Page 20 of The End of the World As We Know It: New Tales of Stephen King’s The Stand

Eventually, Mary Pinette asked if they could listen to music instead.

At forty-eight, she was the youngest Seacliff resident.

She had brought a large combo radio/CD player with her.

She tuned it to a Portland station and found the top twenty countdown.

The newest entry was a soulful tune called “Baby, Can You Dig Your Man?” that had entered the chart at number eighteen, but Mary preferred the new songs by Sinéad O’Connor and Heart.

She didn’t think of herself as a feminist, but she favored female singers to male.

There was no DJ patter between songs, leading Dick to believe this was a preprogrammed broadcast. The countdown was in the middle of “U Can’t Touch This” when the radio emitted an earsplitting shriek. After that, it produced nothing but static, no matter which way Mary turned the dial.

Bob, who thought the static was an improvement over MC Hammer, clicked the TV back on and found the same situation there.

One station showed a handwritten placard reading Sorry, we are having a problem .

The only station with actual programming was playing a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show .

Mary wondered if little Ronnie Howard was still alive.

Last fall, she’d taken the boat to the mainland to see his latest movie, Parenthood , with a gaggle of her university friends.

They’d asked her why she wanted to live in such a remote place and whether it was just a phase she was going through.

She’d inherited the house on Seacliff—and a sizable legacy—from her mother and found she didn’t mind living away from the hustle and bustle.

Look at how things had turned out. No tube neck for her.

The gathering broke up around midnight. Harry headed down to the pier to relieve Dick on watch duty, carrying a large cup of strong coffee in his hand and a flask in his rear pocket. Everyone else returned home and went to bed. Thus ended the first day of lockdown on Seacliff Island.

Early-morning sun streaming through the bedroom window awakened Nancy Landry on Saturday. Her partner, Dottie, was already awake, sitting up with a pillow behind her back, staring into the distance.

“What’s up, hon?” Nancy asked.

“I had the strangest dream. It was so vivid.”

“Tell me about it.”

“There was this old woman. Really old, like a hundred, with a wrinkled face.”

“More wrinkles than me? “Nancy asked.

That earned a smile. “Way more. She was Black and walked with a cane. She reminded me of my grandmother. She was on a farm surrounded by a cornfield. People were singing old-time hymns.”

“Such detail!”

“I know. It felt real.”

“What did you talk about with her?” Nancy asked, sure it would have something to do with the epidemic.

“She told me I should come see her. If I left now, I should go to Nebraska. If I was delayed, I should go to Boulder.”

“That’s really specific.”

“I know. The thing is—I woke up wanting to go.”

Nancy sniffed. “It was just a dream.”

“I know. But still…” She paused, as if reluctant to continue.

“There was something else. Something watching us. A man with no face, who turned into a crow with red eyes. He terrified me, but the old woman made me feel safe.” Dottie didn’t mention the vision she’d had of rows of people who’d been crucified.

After they got dressed, they made breakfast and carried it down to the community hall, certain they would find some of the others there. In fact, everyone was, even Harry.

“Them youngsters are on duty now,” he said. “They was late, but they showed up.”

“I made a lot of noise outside their room this morning,” Helen said with a smug smile. “Made sure they were up.”

Harry doffed a pretend hat at her. “Thank ya kindly, ma’am.”

Helen blushed.

“I’m thinking about going to Vegas,” Wally Martin said as he filled his coffee cup from the thirty-cup urn Margaret had started an hour earlier. His voice had an airy, dreamlike quality.

“Vegas?” Mildred said with obvious disdain. “Sin City?”

“Yup. I got a personal invitation from a guy named Randy in my dreams last night. Funniest damn thing. He told me to come on down, just like Bob Barker. It was the happening place and all the cool folks were headed there. Anyone want to come with me?”

Nancy glanced at Dottie, who gave her a meaningful stare. Nancy got the message and remained silent.

“Might just do it. Go out with a bang. Throw snake eyes one last time.”

Evelyn, his wife, swatted him on the shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t like those odds,” Dick said with a forced laugh.

Nancy wondered if anyone else had had vivid dreams, but no one volunteered to describe them if they had.

The TV stations were still broadcasting static except for the one where Barney Fife was contemplating the use of his one bullet.

Helen gave her husband a couple cups of coffee and a tray of pastries to take down to the Mitchells.

“Tell me what you think of them,” Dick said.

“Let me know if they’ve got what it takes. ”

“To do what?”

“Point a gun at someone. Pull the trigger if necessary.”

“Gotcha.”

