"Okay," I said, ignoring him. "So there's some kind of...barrier, for lack of a better term. We saw a picture like the one you described, but it was out on Route 711. The darkness stopped at the edge of it. I think we can a.s.sume that whatever it is in the darkness, it can't hurt us if we don't cross the barrier. It can f.u.c.k with us, but so far, it hasn't touched us. But we don't know what happened to everyone who left. So here's my plan. We get a bunch of us-the more people, the better-and we go out to the edge of the darkness, that spot where it becomes something more than shadow. We tie ourselves together really well, and then we make a human chain and-"

"Screw that," a man said. "I want no part of this nonsense."

He began walking away. A few more people followed him.

"Wait," I shouted. "Listen!"

"Hear him out," Russ hollered. "This affects you, too. All of you."

Grumbling and shaking their heads, more people turned away.

"Yo." T hopped up on the hood of the car with me, speaking quietly so that no one else would hear. "We ain't no punks, but we ain't stupid either. Ain't you ever seen The Mist The Mist?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "That's kind of where I got the idea from."

"Well, if you saw that movie, then you know d.a.m.n well how it turned out for those people. Ain't no way me and my boys are going out into that s.h.i.t. Know what I'm saying?"

"I'll pay you a bottle of vodka, a bottle of gin, and two buds."

His eyes widened. "Four buds-fat ones-and you got yourself a deal."

I paused, considering how little weed Christy had left in her bag.

"Deal. But you've got to help me. Everyone is leaving."

"I'm on it." He turned around and faced the crowd, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Yo! Listen up, motherf.u.c.kers. This Robbie dude sounds like he be tripping, but he's right. And ya'll know it, too. That's why you're walking away. 'Cause you're scared. Well, we can't be scared no more. We need to be on top of this s.h.i.t. Know what I'm saying? We all b.a.l.l.s deep in this together. If we're all tied together with ropes and s.h.i.t, ain't nothing gonna happen to us. This ain't the movies. If something does happen, we just pull each other out real quick like. My man here is right. For real. Know what I'm saying? We don't know what's in that darkness, but we know what the f.u.c.k is gonna happen if we just keep doing the same old same old. Motherf.u.c.kers be tripping, and it's getting worse every d.a.m.n night. How long before they knock on your door, looking to gank your s.h.i.t and cut your throat in the process? You feel me?"

"Gank?" Cranston asked, confused.

"He means steal," Russ explained. "At least, I think that's what it means."

"Straight up," T said. "Me and my crew ain't afraid of no darkness. We'll go."

"The h.e.l.l we will," Mario said. "Who sa-"

T shot him a look, and Mario quickly turned his attention back to his video game.

"We're going," T told the crowd, "and if the rest of you give a f.u.c.k about our hood, you'll help too. Know what I'm saying?"

A murmur of a.s.sent rose, mingling with the grumblings from those opposed to the plan. But n.o.body was walking away anymore. I turned to T and stuck out my hand.

"Thanks."

His grip was firm. "Word. Now you ain't gonna stiff me, are you?"

"A deal's a deal," I promised. "I'll hook you up. A bottle of vodka, a bottle of gin, and four fat buds. Count on it."

"So you want us to risk our lives?" a man shouted. "Is that what you're saying?"

"If we're all tied together," I said, "and something starts to happen, we can pull each other out before anyone is harmed. The strange stuff only happens in the darkness. As long as some of us stay on the other side of the barrier, we should be fine."

The crowd argued among themselves for a while. Eventually we had about two dozen volunteers. The others voiced their support but had excuses for not accompanying us-children or pets depending on them and s.h.i.t like that. I could understand those reasons, but I was still disappointed. Only a few people outright refused, which surprised me. I honestly hadn't figured they would. All the negativity that had been in the air, infecting us all, seemed to have temporarily evaporated while I was talking. Now it was back-apparently with a quickness. One man told me that I was an idiot and deserved whatever happened to me out there. I told him to f.u.c.k off, and then Russ and Cranston jumped between us before I beat the s.h.i.t out of him.

I asked for rope, and a few people said they had some at home. I sent them to get it. Another guy told me he had a pair of battery-powered walkie-talkies, and I asked him to retrieve those, as well. It was something I hadn't thought of, but now that he'd mentioned them, I agreed they would come in handy.

After everyone had their a.s.signment, we agreed to meet back on the street corner in fifteen minutes. During that time, I went upstairs and got T's payment. Christy kept our stash in a Ziploc baggie inside an empty Partagas cigar box. We were almost out of weed, and when I pulled the four buds out of the bag, all that remained were a few smaller buds and lots of stems and seeds. I dropped the four buds into another plastic baggie. Christy blew up and shouted at me when she saw what I was doing, but I promised her that I'd get some more.

