You don't understand, you numb broad, Larry thought. You're holding my hand and you don't understand that I could make a bad decision and wind up killing both of you. I'm well on my way to killing Judge Farris and he's seconding my fucking nomination. What a Polish firedrill this turned out to be. A little sound escaped his throat.

"Did you say something?" Lucy asked.

"No."

Then Stu was walking across the stage to the podium, his red sweater and bluejeans very bright and clear in the harsh glow of the emergency lights, which were running from a Honda generator that Brad Kitchner and part of his crew from the power station had set up. The applause started somewhere in the middle of the hall, Larry was never sure where, and a cynical part of him was always convinced that it had been a plot arranged by Glen Bateman, their resident expert in the art/craft of crowd management. At any rate, it didn't really matter. The first solitary spats swelled to a thunder of applause. On the stage, Stu paused by the podium, looking comically amazed. The applause was joined by cheers and shrill whistles.

Then the entire audience rose to its feet, the applause swelling to a sound like heavy rain, and people were shouting, "Bravo! Bravo!" Stu held up his hands, but they wouldn't stop; if anything, the sound redoubled in intensity. Larry glanced sideways at Lucy and saw she was applauding strenuously, her eyes fixed on Stu, her mouth curved in a trembling but triumphant smile. She was crying. On his other side Leo was also applauding, bringing his hands together again and again with so much force that Larry thought they would fall off if Leo kept on much longer. In the extremity of his joy, Leo's carefully won-back vocabulary had deserted him, the way English will sometimes desert a man or woman who has learned it as his or her second tongue. He could only hoot loudly and enthusiastically.

Brad and Ralph had also run a PA from the generator and now Stu blew into the mike and then spoke: "Ladies and gentlemen-"

But the applause rolled on.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll take your seats-"

But they were not ready to take their seats. The applause roared on and on, and Larry looked down because his own hands hurt, and he saw that he was applauding as frantically as the rest.

"Ladies and gentlemen-"

The applause thundered and echoed. Overhead, a family of barnswallows that had taken up residence in this fine and private place after the plague struck now flew about crazily, swooping and diving, mad to get away to someplace where people weren't.

We're applauding ourselves, Larry thought. We're applauding the fact that we're here, alive, together. Maybe we're saying hello to the group self again, I don't know. Hello, Boulder. Finally. Good to be here, great to be alive.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you'd take your seats, please, I sure would appreciate it."

The applause began to taper off little by little. Now you could hear ladies-and some men, too-sniffing. Noses were honked. Conversations were whispered. There was that rustling auditorium sound of people taking their seats.

"I'm glad you're all here," Stu said. "I'm glad to be here myself." There was a whine of feedback from the PA and Stu muttered, "Goddam thing," which was clearly picked up and broadcast. There was a ripple of laughter and Stu colored. "Guess we're all going to have to get used to this stuff again," he said, and that set off another burst of applause.

When that had run itself out, Stu said: "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Stuart Redman, originally from Arnette, Texas, although that seems a far way down the road from where I am now, lemme tell you." He cleared his throat, feedback whined briefly, and he took a wary step back from the mike. "I'm also pretty nervous up here, so bear with me-"

"We will, Stu!" Harry Dunbarton yelled exuberantly, and there was appreciative laughter. It's like a camp meeting, Larry thought. Next they'll be singing hymns. If Mother Abagail was here, I bet we would be already.

"Last time I had so many people looking at me was when our little consolidated high school made it to the football playoffs, and then they had twenty-one other guys to look at too, not to mention some girls in those little tiny skirts."

A hearty burst of laughter.

Lucy pulled at Larry's neck and whispered in his ear, "What was he worried about? He's a natural!"

Larry nodded.

"But if you'll bear with me, I'll get through it somehow," Stu said.

More applause. This crowd would applaud Nixon's resignation speech and ask him to encore on the piano, Larry thought.

