the past.”
“I know. But that doesn’t help. I can’t get the image out of my mind. Or the guilt.”
“From what you told me about Bowdler, the real problem might be that you killed the wrong guy.”
“Maybe.”
Martin shook his head. “Man, I thought I had a tough time adjusting. I mean, I survived some rough stuff at school this year. Walking through the halls and absorbing all that heavy angst from everyone was like reading fifty teen problem novels at once. But you’ve got me beat.”
“This is one contest I’d be happy to lose,” I said. “Makes me wonder what’s happening to the rest of the guys. If this disrupter works on all of us, we’re pretty much at Bowdler’s mercy.”
“Torchie’s fine,” Martin said. “I get letters from him all the time. I think he’s the last kid on the planet who uses snail mail. I can tell how he’s doing by how scorched the paper is. And I got an e-mail from Flinch last week. He sent me some jokes he’s working on. I haven’t heard anything from Lucky in a while, and he hasn’t answered any of my e-mails. I think Cheater’s been trying to get in touch with him. And you’re dead. Not to mention pretty funny looking.”
I punched him on the shoulder. “I missed you.”
“Me, too.”
It was good to hear that Torchie and Flinch were okay. I guess Bowdler didn’t know about anyone else. But I was worried that the guys hadn’t heard from Lucky. Though, right now, I was more worried about Cheater.
When we reached the hospital, I paused by the front entrance.
“What’s wrong?” Martin asked.
“You sure you want to be with me? This isn’t some game, like sneaking out of Edgeview or taking on a couple bullies. The bad guys have guns. They seem to make up their own laws, too.”
“I’m sure,” Martin said. “You know me—the bigger they act, the more stubborn I get. At least, that’s what nine out of ten psychologists say. Come on, we’ve got a friend to see.”
A PHONE CONVERSATION BETWEEN
MAJOR BOWDLER AND AN UNNAMED
TECHNICIAN AT A COUNTER-
INTELLIGENCE FACILITY IN FORT
MEADE, MARYLAND
BOWDLER : This is Bowdler.
TECHNICIAN : Yes. Go ahead.
BOWDLER : I need a filter for the following name …
TECHNICIAN : Ready.
BOWDLER : Eddie Thalmayer. All variations—Ed Edward.
TECHNICIAN : National?
BOWDLER : East Coast for now. Priority ten. Land lines and cellular.
TECHNICIAN : It’s in place.
BOWDLER : I’m also uploading frontal and profile facial images for real-time recognition.
TECHNICIAN : Noted. We’ll alert you to any hits. Be advised the system is currently running at a backlog.
while trash and martin are heading for the hospital, lucky stands on his own two feet …
“ IT’S TIME FOR a walk.”
Lucky stared at the smiling nurse, wishing she’d go away. She smelled like rubbing alcohol and mouthwash. Back in the other place, one of the nurses dragged him out of his room and made him do stuff once or twice a day. Sometimes it was a jigsaw puzzle, sometimes it was stupid crafts. Mostly, it was walks. This place was no different. He felt like someone’s German shepherd. Besides, he’d just gotten here this morning, and wasn’t even used to his new room.
“Come on, Dominic,” the nurse said. “Exercise is important. You’ll feel better. Trust me.”
No way.
He didn’t trust anyone. And he didn’t want to get out of bed. But he knew she’d nag him until he did what she asked. He stood up and followed her down the corridor and out through the locked doors that separated his ward from the rest of the hospital. His slippers scuffed against the floor with each step. Her cushioned heels tapped the floor with the rhythm of a pendulum.
At least there weren’t any lost objects in the hallways crying out for his attention. Hospitals were constantly sweptclean of everything—dirt, germs, hopes. Though the voices wouldn’t have been much of a problem. The medicine kept them from bothering him.
“You’re so lucky,” the
“I know. But that doesn’t help. I can’t get the image out of my mind. Or the guilt.”
“From what you told me about Bowdler, the real problem might be that you killed the wrong guy.”
“Maybe.”
Martin shook his head. “Man, I thought I had a tough time adjusting. I mean, I survived some rough stuff at school this year. Walking through the halls and absorbing all that heavy angst from everyone was like reading fifty teen problem novels at once. But you’ve got me beat.”
“This is one contest I’d be happy to lose,” I said. “Makes me wonder what’s happening to the rest of the guys. If this disrupter works on all of us, we’re pretty much at Bowdler’s mercy.”
“Torchie’s fine,” Martin said. “I get letters from him all the time. I think he’s the last kid on the planet who uses snail mail. I can tell how he’s doing by how scorched the paper is. And I got an e-mail from Flinch last week. He sent me some jokes he’s working on. I haven’t heard anything from Lucky in a while, and he hasn’t answered any of my e-mails. I think Cheater’s been trying to get in touch with him. And you’re dead. Not to mention pretty funny looking.”
I punched him on the shoulder. “I missed you.”
“Me, too.”
It was good to hear that Torchie and Flinch were okay. I guess Bowdler didn’t know about anyone else. But I was worried that the guys hadn’t heard from Lucky. Though, right now, I was more worried about Cheater.
When we reached the hospital, I paused by the front entrance.
“What’s wrong?” Martin asked.
“You sure you want to be with me? This isn’t some game, like sneaking out of Edgeview or taking on a couple bullies. The bad guys have guns. They seem to make up their own laws, too.”
“I’m sure,” Martin said. “You know me—the bigger they act, the more stubborn I get. At least, that’s what nine out of ten psychologists say. Come on, we’ve got a friend to see.”
A PHONE CONVERSATION BETWEEN
MAJOR BOWDLER AND AN UNNAMED
TECHNICIAN AT A COUNTER-
INTELLIGENCE FACILITY IN FORT
MEADE, MARYLAND
BOWDLER : This is Bowdler.
TECHNICIAN : Yes. Go ahead.
BOWDLER : I need a filter for the following name …
TECHNICIAN : Ready.
BOWDLER : Eddie Thalmayer. All variations—Ed Edward.
TECHNICIAN : National?
BOWDLER : East Coast for now. Priority ten. Land lines and cellular.
TECHNICIAN : It’s in place.
BOWDLER : I’m also uploading frontal and profile facial images for real-time recognition.
TECHNICIAN : Noted. We’ll alert you to any hits. Be advised the system is currently running at a backlog.
while trash and martin are heading for the hospital, lucky stands on his own two feet …
“ IT’S TIME FOR a walk.”
Lucky stared at the smiling nurse, wishing she’d go away. She smelled like rubbing alcohol and mouthwash. Back in the other place, one of the nurses dragged him out of his room and made him do stuff once or twice a day. Sometimes it was a jigsaw puzzle, sometimes it was stupid crafts. Mostly, it was walks. This place was no different. He felt like someone’s German shepherd. Besides, he’d just gotten here this morning, and wasn’t even used to his new room.
“Come on, Dominic,” the nurse said. “Exercise is important. You’ll feel better. Trust me.”
No way.
He didn’t trust anyone. And he didn’t want to get out of bed. But he knew she’d nag him until he did what she asked. He stood up and followed her down the corridor and out through the locked doors that separated his ward from the rest of the hospital. His slippers scuffed against the floor with each step. Her cushioned heels tapped the floor with the rhythm of a pendulum.
At least there weren’t any lost objects in the hallways crying out for his attention. Hospitals were constantly sweptclean of everything—dirt, germs, hopes. Though the voices wouldn’t have been much of a problem. The medicine kept them from bothering him.
“You’re so lucky,” the
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