue. There's a deserted building over there that used to be a moving company's warehouse — '
'Veedon Brothers,' Brad said, nodding.
' — and a waterpipe that runs from the lot behind it all the way over to Columbus Broad, where it empties into a stream. If nothing else, they can get to a working phone and report what's going on here.'
'Cam, do either of your boys know how to use a gun?' Brad asked.
Again the level stare, one which did not quite come out and ask Why do you insult my intelligence? 'They both took a safety course with their dad two years ago. The primary focus was on rifles and hunting safety, but handguns were covered, yes.'
'If Jim and Dave know about this path, the shooters who are doing this may, too,' Johnny said. 'Have you thought about that?'
'Yes.' The impatience finally showing, but only a little. Johnny admired her control. 'But these . . . lunatics . . . are strangers. They have to be. Have you ever seen any of those vans before today?'
I may have, at that, Johnny thought. I'm not sure where yet, but if I can just get a little time to think . . .
'No, but I believe — ' Brad began.
'We moved here in 1982, when the boys were three,' Cammie said. 'They say there's a path that hardly anyone knows about or uses except for kids, and they say there's a pipe. I believe them.'
Sure you do, Johnny thought, but that's secondary. So's the hope of their bringing back help. You just want them out of here, don't you? Of course you do, and I don't blame you.
'Johnny,' she said, perhaps assuming his silence meant he was against the idea, 'there were boys not much older than my sons fighting in Vietnam not so long