Page 102

102

Cody Hill

STU PETERSON JUST BLEW a hole in Keith Gayton. Did it like it was nothing. Even when bits of Keith sprayed Peterson’s face, he didn’t bother to wipe it away, didn’t acknowledge it at all, he just smiled and kept talking. For that brief second, Stu Peterson was Cody Hill’s hero. But then Peterson called out Cody’s name.

Cody and Marcie were sitting in the fifth row. Half the crowd had gotten up to get in line, the other half jumped up with the shot, but the two of them had stayed down and were, for the moment, concealed. Marcie was making this godawful whimpering sound, and it was becoming increasingly clear she wasn’t up for what would come next, not unless she grew a pair, but sometimes you had to improvise. You had to work under the gun. When Peterson called Cody’s name a second time, Cody pulled the Motorola radio from his pocket and pressed it in Marcie’s cold hands. “I need you to do me a favor. Think you can?”

Marcie whimpered again, and that would have to do.

“If I yell out your name, I need you to switch that radio to channel two and press the Talk button. That’s it. You can do that, right? Easy-peasy?”

Cody had his vest.

The other bomb was set to go off at 9:05, but that was six minutes away, and six minutes was a very long time when it came to things like this. Six minutes was a lifetime. He couldn’t risk something going wrong. He knew he wasn’t leaving this gym—he was all good with that. As long as nobody else left, either, he was perfectly good with that.

“Marcie? Can you do that?” When she still didn’t answer, he added, “I saw Malcolm Mitchell.” Cody lied. “He’s practically sitting on top of the bomb. You do this, and you’re finally taking back what’s yours. None of us are leaving, but you’ll have peace. I need to know you can do it.”

Marcie finally nodded, and her slender fingers wrapped around the radio.

“That’s a good girl.”

People were screaming. Shouting. Trying the doors, finding them locked. Finding Stu’s men guarding the doors. Others were still in line, as if that were perfectly fine. Perfectly normal. Shock was a crazy thing. But this was all good. It was what Cody wanted.

Panic.

Panic was like chugging a Red Bull.

Someone grabbed Cody by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet. “He’s up here, Stu! I got him!”

Cody twisted but couldn’t see who it was. He became far less concerned with that when the man reached into Cody’s pocket and yanked out the vest’s detonator with enough force to tear the wires right out of Cody’s damn near perfect welds, rendering it useless. He shoved the detonator in his own pocket, then shouted back down to Peterson, “Got the other thing, too!”

His face still speckled in blood, Peterson nodded up at them. “Bring ’em down here.”

The man did.

He was twice Cody’s size. No way he could break free. The man shuffled him around like he was some kind of rag doll, got him to the gym floor, and forced him to his knees in the bloody puddle left behind by Keith Gayton. This insanely beautiful girl was looking down at him, and so was Stu Peterson.

Peterson bobbed his head toward the girl. “She showed me the vest. That’s how we knew. We found the other bomb, too. I didn’t want to fool with disarming it—that seemed a little risky—so we just reset the clock. It’s set to go off at three in the morning now. Six hours should be plenty of time to figure it out. If not, we’ll just bump it again. That was a ballsy move, kid. I don’t need her to touch you; your judgment has come and gone.”

Peterson raised the shotgun and pointed it at Cody’s head.

“Wait!” Cody shouted. “I can help you!”

“Don’t need your help.”

“I know a way in and out of town. Someplace those people weren’t able to block.”

This was another lie, but Cody didn’t want to go out like this. Not a gunshot. Not alone. He wanted everyone. And Marcie still had the remote. He didn’t need the vest and the timer didn’t matter, not as long as she had the remote.

“He’s a kid, Stu, let him go.”

The side of Deputy Matt’s head was covered in blood; he’d been hit several times. His eye was swelling shut, but he still managed to look up at Mr. Peterson. “Christ, Stu, this isn’t you. Stop.”

“You still don’t remember?” Peterson told Matt, sounding surprised. “I don’t get it. Maybe you need something to jog your memory.” He stepped over to Gabby and Addie, grabbed them both, and pushed them toward the girl. Gabby let out a yelp as he kneed her in the back to get her to face forward. “Judgment,” he told the girl who looked like Emily Pridham. “You pick which.”

Her face expressionless, the girl studied both women for a moment. Then her hand came down on Matt’s head. Her fingers squeezed with inhuman strength.