Doctor Sleep (50 page)

He stripped off Abra's backpack, left it under the worktable, and lifted her into the truck on the passenger side. He seatbelted both
of his snoozing passengers. It had certainly occurred to him to snap the geezer's neck and leave his body in the garage, but the geezer might come in handy. If the drug didn't kill him, that was. Crow checked for a pulse on the side of the grizzled old neck and felt it, slow but strong. There was no question about the girl; she was leaning against the passenger window and he could see her breath fogging the glass. Excellent.

Crow took a second to inventory his stock. No gun—the True Knot never traveled with firearms—but he still had two full hypos of the noddy-time night-night stuff. He didn't know how far two would get him, but the girl was his priority. Crow had an idea that the geezer's period of usefulness might prove to be extremely limited. Oh, well. Rubes came and rubes went.

He took out his cell and this time it was Rose he hit on the speed dial. She answered just as he had resigned himself to leaving a message. Her voice was slow, her pronunciation slurry. It was a little like talking to a drunk.

“Rose? What's up with you?”

“The girl messed with me a trifle more than I expected, but I'm all right. I don't hear her anymore. Tell me you have her.”

“I do, and she's having a nice nap, but she's got friends. I don't want to meet them. I'll head west immediately, and I've got no time to be fucking with maps. I need secondary roads that'll take me across Vermont and into New York.”

“I'll put Toady Slim on it.”

“You need to send someone east to meet me
immediately,
Rosie, and with whatever you can lay your hands on that'll keep Little Miss Nitro pacified, because I don't have much left. Look in Nut's supplies. He must have
something
—”

“Don't tell me my business,” she snapped. “Toady will coordinate everything. You know enough to get started?”

“Yes. Rosie darlin, that picnic area was a trap. The little girl fucking deked us. What if her friends call the cops? I'm riding in an old F-150 with a couple of zombies next to me in the cab. I might as well have KIDNAPPER tattooed on my forehead.”

But he was grinning. Damned if he wasn't grinning. There was a pause at the other end. Crow sat behind the wheel in the Stones' garage, waiting.

At last Rose said, “If you see blue lights behind you or a roadblock ahead of you, strangle the girl and suck out as much of her steam as you can while she goes. Then surrender. We'll take care of you eventually, you know that.”

It was Crow's turn to pause. At last he said, “Are you sure that's the right way to go, darlin?”

“I am.” Her voice was stony. “She's responsible for the deaths of Jimmy, Nut, and Snakebite. I mourn them all, but it's Andi I feel the worst about, because I Turned her myself and she only had a taste of the life. Then there's Sarey . . .”

She trailed off with a sigh. Crow said nothing. There was really nothing to say. Andi Steiner had been with a lot of women during her early years with the True—not a surprise, steam always made newbies especially randy—but she and Sarah Carter had been a couple for the last ten years, and devoted to each other. In some ways, Andi had seemed more like Silent Sarey's daughter than her lover.

“Sarey's inconsolable,” Rose said, “and Black-Eyed Susie's not much better about Nut. That little girl is going to answer for taking those three from us. One way or the other, her rube life is over. Any more questions?”

Crow had none.

No one paid any particular attention to Crow Daddy and his snoozing passengers as they left Anniston on the old Granite State Highway, headed west. With a few notable exceptions (sharp-eyed old ladies and little kids were the worst), Rube America was staggeringly unobservant even twelve years into the Dark Age of Terrorism.
If you see something, say something
was a hell of a slogan, but first you had to see something.

By the time they crossed into Vermont it was growing dark, and cars passing by in the other direction saw only Crow's headlights, which he purposely left on hi-beam. Toady Slim had called three times already, feeding him route information. Most were byroads, many unmarked. Toady had also told Crow that Diesel Doug, Dirty Phil, and Apron Annie were on their way. They were riding in an '06 Caprice that looked like a dog but had four hundred horses under the hood. Speeding would not be a problem; they were also carrying Homeland Security creds that would check out all the way up the line, thanks to the late Jimmy Numbers.