"Where, Robbie? You said yourself last night that we don't know when we'll be able to get more."

"I'll find some. I promise. It's Walden, honey. Lots of people smoke marijuana. h.e.l.l, I bet Cranston has some he can share with us. But we'll worry about that later. Right now, I've got other things to think about."

"Well, maybe you should think about me for once!"

I don't know if it was the darkness or just my true feelings, but I'd had it with her.

"Why bother?" I asked. "All you ever do is think about yourself. You don't need me to do it for you."

Christy reeled back like she'd been slapped. I felt a momentary pang of guilt. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she lifted her foot, pulled off her shoe, and flung it at me as hard as she could. I ducked, and the shoe soared over my head and slammed into the closet door. The other shoe followed it. This time, my reflexes were off and Christy's aim was better. The hard wooden heel struck me in the arm. I almost dropped the buds.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Christy! That f.u.c.king hurt!"

"Good, you c.o.c.ksucker! I'm glad it hurt!"

"Oh, f.u.c.k you."

"No, f.u.c.k you, Robbie! You're a f.u.c.king a.s.shole. I've had it with this s.h.i.t. Don't you f.u.c.king come back here again. You can f.u.c.king sleep with your new friends outside."

She was still cursing me out when I left the apartment. I delayed only long enough to grab the bottles of booze from the kitchen. On my way down the stairs, I rubbed my sore arm and hoped my anger would subside. I needed my head clear for what came next.

Russ was waiting for me outside. He nodded, arched his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

I sighed. "You heard that?"

"Yeah, I heard. Kind of hard not to."

"s.h.i.t."

"Don't take it too hard, and don't be mad at Christy. I imagine it wasn't really her talking, you know? It was..." He waved at the darkness. "...this. However it's f.u.c.king with our heads."

"I hope so, Russ. I really f.u.c.king hope you're right, because I can't take much more of that bulls.h.i.t."

Fifteen minutes later, we regrouped in the middle of the street. A few of our volunteers must have had second thoughts because they didn't return. We waited for them a few minutes longer, but they still didn't show. In the end, we were down to thirteen people. There was me, Russ, and Cranston, of course, as well as T and his four friends (who were all very gung ho after receiving their payment and had already started in on both the vodka and the gin). Joining us was a sixth-grade English teacher, Ms. Stevens, who was about my age and very pretty despite the fact that she hadn't showered in several days and had no makeup on and her hair was stuffed up beneath a ball cap. Then there was an overweight network systems a.n.a.lyst named Clevon, who was also about my age and had apparently lived in Walden less than six months. Next came a guy wearing an Earnhardt Lives Earnhardt Lives ball cap who introduced himself as Drew. With him was his buddy, Clay; and a woman named Anna. I recognized Anna from my delivery route. She was a short-haul truck driver who ordered pizzas from us on the weekends. I'd never known her name until now-just her address and her occupation (her rig was always parked outside). The three of them talked to one another with a familiarity that spoke of a longtime friendship. I guessed that both Drew and Clay were in their midforties. Anna was probably about the same, but the years-or the mileage behind the years-made her look older. ball cap who introduced himself as Drew. With him was his buddy, Clay; and a woman named Anna. I recognized Anna from my delivery route. She was a short-haul truck driver who ordered pizzas from us on the weekends. I'd never known her name until now-just her address and her occupation (her rig was always parked outside). The three of them talked to one another with a familiarity that spoke of a longtime friendship. I guessed that both Drew and Clay were in their midforties. Anna was probably about the same, but the years-or the mileage behind the years-made her look older.

In addition to our human volunteers, Drew and Clay had brought along their hunting dogs-two beagles and a fat old black-and-tan spotted with streaks of gray fur. Drew suggested to me that we send the dogs in first, after tying them to the rest of us. I had to admit, it was a pretty good idea, so I agreed.

Cranston sighed. "I say we do this now, Robbie, before I chicken out."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I guess we can't stall any longer."

People gathered in the street and peeked out their windows and doors, watching us leave with the same interest usually reserved for car wrecks along the highway. And who knows? Maybe that's all we were to them. Maybe they figured that we wouldn't be coming back and they wanted to witness our death march.

Dez grabbed my arm as we pa.s.sed him. His body odor nearly knocked me over. It burned my nose and made my eyes water.

"Don't go past the runes," he whispered. "Don't break the pattern."

I shrugged him off. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I heard your speech."

Cranston, T, and Anna slowed to listen to our exchange.

"Weird guy," Anna muttered. "I hear tell he's a Satanist or something."

"f.u.c.king r.e.t.a.r.d is what he is." T chuckled. "Know what I'm saying?"

If Dez overheard them, he didn't react. I wondered if he was used to hearing such taunts and derision. I'd seen people making fun of him many times before.

