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Barry got up on his elbows and gulped when Nut tipped the small glass bottle to his lips. Crow
found it hard to look at. He’d seen baby lambs drink from nursing bottles in that same weak, I-can’tdo-it-myself
way.
“Can he talk, Crow? If he can, give him the phone.”
Crow elbowed Jimmy aside and sat down beside Barry. “Rose. She wants to talk to you.”
He attempted to hold the phone next to Barry’s ear, but the Chink took it from him. Either the
juice or the aspirin Nut had made him swallow seemed to have given him some strength.
“Rose,” he croaked. “Sorry about this, darlin.” He listened, nodding. “I know. I get that. I . . .” He
listened some more. “No, not yet, but . . . yeah. I can. I will. Yeah. I love you, too. Here he is.” He
handed the phone to Crow, then collapsed back onto the stacked pillows, his temporary burst of
strength exhausted.
“I’m here,” Crow said.
“Has he started cycling yet?”
Crow glanced at Barry. “No.”
“Thank God for small favors. He says he can still locate her. I hope he’s right. If he can’t, you’ll
have to find her yourselves. We have to have that girl.”
Crow knew she wanted the kid—maybe Julianne, maybe Emma, probably Abra—for her own
reasons, and for him that was enough, but there was more at stake. Maybe the True’s continued
survival. In a whispered consultation at the back of the Winnebago, Nut had told Crow that the girl
had probably never had the measles, but her steam might still serve to protect them, because of the
inoculations she would have been given as a baby. It wasn’t a sure bet, but a hell of a lot better than no
bet at all.
“Crow? Talk to me, honey.”
“We’ll find her.” He shot the True’s computer maven a look. “Jimmy’s got it narrowed down to
three possibles, all in a one-block radius. We’ve got pictures.”
“That’s excellent.” She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was lower, warmer, and perhaps
the slightest bit shaky. Crow hated the idea of Rose being afraid, but he thought she was. Not for
herself, but for the True Knot it was her duty to protect. “You know I’d never send you on with Barry
sick if I didn’t think it was absolutely vital.”
“Yeah.”
“Get her, knock her the fuck out, bring her back. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“If the rest of you get sick, if you feel you have to charter a jet and fly her back—”
“We’ll do that, too.” But Crow dreaded the prospect. Any of them not sick when they got on the
plane would be when they got off—equilibrium shot, hearing screwed blue for a month or more,
palsy, vomiting. And of course flying left a paper trail. Not good for passengers escorting a drugged
and kidnapped little girl. Still: needs must when the devil drives.
“Time you got back on the road,” Rose said. “You take care of my Barry, big man. The rest of
them, too.”
“Is everyone okay at your end?”
“Sure,” Rose said, and hung up before he could ask her anything else. That was okay. Sometimes
you didn’t need telepathy to tell when someone was lying. Even the rubes knew that.
He tossed the phone on the table and clapped his hands briskly. “Okay, let’s gas and go. Next stop,
Sturbridge, Massachusetts. Nut, you stick with Barry. I’ll drive the next six hours, then you’re up,
Jimmy.”
“I want to go home,” Jimmy Numbers said morosely. He was about to say more, but a hot hand
grabbed his wrist before he could.