"First off, I should explain about the ad hoc committee and how I happen to be up here at all," Stu said. "There are seven of us who got together and planned for this meeting so we could get organized somehow. There's a lot of things to do, and I'd like to introduce each member of our committee to you now, and I hope you saved some applause for them, because they all pitched together to work out the agenda you've got in your hands right now. First, Miss Frances Goldsmith. Stand up, Frannie, and let em see what you look like with a dress on."

Fran stood up. She was wearing a pretty kelly-green dress and a modest string of pearls that might have cost two thousand dollars in the old days. She was roundly applauded, the applause accompanied by some good-natured wolf whistles.

Fran sat down, blushing furiously, and before the applause could die away entirely, Stu went on. "Mr. Glen Bateman, from Woodsville, New Hampshire."

Glen stood, and they applauded him. He flipped a pair of twin v's v's from each of his closed fists, and the crowd roared its approval. from each of his closed fists, and the crowd roared its approval.

Stu introduced Larry second-to-last and he stood up, aware that Lucy was smiling up at him, and then that was lost in a warm comber of applause that washed over him. Once, he thought, in another world, there would have been concerts, and this kind of applause would have been reserved for the show-closer, a little nothing tune called "Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?" This was better. He only stood for a second, but it seemed much longer. He knew he would not decline his nomination.

Stu introduced Nick last, and he got the longest, loudest applause.

When it died away, Stu said: "This wasn't on the agenda, but I wonder if we could start by singing the National Anthem. I guess you folks remember the words and the tune."

There was that ruffling, shuffling sound of people getting to their feet. Another pause as everyone waited for someone else to start. Then a girl's sweet voice rose in the air, solo for only the first three syllables: "Oh, say can-" It was Frannie's voice, but for a moment it seemed to Larry to be underlaid by another voice, his own, and the place was not Boulder but upstate Vermont and the day was July 4, the Republic was two hundred and fourteen years old, and Rita lay dead in the tent behind him, her mouth filled with green puke and a bottle of pills in her stiffening hand.

A chill of gooseflesh passed over him and suddenly he felt that they were being watched, watched by something that could, in the words of that old song by The Who, see for miles and miles and miles. Something awful and dark and alien. For just a moment he felt an urge to run from this place, just run and never stop. This was no game they were playing here. This was serious business; killing business. Maybe worse.

Then other voices joined in. "-can you see, by the dawn's early light," and Lucy was singing, holding his hand, crying again, and others were crying, most of them were crying, crying for what was lost and bitter, the runaway American dream, chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected, and stepping out over the line, and suddenly his memory was not of Rita, dead in the tent, but of he and his mother at Yankee Stadium-it was September 29, the Yankees were only a game and a half behind the Red Sox, and all things were still possible. There were fifty-five thousand people in the Stadium, all standing, the players in the field with their caps over their hearts, Guidry on the mound, Rickey Henderson was standing in deep left field ("-by the twilight's last gleaming-"), and the light-standards were on in the purple gloaming, moths and night-fliers banging softly against them, and New York was around them, teeming, city of night and light.

Larry joined the singing too, and when it was done and the applause rolled out once more, he was crying a bit himself. Rita was gone. Alice Underwood was gone. New York was gone. America America was gone. Even if they could defeat Randall Flagg, whatever they might make would never be the same as that world of dark streets and bright dreams. was gone. Even if they could defeat Randall Flagg, whatever they might make would never be the same as that world of dark streets and bright dreams.

Sweating freely under the bright emergency lights, Stu called the first items: reading and ratification of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. The singing of the anthem had also affected him deeply, and he wasn't alone. Half the audience, more, was in tears.

No one asked for an actual reading of either document-which would have been their right under the parliamentary process-for which Stu was profoundly grateful. He wasn't much of a reader. The "reading" section of each item was approved by the Free Zone citizens. Glen Bateman rose and moved that they accept both documents as governing Free Zone law.

A voice in the back said, "Second that!"

"Moved and seconded," Stu said. "Those in favor say aye."

