I'll Stop the World (62)

There was no pain in the impact, just shock, as his palm struck the ground, hard, followed an instant later by his shoulder. He rolled, dizzy, the world blurring and spinning around him, until he came to a crumpled stop.

For a second, he was disoriented, unable to draw breath or understand what had happened. Then every sensation hit at once, sharp and burning. His knees, back, shoulders, hands, arms—everything hurt, like the skin had been sanded off and rubbed with salt, tanning him like leather.

And his wrist. He gasped at the sudden agony. Something was very wrong with his wrist, which ached with such a strong, piercing pain that he was afraid to look at it.

Gradually, over the throbbing in his ears, Karl heard the sounds of bikes scraping to a stop and hitting the ground. He felt like he’d been lying here for ages, but only moments had passed, and Robbie’s gang had finally caught up with him.

Move! Run! his brain screamed, and Karl tried, he really did, but his limbs had taken on a mind of their own, refusing to cooperate. His knees curled into his stomach, and he clutched his hurt wrist to his chest, tucking his head down and squeezing his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable beating.

To his horror, a pathetic whimper squeaked out of him, and the other boys laughed. “Are you crying?” he heard Robbie exclaim gleefully.

Karl didn’t answer, knowing he couldn’t speak without sobbing. Just let it be quick, he prayed silently. Let them do whatever they were going to do, get bored, and go home.

He waited for the first blow, knowing Robbie would go for a sensitive spot. Would it be his face? Groin? Stomach?

Probably groin, Karl decided. That wouldn’t leave any marks that his parents or teachers would see. Plus, Robbie would think it was funny.

Karl pressed his knees together, rolling away from Robbie and the others, trying not to give them a clear target.

The first kick hit him in the middle of the back, sending fireworks of pain exploding all along his body and radiating down his limbs.

It hurt—it hurt so much, but Karl knew this was just the beginning.

His body couldn’t take it, seizing control away from him in its efforts to protect itself. Even though he knew it wasn’t safe, even though he knew they wouldn’t let him leave until they were finished, he tried to roll to his hands and knees so he could crawl away.

The next kick landed on his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs and collapsing his legs from under him, leaving him coughing and gagging, struggling for air.

He couldn’t take any more of this. He’d do anything to make it stop. How could he make it stop?

“Hey!” someone shouted, and at first Karl thought it was Robbie, trying to get a reaction out of him.

If he answered, would that make Robbie hurt him less? Or more?

“Hey, assholes, leave that kid alone!”

Wait. That wasn’t Robbie’s voice, or any of his gang’s. This boy sounded older, his voice deeper.

And he was telling them to stop.





Chapter Thirty-Seven


JUSTIN

The way I see it, I have a few options.

I can go to Wilson Bridge. But considering the only thing I can think to do there is jump off, no thanks.

I can continue looking for Stan. Go to the addresses of the people I couldn’t reach this morning and see if I have more luck in person. But that would require me to go back into Mrs. Hanley’s house and explain to her why I’m ripping a page out of her phone book, and that sounds only slightly more appealing than jumping off a bridge.

I can go to my grandparents’ house. I’m not sure what this will accomplish, but considering the entire focus of my week—and maybe my life—is to save them, it probably can’t hurt to talk to them face to face.

But for reasons I can’t fully explain to myself, I really, really don’t want to do that. Just the thought of actually looking them in the eyes makes me feel sick to my stomach. And since I know they didn’t set the fire, I don’t have a hard time convincing myself that there’s no need for us to meet. Rose and I can do this whole investigation without me, Bill, and Veronica ever having to breathe the same air.

That leaves going to the high school and seeing if I can catch Rose after classes dismiss. As the only sort-of friend I have in this miserable town, that is the least horrible option, so I start in that direction.

Fortunately, the roads in Stone Lake haven’t changed much in nearly four decades, so navigating my way to the school is easy. If I were driving, I’d take the four-lane road that circles around the outside of town, since cutting through the tiny downtown area of Stone Lake is a traffic nightmare. But since I’m walking, I pick the shorter route.

Anyway, that’s how I find myself walking by the post office right as some kid is getting beaten up in the alley outside.

The kid is tiny, probably only about eight or nine years old, while the kids gleefully kicking him look like teenagers. Baby teenagers, sure, but still twice the size of the poor kid on the ground. Plus, there are three of them and only one of him. Sick little freaks.

Without thinking, I run at them, waving my arms. “Hey, assholes, leave that kid alone!”

Normally, I can’t say I’m the type to rush into a fight to defend a stranger, but these kids are puny and their victim looks like he should still be riding a bike with training wheels, so it’s kind of a no-brainer.

As I continue yelling threats and insults and whatever else comes to mind, the boys scatter, picking bikes up off the ground and pedaling away, throwing a few insults over their shoulders as they go. I can’t tell if they’re intended for me or for the kid on the ground, covered in dirt and blood.