a Mrs. William Scutter.” Henry put down the paper. “They don’t want him back, that’s for sure.”
“We’ll isolate him. He’s not gonna survive the population.”
Beresford did not think that the window glass was too thick to break, and he was just considering throwing himself through it when they led him into a little room where a lady with a cheerful voice said, “You’re going to get your picture taken, pretty boy. Smile, now.”
He did as he was told.
She laughed. “Now, that is about the biggest smile I’ve ever seen in here. You’re one happy defendant.”
They fingerprinted him, which he knew about from TV. He also knew that they were going to put him in jail, because that’s where this kind of stuff led, and he needed to get out of there before they did that. He could not escape the bars of jail, and the idea of being trapped like that, of not being able to get back where he belonged, of never seeing Melody again—he could not think of these things very long without his mind starting to roar.
There was only the one person in this room, and he saw an air-conditioning vent, so he jumped up and pulled off the grate.
“My God! You come down from there!”
He slid into the duct and went a few feet. Behind him, there was a lot of yelling, and he knew that they were trying hard to get him and bring him back. Sweat poured off him, and he used it to lubricate his way when he came to a turn. Getting his body around it pulled muscles in his neck and chest so tight he thought they might rip, and he had to suck breath through his teeth to keep from screaming with the pain.
Voices boiled up from below, and then there were thuds and clanks and the sound of scraping as somebody pulled away ceiling tiles. He moved more easily now, and quickly, turning another corner and going down to the far end of the wide building. Navigating by sound, he went toward the machine room.
Soon he was in a larger duct and a lot of air was coming toward him. The darkness was absolute, so he felt his way ahead carefully, until his hands met an edge.
There was a crashing noise, and light flooded in behind him. They’d broken into the ductwork. So he had to do this, and he had to do it now. But what? How?
“It’s been tried, son. It don’t work.”
The voice was right behind him; he felt a hand around his ankle.
“You go down there, you gonna get cut up by that fan. Don’t make a mess like that, son. It’s nasty cleanin’ up.”
Now there were hands on both his ankles, and he was being pulled back. Frantic, he pressed against the walls of the duct.
“Dammit, it ain’t no use, spider boy.”
He was dragged back and into the light.
“I got him, I got him—don’t let this thing fall, man!”
The ductwork sagged and groaned, but it didn’t break as the big man brought Beresford out.
“We gonna get you tucked in nice and tight, spider boy. You a piece-a work, you are.”
They were in a room full of desks. There were strange green walls with markings on them, some of which were letters and others numbers. He could read a few of the words— red, big, July —but most of them were too long.
As they led him out, somebody hit him on the head from behind.
“You give us trouble, we give you trouble. It’s an eye for an eye around here, spider boy.”
They went down a long hallway, its walls painted dirty green. There were doors every few feet, with narrow glass windows embedded with wire.
“Okay, put him in twenty-one.”
“You wanna do that?”
“He’s violent—he tried an escape. You’re damn right I want to do that.”
“Because he’s harmless.”
“Harmless? We got a good five grand of ductwork and ceilings to think about. That ain’t exactly harmless.”
The man used a circular key that Beresford knew was a very difficult one to unlock the door. When it opened, there was a sharp smell of human bodies, and he saw eyes peering at him from bunk beds. There were six of them, and two of the
“We’ll isolate him. He’s not gonna survive the population.”
Beresford did not think that the window glass was too thick to break, and he was just considering throwing himself through it when they led him into a little room where a lady with a cheerful voice said, “You’re going to get your picture taken, pretty boy. Smile, now.”
He did as he was told.
She laughed. “Now, that is about the biggest smile I’ve ever seen in here. You’re one happy defendant.”
They fingerprinted him, which he knew about from TV. He also knew that they were going to put him in jail, because that’s where this kind of stuff led, and he needed to get out of there before they did that. He could not escape the bars of jail, and the idea of being trapped like that, of not being able to get back where he belonged, of never seeing Melody again—he could not think of these things very long without his mind starting to roar.
There was only the one person in this room, and he saw an air-conditioning vent, so he jumped up and pulled off the grate.
“My God! You come down from there!”
He slid into the duct and went a few feet. Behind him, there was a lot of yelling, and he knew that they were trying hard to get him and bring him back. Sweat poured off him, and he used it to lubricate his way when he came to a turn. Getting his body around it pulled muscles in his neck and chest so tight he thought they might rip, and he had to suck breath through his teeth to keep from screaming with the pain.
Voices boiled up from below, and then there were thuds and clanks and the sound of scraping as somebody pulled away ceiling tiles. He moved more easily now, and quickly, turning another corner and going down to the far end of the wide building. Navigating by sound, he went toward the machine room.
Soon he was in a larger duct and a lot of air was coming toward him. The darkness was absolute, so he felt his way ahead carefully, until his hands met an edge.
There was a crashing noise, and light flooded in behind him. They’d broken into the ductwork. So he had to do this, and he had to do it now. But what? How?
“It’s been tried, son. It don’t work.”
The voice was right behind him; he felt a hand around his ankle.
“You go down there, you gonna get cut up by that fan. Don’t make a mess like that, son. It’s nasty cleanin’ up.”
Now there were hands on both his ankles, and he was being pulled back. Frantic, he pressed against the walls of the duct.
“Dammit, it ain’t no use, spider boy.”
He was dragged back and into the light.
“I got him, I got him—don’t let this thing fall, man!”
The ductwork sagged and groaned, but it didn’t break as the big man brought Beresford out.
“We gonna get you tucked in nice and tight, spider boy. You a piece-a work, you are.”
They were in a room full of desks. There were strange green walls with markings on them, some of which were letters and others numbers. He could read a few of the words— red, big, July —but most of them were too long.
As they led him out, somebody hit him on the head from behind.
“You give us trouble, we give you trouble. It’s an eye for an eye around here, spider boy.”
They went down a long hallway, its walls painted dirty green. There were doors every few feet, with narrow glass windows embedded with wire.
“Okay, put him in twenty-one.”
“You wanna do that?”
“He’s violent—he tried an escape. You’re damn right I want to do that.”
“Because he’s harmless.”
“Harmless? We got a good five grand of ductwork and ceilings to think about. That ain’t exactly harmless.”
The man used a circular key that Beresford knew was a very difficult one to unlock the door. When it opened, there was a sharp smell of human bodies, and he saw eyes peering at him from bunk beds. There were six of them, and two of the
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