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"There's German's," Hannah said, and nodded toward the other side of the street. Claire hadn't really noticed it the last time she'd been out here--preoccupied with the whole notdying issue--but there it was, a fourstory square building in that faded tan color that everybody had used back in the sixties. Even the windows--those that weren't broken out--were painted over. It was plain, big, and blocky, and there was absolutely nothing special about it except its size--it covered at least three city blocks, all blind windows and blank concrete.
"You ever been inside there?" Shane asked Hannah, who was studying the building carefully.
"Not for a whole lot of years," she said. "Yeah, we used to hide up in there sometimes, when we cut class or something. I guess everybody did, once in a while. It's a mess in there, a real junkyard. Stuff everywhere, walls falling apart, ceilings none too stable, either. If you go up to the second level, you watch yourself. Make sure you don't trust the floors, and watch those iron stairs. They were shaky even back then."
"Are we going in there?" Claire asked.
"No," Shane said. "You're not going anywhere. You're staying here and getting Richard on the phone and telling him where we are. Me and Hannah will check it out."
There didn't seem to be much room for argument, because Shane didn't give her time; he and Hannah bailed out of the car, made lockthedoor motions, and sprinted toward a gap in the rusted, sagging fence.
Claire watched until they disappeared around the corner of the building, and realized her fingers were going numb from clutching her cell phone. She took a deep breath and flipped it open to try Richard Morrell again.
Nothing. No signal again. The network was going up and down like a yoyo.
The walkietalkie signal was low, but she tried it anyway. There was some kind of response, but it was swallowed by static. She gave their position, on the off chance that someone on the network would be able to hear her over the noise.
She screamed and dropped the device when the light at the car window was suddenly blocked out, and someone battered frantically on the glass.
Claire recognized the silk shirt--her silk shirt--before she recognized Monica Morrell, because Monica definitely didn't look like herself. She was out of breath, sweating, her hair was tangled, and what makeup she had on was smeared and running.
She'd been crying. There was a cut on her right cheek, and a forming bruise, and dirt on the silk blouse as well as bloodstains. She was holding her left arm as though it was hurt.
"Open the door!" she screamed, and pounded on the glass again. "Let me in!"
Claire looked behind the car.
There was a mob coming down the street: thirty, forty people, some running, some following at a walk. Some were waving baseball bats, boards, pipes.
They saw Monica and let out a yell. Claire gasped, because that sound didn't seem human at all--more the roar of a beast, something mindless and hungry.
Monica's expression was, for the first time, absolutely open and vulnerable. She put her palm flat against the window glass. "Please help me," she said.
But even as Claire clawed at the lock to open it, Monica flinched, turned, and ran on, limping.
Claire slid over the front seat and dropped into the driver's seat. Shane had left the keys in the ignition. She started it up and put the big car in gear, gave it too much gas, and nearly wrecked it on the curb before she straightened the wheel. She rapidly gained on Monica. She passed her, squealed to a stop, and reached over to throw open the passenger door.
"Get in!" she yelled. Monica slid inside and banged the door shut, and Claire hit the gas as something impacted loudly against the back of the car--a brick, maybe. A hail of smaller stones hit a second later. Claire swerved wildly again, then straightened the wheel and got the car moving more smoothly. Her heart pounded hard, and her hands felt sweaty on the steering wheel. "You all right?"
Monica was panting, and she threw Claire a filthy look. "No, of course I'm not all right!" she snapped, and tried to fix her hair with trembling hands. "Unbelievable. What a stupid question. I guess I shouldn't expect much more from someone like you, though--"
Claire stopped the car and stared at her.
Monica shut up.
"Here's how this is going to go," Claire said. "You're going to act like an actual human being for a change, or else you're on your own. Clear?"
Monica glanced behind them. "They're coming!"
"Yes, they are. So, are we clear?" "Okay, okay, yes! Fine, whatever!" Monica cast a clearly terrified look at the approaching mob. More stones peppered the paint job, and one hit the back glass with enough force to make Claire wince. "Get me out of here! Please!"
"Hold on, I'm not a very good driver."
That was kind of an understatement. Eve's car was huge and heavy and had a mind of its own, and Claire hadn't taken the time to readjust the bench seat to make it possible for her to reach the pedals easily. The only good thing about her driving, as they pulled away from the mob and the falling bricks, was that it was approximately straight, and pretty fast.
She scraped the curb only twice.
Once the fittest of their pursuers had fallen behind, obviously discouraged, Claire finally remembered to breathe, and pulled the car around the next right turn. This section of town seemed deserted, but then, so had the other street, before Monica and her fan club had shown up. The big, imposing hulk of the tire plant glided by on the passenger side--it seemed like miles of featureless brick and blank windows.
Claire braked the car on the other side of the street, in front of a deserted, rusting warehouse complex. "Come on," she said.
"What?" Monica watched her get out of the car and take the keys with uncomprehending shock. "Where are you going? We have to get out of here! They were going to kill me!"
"They probably still are," Claire said. "So you should probably get out of the car now, unless you want to wait around for them."
Monica said something Claire pretended not to hear--it wasn't exactly complimentary--and limped her way out of the passenger side. Claire locked the car. She hoped it wouldn't get banged up, but that mob had looked pretty excitable, and just the fact that Monica had been in it might be enough to ensure its destruction.
With any luck, though, they'd assume the girls had run into the warehouse complex, which was what Claire wanted.
Claire led them in the opposite direction, to the fence around German's Tire. There was a split in the wire by one of the posts, an ancient curling gap half hidden by a tangle of tumbleweeds. She pushed through and held the steel aside for Monica. "Coming?" she asked when Monica hesitated. "Because, you know what? Don't really care all that much. Just so you know."