The Little twins, Pea and Pod, were using the True's sophisticated satellite communications gear to monitor police chatter in the Northeast, and so far there had been nothing about the possible kidnapping of a young girl. This was good news, but not unexpected. Friends smart enough to set up an ambush were probably smart enough to know what could happen to their chickadee if they went public.

Another phone rang, this one muffled. Without taking his eyes off the road, Crow leaned across his sleeping passengers, reached into the glove compartment, and found a cell. The geezer's, no doubt. He held it up to his eyes. There was no name, so the caller wasn't in the phone's memory, but the number had a New Hampshire area code. One of the ambushers, wanting to know if Billy and the girl were all right? Very likely. Crow considered answering it and decided not to. He would check later to see if the caller had left a message, though. Information was power.

When he leaned over again to return the cell to the glove compartment, his fingers touched metal. He stowed the phone and brought out an automatic pistol. A nice bonus, and a lucky find. If the geezer had awakened a little sooner than expected, he might have gotten to it before Crow could read his intentions. Crow slid the Glock under his seat, then flipped the glove compartment closed.

Guns were also power.

It was full dark and they were deep into the Green Mountains on Highway 108 when Abra began to stir. Crow, still feeling brilliantly alive and aware, wasn't sorry. For one thing, he was curious about her. For another, the old truck's gas gauge was touching empty, and someone was going to have to fill the tank.

But it wouldn't do to take chances.

With his right hand he removed one of the two remaining hypos from his pocket and held it on his thigh. He waited until the girl's eyes—still soft and muzzy—opened. Then he said, “Good evening, little lady. I'm Henry Rothman. Do you understand me?”

“You're . . .” Abra cleared her throat, wet her lips, tried again. “You're not Henry anything. You're the Crow.”

“So you do understand. That's good. You feel woolly-headed just now, I imagine, and you're going to stay that way, because that's just how I like you. But there will be no need to knock you all the way out again as long as you mind your Ps and Qs. Have you got that?”

“Where are we going?”

“Hogwarts, to watch the International Quidditch Tourney. I'll buy you a magic hotdog and a cone of magic cotton candy. Answer my question. Are you going to mind your Ps and Qs?”

“Yes.”

“Such instant agreement is pleasing to the ear, but you'll have to pardon me if I don't completely trust it. I need to give you some vital information before you try something foolish that you might regret. Do you see the needle I have?”

“Yes.” Abra's head was still resting against the window, but she looked down at the hypo. Her eyes drifted shut then opened again, very slowly. “I'm thirsty.”

“From the drug, no doubt. I don't have anything to drink with me, we left in a bit of a hurry—”

“I think there's a juice box in my pack.” Husky. Low and slow. The eyes still opening with great effort after every blink.

“Afraid that's back in your garage. You may get something to drink in the next town we come to—if you're a good little Goldilocks. If you're a bad little Goldilocks, you can spend the night swallowing your own spit. Clear?”

“Yes . . .”

“If I feel you fiddling around inside my head—yes, I know you can do it—or if you try attracting attention when we stop, I'll inject this old gentleman. On top of what I already gave him, it will kill him as dead as Amy Winehouse. Are we clear on that, as well?”

“Yes.” She licked her lips again, then rubbed them with her hand. “Don't hurt him.”

“That's up to you.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Goldilocks? Dear?”

“What?” She blinked at him dazedly.

“Just shut up and enjoy the ride.”

“Hogwarts,” she said. “Cotton . . . candy.” This time when her eyes closed, the lids stayed down. She began to snore lightly. It was a breezy sound, sort of pleasant. Crow didn't think she was shamming, but he continued to hold the hypo next to the geezer's leg just to be sure. As Gollum had once said about Frodo Baggins, it was tricksy, precious. It was very tricksy.