Charles was back five minutes later, panting. “They’re gone,” he announced.

“Gone?”

“Vamoosed. Scrammed.”

“They’re not up at the house?” Helen asked.

Charles shook his head. “I checked, just to be sure, but they took one of the boats.” He looked at Bob. “Yours.”

“Son of a bitch,” Bob said. “I just had that new navigation system installed.” He looked at Dick. “Do you think they know how to use it?”

Dick grunted. “If not, they may be headed for Yarmouth. Or Africa.” He threw his hands in the air.

“Son of a bitch,” Bob repeated.

Wally was still going on about his Las Vegas dream. “I tell you,” he said to his wife, “it was real. Like a message. Do you think those young people got that invitation, too? And that’s why they left?”

“Wally Martin, don’t be so foolish. No one is inviting you anywhere,” Evelyn said, delivering another wallop to his shoulder. “Except me—I’m inviting you to come on home and take care of that tractor you’ve been meaning to fix for a while.”

With that, the gathering broke up. End of the world or not, there were outside chores and housework to be done.

On Sunday morning, when Nancy awoke, Dottie wasn’t by her side. She found her partner on the bench outside the front door, smoking a cigarette.

“I thought you quit,” Nancy said.

“I found an old pack in the back of the kitchen drawer,” Dottie said. “They’re stale, but it doesn’t look like we’ll be getting more anytime soon, so what the hell?”

“I don’t like it. And you’re up early again.”

“I had another dream. Mother Abagail, that’s her name. She told me I should come right away. There are others already headed her way. But…”

“But?”

“She said you shouldn’t come with me.”

“Why the hell not?” Nancy said. Then she took a step back. “Sorry. It’s just a dream.”

“That’s just it—I’m not sure it was.”

Nancy remained silent.

“She said you shouldn’t come because you’re not immune. You’d die.”

“And you are?”

Dottie opened her mouth but no words came out.

“Is this your way of saying you want to break up with me?”

Dottie looked aghast. “No. No way. Not at all. I love you.”

“But…”

“But what if it’s true?”

“Why would it be? Was there a talking crow with no face in this one, too?”

Dottie frowned. “You heard Wally. He had a dream, too.”

“Not about some old woman in Kansas.”

“Nebraska.”

“Whatever. I had a dream, too.”

“What about?”

“I was in school getting ready to take an exam, but I’d never gone to class. Not once.”

Dottie said nothing.

“It was just a silly stress dream. But let’s suppose yours isn’t, for the sake of argument. Suppose it’s some kind of message, although I’m not saying it is.”

“Okay,” Dottie said. She recognized Nancy’s tone. She had to be on the lookout for land mines.

“Suppose the old woman is real and suppose you’re immune like she says, and everyone who’s immune is supposed to head for Kansas. No, excuse me, Nebraska.”

Dottie waited.

“You’re here. As long as you stay here, you’re as good as immune. We all are. Doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

“Yes, but—”

“What I’m saying is… what I’m asking : Why go? Why take the risk? What does the old lady have that we don’t have here on the island?”

Dottie took a deep breath, then remembered her cigarette and took a puff. “I think she’s the voice of God.”

“God?” Nancy said, taking another step back. “You don’t believe in God.”

“I didn’t,” Dottie said. “But I think God believes in me. I think she’s calling me.”

“I don’t fucking believe this.” Nancy swiveled and headed toward the community hall, but changed her mind and kept going all the way to the pier.

Wally Martin was on duty, but he was reading a magazine in the shed instead of watching for approaching boats. Nancy might have been sixty-two, but there was nothing wrong with her eyesight. There was something in the water maybe half a mile from the wharf, and it appeared to be coming this way.

She poked Wally in the shoulder, startling him, then reached past him to get the binoculars.

“What?” Wally asked.

“Someone’s coming,” Nancy said. It took her a few seconds to home in on the shape she’d seen, and a few more to twiddle the dial to bring the object into focus. Definitely a boat.

She handed the binoculars to Wally. As he scanned the rough water, Nancy asked, “Do you think it’s them? The newlyweds coming back? Or someone else?”

“Whoever it is, they’re rowing,” Wally said.

“What should we do?”

Wally picked up the rifle and checked to make sure there was a round in the chamber. “Whatever we have to do to keep them away. Like we agreed.”

Nancy stared at him for a long moment. “I’m going to get the others.”

“Good idea. Might need the help.”

She found Dick and Bob having breakfast in the hall. Bob went to fetch Charles and Harry, while Dick followed Nancy back to the jetty.