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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CLOUD GAP
1
EZ Mail Services was in a strip mall, between a Starbucks and O’Reilly Auto Parts. Crow entered just
after 10 a.m., presented his Henry Rothman ID, signed for a package the size of a shoebox, and walked
back out with it under his arm. In spite of the air-conditioning, the Winnebago was rank with the
stench of Barry’s sickness, but they had grown used to it and hardly smelled it at all. The box bore the
return address of a plumbing supply company in Flushing, New York. There actually was such a
company, but it had had no hand in this particular delivery. Crow, Snake, and Jimmy Numbers
watched as Nut sliced the tape with his Swiss Army Knife and lifted the flaps. He pulled out a wad of
inflated plastic packing, then a double fold of cotton fluff. Beneath it, set in Styrofoam, was a large,
unlabeled bottle of straw-colored fluid, eight syringes, eight darts, and a skeletal pistol.
“Holy shit, there’s enough stuff there to send her whole class to Middle Earth,” Jimmy said.
“Rose has a great deal of respect for this little chiquita,” Crow said. He took the tranquilizer gun
out of its Styrofoam cradle, examined it, put it back. “We will, too.”
“Crow!” Barry’s voice was clotted and hoarse. “Come here!”
Crow left the contents of the box to Walnut and went to the man sweating on the bed. Barry was
now covered with hundreds of bright red blemishes, his eyes swollen almost shut, his hair matted to
his forehead. Crow could feel the fever baking off him, but the Chink was a hell of a lot stronger than
Grampa Flick had been. He still wasn’t cycling.
“You guys okay?” Barry asked. “No fever? No spots?”
“We’re fine. Never mind us, you need to rest. Maybe get some sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, and I ain’t dead yet.” Barry’s red-streaked eyes gleamed. “I’m picking her
up.”
Crow grabbed his hand without thinking about it, reminded himself to wash it with hot water and
plenty of soap, then wondered what good that would do. They were all breathing his air, had all taken
turns helping him to the jakes. Their hands had been all over him. “Do you know which one of the
three girls she is? Have you got her name?”
“No.”
“Does she know we’re coming for her?”
“No. Stop asking questions and let me tell you what I do know. She’s thinking about Rose, that’s
how I homed in, but she’s not thinking about her by name. ‘The woman in the hat with the one long
tooth,’ that’s what she calls her. The kid’s . . .” Barry leaned to one side and coughed into a damp
handkerchief. “The kid’s afraid of her.”
“She ought to be,” Crow said grimly. “Anything else?”
“Ham sandwiches. Deviled eggs.”
Crow waited.
“I’m not sure yet, but I think . . . she’s planning a picnic. Maybe with her parents. They’re going on
a . . . toy train?” Barry frowned.