The Chain(13)

Fred pushes a button and a paper target comes up on a roof runner and stops twenty-five feet away from them. There’s a claustrophobic smell in here of grease and gunpowder. The target is a scary-looking man also carrying a weapon; it’s not a terrified little kid.

“Pull the trigger, that’s it, go on, easy does it.”

She squeezes the trigger, there’s an enormous bang, and Fred is right about Newton’s third law. The barrel pounds into her shoulder. When she opens her eyes and looks at the paper target, she finds that it has been obliterated. “Twenty-five feet or closer and you should be OK. If they’re farther away and they’re running, let them run. You get my drift?”

“Let them run toward you so you can kill them or let them run away and call the police.”

He winks at her. “You catch on quick.”

She takes the shells and pays with her flood money. She thanks Fred and goes out to the car and puts the shotgun on the passenger seat next to her. If they’re monitoring her through her phone somehow, hopefully they will see that she’s serious and that she’s getting things done.





11

Thursday, 11:18 a.m.



The Hampton Mall is the perfect place to buy burner phones. She slides the car into a spot in the parking lot, opens up the trunk, and rummages around looking for Kylie’s Red Sox cap. Her own Yankees hat sometimes attracts attention; a Sox or a Pats cap never gets a second look. She finds the cap, puts it on, and pulls it low over her face.

Her phone rings and her stomach lurches. “Hello?” she says automatically without waiting to see who it is.

“Hi, Rachel, this is Jenny Montcrief, Kylie’s homeroom teacher.”

“Oh, Jenny, um, hi.”

“We were wondering where Kylie was today?”

“Yes, she’s sick. I meant to call the office.”

“You have to call before nine.”

“I will next time, I promise. I’m sorry. She won’t be in today, she’s not feeling well.”

“What’s the matter? Anything serious?”

“Just a cold. I hope. Oh and, um, vomiting.”

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry to hear that. Hopefully we’ll see her tomorrow. Rumor has it she’s cooking up a great presentation on King Tut.”

“Tomorrow, um, I don’t know. We’ll see. These things are unpredictable. Listen, I better go, I’m getting some medicine for her right now.”

“How long is she going to be out?”

“I don’t know. I have to go.” Another call is coming in, from an Unknown Caller. “’Bye, Jenny, sick daughter, have to run,” Rachel says and answers the incoming call.

“I hope you’re working hard, Rachel. I’m relying on you. My boy won’t get released until you get someone to take his place,” the woman holding Kylie says.

“I’m doing my best,” Rachel tells her.

“They said they sent you a message and told you about the Williams family?”

“They did.”

“If you get out of this, you have to keep quiet or the blowback will get you like it got them.”

“I’ll keep quiet. I’m cooperating. I’m doing the best I can.”

“Keep going, Rachel. Remember, if they tell me you’re trouble, I won’t hesitate to kill Kylie!”

“Please don’t say that. I’m—”

But the woman has hung up.

Rachel looks at the phone. Her hands are shaking. The woman is clearly on edge. Kylie is in the hands of someone who sounds like she’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

A young man gets out of a car in the row opposite. He looks at her strangely for a moment and then nods grimly at her.

Is he another one of The Chain’s agents?

Are they everywhere?

Suppressing a whimper, she puts the phone in her bag and hurries through the double doors of the mall.

The Safeway is open and already filled with people. She grabs a shopping basket, speeds past the displays of Thanksgiving merchandise, and finds the rack selling those inexpensive cell phones. She picks up one that looks good, an AT&T cheapo that can still do photos and video. It’s $14.95. She puts a dozen of them in the basket and then throws in two more. Fourteen. Will that be enough? There are only six phones left on the rack. Hell with it. She takes those too.

She turns to see Veronica Hart, her eccentric neighbor who lives five houses down from her on Plum Island. Oh God. The very reason she’d come up here was to get away from anybody who might possibly know her. If Veronica sees the phones, she’ll ask her if she’s prepping for the end of the world and then she’ll point out that come the apocalypse, zombies will tear down the cell-phone towers. It’ll be a whole thing. Rachel lurks behind the unsold Halloween merchandise until Veronica pays and leaves.

She scans the phones at the self-serve checkout counter. After that, she goes down to the Ace Hardware and buys rope, chains, a padlock, and two rolls of duct tape.

The cashier is a hipster with long Elvis sideburns and sunglasses. “Thirty-seven fifty,” he says.

She hands over two twenties.

“You’re supposed to say ‘It’s not what you think,’” the cashier says.

Rachel has no idea what he’s talking about. “What?”