Abra didn't go under completely; she still heard the truck's motor, but it was far away. It seemed to be above her. It made her remember when she and her parents went to Lake Winnipesaukee on hot summer afternoons, and how you could hear the distant drone of the motorboats if you ducked your head underwater. She knew she was being kidnapped, and she knew this should concern her, but she felt serene, content to float between sleep and waking. The dryness in her mouth and throat was horrible, though. Her tongue felt like a strip of dusty carpet.

I have to do something
.
He's taking me to the hat woman and I have to do something. If I don't, they'll kill me like they killed the baseball boy. Or something even worse
.

She
would
do something. After she got something to drink. And after she slept a little more . . .

The engine sound had faded from a drone to a distant hum when light penetrated her closed eyelids. Then the sound stopped completely and the Crow was poking her in the leg. Easy at first, then harder. Hard enough to hurt.

“Wake up, Goldilocks. You can go back to sleep later.”

She struggled her eyes open, wincing at the brightness. They were parked beside some gas pumps. There were fluorescents over them. She shielded her eyes from the glare. Now she had a headache to go with her thirst. It was like . . .

“What's funny, Goldilocks?”

“Huh?”

“You're smiling.”

“I just figured out what's wrong with me. I'm hungover.”

Crow considered this, and grinned. “I suppose you are at that, and you didn't even get to prance around with a lampshade on your head. Are you awake enough to understand me?”

“Yes.” At least she thought she was. Oh, but the thudding in her head. Awful.

“Take this.”

He was holding something in front of her face, reaching across his body with his left hand to do it. His right one still held the hypodermic, the needle resting next to Mr. Freeman's leg.

She squinted. It was a credit card. She reached up with a hand that felt too heavy and took it. Her eyes started to close and he slapped her face. Her eyes flew open, wide and shocked. She had never been hit in her life, not by an adult, anyway. Of course she had never been kidnapped, either.

“Ow!
Ow!
”

“Get out of the truck. Follow the instructions on the pump—you're a bright kid, I'm sure you can do that—and fill the tank.
Then replace the nozzle and get back in. If you do all that like a good little Goldilocks, we'll drive over to yonder Coke machine.” He pointed to the far corner of the store. “You can get a nice big twenty-ounce soda. Or a water, if that's what you want; I spy with my little eye that they have Dasani. If you're a
bad
little Goldilocks, I'll kill the old man, then go into the store and kill the kid at the register. No problem there. Your friend had a gun, which is now in my possession. I'll take you with me and you can watch the kid's head go splat. It's up to you, okay? You get it?”

“Yes,” Abra said. A little more awake now. “Can I have a Coke
and
a water?”

His grin this time was high, wide, and handsome. In spite of her situation, in spite of the headache, even in spite of the slap he'd administered, Abra found it charming. She guessed lots of people found it charming, especially women. “A little greedy, but that's not always a bad thing. Let's see how you mind those Ps and Qs.”

She unbuckled her belt—it took three tries, but she finally managed—and grabbed the doorhandle. Before she got out, she said: “Stop calling me Goldilocks. You know my name, and I know yours.”

She slammed the door and headed for the gas island (weaving a little) before he could reply. She had spunk as well as steam. He could almost admire her. But, given what had happened to Snake, Nut, and Jimmy, almost was as far as it went.

At first Abra couldn't read the instructions because the words kept doubling and sliding around. She squinted and they came into focus. The Crow was watching her. She could feel his eyes like tiny warm weights on the back of her neck.

(
Dan?
)

Nothing, and she wasn't surprised. How could she hope to reach Dan when she could barely figure out how to run this stupid pump? She had never felt less shiny in her life.

Eventually she managed to start the gas, although the first time she tried his credit card, she put it in upside-down and had to begin all over again. The pumping seemed to go on forever, but there was a rubber sleeve over the nozzle to keep the stench of the fumes down, and the night air was clearing her head a little. There were billions of stars. Usually they awed her with their beauty and profusion, but tonight looking at them only made her feel scared. They were far away. They didn't see Abra Stone.

When the tank was full, she squinted at the new message in the pump's window and turned to Crow. “Do you want a receipt?”