"AYE!" to the rooftops. Kojak, who had been sleeping by Glen's chair, looked up, blinked, and then laid his muzzle on his paws again. A moment later he looked up again as the crowd gave themselves a thunderous round of applause. They like voting, Stu thought. It makes them feel like they're finally in control of something again. God knows they need that feeling. We all need it.

That preliminary taken care of, Stu felt tension worm into his muscles. Now, he thought, we'll see if there are any nasty surprises waiting for us.

"The third item on your agenda reads," he began, and then he had to clear his throat again. Feedback whined at him, making him sweat even more. Fran was looking calmly up at him, nodding for him to go on. "It reads, 'To see if the Free Zone will nominate and elect a slate of seven Free Zone representatives.' That means-"

"Mr. Chairman? Mr. Chairman!"

Stu looked up from his jotted notes and felt a real jolt of fear, accompanied by something like a premonition. It was Harold Lauder. Harold was dressed in a suit and a tie, his hair was neatly combed, and he was standing halfway up the middle aisle. Once Glen had said he thought the opposition might coalesce around Harold. But so soon? He hoped not. For just a moment he thought wildly of not recognizing Harold- but both Nick and Glen had warned him of the dangers inherent in making any part of this look like a railroad job. He wondered if he had been wrong about Harold turning over a new leaf. It looked as if he was going to find out right here.

"Chair recognizes Harold Lauder."

Heads turned, necks craned to see Harold better.

"I'd like to move that we accept the slate of ad hoc committee members in toto as the Permanent Committee. If they'll serve, that is." Harold sat down.

There was a moment of silence. Stu thought crazily: Toto? Toto? Wasn't that the dog in Toto? Toto? Wasn't that the dog in The Wizard of Oz? The Wizard of Oz?

Then the applause swelled out again, filling the room, and dozens of cries of "I second!" rang out. Harold was sitting placidly in his seat again, smiling and talking to the people who were thumping him on the back.

Stu brought his gavel down half a dozen times for order.

He planned this, Stu thought. Stu thought. These people are going to elect us, but it's Harold they'll remember. Still, he got to the root of the thing in a way none of us thought of, not even Glen. It was pretty damn near a stroke of genius. These people are going to elect us, but it's Harold they'll remember. Still, he got to the root of the thing in a way none of us thought of, not even Glen. It was pretty damn near a stroke of genius. So why should he be so upset? Was he jealous, maybe? Were his good resolutions about Harold, made only the day before yesterday, already going by the boards? So why should he be so upset? Was he jealous, maybe? Were his good resolutions about Harold, made only the day before yesterday, already going by the boards?

"There's a motion on the floor," he blared into the mike, ignoring the feedback whine this time. "Motion on the floor, folks!" He pounded the gavel and they quieted to a low babble. "It's been moved and seconded that we accept the ad hoc committee just as it stands as the Permanent Free Zone Committee. Before we go to a discussion of the motion or to a vote, I ought to ask if anyone now serving on the committee has an objection or would like to step down."

Silence from the floor.

"Very well," Stu said. "Discussion of the motion?"

"I don't think we need any, Stu," Dick Ellis said. "It's a grand idea. Let's vote!"

Applause greeted this, and Stu needed no further urging. Charlie Impening was waving his hand to be recognized, but Stu ignored him-a good case of selective perception, Glen Bateman would have said-and called the question.

"Those in favor of Harold Lauder's motion please signify by saying aye."

"Aye!!" they bellowed, sending the barnswallows into another frenzy. they bellowed, sending the barnswallows into another frenzy.

"Opposed?"

But no one was, not even Charlie Impening-at least, vocally. There was not a nay in the chamber. So Stu pushed on to the next item of business, feeling slightly dazed, as if someone-namely, Harold Lauder- had crept up behind him and clopped him one on the head with a large sledgehammer made out of Silly Putty.

"Let's get off and push them awhile, want to?" Fran asked. She sounded tired.

"Sure." He got off his bike and walked along beside her. "You okay, Fran? The baby bothering?"

"No. I'm just tired. It's quarter of one in the morning, or hadn't you noticed?"

