The Saints

Page 48

42
COLD RAIN PELTED WILL IN THE HEAD. THE raindrops were fat, and the downpour had doubled in strength in the short time since he’d been lifted out of the school. The crane had swung him away from the school, and was now lowering him down to the ground. He could hardly see a thing in the heavy rain. The harness pinched his skin. Thunder cracked. Wind whipped across his wet body and Will shivered.
His mind was on Lucy. What would happen to her? What was Gates doing to her right at that moment? Was he running her over to get back at him for leaving? Was he riding through the halls with her corpse laid over the motorcycle? Or dragging behind? Jesus. He should have waited, he should have stayed in McKinley another day, at least another few hours. Even though his mind would have started to break apart and he might not have gotten another chance to get out, and he might have died … he should have stayed.
Through the torrential downpour, he could barely make out the base of the crane in the distance. He was being lowered into a fenced-in area, on the lawn next to the school. Barbed wire ran along the top of the tall chain-link fences. The only thing inside the fenced-in area was an Airstream trailer. It looked like an aluminum Twinkie. His descent ended as his sneakers sank into the moist grass.
Will unfastened himself. He was glad to get the harness off. The wind surged again, blowing the rain sideways for a second. The harness rose back into the sky. He watched it go until he couldn’t see it anymore.
He was freezing. There were lights on in the trailer. The square windows with rounded corners glowed a faint orange. He hugged himself and hurried over to the door. The rain sprayed off of its rounded roof.
He found the door unlocked. He opened it cautiously and poked his head in. There was no one inside, but a single lamp was on, filling the interior with warm, butterscotch-colored light. There was a bed, a small bathroom, a tiny kitchen with a stove and oven. Cereal boxes and bags of trail mix were arranged neatly on the kitchenette’s counter. He saw a pile of books. The inside of the trailer was dry and he was about to walk inside when he heard someone shout his name.
“Will!”
He turned. There was a figure standing just beyond the fence. Will shielded his eyes from the rain. He couldn’t make out anything more than the shape of a man, but he knew what this was. The second Will had realized that he was holding Sam’s disembodied head in front of Sam’s father, he knew he’d be in serious trouble when he hit the ground. He was going to have to talk his way out of this before Sam’s father pulled out that rifle again.
“Sam was already dead! I didn’t do it!” Will shouted to the man.
“That’s good to hear,” the man said.
Will swore he could feel his heart stop inside his chest. He knew that voice. Will ran toward the fence. The hazy figure brought a scuba mouthpiece up to his face as Will got closer. The mouthpiece stretched his lips out of shape, and his hair was brown now, and his eye patch was black instead of white, but it was him. Will had to hook his fingers through the holes of the fence to keep from falling over.
David was alive.