"I put the runes at the four points," Dez told me. "North, south, east, and west. Then I put more at the points in between. It makes a line. An unbroken line. A pattern. The runes hold the darkness back. It can't cross them. But you shouldn't cross them either."

"You're talking about the graffiti on the road? Holy s.h.i.t! You did that?"

Smiling, he nodded. "I knew the words. I made a barrier."

"Is that what the picture is supposed to be?"

"All magic is just words and names. Runes are words."

"I don't understand, Dez."

"That's okay. n.o.body else does either. I understand for everyone. I have to."

Scowling, Anna muttered, "Witch."

She and T walked away. T seemed to have already forgotten about Dez, but Anna glanced over her shoulder and delivered one last jab. "G.o.dd.a.m.n Satanist is what you are."

Dez pouted. His bottom lip quivered. He looked like he was getting ready to cry.

"Are you okay?" I asked, feeling bad for him.

He nodded.

"Look, they didn't mean it. Okay? Everyone is just scared. Fear makes people say things that they don't mean."

Dez wiped his nose with his hand, then wiped his hand on his pants.

"It's not fear," he said. "It's not fear that makes them mean. It's the darkness. He Who Shall Not Be Named."

"Robbie," Russ called, "let's get going before we start to lose our nerve."

I cast one last glance at Dez, and then I turned away and walked on. Cranston hurried to catch up with me, and he cast a wary look over his shoulder.

"He still back there?" I asked.

"Yeah, man. He is. And he's crying."

CHAPTER TWELVE

None of us had a vehicle big enough to carry the entire group, and I didn't want to waste any more time by sending folks back home again to retrieve their cars. I was worried that if we did, we'd lose even more volunteers. So in the end, we walked. This time, instead of going out to Route 711, we went to the vacant lot behind the half-empty strip mall on Tenth Street. All of us had working flashlights, and Drew had brought along his walkie-talkies, as promised. He and Clay led the way, holding tight to the dogs' leashes. The animals kept their noses to the ground, sniffing and tracking. Their tails wagged back and forth, and their ears were up. They seemed happy.

"Them beagles will run off soon as we unleash them," Clay said. "They're good dogs, but let 'em get a whiff of a rabbit or a cat or something and they'll be gone like lightning. The black-and-tan would, too, except that he's too old. His joints bother him these days."

He unleashed a stream of brown spit all over the road. Then, still holding the dogs' leashes with one hand, he stuck his index finger into his mouth and prodded a wad of snuff out from his bottom lip. He flicked the wet tobacco onto the curb, and with the practiced movements of someone who'd done this one-handed many times before, he fished a round can of mintflavored Skoal out of his back pocket, removed the lid, and put a fresh pinch into his mouth. I'd never liked smokeless tobacco before, but the smell teased my senses now. Remembering how good the nicotine rush from the cigarette Tony lent me had felt, I considered asking Clay if I could b.u.m a dip but decided against it. Last thing I needed to do right now was get sick off Skoal and spend twenty minutes throwing up behind the strip mall.

"You'd better slow down on that dip," Drew told Clay. "What are you gonna do if you run out?"

"That won't happen for a while. I got me a whole bunch of cans from the grocery store and the gas station. And my neighbor Dale dipped, too. He was one of those who never came back, so last night, I went into his house and got his supply, too."

"You broke into your neighbor's home?" Cranston asked.

"h.e.l.l, no. Dale always kept a spare key under a lawn gnome he had sitting between his shrubs. I used the key. He always kept his Skoal in his refrigerator, so it'd stay fresh. He took his tobacco very seriously. I reckon he'd want it to go to a good home."

Drew shook his head, as if ashamed by what he was hearing, but the grin on his face said something different. "Stealing dip from a man's home. What's the world coming to?"

"I just said I didn't steal it, now didn't I?"

"Yeah, but it ain't like you asked Dale's permission either."

"True," Clay agreed, "but I guarantee one thing."

"What's that?" Drew asked, tugging on the dog's leash.

"I guarantee you I won't run out for a while."

"Let's hope not. You're like a bear with a sore a.s.s when you have a nicotine fit."

"f.u.c.k you."

I tensed, expecting their tempers to flare, but that didn't happen. They bickered and teased as longtime friends do, but if the strange, emotional response we'd all been experiencing was affecting them, too, they didn't show it.

Russ and I walked behind them. Cranston dropped back to join Ms. Stevens (who told us to call her by her first name, Olivia), Clevon, and Anna, all of whom walked close behind us. Clevon was in bad shape-panting for breath and continually asking if we could stop and rest. Given what he did for a living, I got the feeling that most of his exercise was limited to lifting coffee cups and typing. T, Irish, Stan the Man, Mad Mike, and Mario brought up the rear. The occasion was solemn enough that Mario had put away his video game.