"Yeah, it's late," Stu agreed, and they pushed their bikes side by side in companionable silence. The meeting had gone on until an hour ago, most of the discussion centering on the search-party for Mother Abagail. The other items had all passed with a minimum of discussion, although Judge Farris had provided a fascinating piece of information that explained why there were so relatively few bodies in Boulder. According to the last four issues of the Camera, Camera, Boulder's daily newspaper, a wild rumor had swept the community, a rumor that the superflu had originated in the Boulder Air Testing facility on Broadway. Spokesmen for the center-the few still on their feet-protested that it was utter nonsense, and anyone who doubted it was free to tour the facility, where they would find nothing more dangerous than air pollution indicators and wind-vectoring devices. In spite of this, the rumor persisted, probably fed by the hysterical temper of those terrible days in late June. The Air Testing Center had been either bombed or burned, and much of Boulder's population had fled. Boulder's daily newspaper, a wild rumor had swept the community, a rumor that the superflu had originated in the Boulder Air Testing facility on Broadway. Spokesmen for the center-the few still on their feet-protested that it was utter nonsense, and anyone who doubted it was free to tour the facility, where they would find nothing more dangerous than air pollution indicators and wind-vectoring devices. In spite of this, the rumor persisted, probably fed by the hysterical temper of those terrible days in late June. The Air Testing Center had been either bombed or burned, and much of Boulder's population had fled.

Both the Burial Committee and the Power Committee had been passed with an amendment from Harold Lauder-who had seemed almost awesomely prepared for the meeting-to the effect that each committee be increased by two for each increase of one hundred in the total Free Zone population.

The Search Committee was also voted with no opposition, but the discussion of Mother Abagail's disappearance had been a protracted one. Glen had advised Stu before the meeting not to limit discussion on this topic unless absolutely necessary; it was worrying all of them, especially the idea that their spiritual leader believed she had committed some sort of sin. Best to let them get it off their chests.

On the back of her note, the old woman had scrawled two biblical references: Proverbs 11: 13, and Proverbs 21: 2831. Judge Farris had searched these out with the careful diligence of a lawyer preparing a brief, and at the beginning of the discussion, he rose and read them in his cracked and apocalyptic old man's voice. The verses in the eleventh chapter of Proverbs stated, "A false balance is an abomination of the Lord: but a just weight is his delight. When pride cometh, then cometh shame: but with the lowly is wisdom. The integrity of the upright shall guide them: but the perverseness of transgressors shall destroy them." The quotation from the twenty-first chapter was in a similar vein: "A false witness shall perish, but the man that heareth speaketh constantly. A wicked man hardeneth his face, but as for the upright, he directeth his way. There is no wisdom nor understanding nor counsel against the Lord. The horse is prepared against the day of battle: but safety is of the Lord."

The talk following the Judge's oration (it could be called nothing else) of these two Scriptural tidbits had ranged over far-reaching-and often comical-ground. One man stated ominously that if the chapter numbers were added, you came out with thirty-one, the number of chapters in the Book of Revelations. Judge Farris rose again to say that the Book of Revelations had only twenty-two chapters, at least in his Bible, and that, in any case, twenty-one and eleven added up to thirty-two, not thirty-one. The aspiring numerologist muttered but said no more.

Another fellow stated that he had seen lights in the sky the night before Mother Abagail's disappearance and that the Prophet Isaiah had confirmed the existence of flying saucers ... so they'd better put that in their collective pipe and smoke it, hadn't they? Judge Farris rose once more, this time to point out that the previous gentleman had mistaken Isaiah for Ezekiel, that the exact reference was not to flying saucers but to "a wheel within a wheel," and that the Judge himself was of the opinion that the only flying saucers yet proven were those that sometimes flew during marital spats.

Much of the other discussion was a rehash of the dreams, which had ceased altogether, as far as anyone knew, and now seemed rather dreamlike themselves. Person after person rose to protest the charge that Mother Abagail had laid upon herself, that of pride. They spoke of her courtesy and her ability to put a person at ease with just a word or a sentence. Ralph Brentner, who looked awed by the size of the crowd and was nearly tongue-tied-but determined to speak his piece-rose and spoke in that vein for nearly five minutes, adding at the end that he had not known a finer woman since his mother had died. When he sat down, he seemed very near tears.

When taken together, the discussion reminded Stu uncomfortably of a wake. It told him that in their hearts, they had already come halfway to giving her up. If she did return now, Abby Freemantle would find herself welcomed, still sought after, still listened to ... but she would also find, Stu thought, that her position was subtly changed. If a showdown between her and the Free Zone Committee came, it was no longer a foregone conclusion that she would win, veto power or not. She had gone away and the community had continued to exist. The community would not forget that, as they had already half forgotten the power the dreams had once briefly held over their lives.

After the meeting, more than two dozen people had sat for a while on the lawn behind Chautauqua Hall; the rain had stopped, the clouds were tattering, and the evening was pleasantly cool. Stu and Frannie had sat with Larry, Lucy, Leo, and Harold.

"You darn near knocked us out of the ballpark this evening," Larry told Harold. He nudged Frannie with an elbow. "I told you he was ace high, didn't I?"

Harold had merely smiled and shrugged modestly. "A couple of ideas, that's all. You seven have started things moving again. You should at least have the privilege of seeing it through to the end of the beginning. "

Now, fifteen minutes after the two of them had left that impromptu gathering and still ten minutes from home, Stu repeated: "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yes. My legs are a little tired, that's all."

"You want to take it easy, Frances."

"Don't call me that, you know I hate it."

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Frances."

"All men are bastards."

"I'm going to try and improve my act, Frances-honest I am."

She showed him her tongue, which came to an interesting point, but he could tell her heart wasn't in the banter, and he dropped it. She looked pale and rather listless, a startling contrast to the Frannie who had sung the National Anthem with such heart a few hours earlier.

"Something giving you the blues, honey?"

She shook her head no, but he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

"What is it? Tell me."

"It's nothing. That's what's the matter. Nothing is what's bothering me. It's over, and I finally realized it, that's all. Less than six hundred people singing 'The Star-Spangled Banner.' It just kind of hit me all at once. No hotdog stands. The Ferris wheel isn't going around and around at Coney Island tonight. No one's having a nightcap at the Space Needle in Seattle. Someone finally found a way to clean up the dope in Boston's Combat Zone and the chicken-ranch business in Times Square. Those were terrible things, but I think the cure was a lot worse than the disease. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do."

"In my diary I had a little section called 'Things to Remember'. So the baby would know ... oh, all the things he never will. And it gives me the blues, thinking of that. I should have called it 'Things That Are Gone.' " She did sob a little, stopping her bike so she could put the back of her hand to her mouth and try to keep it in.

"It got everybody the same way," Stu said, putting an arm around her. "Lot of people are going to cry themselves to sleep tonight. You better believe it."

"I don't see how you can grieve for a whole country," she said, crying harder, "but I guess you can. These ... these little things keep shooting through my mind. Car salesmen. Frank Sinatra. Old Orchard Beach in July, all crowded with people, most of them from Quebec. That stupid guy on MTV-Randy, I think his name was. The times ... oh God, I sound like a fuh-fuh-frigging Rod Muh-McKuen poem!"

He held her, patting her back, remembering one time when his Aunt Betty had gotten a crying fit over some bread that didn't rise-she was big with his little cousin Laddie then, seven months or so-and Stu could remember her wiping her eyes with the corner of a dishtowel and telling him to never mind, any pregnant woman was just two doors down from the mental ward because the juices their glands put out were always scrambled up into a stew.

After a while Frannie said, "Okay. Okay. Better. Let's go."

"Frannie, I love you," he said. They resumed pushing their bikes.

She asked him, "What do you remember best? What's the one thing?"

"Well, you know-" he said, and then stopped with a little laugh.

"No, I don't know, Stuart."

"It's crazy."

"Tell me."

"I don't know if I want to. You'll start looking for the guys with the butterfly nets."